Lin Yu'an stood motionless at the edge of the fern line, axe in one hand and camera in the other, listening to the uneasy noises coming from the brush. His pulse thudded against his ribs. The rustling, mixed with faint, irregular squeaks, moved closer and closer. He breathed shallowly to steady himself, shifting his weight into a stance that would let him react with speed.
A pair of faint green eyes blinked into view. Through the camera's infrared feed he made out a red fox, drawn by the struggling sounds. The fox froze, its nose twitching, then focused on the shape in the undergrowth: his lassoed prey, a snowshoe hare caught fast and already dying.
The animal grunted and bared its teeth. The fox's hackles rose. For a long second the two faced each other, the fox sizing up the easy meal and Lin Yu'an weighing his options. He had left the bow beside the path to avoid tangling himself and to keep movement quiet. Facing a small predator with a close weapon risked being bitten or snagged, which could lead to infection and delay everything.
He let out a short, hard growl and stepped forward with sudden, controlled aggression. Momentum and confidence are often more persuasive than force when dealing with mid-size carnivores. The fox flinched as if struck, shrank back, and for a heartbeat the forest hung on the motion. It glanced once at the hare, then, tail tucked, slunk away into the dark like a shadow evaporating.
Lin Yu'an exhaled and laughed softly into the camera. "Easy now, little guy. This one's mine." He moved to the snare, untied the knot and lifted the heavy hare with both hands. The weight of it was real and welcome. For the first time since he had arrived at Chilko Lake, he felt the immediate, simple satisfaction of a successful trap.
Back at the shelter he set to work with methodical speed. He explained each step for the recording, not for show but to keep his hands steady and his mind clear. "Start skinning from the hind legs," he said, demonstrating the clean pull and the steady knife strokes that preserved the pelt. He removed the fur whole, then carefully eviscerated the carcass, keeping the intestines intact so he could repackage them as future bait.
"Be careful not to cut the gut," he said, tipping his head to the camera. "If you rupture the intestines you contaminate the meat and invite maggots." He rinsed the cavity with boiled stream water and gave the meat a final inspection before halving the carcass.
Half the rabbit went on a sharpened spit to roast over the coals, the other half into the pot with Jerusalem artichokes he had steamed earlier. He added a pinch of the seasonings he had hidden in his pack and a little salt. The fire slowly licked the meat until the fat ran and the skin blistered to a crisp, releasing a heady, savory scent that pushed the damp from the shelter and warmed his bones.
He tasted the first piece and closed his eyes. The roasted leg was tender, smoky, and rich with fat. The stew, when he dipped a wooden spoon into it, carried the earthy sweetness of the artichokes and the clean, gamey broth of rabbit. "This is exactly what I needed," he told the camera, smiling. "Food like this keeps you strong out here."
He ate slowly, savoring the meat and feeling warmth spread out from his chest. Between bites he let himself think in clear, practical terms. Food is not only calories. It is morale. It is proof that the plan can work. It is the reason he had dug and planned and pushed himself so hard. He recorded a short message for Arya, then packed the pelt into the container space for safekeeping.
When dawn washed the trees pale the next morning, Lin Yu'an returned to the clearing where he had decided to build the permanent camp. He cleared a small open area and unrolled his bark map. With charcoal he sketched the basic footprint of a semi‑underground stone shelter, explaining design choices as he drew.
"I will use the slope to my advantage," he said. "Dig a shallow pit, build stone walls, and set logs as the rafters. A living roof of moss and soil will give insulation and concealment. Stone holds heat and is more bear resistant than wood."
Once the concept was clear he set to the most humbling work of the day: the first excavation and the moving of the first pile of stones. Without a proper shovel he used the axe spine and a stout wooden shaft to pry and lever. Each scoop of soil and stone taxed his shoulders and his patience. The first hours were slow and dirty, muscles barking as he repeated the same motions: pry, lift, carry, stack.
He also collected a cache of stones that were roughly rectangular or had one flat face. "Stacking is easier if you have flat sides," he explained, testing a rock in place. He built a rough perimeter for a shallow pit, measuring ten square meters, and cut a bench of packed earth to serve as a foundation for the future wall.
By late afternoon a faint outline of a shelter pit and a modest rock pile had taken shape. Lin Yu'an wiped the sweat and mud from his forehead and felt a quiet pride. The shelter would be built with his hands and his time, not a borrowed trick. That mattered.
Before dusk he checked the simple fish traps he had set in the stream that morning. Two small trout, palm sized and still lively, lay in one of the rock enclosures. He laughed softly and praised the little gifts. "Small meals add up," he told the camera. He cleaned the trout quickly, added them into the remaining rabbit broth, and let the pot simmer over the coals until the flavors married.
Night settled thick and true. The shelter warmed, the stew bubbled, and Lin Yu'an sat near the ember glow, eating slowly and thinking about the days ahead. The hare, the trout, and the sight of the pit at dawn were reassurance that the slow, steady approach worked. He closed his log with a short message to himself and to the camera: keep patient, plan well, and respect the land.
The embers died low and a tired, clean sleep took him. Tomorrow he would lay the first stones of the wall, and the small victories of trap and stream would have been the cornerstone of everything that followed.