East Pole Journal March 30, 2020: Weather leaves a gift

A wind-blown gift.

Could there be anything more beautiful than Venus leading a crescent moon across a clear night sky? Just asking.

Stormy weather

Saturday I posted a picture on facebook of snow blowing off the summit of Denali in a huge wind storm. By Sunday it had progressed over here and we've had quite a windstorm for going on two days now, although it did let up a little today. Sunday it took the soup out of me and I didn't get much done, but I did take a run around the property to see if any trees had blown down. Turned out the storm did leave me a gift, a huge spruce blew down over the main trail in the public area adjacent to my property. Someone had cut a section out to clear the trail but left most of the tree. Today I went over there and cut about 15 feet of it into wood stove lengths and hauled them home. More about that later.

That woodpile

Today I dressed  better for the wind and it didn't blow nearly as hard as it had the day before. I

That storm of blowing snow on Denali.

put in some good time on the big birch I have been working over for what seems forever at this point. I can see the end of it in the next couple of days and then I have to start on another one. There's another tall birch not quite as big close by, like within 20 feet of where I've working now and close to my trail. I can see dead branches on it and when the wind gets it waving, I can hear it cracking internally. I have to keep my eye on it in case it decides to fall my way.  It is about ready to fall on its own with a little help from the wind and might save me the most dangerous part of this process, the actual felling of the tree. If not, I will take it down by the end of the week and once that's cut split and stacked I will have next winter's supply.

Pleasure and pain

It's amazing the differences in wood. The birch I'm working with is a dense hardwood. That's preferred to spruce because it burns longer and slower and still generates as much or more heat as the lighter spruce. It also makes the birch tougher and heavier. I have no doubt some of the sections I'm moving around weigh well more than 50 pounds. The bigger ones I can't split even with an 18-pound maul. I have to cut them vertically into smaller pieces with the chainsaw first, and sometimes even have to cut those sections into smaller ones before I can split them. They can be gnarly in the true sense of the word rather than the surfer sense. That also makes them tougher to split.

So, here's the "more later"

That said, as I was quitting for the day, I looked at this newly obtained spruce and though I was about worn out I thought I'd take a couple of licks at one just to see how it goes. These are maybe 10 to 12 inches in diameter. The first one split so easily — and with the smaller maul — I tried another. Long story short, it was so easy and kind of fun and I split the whole bunch before I quit. That's the pile in the picture. Lots of fire starting kindling for the next year now.

The East Pole Journal

East Pole Journal March28, 2020 This expectant mother is no lady

Maybe the same mystery moose from earlier this winter.

Those less familiar with Alaska may need this introduction before we get to the main story. To begin with, we have deeper snow than usual this year. Undisturbed, the snow measures at least three feet deep or more anywhere off a beaten trail. That makes life particularly difficult for moose when that snow is belly deep and they tend to like the trails we make with snowmachines which over time can become as hard as sidewalks. When encountered they do not want to get off the trail and will put up quite a fight to avoid the deep snow on either side. This can be a dangerous encounter for both moose and human.

As more and more people use the trails, they develop moguls, small, bone jarring hills caused largely by less experienced drivers speeding up, spinning their tracks which then dig up a small snow hill behind them. As more and more people pass and accelerate to go over the developing mogul, the machines dig the holes deeper and throw up snow and that makes the moguls higher. Seldom can someone trying to protect the eggs in his cooler go even 10 miles per hour. As a result, for me anyway, it takes 40 minutes or more to go the seven miles from the trailhead to this cabin.

So, given that background here's what happened. Yesterday I needed to make one of those quick trips out to take care of a little business and pick up a few items given that this deep snow is going to give me at least a couple of extra weeks this winter, weeks I had not planned for. I left early in the morning, for me anyway, and found the trail in the best condition I can ever remember seeing before. No moguls. I could actually go fast. Given that I had to drive 80 miles one way, anything that saves time is good. I admit I tore down that trail as fast as I could even topping 20 mph a few times. That was at least until I headed up the last big hill before the parking lot. That's when I saw the moose. She stood in the trail facing the same direction I was going but with her head turned watching me as I approached.

