East Pole Journal

expotition

As I prepare for another trip to the Bush for the winter, I thought an explanation of place might be in order. The East Pole is mentioned often on this blog. It is the name I have given to place where I built a cabin in the Alaska Bush and visit as often as is possible. Why an expotition to the East Pole? An explanation for those who need one: When I first went to look over this land I had purchased we started in Talkeetna and headed due east. It was only natural that this interchnge in Winnie the Pooh came up. It is also the reason for what looks like a spelling error in the title. It was, however, it was written and spoken in the Pooh books, and also seemed natural for us to mount an expototion to the East Pole.

The East Pole winter of 2019-20

OK, here is the real quote from "Winnie-the-Pooh" (the real one)

"(Pooh) had had a tiring day. You remember how he discovered the North Pole; well, he was so proud of this he asked Christopher Robin if there were any other Poles such
that a Bear of Little Brain could discover.

“There’s a South Pole,” said Christopher Robin, “and I expect there’s an East Pole and a West Pole, though people don’t like talking about them.”

"Pooh was very excited when he heard this, and suggested they should have an expotition to discover the East Pole but Christopher Robin had thought of something else to do with Kanga, so Pooh went out to discover the East Pole himself."

-- A. A. Milne (Did you know his brother CC is buried in Dillingham?)

The East Pole Journal

The Last First Snow

In past years the snow brought optimistic thoughts of adventure at the East Pole. This year, eh, not so much.

     

A rare visitor, a pine marten.

This year looking out the window as I think about it, I guess my feeling is sad more than anything. For the past seven years snow meant beginning that obligatory Alaska exercise: getting ready. Lists of supplies to be purchased, equipment to be tested, food to be obtained separated into what could freeze and what shouldn’t. By this time I would already have had the shop look over my snowmachine for the coming season. And then there was the trip to the bookstore with a couple of hundred dollars in my pocket to purchase the winter’s supply of reading material.

But time and circumstance have caught up with me and this is the first year since 2014 I am not going to the cabin for the whole winter and the first year since 1986 I have no plan to go out at all. Last year I expected to go but then life got in the way and changed in a major way. I had already gathered some of what I would have needed and then didn’t go.

This year there isn’t even any planning or preparing, I am not going out for the winter. I might be

First snow 2022

able to make a trip in March. And in a few days I am going to have one of those terrifying birthdays with a “O” in it.

So, as I look out the window today at the first snow, I don’t feel energized, I guess what I feel mostly is sadness especially as I look over the winter gear in my storage room gathering dust perhaps never to be employed again: clothing, boots, snowshoes, chain saws, yes, firearms, trail survival pack, the SPOT locater, emergency tool kit for the snowmachine and more and more and more,

Snow is falling and I perceive it this year as a problem, not an opportunity and freedom. I will miss the solitude, the animals and birds, North America’s tallest mountain in the picture window, the life. I am thankful for the blog posts I made over the years so at least I can reminisce and perhaps relive some of those moments,

East Pole Journal

Laundry day at the East Pole. 3/29/21 (I ran out of quarters for the dryer.)

About cheating death

The day before I left the East Pole for the season I hauled a sled full of stuff out to the trailhead. Among the items in it, the chainsaw lay strapped right on top. Taking it out for some servicing. The sun shined fuzzily through a hazy sky that day and the trail ran hard and fast.

So, comes the big day. Lots to do before leaving but with all the chores done and the sled loaded again, I took one last look around the cabin making sure I didn't forget anything. Fire laid ready for a match when I return. Check Moth balls between the windows and the bear boards to discourage bruintrusions. Check. Cell antenna brought indoors, check. Propane shut off and disconnected, check. and on and on. Toward the end of that survey my gaze fell on the little collapsible Swede saw I used to carry on my snowmachines but don't anymore.

Nah, I thought.

Out the door, locked, tested. one more check outdoors and off we go into a thick snowfall of wet heavy snow. (Later I recalled I forgot to bring in the bird feeder. A bear destroyed the last one, so I had better buy a replacement for next winter just in case it happens again.)

On my way and the machine/sled combination seemed sluggish. After just about a mile I had added a load of snow to what already felt like a maximum load. Looking back all I could see was snow, It covered the load and added maybe 50 pounds. The previous day on the return trip the machine had kicked so much of that wet snow into the sled I couldn't even tip it over; I had to shovel it out. Because of that I had covered this load with a tarp but it didn't help much. Every so often I had to stop and flip as much snow off the load as I could.

