And now, Cat's poignant story can finally be told

She was never one for visitors to her secluded two-bedroom cabin, although she did manage to have a handful of close friends who kept a close eye on her.

I can now briefly share the story of Cat Blanding with readers because she held me to a promise a long time ago.

I met Cat almost 40 years ago when I was exploring a bush region of Ontario.

Sometimes in her presence I would call her Miss Cat because that was the only miniscule amount of respect she would allow.

Blanding recently passed away and hardly a day goes by without me thinking how to approach this story of this strong woods woman.

Cat was born in the States and her family moved around as her father found various railroad jobs. He taught her to fish and hunt and to bring food to the table.

Blanding married a logger in the early '50s and the couple subsequently built a modest log cabin east of Ely, Minn. Wanting to "feel" the Canadian wilderness, the couple moved across the border in to Canada.

A logging accident ended five years of a blissful relationship. Instead of heading to the big city, Miss Cat chose to remain in seclusion. When I discovered her one day fishing for trout on a small stream, she exuded warmth and a friendly manner.

And then I encountered her during a second foray into her woods: I learned that Blanding could exist in the wild as easily as any man.

She used a hand axe to cut down dead trees for firewood. She sustained herself in the food department by growing everything she could in the spring and summer months, and then kept an underground cache filled with white tail deer and moose venison. There was a huge rough-sawn smoker 50 feet from her cabin as well. And she was proud of the indoor plumbing system she devised so she could "modernize" her cabin.

But Cat's claim to fame was her artwork. She became an accomplished artist at an early age, working in charcoal, oils, and sometimes watercolors. Once a year a cousin would arrive at the cabin and haul a load of her work to New York while subsequently selling every one of her wildlife offerings. Because she treasured her privacy, she signed each piece of art with just her first name, "Catherine."

After moving back to this area I received a handwritten note asking me to come north and visit Miss Cat. This was a first.

I arrived there on the kind of a night that inspires one's imagination. The sky was filled with bright planets and stars. I could hear wolves howling nearby, and spotted fawns and their mothers were moving off the trail, avoiding my headlights.

A single Coleman lantern marked Blanding's location. She stood there illuminated by the glow of the old light and beckoned me in to her domain.

"Look out back," she instructed.

I peeked through a window and saw another cabin a short distance away.

"That's your guest bunk house," she explained, "and you better get some rest."

The next morning over strong coffee she openly explained her days were numbered. She had made one of extremely rare trips to a town where a visiting doctor informed her her tests didn't look good. She then asked me to promise her I would never write anything about her exploits and life until she passed away.

"And it's going to happen real soon," she declared.

She then reached behind a chair and handed me one of her art creations. With tears in my eyes I accepted the gift. Unfortunately during the heavy rainstorms and flooding in 1986, my basement in Mount Prospect assumed the look of a large swimming pool and everything down there was destroyed, including the Blanding original.

About six months ago I received a letter from Cat's cousin informing me Cat had died and she left instruction with the cousin to hold off telling anyone of her demise.

Her cousin also informed me that Cat had captured me on a canvass, standing in a trout stream with a fly rod. That piece was purchased by a New England "trout bum" who also met Cat on her ground in the northern woods many years ago.

One never knows when good fortune and people come their way.