Now, it's just not cool to harass a moose, especially as they are weakened after a poor diet over a hard winter. In addition it looked to me like this one was a pregnant female. I stopped as soon as I saw her at a good distance and set my mind to be patient, maybe push her a little to encourage her to leave the trail, but nothing to create a fight-or-flight situation. I did stand up and yell. She turned and trotted ahead a little and I followed maintaining the same distance, but within a minute or two she stopped to look at me again and I stopped, keeping the separation distance. (Talk about your social distancing.) We played this-cat and-mouse game most of the way up the hill. Twice I ran over strings of moose nuggets she left in the trail for me, a signal I think, of just what she thought about my intrusion.

Occasionally around a blind rise or corner I would get closer than either of us was comfortable with. Most of those times she trotted off and one time when she did that I revved the engine. That made her trot faster but when I backed off so did she.

Then she disappeared around a curve and I sped up a little to catch her, but as she came into sight again, this time she had turned her whole body, was facing me as she came into view. Hair on her neck and shoulders stood up and her ears were laid back. These are sure signs a moose is pissed and might attack. We are talking about an animal that weighs 800 to 1,000 pounds coming at you faster than you would believe. I got off and walked around to where the snowmachine was between us and dug my pistol out of the pack. I also looked around for a tree to get behind if she did charge. For all the trees along the trail, wouldn't you know, at this point we were in a little clearing and the nearest possible shelter tree stood several yards away through that deep snow. I waved my arms and yelled and she stood there glaring at me. What we had there was a standoff. Then after maybe a very tense minute, abruptly she changed her mind, turned and trotted ahead on the trail.

And so we progressed. When she moved I moved and when she stopped I stopped as we slowly worked our way up one side of the hill and down the other. This went on for about half an hour over about a mile of trail. My great early start destroyed. Eventually we came down off the hill onto a level stretch and within sight of the parking lot. On this last little bit she chose to stop three times to nibble at little branches stretching into the trail, testing my patience just about to the limit. That last part of the trail runs parallel to a dirt road that leads to a subdivision. Once she reached a point where she could see that road, she waded into about 10 feet of deep snow between the two and trotted back up the hill toward the houses. When I could be sure she was no danger any longer, I roared past her toward the trail head. The last I saw of the moose, her hind end was disappearing around a curve in the that road well behind me.

So except for the disruption in my plan, we separated none the worse for wear; we both survived and without any major confrontation. My hope is she has a healthy calf or two

About that mystery moose

The East Pole Journal

East Pole Journal March 22, 2020 And the beat goes on

Forest mayhem: Leaning against the stump, top is farthest branches visible.

     Some excitement over the past few days. Friday night the snow on the north side of the roof slid off, rattling the house like a small earthquake would. I left way too much snow up there over the winter but then it got warm and I was a little shy of going onto the roof in case it slid under me. From that high on the north side you can't see ground until all the way to Denali it seems. You can almost step off the south side. On the south side there's been some sliding and I have shoveled what I could reach from atop the berm earlier shovelings had left, but still a considerable amount of snow slowly moving down slope. Glad I put up the bear board over the bed window because sure enough a big slab of snow fell against it.

THE PICTURES BELOW: Left: slabs of snow on the ground after the south roof slid.

Right: Snow from roof piled against the south side. Just the frame of the far window is visible because of snow against window's bear board.

In the world of chickadees

Something was going on out there Saturday morning. They use a small stand of spruce trees just a few feet from the house for shelter, roosting and pecking open their sunflower seeds. That morning about half a dozen of them were flying wildly around in the shelter of the branches. It looked like a madhouse in there. I never did figure out what was going on; I thought maybe mating behavior or some kind of small predator was chasing them, but I never saw one.

Mostly it's firewood, firewood, firewood

Snow pile after north roof slide.