But that paled with the next difficulty; 

Two trees had blown down across the trail. I encountered a small birch first, the thickest bunch of its branches hiding trail, Just past that a larger spruce blocked the trail. They had me stopped wondering how I was going to get out of this mess. My mind flashed to that chain saw in the truck out at the trailhead. Then I fantasized that little Swede saw a mile or so behind me in the cabin. Neither would be much help now. The high berms along the trail discouraged an attempt to go around them. I tried driving over the birch but one ski went under and the other went over the main trunk. I backed up. I walked ahead and looked at the spruce which was bigger but had gone deeper into the snow of the trail. It looked like I could drive over that one if only I could get around the birch. I tried lifting it and pushing it off and it moved but when I let go it snapped back into place. Then I got the idea to try to trample the brushy part, that looked pretty good; jumping up and down on it even lowered the trunk a little so I might be able to get both skis over it.

I got a good running start at it and aimed for the smallest branches. Woo Hoo I got over them, and then there was no stopping, With a head of steam up, I aimed the machine at the low part of the spruce and crashed over it, in the process bringing a tangle of branches in the grill, tangles in the skis and even some in the track. However, I was past the obstruction and once I'd removed the detritus from the machine headed on to the destination. At the trailhead, the snow stopped and the roads from there on were dry. It was like Nature had to take one last lick at me before letting go. I hope I am welcomed back next winter into a kinder atmosphere. After the fact I posted on facebook that I had cheated death one more time.

Obviously nothing in this story was death-defying. As a matter of fact in the rare adventures that could have ended that way, I haven't said it. So, here's what's about cheating death. When I ran a tour boat, every day on our return, once the crew had tied off the boat, I always said, "cheated death one more time.' It was meant to be humorous. It was meant to kid the people who had been a little apprehensive about riding on a boat in the ocean. But in my own head it was also an homage to the natural powers that be for allowing me another safe voyage, and acknowledging where the power actually resided.

More recently I have used it to tell people who expressed some concern about something I have been doing that things came out all right.

SATURDAY, APRIL 11, 2020

East Pole Journal April 11, 2020: I split the chopping block today

The focus of this picture is on what's not in it.

That's the symbolic end of the firewood gathering for the season. All told, two cords of birch, half a cord of spruce and that should do it to keep me warm next winter while I cut wood for the following year. (I keep repeating that as if there should be some lesson to be learned from it.) Anyway, to be honest there are two more chopping blocks out there but they have been driven so deeply into the snow I can't find one and the other is at least three feet down and frozen in. I will find them in the summer or early next winter.

Unfortunately this celebration also has to mark the end of the season at the East Pole for me this winter. The forecast has rain and snow in it; the extended forecast, only rain. Time to bug out.

It's been an odd winter. After several relatively warm ones, this one had a long cold spell. In a way it was easier and in a way more difficult. My plan to come in early for a short period and put in trails, then go out and make my major supplies purchase and be able to get them up to the cabin in one shot worked for the most part, no frozen eggs or milk. Plus less wear and tear on me having to haul stuff up by hand. But then I had to go out for a couple of weeks to do some business and it snowed more than three feet while I was gone. I had one of the worst days ever coming up my trail. See The terrible, horrible, no-good, very-bad day for an account of it.

After that the weather grew progressively more pleasant. Days and days in a row of bright sun and temperatures in the 30s and 40s going at night down into the teens or single digits, just about perfect. If that weather would only last I could stay here until Covid-19 is just a memory. I may come back anyway and try to make it in summer, we shall see. My housing situation has changed and I have to find a place to live as soon as I get out so the next few weeks should be interesting.

Here it is.

I had been thinking of a travel trailer and going vagabond for a while, but they won't let anyone into Canada so travel Outside is out. It might even be tough in Alaska. All the music festivals I had thought of going to have been cancelled. I thought this might be the year I make it to Burning Man or Coachella, but I guess not now. There are usually a couple in Alaska too, Salmonfest for one and one in Chicken, the town that was supposed to be named Ptarmigan but no one knew how to spell that. We shall see.

Anyway that's a wrap on this winter and seriously not looking forward to spring. I don't mind isolation at all living here but out there where there are things to do that involve lots of people, well, it isn't going to be a good year for any of that. Isolation in a crowd is no fun at all.

The East Pole Journal

Love in the time of Covid-19

I searched my mind and the cabin for 

someting I could use for a mask. This is

the best I could come up with. The face 

covering was tucked and zippered into the

 earflap of this hat I bought on impulse at 

REI.  It's stretchy, so snug. What do you

 think?

