In 1987, I was looking for and purchased a 1+ acre lot for $3,000 off of an Indian Reservation in Mason County, Washington (30 minutes from my work). I was making payments as I lived there, and I paid the property off in 1989. I would go out to the property whenever I had time. It was a beautiful drive up the river, with the winding river down below on my left, and steep hillside to the right (road was cut out of hill), more like a bumpy logging road.
I headed up to go camp on my property one weekend. Prior to that, I had always just waved at the Native man, a woman and 3 kids when I drove by, if they were outside. On this day, I decided to stop and introduce myself, so I pulled down into the driveway of the property with trash everywhere. I started walking up to the porch and noticed to my left two white blobs that I eventually realized were perfectly skinned large beavers laying on their backs, lined up like trophies. Seeing this made me sad. They weren't for food, but just for pelts. So, I knocked and introduced myself, telling the Native I had purchased property about 1 mile upriver from him. I told him I would be camping on the property and playing around the river. He told me that the Indians don't sleep in the woods there because of the "Stick Indians." I don't remember too much more about our conversation. But, as I was leaving, he wanted to show me his catch from a recent saltwater fishing trip down the road from there. I followed him to the other side of the boat in his yard and I saw 15 very small illegal-sized Red Cod that had been filleted and thrown everywhere. After seeing that, I really wanted to get out of there, so headed to my property. I had no issues at the property and eventually had my A-frame style Chalet home built, finally moving in by mid-1990. I had no power for 6 months and no water for over a year.
I was single at the time of moving in, and my bedroom was in the upper half of the top floor of the Chalet (called a Crow's Nest), and I could look down into my living room. The A-frame peak was in the middle of my bed, and the upper floor walls leaned into the peak, kind of cramped around the bed. The window was directly above the head of my bed - no drapes were needed at that height. I was alone in the woods.
On this one night, I was awakened by an all-consuming constant high-vibration rattle. If you can picture a wood tube half-filled with 500 metal B-Bs in it being shaken as fast as possible, that would be close to describing the sound. Or, shaking seeds in an over-sized pod times 1,000. It is so hard to describe the constant and rhythmic deafening sound it was making throughout my house and the upstairs room. I can't give this justice in words. I quickly sat up in bed and thought maybe there was a craft above my home. But, looking out the window, it was dark, and I could see the trees 10 feet away out my bedroom window. When the rattling started, scared may not be the word, but maybe disbelief, or partial panic? The sound was a menacing overwhelming rattle that lasted maybe 10 minutes or longer, and it freaked me out. I could not imagine having been sleeping outside or in a tent and hearing this. I was 12 feet off the ground in my home, protected by wood walls. In the 8 years I owned that property, that only happened once, and in the dark. I wondered later if it was the Stick Indians and maybe they weren't happy that I had built there. I am not a hunter but have taken a lot of Salmon out of that river. What a beautiful place to live all of those years.
Thanks for reading, and good luck out there. (Typed and edited by wife)
I didn't know they had crawdads up north!