Recently during an email correspondence with
an online friend who lives in a warmer clime, I mentioned I was planning an
extended stay in the Bush. She wrote back to wonder if I were worried that I
could get trapped there by heavy snow for long periods of time.
It’s interesting how perspectives are
different in different places. What worried her was about the least of any that
concerned me about the adventure. But for someone who doesn't live with snow, it becomes a bigger deal.
When I taught writing I always tried to
explain why words had to be specific. The example was a woman I worked with
used "really" as an adjective all the time, as in it was really cold.
My message was what does "really cold" mean? If you are in Miami
Florida maybe it means 40 degrees above zero, but if you are in interior Alaska
it means 60 below, so how do you tell the woman in Miami how cold it is in
Alaska? One time in Delta, which is in the center of the state, I asked the kids
to give examples of really cold that people everywhere would understand. One
girl raised her hand and said one morning her boots had frozen to the floor of
the school bus. Now, that’s something everyone can understand is “really” cold.
What brought that on was my friend's worry
that I might get stranded at the cabin by an extreme snowstorm. From the
perspective out in the woods, that will never happen. For the most part snow
means you can move around easier with snowmachines and snowshoes and all the
creeks and rivers have frozen over. Sure you get deep snow sometimes which does
makes it more difficult until you can pack down a trail, but it never stops you
for any length of time. For the most part snow is your friend.
I would be more likely to be stranded by a
big thaw than a big snow. But even then you can move around. Even so you always
have to keep it in mind. What usually creates the danger is a series of
events building into a major problem. Put heavy snow on top of an injury and then
dwindling supplies on top of that or the machine breaks and one thing after
another goes wrong until you are in trouble. Only in that sense would a heavy
snowfall be much of a danger.
It’s like the Zulu words in Leon Russell’s "Out
in the Woods." He asked a Zulu for the words for a man lost in the woods
and the man said Zulus don’t get lost in the woods, they don’t have any words
for that. Same with big snow, it doesn’t even enter into the consideration of
whether to live out there or not. There aren't any words for that. For the most part lack of snow is the bigger
worry.
 |
| Preparations. |
Such a way of life is understandably alien
to someone unfamiliar with it, so her concern is certainly understandable. To
assure her it would be all right I mentioned I also would have my SPOT locater
with me at all times and could call in the cavalry if the need arose. But, to
my mind that is cheating.
I think cellular phones are one of the most
dangerous items carried by people who venture off the pavement these days. The feeling
that they can always call for help gives people a false sense of security and
perhaps slightly deadens the kind of alertness a traveler needs to remain aware of any dangers to his environment. I even saw people driving snowmachines into mountain avalanche country
with very little safety equipment saying they had cell phones for that,
To my mind a person who ventures out should
accept the responsibility to be prepared to take care of himself rather than
depend on being able to call for help.
At the cabin I keep an extensive first aid kit that even includes
surgical scalpels and needles, silk, inflatable splints and a friendly doctor
used to supply me with prescriptions for serious pain medications against the
time they might be needed.
On top of that I probably have enough parts
to rebuild my snowmachine or repair any other vital machinery. But all of that
is no substitute for common awareness. No matter how relaxed it becomes out
there, you have to remain on the alert for signs around you. I remember a few
years back I heard a serious-sounding crack off in the woods. I noted it and watched in
that direction but didn't pick up another clue until more than half an hour
later when a grizzly with three yearling cubs walked out into the open. Always
aware of the surroundings. And the preparation? A handful of bottle rockets and
a big-ass rifle. The bottle rockets carried the day.
The point is, be prepared to take care of
whatever arises yourself rather than relax and expect to call for help. The
SPOT is available but only as the total last resort.
Among all the things that can get you, a big
snow is probably among the least of the worries. One thing about Bush life is
you seldom HAVE to be anywhere at a specific time. If you do, give yourself a
day or two leeway. And when nature snarls at you the best bet is to wait it
out. Zulus don't get lost in the woods and a little snow doesn't stop Alaskans, at least not for long. So, bring on the snow. I still have this brand new machine and itching to
use it.
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