April 5, 2020

As the time grows closer to leave the East Pole for the year, I've been doing a lot of thinking about how the world has changed since I came out here in early December. Of course the biggest thing is the Covid - 19 business. I listen carefully to what people say on the news or on reliable internet sites and I think I have a handle on how to act in the new world. One part of it demands quite a change in attitude for most people and myself in particular. When there have been mobile diseases in the past I think most of us, and me for sure, have overlooked consideration for the other guy. I think we mostly protected ourselves and while maybe paying lip service to our own fault in spreading the flu, I doubt most people give that much thought as they get their flu shots and go about their business. This time the emphasis is on spreading the disease to the other guy as much as it is an attempt to protect ourselves.

Being isolated in the woods like this, I haven't had to deal with it either way. I've only spent any time with two people out here and that was more than three weeks ago and no symptoms. I did make a couple of shopping trips and tried to be careful. I didn't notice many people wearing masks or gloves but I did notice people attempting to keep some distance from others. Those were more than two weeks ago. Still nothing.

Now, looking ahead, I am what they call elderly at the age of 77 so I am considered susceptible even though I am in excellent health and after a winter out here in some of the best physical shape of my life. My doctor calls me a fine specimen. But I suppose I have to consider age susceptibility. I never get the flu, and least haven't for more years than I can remember so I don't bother with the shot. And, for the most part living alone and seldom going out in public except for food and mail I don't feel much danger as long as I take some measure of preparation.

But it's about those others, the ones who face greater danger than I do and I think I am going to go mask and gloves more for them than for me. For example I have a friend who is now enduring treatment for a serious form of cancer and that means chemo. And, chemo means a compromised immune system. He wrote on facebook the other day that he had to go to a store for food. He went early in the morning and encountered only a few others in the store. But, among as I recall maybe 20 others, only one wore a mask and one other wore gloves. He wrote in anger. Maybe all those people feel strong enough to go without protection my friend rightfully so thought those people were taking chances with his life too. The inconsiderate were actually threatening people more likely to be infected.

Then there's the case of my friend Joe May.

Joe May is one of the toughest and most interesting people anyone could hope to meet. He grew up on the tugboats and ore ships of the Great Lakes. He fought as a young Marine in Korea. After coming to Alaska he won the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race and ran the Yukon Quest, another thousand-mile race. He went on to sail the big oceans with his wife for several years before returning to Alaska and taking up residence in a place called Trapper Creek, a widespread community of cabins more than 100 miles north of Anchorage. 

He has faced so many dangers and so many hardships in his adventures even he can't remember them all and he has faced them with a scholar's attitude and subtle down home humor. He might tell you how he packed his sled for a trip in Greenland, along the way explaining Mawson's mistake when he and his crew almost died in Antarctica in the early part of the last century. When asked to write about sled dogs he went back to their roots in Siberia long before any of them set a paw on North American soil. Along the way he has met some pretty tough challenges and one way or another survived them all.

Now, Joe at the age of 84, is facing a danger and a difficulty over which he has no control. Like most of us who are aging he endures some serious health problems, but takes them with good humor. Then this Corona virus came along and it's something out of our reach. We older folks have been designated as particularly susceptible to the virus and we're told that we need to take extra care about interactions with other people no matter how tough we think we are. Living as isolated as we do, that shouldn't be difficult unless others don't adhere to the same social distancing rules. 

They endanger all of us but if the health officials are to be believed they are a particular danger to the aging. Here we are in Alaska with its low population and living away from the busier centers where we may be less susceptible but it only takes one careless person to reach out and touch us; still we see people in pictures crowding beaches, supposedly religious leaders still holding services for thousands of people with no regard to the dangers they present to themselves and others. And as Joe points out in a message he sent a neighbor, even our friends ignore the warnings. Joe sent me the following today:

            I made a trip out into the neighborhood today and was stunned. People were standing around, nose to nose in casual conversations or asshole to elbow in the store. I wore a mask and gloves and was stared at like some sort of freak.

            At first I was depressed and then got angry. If these fools want to kill themselves and each other, well, that's their business...but I get resentful when they put Sandra and myself at risk. I want to live long enough for some fishing this summer. All it will take is one infected person out there to turn this place into a Brevig Mission kind of Petri dish. Be careful.

