The Stranger in the Woods_ The - Michael Finkel

my winter toilet. Do my business. Twenty paces back. A big triangle. Around again. And again. I like to
pace.” He’d air out his sleeping bags, wicking away moisture. He did this every bitter-cold night for a
quarter century. If it had snowed he’d shovel his site, pushing the snow to the camp’s perimeter, where it
accumulated in great frozen mounds, walling him in.
His feet never seemed to fully thaw, but as long as he had a fresh pair of socks, this wasn’t really a
problem. It is more important to be dry than warm. By dawn, he’d have his day’s water supply. No matter
how tempted he was to crawl back into his covers, he resisted. He had complete self-control. Naps were not
permitted in his ideology, as they ruined his ability to achieve deep, rejuvenating sleep.
He sometimes felt disconcertingly exposed during winter. Few people were around, but with the leaves
gone, the chances increased that his camp might be spotted. He had an alarm system—no one could walk
silently in Knight’s woods, except Knight, so there’d always be warning of an approach—and also an escape
plan. If a person came near, Knight’s idea was to avoid confrontation by moving deeper into the woods.
A short distance from his camp, Knight kept what he called his upper cache. Buried in the ground, so
well camouflaged with twigs and leaves that you could walk right over it and never know, were two metal
garbage bins and one plastic tote. They contained camping gear and winter clothes, enough so that if
someone found his site, Knight could instantly abandon it and start anew. His commitment to isolation was
absolute.