Firewood. Why is it always about firewood?

Mount McKinley came out for most of the first part of the week.

This is how Walter travels. There's an insulated cover on his carrier and a good
thick pad underneath him. It is just too far for him to run and I can't go slow en-
ough for him to keep up. Incidentally this kind of weather is why I love March
so much in this part of Alaska.

Made a trip to the East Pole and spent almost a week happy in the woods. I would have stayed longer but of all things I ran out of dog food and it was the one thing I could not substitute for easily or do without.  I mean by that, I am not giving Walter a prime steak unless we are starving.

This was Walter's first trip and his first encounter with deep snow. He survived both with his personality intact. 

I can tell you this, you have not lived until you tried to negotiate your way downhill on snowshoes trying to maintain control over a sled heavy with firewood. For added enjoyment picture a 70-pound puppy who decides it is time to play and launches himself at you, slamming into your chest. Down I went in a mess of birch sections, sled, rope, dog and three feet of snow with these slabs on my feet that would not let me move and a dog licking my face. It took a while to extract myself from that, collect the wood and get on down the hill.

His first deep snow didn't stop him at all. He plunged into it like
a bulldozer would and made trails all over the place.

The whole adventure was what caused the question about firewood. The last time I lived there for any length of time I put in a good deal of firewood. But since then it seems to be two- or three-day trips two or three times a year. As a result I haven't added any to the pile since about March 2005, but I have continued using it.

This trip I used up the last of the birch. I still have a fair supply of dried spruce but that burns so fast; it wouldn't have lasted me the rest of the winter if I had stayed.

This had been in the back of my mind for the past few years and last summer I cut up a huge birch that had fallen down. It was quite a way up the hill behind the cabin so I stacked it intending to bring it down with a sled in winter when moving around with a load is easier,  unless, of course, you have a playful puppy.

A whole new area to explore indoors too. And once again, no, 
I don't barbecue indoors. I keep it inside so someone won't take it 
off the porch. If I am there for a longer period, I put it out.

So, I went to haul that wood to the cabin only I couldn't find it under four feet of snow. I thought even with a lot of snow the pile would stand above the surrounding area enough so I could find it, but no deal. I must have shoveled half the hill and never found it.  I finally invented something of an avalanche probe and went back shoving it into the snow until I hit something solid. That took about four hours counting trips up and down to the cabin and other peripheral activities. For example, when I did find it, the logs were frozen together and I had to go get a maul to knock them loose.

I managed to get about a third of it down to the cabin and split some. It was still too green and didn't burn well, but I at least have a start on a new supply that will be ready by next winter. Now I plan another trip shortly to spend a few days doing just firewood to catch up.

It is sort of my security blanket. I am not a radical survivalist, but I always think if things go all to hell either in my personal life or in general, the cabin would be my refuge. A good supply of firewood should be there just in case, plus it is nice to go out there and not have to worry about keeping warm. And, of course, if you read this blog often, you know what firewood means in the big woods.

A friend, Joe May, once described his life as "… out here where a man is judged by the size of his firewood pile ..." Mine is pretty small right now.