Joe

So as I contemplate moving from this neighborhood to that other one, I have all this to consider about how to function in this brave new world. I know one thing, I plan to be much more conscious of that other person I come in contact with and do what I can to protect them from me. And I can only hope others will show me the same consideration.

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 up on the roof in case it slid under me. From that height 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 around 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 but 15 this morning and supposed to be cold the next few. All to the good.

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

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.

FRIDAY, MARCH 13, 2020

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 Gentry 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 at 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.

Labels: Alaska bush, Alaska trails, East Pole, snowmachines

East Pole Journal February 8, 2020: If a tree falls in the woods …

Take a look at these two pictures. They show essentially the same scene, Denali from the cabin window. Do you notice something in the photo on the left is missing from the one on the right? If you guessed the oddly shaped tree, give yourself a nickel. The treetop which I call the seahorse tree because it looks like one of those little critters is missing.

Where oh where did that big tree go? I have thought at times I would try to find it and then ask the owners if I could cut it down for them so I could have a clear view of the mountain. It's in just about every photo I've made of the mountain over the years and had reached the nuisance point. I bet the owners would have jumped at the chance for someone to take that tree out if they could have seen into the future.

You see, I found it. Generally over the winter I check on a cabin across the main trail from mine, just to make sure it's all right, no broken windows, animal invasions, no strange changes. This year there was one. That tree. There it was leaning against my friends' cabin, about a third of it on the roof. It must have been blown down in one of the few wind storms we have here, perhaps weakened by an infestation of spruce beetles.

Seahorse tree is no more than firewood now, as soon as somebody moves it.

The owner I am closest with lives Outside now and I try to send her a picture of it every winter. It looks like someone else was in there and attempted to remove the tree. There's some kind of a safety line strung from it to another tree nearby and some of the branches up on the roof have been removed. It's a sensitive task for sure.

So, the end result? I can now have a treeless photo of the mountain, but, since I realized it, Denali has been hidden by clouds that have been dumping a lot of snow over the entire countryside between here and there. And, NO, Sue, I did NOT cut it down. LOL

And, speaking of snow

I think it's enough already when you clear your deck and you have to throw the snow uphill.






The East Pole Journal

Labels: alaska, Alaska bush, Alaska life

East Pole Journal February 5, 2020: Life on a hillside

 The view downhill. Lower left is the pile of wood waitng to
be split. The snowmachine is about where it got stuck and
the remaining wood is down the hill to the right.

I have some pretty good trails around the cabin by this time in winter and that makes walking easier.

Still it's a hillside, steep enough that if you lean even a little the wrong way, especially if you are carrying something heavy, you are likely to tip over, or find yourself skiing down the hill or, worse, running, or falling face first into the snow. A day seldom gets by where I don't shout epithets at the cursed hill even though most days with the trail good and some traction from boots getting around is fairly simple. This week, we've had maybe 4 inches of snow over the past couple of days and that makes all those easy walking spots slippery (worse in the steeper parts where you really need traction to move uphill or slow yourself going down) and just that little bit of snow obliterates the border between hard-packed snow of the trail and the almost-waist-deep snow one step off it. Given that background here's how my day went. Mind you snow fell the whole time this was going on.

Accomplished:

Gathered enough snow to produce water to wash dishes with.

Two sled loads of firewood in the round brought up to the splitting yard in the large sled. (3x7)

Two smaller sled loads (2+ x5) split and placed in the woodpile under the house for next year.

One smaller sled load split and put on the deck to burn.

One smaller sled load of seasoned birch and spruce brought from under the house to the deck for the next couple days.

Difficulties overcome

Slipped and fell at least five times.

Slipped and skidded but eventually maintained balance too many times to count.

Stepped off the trail into deep snow three times at least (several uncountable while attending to the next item).

Got snowmachine stuck when it, too slid off the trail into deep snow and had to use a comealong to get it out.

Repaired the trail filling the hole the snowmachine made sliding off it. About half an hour of shoveling and stomping.

Soaked three pairs of gloves and one pair of mittens.

Duration: about four hours.

Early on when I first started living here more or less full time, people used to ask me what I did all day. I didn't really have an easy answer. I would say live, explaining that everything you do in the normal course of living in a house, takes longer in the woods. You don't just turn on the hot water faucet to wash the dishes (imagine one of those electric dishwashers), you have to draw water somewhere. I have found I can keep up melting snow. But when I was married and my wife came out, I ended up having to buy five-gallon containers and go a couple of miles to a creek that runs through the winter and fill four of those containers every three days or so to keep up with her usage. Then of course you have to heat it somehow and finally you can wash your dishes. Now, for heat. Those two sled loads I put under the house today toward next year, given they are spruce (which burns faster than my favored birch) they might last four days if I am conservative with it. No thermostat to turn up when it gets cold. Now multiply that by every single thing you do in a regular house and you get the idea. What do I do all day? Live.