I have about half a cord under the house now and more than that down and ready to split so it's going along. Of course all of this wood is for next winter and I am running a little short of wood for this year because I had to leave in a hurry last year and didn't get all in that I wanted. This past December I took down a spruce killed by beetles and dead, but even so it had too much moisture still in it to burn well. A couple of years ago my friend Joe May sent me a gauge for testing wood moisture. In December this new spruce tested at 19.3 percent moisture. Today I checked and it measured 16.9. The wood now decidedly burns better even though that's still considered a high moisture content, so I can use it to supplement what's left of last year's birch and stretch out my time here. That will allow me to get enough wood in to keep me warm next winter while I cut wood for the following year. This is how my life turned out. I'm not complaining.

South side, note snow against far window

It's been a lot of cutting and splitting and hauling up the hill and some days tiring. But as the pile grows it already energizes and makes me keep going back. I hauled the first load I've been able to move with the snowmachine today so the hauling may go a lot quicker in the near future. I only have about 10 feet of the lower trunk to cut into sections and I have most of the rest of the big stuff split at least into two pieces. They are18 to 20 inches in diameter and I can't split them even with my 18-pound maul. I use the chain saw and cut them part way lengthwise and then I can usually split them the rest of the way.

The plague

Friday I ventured out for the first time since the Covid-19 pandemic came up. I stuffed  a bunch of disinfectant Wet Wipes in my kit. Life is different out there from when I left. I had very little interaction with people except at the supermarket and the bank. I noticed people shying away from each other, people wearing rubber gloves, no masks but I did see a little old lady with her scarf tied tightly round her chin, mouth and nose. My favorite avoidance technique came as I departed the bank. A woman all dressed up, nice, going out clothing, makeup, hair done. When she came to the door a little ahead of me she lifted her knee and tapped the button for the automatic door opener. So out of character. She saw me looking and said, "honey, I ain't touchin' nutthin'." I laughed and passed through, then I hit the button for the second door with my knee to hold it for her. After we both passed outside I thanked her for the dance.

Weather

Heaviest snow year I can remember and more in the forecast. When will it end? Actually I am glad to see it. As long as there's sufficient snow I can still function here. Temperature hit 41 today, first time above 40; it was 80 in the sun on the deck this afternoon, first for that also, but 15 this morning and supposed to be cold the next few nights at least. All to the good.

"… meanwhile life outside goes on all around you…"— Bob Dylan

The East Pole Journal

East Pole Journal March 16, 2020 The gift that keeps on giving

From the main trail, the new one curves off downhill, past the cut tree with its stump sticking up at far right.

Today the assault on the forest to collect firewood began. I had picked out on old, huge birch, big enough probably to hold sufficient wood for a winter, sharpened the chainsaw and replenished its precious bodily fluids and headed down the trail intent on mayhem.

About half way to the tree I noticed the new trail where it came out onto the downhill end. My neighbor who helped make trail and unstick my snowmachine and help haul stuff had put it in a couple of days previous. Rather than block my way coming behind him, when he got to a flat spot near the cabin he turned off and skied his machine downhill through deep snow until he connected with the main one. 

As I looked up the trail I noticed a tree as good as the one I was heading for with one big difference. This one was within arm's reach from a packed trail. One step and I could be in position to cut rather than having to slog through a couple dozen yards of deep snow. At the other tree the slogging would continue too, when the sections had to be hauled to wherever I could get to with the snowmachine and sled. I could drive right up to this one and not only that, it was tall enough to fall across both trails so I would have two access points. Not even a contest. 

I made my peace with the forest spirits and within half an hour had it on the ground and began cutting into woodstove lengths. First though I cut where it cleared the two trails, then went along for a while cutting the rest. By the time it exhausted me I had cut about 15 feet into 18-20-inch chunks plus one shorter chunk that held a burl I hope to make into something, cleared a bunch of extraneous branches and had a nice little stack piled next to each of the trails ready to split. Tomorrow I will finish it off and then the hauling and splitting begins. As I thought that through I realized the new trail was within two rope hauls of the house. So I am going to take my splitting tools down there tomorrow split wood into a smaller sled and I can haul it in one load all the way to the wood pile. In the past I usually have hauled the rounds to a level spot below the house and split there, then load the splits into another sled for the ride to the woodpile under the house. This will save a step (one of those five or so ways wood warms you despite what Thoreau said about two). 

