For the past 38 years, Dewey Pihlman has been our next-door neighbor on the Seagull River. He lives adjacent to our property with the same limitations that we have; no running water, plumbing system, or conventional heating. But, as he’ll tell you, the challenges don’t outweigh the peace and beauty of a life lived outdoors.

At 78 years old, Dewey has been many things. He has been a machinist in the Navy, a factory worker, an entrepreneur, a consultant, and now he is an artist.

Ushered into his cabin overlooking the river on a snowy afternoon, the smell of freshly brewed coffee made me feel right at home as he shared his stories of adventure for the An Outdoor Experience.

Let’s start with a story! What was the hardest winter you’ve had up here?

“The worst one I ever had was the one my ex called “the weekend from heck”.

I had come down with type A flu. I laid in bed for about a week coughing up blood and green stuff, 103 temperature. I was dying.

My daughters, Katie (6 years old) and Emily (two years old), were playing around. I heard a thump and Emily fell to the ground. It’s that kind of a kid fall where they don’t even make a sound and you know damn well they got hurt.

I turned around to look, Emily sat up and spit a whole cup of blood out of her mouth. Her tongue was bit right in half.

We called emergency services and had to haul Emily over to the ambulance that came up from Gunflint Lodge. It was 30 below zero outside. I was so sick, I couldn’t even drive the snowmobile across the river to get to the ambulance.

My family hauled me on a sled holding Emily. We met the ambulance on the other side of the river and the EMT said, “well…she’s not in any danger because the bleeding has already stopped. We can take her to Grand Marais (the closest town, an hour away) but it’ll traumatize her. Why don’t you just take her.”

So we loaded everybody in the truck and took off for Grand Marais as sick as I was. When we got to the hospital I collapsed right on the floor.

The doctor looked over Emily and told us her tongue it would heal itself. He said, “You keep an eye on it. Tomorrow it’ll look totally different.” And it did!

So we drove an hour back in a blizzard, got everyone on the snowmobile across the river, up the hill, started a fire, and laid in bed.

The next day, I called the hospital and told them I needed to come down because the flu was killing me. They remembered me laying on the floor there earlier.

To my surprise, they said they would not allow me back with the severity of my illness. So I called my doctor at Fairview, Dr. Hansen, and explained to him what happened. He said, “Dewey, you need antibiotics and you need them now! Have that doctor in Grand Marais call me.”

The doctor in Grand Marais wouldn’t communicate so Dr. Hansen took matters into his own hands. A few minutes later Dr. Hansen called back and said, “Dewey, the pharmacy in town is making a prescription for you. How can you get it?”

I said, “I have no idea.” That’s when the deputy sheriff called me on the telephone. He said, “Dewey, I’m at the hospital. I’m picking up your medicine and bringing it up the Gunflint Trail to you,” in a raging blizzard!

He drove up the trail and hiked across the river in the storm to bring me my medicine. I took the medicine and my fever broke that evening but that saved my life!

Everything went wrong! That’s the worst winter I’ve had here.”

Tell us some stories from before you moved up to the Seagull River full time? Where are you from? What’s your history?

“I was born in Duluth, Minnesota in 1940. World War II started right then and my dad bought some land and built a garage there, just a little one car garage to keep all his tools in while he was building a big house for us.

Well, along came World War II, we couldn’t get any materials so we moved into the garage for five years. We lived in that one car garage for FIVE YEARS. I was a little guy, only one or two years old. It was me, my parents, and my brother who was born fifteen months after me.

But anyway, we lived there five years then we moved to a bigger house

I went to Kenwood school. I started there in kindergarten, 1945, five years old, left-handed. The teacher told me I was different, tied my hand to the chair, and demanded I learn cursive with my right hand “like everyone else”. The next morning, I heard her and my dad out in the hall yelling at each other in Finnish…I was allowed to continue being different.

I went through six grade there and then my dad bought a farm in Barnum. We moved there, working on the farm. My dad died about four or five years later, left me alone. I was sixteen.

My mom was working at the nuthouse in Moose Lake making two bucks an hour. She kept the family together. We lived on the farm for a number of years.

I went into the Navy at 17. I wanted to get out of dodge. I wanted to get out in the world and see everything I could. I was a machinist mate. I worked on the engine rooms and I loved it.

I was in the Navy for 4 years and then I went on the road for a couple of trips. I hitchhiked the mother road from Los Angeles to Chicago and back four times. Then I got a job at the paper mill and that was horrible, working at wood conversion and all that asbestos. You’d come out of there and your skin would feel like you had a million needles in you.

Then I moved to Minneapolis, got a job in a factory, worked there for a while and wanted something better. So I started going to Dunwood (tech school). I worked in Southern Minnesota at various tool shops until I started my own company at 31, Pihlman Tool Company.

I started with my hands, my knowledge, a toolbox, and a half-paid Ford pickup.

I did really good until NAFTA hit. But, you know, from about 1970 to 2002 I really did pretty damn good. I did some pretty cool things.