Birds update

I've been seeing a few more redpolls these days but only a couple at a time. Not the big hordes of the past. And there's this. The chickadees have all but emptied the second 40-pound bag of sunflower seeds this winter so I have to go out tomorrow and head for the store.

But then there's the view of Denali.

The East Pole Journal

A COMMENT FROM FACEBOOK: Betty Sederquist Ha ha, you should be all settled into the Pioneers’ Home, all cozy. It would leave more time for writing. You could reminisce with others about the difficulties of hauling water. But I know that will never happen.

Labels: alaska, Alaska winter, East Pole

East Pole Journal February. 2, 2020, Signs of Spring

Does this mean six more weeks of winter?

     I'm not one of those people who spends all winter complaining and anxious for spring. In fact,

only six more weeks of winter is not enough and I am hoping for eight. Still I don't want to be one of those people who takes a holier-than-thou attitude just because I thrive in winter and others thrive in warmer seasons.  This is me; that is you, and that is just fine.

The sun lights up the angry bluebird in the window.

     I do enjoy the changes in season, though. A year-long winter would be too much as would a year-long summer. So as the year progresses I like noticing the little signs of the change. My next seasonal indicator is spring's first kiss. That usually happens in February where one sunny day you are driving south and sunlight is coming through the car window and you feel the warmth on your cheek for the first time in that year. Some years it touches me outdoors working as well. It hasn't happened here yet, but today some other signs of the coming spring became very obvious. I hope you have seen some too.

And of course there's a ton of firewood to gather — literally, a ton…at least.

Labels: alaska, Alaska life, Alaska winter, East Pole, seasons, Spring

East Pole Journal January 29, 2020

First new firewood of the year.

     Not a whole lot to report, mostly housebound by low temperatures for a couple of weeks now. But after weeks of below zero weather, the temperature yesterday rose to plus 29. It's supposed to be almost that warm today then back down near zero again by the weekend. Enough weather, although I am taking advantage.

Let the woodcutting begin

     Last year because of deteriorating weather I had to leave a couple of weeks earlier than I had planned. As a result I didn't get as much firewood in as I had expected and now I am seeing myself running short this year. I have a supply of seasoned birch but I'm not sure it will last to the end of March, so I have been picking out beetle-killed spruce which should be dry enough to burn. Today I took down a huge one and even got some of it up the house and split. I wanted to at least get it down as I might have to leave to take care of a disaster at the other house. I always leave a little water running to prevent the pipes from freezing, but when I got my electric bill it was half what I usually see and I'm afraid it's because the well pump hasn't been running. A power outage could have killed my flow of water long enough for the pipes to freeze. The landlady went out there yesterday but couldn't make her key work to get inside. She did assure me no water was on the floor anywhere that she could see through the window. So, I had to explain again that there should have been water running out of the kitchen faucet. Back out there today but I can't be sure yet because the Internet is not letting me see my Ring video right now.       Oh, but there are days the medicine does work. When that spruce came down it took a fairly sizable birch with it that has plenty of firewood in it too. Tomorrow I will either be cutting more firewood or driving to town to take care of frozen pipes. So it goes.
Burning the new wood

I split a little bit of what I cut. Plugged in the fancy moisture meter: 19.2 percent moisture. It burns though, but slower and doesn't generate the normal BTUs, at least it feels that way. At any rate it will help me stretch my meager wood pile with some left over for next year. In full firewood mode now.

About that moose

     The pregnant moose has moved on. She hasn't been heard from in the past couple of weeks.

About birds

     Still dozens of chickadees around but this week five redpolls showed up, the first of the year. 

Then, yesterday this female hairy woodpecker came by to pick some beetles out of another spruce. I don't want to take that one down because the chickadees roost there and also flee to cover in it when a predator comes around the feeder.

The East Pole Journal

Labels: alaska, Alaska birds, East Pole, firewood

East Pole Journal January 13, 2020

The East Pole maternity ward is open

This is the primary suspect in the case of the noise in the thicket.