        All in all a pretty satisfying day, with only one little casualty: I managed to saw through a glove, fortunately it didn't have a hand in it because it is destroyed. I carry an extra set because as soon as they get wet the cold soaks through to my hands very quickly. This spare must have fallen out of my bag on the far side of the wood I had been cutting. So it goes, in the myriad of things that could happen cutting down trees, this is minor.
     Oh, and I do have to remember to thank Keith for one more thing he did for me while he and James were me helping over the weekend.

I don't like to repeat myself, but here goes anyway. On my way to gathering the wood that will keep me warm next winter so I can be warm and comfortable while I cut wood for the year after that. Is this a rut?

The East Pole Journal

East Pole Journal, the Ides of March 2020: I live here now

After Thursday's adventure (See The terrible horrible no-good very bad day that turned out all right) 

I woke up Friday feeling much better than I expected or deserved. No muscle aches, no new pains or injuries and in a decent mood. I spent the morning putzing around the cabin, then when the outdoor temperature rose into the mid teens, I dressed out and headed down the hill on another pair of snowshoes, these without the shovel in front. I pulled one of the light sleds to bring up what I could and in the process pack the trail down a little more in hopes of one day actually driving my snowmachine up it. I took a heavy-duty come-along with me intending to hook to a tree and at least pull the machine up the little hill where snow embraced it almost the handlebars. Turned out the rope I brought lacked something in length so rather than waste energy digging the machine out I left the machine for the next day when I could bring down a longer rope.

I put a few necessities from my stash into the sled: cell phone charger along with the computer pack, cream of chicken soup, a couple of bottles of juice and, of course, the next two seasons of Game of Thrones and headed back up the hill. Mind you this was easier than the previous day, but still I left the cabin around 12:30 and didn't return until a little after 4, not exactly marathoner time.

Once in the house, with the generator running and my phone charging, all of a sudden it went off like New Year's Eve chimes. Someone had sent me a number of texts and it took a minute to figure out the caller was a part owner of the cabin across the way who now lives in Washington state. The crux of her messages was her daughter's fiancé and her grandson were at the cabin and the younger wanted to meet me for some reason. As briefly as I could I explained my situation and told her I wasn't in any condition to go visiting just yet. Within minutes the guys at the cabin were texting me promising to come up in the morning and help free my machine and then help haul my stuff up to the cabin. Holy Crap on a Cracker! Mana from heaven. I don't like to ask for help. My attitude is the day I don't think I can do this by myself is the day I will give it up. Volunteer help doesn't count. I told them I would hike down as soon as the temperature hit double digits.

I relaxed, made a steak dinner, watched videos, slept soundly and woke up like it was Christmas morning. This would have been Saturday and again I putzed through the morning until the temperature hit double digits and then headed down the hill. By the time I got there they had the machine unstuck. James, my friend's grandson met me part way up walking and sinking into the deep snow. Later he asked if he had gotten half way at least and I told him no, maybe a tenth. The fiancé, Keith, said he thought he could pack a trail up the hill with his machine. I doubted it but he made it. I am going to have to look into snowmachines with articulated tracks. Anyway he went up and down once and then I went up ahead of him and made it almost to my porch until I got stuck again. (He had turned off my main trail before that last steep climb to the deck.)

So we went back down again, me figuring I could pack a sled and pull it up. But we got to talking and eventually went back to their cabin and told stories for a couple of hours while Keith made tacos. First ones I ever had out here. I was excusing myself hoping to get at least a small sled load up to the house. Keith said they planned taking a couple of trips hauling stuff out to the trailhead in preparation for leaving the next day and they'd be coming back empty. He asked me if I still had anything I needed brought in. Oh, boy did I. Over the evening they made a couple of trips. Meanwhile I pulled one small sled load up almost to the cabin but managed to mire the machine in deep snow again. I lightered my load hauling it up in two trips hand over hand on a rope pulling the sled. At that point I quit. But I had almost everything up the hill and could relax a little. Another pleasant evening feeling more and more at home.

