11 km’s off the TCH down route 205 nestle in a tranquil cove you will find the picturesque town of Hatchet Cove. Surround and protected by the jagged rocks reaching up from the ocean’s depths. Down behind Aunt Nellie & Uncle Lawrence’s you will find Back Beach, the best hidden oasis. Covered in sea shells, sea glass weathered from years of thrashing and grinding on the rocks, and with the flattest and smoothest rocks you have ever seen. You know the good ones for skipping? They would glide over the sea like butter in a hot pan, until finally succumbing to their watery resting place. But that’s not the best part of Hatchet Cove. My favourite part about Hatchet Cove isn’t the beach, The view of the ocean, The childhood memories of skipping rocks, Playing on the old wooden swing at Roy and Joan’s house, or even the seclusion and quite of the Cove, Its Maggoty Cove Pond.
Take the old tracker path behind the church, go across the golf course, past Woodrow’s wood pile, in the summertime stick to the right, during the winter you can veer off to the left and go across the bog, (today I veer left), then past the turn off for Valley Pond, around the bend and there it is, Maggoty Cove Pond. Across the Pond tucked away amongst the Spruce and Balsam Fir is the most heart warming and peaceful place on earth, Pops camp.
Looking across the pond at the decades old log cabin, she is still beaming with so much life. She maybe old but she got some good bones. Built in the early 1970’s it was the 1st cabin on the pond. Only Russell Bishop would build on the pond after Pop and that’s something to this day, I’m perfectly fine with. I love the seclusion, the quiet, and memories frozen in time. There is no room for the outside world in my woodland hideaway.
Coming across the pond the cabin becoming closer and more clearly into view. The bull moose antlers position over the door, doubling as a snowshoe rack for pops snowshoes are a welcomed sight. When I hit the kill switch on the ski-doo, the whole world becomes silent. It’s a deafening calm. A gray jay my only companion, and the snow-covered bows dance in unison to the rhythmic winter wind. Just standing there looking at the cabin is always a treasure in itself.
Every log, every curve, every notch was handled, cut, and places by hand. Each hand peeled log chinched with moss. Each log still to this day showcasing the tool marking of a mans hard work and dedication to his craft. When you open, the door don’t forget to duck your head, unless you want a bump on the ole noggin. I was told back then the doors were smaller as to not allow too much heat to escape when opening and closing the door. Either way whatever the reason, just remember to duck your head.

Walking in you have the handmade bunk to your left with a string hung up above the foot of the bunk for drying your mitts. (She’s dried a few mitts and wool socks in her day) To your right an old white tin wash basin, and mirror. In the far-left corner the heart of every cabin, the wood stove. That old wood stove always provided just the right amount of comforting heat. Above the table, the old kerosene lantern still on its rusted nail. I remember trying to play crazy 8’s as a kid through the glow of the lantern thinking “why can’t we just turn on a light”? but now at 40 living in a cozy little cabin nestled in the woods playing cards or preparing lunch for my husband and our huskies through the flicker of a kerosene lantern would be a dream come true for me.
Years ago, pop dipped the huskies’ paw in water paint and let them run wild in cabin, their paw prints were a staple of the cabin for years. However sadly the winter before Pop passed it was painted over. Still all these years later I wish was still there.
Growing up my sister and I spend many days and nights at the cabin. Boil ups, ice fishing, on the dog sled with Pop, living the outdoors life! The sound of the dog sled sliding over the snow, and dogs panting with every exhale, their tongues flopping down around their chins. “Mush” Pop would say as we raced in the path, and across the pond, his hands gripping the sled as we flew across the pond and came to a halt at the cabin door. It’s like the dogs knew where to stop without being given the command. (one would assume its from Pop whom I inherited my love for huskies)
A true woodsman in his own right, Pop built, loved and maintained to me one of the most unique, and special places on earth. From the pond dock to the handcrafted outhouse door with its engraved star and moon. Every inch of the property was envisioned, planned and executed to perfection.
Sitting at the table gazing out at the pond, I feel at peace. I feel whole. The sound of nothing more then the fire crackling, while the trees sway in the chilled February breeze. A lot of people (myself included for a period in my life) would prefer a week-long all-inclusive trip down south, but sitting right here coffee in hand staring out this window is worth more then any 5-star vacation.