Perched high in sturdy pines overlooking the dark water, my simple bushcraft treehouse took shape: lashed poles, a woven branch floor, and a tarp roof. Below, the lake promised dinner. I cast a hand-line, heart pounding as a trout struck – fresh protein secured. Cleaning it by firelight, I grilled the fish on greenwood skewers, the smoky aroma mingling with pine. As dusk deepened, I retreated to my elevated sanctuary. Wrapped in a wool blanket, listening to loons and lapping waves, the small fire below glowed. This wasn’t just survival; it was profound, self-reliant comfort – a cozy, hard-won haven above the silent water.