So, it now being Sunday, as soon as the temp hit double digits I went down, dug out the snowmachine, turned it around and headed down the hill. Piled next to the trail I found my 5-gallon can of gasoline, an empty one-gallon can I bought for mixing fuel for the chainsaw, a 40-pound propane tank, and a duffel with all my freshly laundered underwear and socks, a few shirts and pairs of pants. Everything.

Instead of loading up, I went on over to their cabin to thank them. Keith and I spent some time chatting while he continued packing for their trip out while James headed out with a load. We talked for a while and then I excused myself and headed back. I put everything except the propane tank into the big cargo sled which I'd left down the hill since Thursday. I didn't even try to get all the way up. I stopped on a level spot just below where I'd stuck the machine the day before and hauled everything but the gasoline can up the hill by rope and the small sled again.

At that point I quit for a while, came indoors, had a can of soup and laid down for a nap. But my mind just kept working and I thought of all the little things I wanted to do to make things right. Soon I had risen to my feet and well-motivated accomplished the following over the next two hours:

·      Sorted all the food between the freezer and the cooler.

·      Wanting to bring up the gasoline can, I snowshoed down, but took my other yet-to-be-broken trail starting the process of packing it down to create a turning loop and no more getting stuck. Loaded the can into the sled and came up the same way I went down hauling about 50 pounds of sled and load and packing that part of the trail down more.

·      Snowshoed a trail along the uphill side of the house and dragged a ladder to where I could lay it up and reach the roof, not a big climb, believe me.

·      Shoveled what snow I could reach, then climbed up and shoveled off the ridge. (That generally helps to encourage the snow to slide off.)

·      In the process realized the snow was high enough near the house there was a possibility a heavy slab could slide off and fall back against the window next to my bed.

·      Dug out the bear board, slogged with it through the snow back to the window and nailed the board into place.

·      Made it back to the deck and sat in the sun until I realized, oh crap, I still have to get firewood. So off I go with another sled along the downhill side, load the sled and bring it back to throw the wood up onto the deck.

·      That done, I came indoors stoked the fire absolutely feeling like a restful peaceful evening. I live here again.

Starting on firewood tomorrow. Cutting wood to keep me warm next winter so I can be warm and comfortable while I cut wood for the following winter.

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A terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day that ended all right

The outhouse roof was clear when I left 2 weeks ago.

Early in the last century a woman named Annie Edson Taylor went over Niagara Falls in a barrel.That used to be a thing. Despite the destruction of a couple of test barrels, Annie decided she'd give it a try anyway. When they freed her from the barrel battered, bruised and bloody, but alive, Annie had these words of wisdom for the ages: "Nobody ought ever do that again." That's how I felt yesterday.

Returning to the East Pole after a couple of weeks taking care of business, I'd been warned by a couple of people there'd been a heavy snowfall in my absence. I've dealt with that before, even told a friend on facebook "I can only go and deal with what is." It's never been a problem before. It only meant going in I would have to leave my snowmachine and cargo sled out near the main trail and snowshoe in with what I could pull in a small sled. That happens all the time until I can get a trail up to the cabin put in.

What I encountered almost did me in. To begin with I had to snowshoe over a berm to get my outfit off the main trail which was only wide enough for one machine at a time. After beating down the berm on snowshoes I fired up the snowmachine and tried to blast my way as far as I could go. That turned out to be less than 100 yards. Then I had to hike back and pull the sled off the trail. With the machine stuck and the sled off the trail, I strapped on the snowshoes again and headed up the trail with my computer bag and a small backpack I carry everywhere I go. I didn't even get another hundred yards before discouragement. With every step when I lifted a snowshoe with a couple of feet of snow on it. I slogged along that way but didn't get far before I got the definite feeling I wouldn't make it. So, back to the snowmachine. At that point I was ready to give up. The first time I have ever considered on it doing this. My thought was I don't have to do this. Turn the machine around and go back. Come back in a week when everything is packed down better. There was only one problem. I couldn't get the machine turned around.

