Love letters from our public lands: Wolf Run Cabin

Valentine’s Day, 2024

Hello, fellow travelers! Ethan here. I’m writing to you from Wolf Run Cabin, as I’m sure you could’ve guessed. I’m sitting by the fire now to write, the soft crackling of the wood warming the cabin and filling the air with a smoky sweetness I never tire of. It's been an unforgettable day, one I’ll cherish forever, and I want to write it down before the details get hazy.

Leah and I arrived last night, and even though the drive from our home was a long one, our shared excitement sped the time. We were both in need of some quiet, and I could think of no better place than this cabin, nestled away in the beautiful White Mountains National Recreation Area. The second we stepped inside, the simple living space and scent of spruce greeted us. It felt like we’d entered another world, one built for just the two of us, far away from the rush of everyday life.

After settling in and admiring the view through the cabin windows, we cuddled up to drift off to sleep, thoughts of snowfall and seclusion slipping into our dreams. By morning, we were ready to explore our surroundings. As an added surprise, I had packed snowshoes for us, and Leah’s smile when she saw them was worth the necessary stealth. One of my favorite things about Leah is her love for adventure. After bundling up, we strapped on our snowshoes and set off.

The stillness out here is almost impossible to describe. The still-falling snow was untouched, as if the mountains kept it pristine until we were ready to make our mark. The air this afternoon was crisp and clean, the only sound, the soft crunch beneath our snowshoes. We didn’t speak much, but the silence was a welcome one. After two years together, we no longer feel the need to ramble. Sometimes, being with someone, sharing the same space, is enough.

We wandered further into the forest; the branches of the towering spruce trees dipping low, heavy with snow. Eventually, we reached a clearing and a winding, frozen creek. It wound through the landscape like an unfurled ribbon. Pulling a picnic blanket, an additional flannel blanket and a thermos of Irish coffee from my pack, I asked Leah if we could just sit there a while. We wrapped the blanket around our shoulders and cuddled in close. The cold air stung at first, but the beauty of everything around us made it feel right. After some time had passed, Leah asked me to walk around the creek and take photos with her. It turned out that she had a surprise of her own planned.

When we got back to the cabin, she pulled out a tote bag filled with canvases, paintbrushes and paints. Our first Valentine’s date together was a wine and paint night, and she decided to make creating art together an annual tradition. But this time, rather than an instructor walking us through the steps, we pulled up the photos of the creek and recreated the scene in our own styles. I painted quickly, capturing the sweeping view of the mountains in broad strokes, while Leah worked with more precision, her focus on translating the soft pinks and purples of the sky.

We lost track of time as we painted, the sun setting and stars coming out without us even noticing. I remember looking over at Leah as she painted, so focused but with a soft smile that lingered on her face. I look at the painting I did now, the snow-covered trees and the distant peaks of the mountains. Leah’s is beside mine, both of us capturing the same landscape, but in our own way. I think we’ll remember this Valentine’s Day for a long time—maybe forever.

Write your own love story at one of the many cabins available at BLM Alaska’s White Mountains Recreation Area. Learn more or reserve a stay at Recreation.gov.