I went back to work for several years and then I came up to the Seagull River for a little while. I’ve had this land since 1980.

I went to college in 2011 in Duluth, MN. I got my degree in five semesters in computer design engineering and machine tech. Then I took several more courses online from my cabin on the river.

I thought, “well maybe I should go back to work for a while” so I redid my resume the way I wanted to. I got hired by a company in Green Bay so I slammed the door and went for a year.

After that, I came back north and I’ve been at my cabin ever since.”

What was your first winter here like?

“I had my honeymoon here at this cabin. We put it up in September of ‘92. I carried all the lumber up that cliff on my back. We floated it on a dock to get it across the river.

So we spent our honeymoon here then we came back in January. Gosh almighty, it was cold! It was 40 below zero. There was no insulation or floor, plastic on the window, just a plywood shell. I had a barrel stove for heat. We stayed for three or four days. Boy, was it cold. That was our first winter.”

Have you ever gone through the ice?

“Yes! I had come across the winter portage to lake Saganaga on the 21st of March in 2007. The snow was all gone in the woods but there was still ice.

When I hit the ice, I didn’t want to go too fast because I knew I had mud underneath the snowmobile so I was just going to go slow. Stupid! I should’ve known better.

I went about 50 yards across the dang lake and down I went. If I would’ve been going fast and given her heck I would’ve gone right through.

The snowmobile broke through with the skis up on the ice. The water was chest deep. So here I am, standing in the lake, with a 500 lb snowmobile hanging down in the water. I lifted it up and gave it the gas. The track kept eating ice. I kept getting deeper and deeper. Now I’m up to my chin.

I thought, “what the heck can I do? There’s no way I’ll pull the snowmobile out. I’m freezing, there’s no way I’ll make it home. I’m soaking wet.”

Then the machine died…It always took ten pulls to start it. I reached up there, got a hold of the rope, and I gave it one pull. It started! Lucky!

I took a deep breath and spent a minute thinking, “how can I get out of this fix? There’s got to be a solution.”

I lifted the back end up as high as I could and gave that bugger full power, hung on, and it drug me out of there! Away she went, with me hanging onto the handlebar, about fifty feet and stopped.

Here I am laying on the ice and I said, “Thank you, lord! You got me out of a really really bad situation.”

I got on the snowmobile and took off, heading home, doing about 50 mph and freezing cold.

All of a sudden I hit glare ice and started going sideways. I let up on the gas but I was still doing about 40 going sideways. Then I hit rough ice and flipped completely over, launching me in the air. I landed on my hip. The machine crashed on the side, windshield flew off.

I laid there on the ice thinking, “Why me…two times in a row.”

I tipped her back on the track and started her up. I raced back home! That’s probably the closest call I’ve had up here.”

What’s the coldest temperature you’ve seen here?

“52 degrees below 0 without the wind chill!”

What’s the biggest fish you’ve caught here?

“I’d say…a twelve-pound northern and a fourteen-pound lake trout. Or maybe that fourteen and a half pound walleye on the wall behind you.”

The wildlife here seems to love you. Who are your furry friends?

“The fox! The fox that’s here now is pretty shy but she’s warming up. You just have to talk to them.

I had a pine marten here just the other day.

Last summer there was a moose and her two calves here. One morning I saw a big wolf track and, after that, I started seeing the moose and only one calf.

I had a wolf in the backyard one time, walking with his nose to the ground. Gosh, he was a big one…looked like he was seven feet long.”

Aside from electricity, you live off the grid. Where do you get your water from?

“Well, I fill a couple tubs full of water down at the river for water, which lasts a few days. I put one tub by the sauna and one in my cabin.

I sauna every couple of days. If you live in the woods for a long time you get all skinny and stinky.”

What’s the most challenging part of living where you do?

“I guess it’s a combination of hardship and being isolated. In the winter, there’s nobody around.”

With those challenges, why is it worth living here?

“The benefits are many! You have peace and quiet. I have a very small mortgage. It’s cheaper to live here than anywhere.

This place has been my salvation.

But it’s not for everyone. For the ladies especially, all you have to do is answer one question: “Do you have running water?” No. People aren’t used to that. If you tried it, you’d get used to it but it can be difficult to get in that mindset.

For me, the benefits outweigh the challenges. The hardship is extreme when it comes right down to it, especially as you get older. Every year when I’m cutting firewood I have to keep going further and further back. But it’s worth it.”

You spend countless hours in your workshop crafting beautiful rings and necklaces. You’ve made me several pieces. How long have you been making jewelry?

“Oh, only about six years. Making this jewelry has been a combination of several things – it’s working with my hands, being creative, photography, looking at beautiful things and people…you know, the people that I meet, like you, it’s amazing.

The people I get to meet through making and selling my jewelry is the best part for me!”

Will you leave us with a piece of wisdom you’ve learned living in this beautiful wilderness?

“I’ll leave you with the same advice I give my daughter, Katie.

Life is like that river bend. You never know what’s around it. It’s a mystery but it’s also usually better than you think.”