Breaking trail I had built up my own personal berms that required a lot of shoveling to make room to turn it. After several attempts with gains measured in inches I tried something else. I started it and put it in reverse thinking maybe I could back out. I got about 3 feet and stuck again. I did that two more times, in all gaining about 10 feet in the wrong direction. It began to dawn on me that I might be in trouble and every thing I had done so far was draining energy. I am an old guy, remember, be 78 this year with mild COPD. So I did something I learned from Iditarod musher Donna Massay years ago.

She had told me about losing her way on the Seward Peninsula. Realizing she needed to gather her thoughts, as she told me, she down and wrote it out in the snow, with a little help from a dog named Pup Pup. I have carried that phrase with me: "write it out in the snow." And that's what I did there, sitting on my stuck snowmachine looking at my useless snowshoes and a quarter mile uphill to the cabin. As I was "writing it out in the snow" another phrase came to mind that I had used in the past: "I am close enough I can crawl from here." And none of the choices were great, but the cabin despite the snow and climb was the closest haven.  If this was going to turn out all right, I had to make it to the cabin..

I set out on the missing trail  with only a bottle of Vita-Water in my pocket, slogging along in snow always over my knees and if I stepped off the old hard-packed trail from my previous time here, up to my hips. One step at a time, pushing snow with my knees I slogged up that trail. I never felt reduced to crawling but it went painfully slowly with lots of stops and at least two hits on my rescue inhaler. How long did it take? I have no idea. I had left the trailhead with the snowmachine a little after 1 p.m. When I finally made it into the cabin it was almost 6 p.m. I know the trip in takes about 40 minutes to an hour. That leaves about four hours spent on the trail from the main one to the cabin.

I always lay a fire in the woodstove before I leave the cabin. One match and I had a fire going. I sat here for a while, waiting to feel the heat. The indoor thermometer at the time read 14. At least it was on the plus side of zero. But slowly the temperature rose and by 8 it had reached 65. At that point I thawed a can of Dinty Moore beef stew, gradually started living here and went to sleep at my usual time around midnight.

First of all I slept soundly almost 8 hours which is a record for me these days. Over the morning as I watched the temperature rise outside, I had an Ensure and then a bowl of chicken noodle soup. Around noon it went to the mid double digits and I prepared to go back down and try to free the snowmachine and bring some vitals up. Among them a charger for my cell phone. (A separate one to leave at the cabin is on the next shopping list.) I strapped on another pair of snowshoes and headed down the hill pulling a sled holding a bigger shovel and a come-along. Much easier walking and I was able to stomp snow down and widen the trail as well. But the rope I'd brought wasn't long enough to reach the nearest usable tree, so I decided  to work on freeing the the machine the next day and focused on loading what I needed into the sled with a critical eye to keeping the load as light as possible. Then I headed back up the hill. I won't go into detail like the day before, but I had left the cabin around 12:30 and by the time I got back with my treasures the clock showed a few minutes after 4. It was easier, but not that much easier and after I fell pulling that sled up the last steep part of the trail, I crawled to the porch on my hands and knees. So there was some of that after all.

But tonight I can have one of those little round filet steaks with mashed potatoes and gravy, and best of all, I can now begin watching the fourth season of Game of Thrones. It's all about priorities. And there's this: Nobody ought ever do that again.
A note from a friend's experience: If you are looking for an experience that will temper your vanity, this is it. There's no one to impress when you're alone on the trap line. – Michael Carey quoting his father's journal

A NOTE FROM  DONNA MASSAY AFTER READING THIS: We’re never too old to add to the “survived adventure” list! But smaller challenges make very big adventures as we mature. Thanks for letting me know that “writing it in the snow” helped