A couple of weeks ago I wrote about something crashing around in the brush at the bottom of the hill. Well, it is still going on. On a cycle of two or three days I have heard it regularly since then, sometimes in the middle of the night and sometimes during the day. A thick stand of climax birch trees blocks the view from the house or deck and even when I move, I have yet to see it. I am leaving it be. No sense disturbing moose in the middle of winter when they need every bit of energy they can muster just to stay alive. Still, a visual confirmation would be pleasant. Later in the day I heard loud cracking a few hundred yards to the east from where all the others emanated, but still within hearing distance (to state the obvious). And then, here she comes, moving back from west to east, back to her original thicket, and oh boy, is she pregnant. Look at that belly. Shortly after I took the picuture she moved into the thickest part of the undergrowth and laid down. I can't see her now but I know right where she was.

Temperatures rising

For the past couple of weeks the temperatures have been well below zero. Not quite as bad as some other places, I mean, I didn't see anything like 50 below friends in Fairbanks have been experiencing or even 20+ below at the other end of my trail near Talkeetna. The coldest it went here was 17 below one night but stayed pretty much in the teens-below for the two weeks at least. I had planned to go out sometime in that period because I was running low on a few things, but I wasn't interested in driving around on a snowmachine at 20 below, nor could I expect my truck to start. After all the truck had been sitting there unused for almost a month. Toward the end of last week the forecast called for warming, so I prepared for a quick dash. Saturday night I ate the last Oreo cookie and Sunday morning I had the last Excedrin pill. Fortunately Sunday it was +2 here and a balmy +7 in Talkeetna and I had hitched up and loaded the cargo sled the day before so I headed out. With the temperature somewhat above zero, the truck gave one little groan, then fired right up. So, great when all your machines work on the same day. (At the end of the day I even solved a problem with the generator.) By the end of the day I had restocked the vitals I needed and made it back no problem. All is well again at the East Pole. Oh  measure of how the cold spell had affected things around here. I had to try a third place before I could find some bottles of the gasoline additive Heat.

Robin Hood and Little John

There's one spot on the trail where it crosses a fairly large creek which even when frozen has overflow on it. Most years once it freezes it is all right to cross, but after breaking through that ice several years ago, if I have any doubts at all I use a bridge our group built a few years back. It's narrow, only wide enough to accommodate a snowmachine or four-wheeler. So yesterday though I could see some folks had crossed the ice it looked a little shaky to me despite that spate of cold weather so I drove up onto the bridge. About a third of the way across  (we're talking about 20 or 30 feet here) I noticed I was following fresh moose tracks. So what would I do if I met a moose on the bridge? Immediately my mind went to the fable of Robin Hood and Little John where both wanted to cross a small bridge and they fought it out with staves. (When's the last time you saw the word "staves?) Robin eventually knocked the bigger man off the bridge much to the amazement of those watching and a legend was born. So, if a moose challenged me for the bridge, um, last I looked, no staves. I don't usually carry a firearm in winter and I also didn't have a sword or dagger, not even a pocket knife. I might have had a box cutter in the tool bag I always carry. Prudence would say avoid the confrontation and let the moose do what it wanted, after all it would be larger than someone named Little John. Later, driving back I wondered if I rushed at the moose and tried to knock it off the bridge if that would work. It would certainly surprise the moose, but I could also envision both of us going off the bridge tangled together and breaking through the ice into the water below. Mostly in the future  I will stop before driving onto the bridge and take a good look at the surrounding woods for any sign of moose wanting the bridge before I can get off it. I have always done that, but I will take a little more time with it from now on. Thoughts along the trail are fun, don't you think?

For the birds

It's been a strange year for birds and it's not just here. The only birds I've seen all winter are chickadees and one magpie that comes by ever so often. No redpolls, no Pine grosbeaks, no woodpeckers and none of the predatory birds that occasionally show up. I've seen a raven fly over now and then, but that's about it. I was talking with a friend who lives about 10 miles away as the crow flies (if there were any crows.) and he has observed the same general pattern. For all we've read about climate change and bird populations declining, this looks pretty scary. But, there are cycles and redpolls change their migration patterns all the time, so maybe it's just this odd year. Let's hope.

Back when I was an editor (they say once you are you never aren't)

Is there a broadcast news reader or a news writer anywhere who can refer to a prior year without using "back in," as in "back in 1998?" Those are two wasted words, probably filler so the broadcasters feel more creative or at least use their whole minute. You can say "in 1998" and it means the same thing without the flourish. We get it that 1998 is back in the past. I should be in charge. Seriously. LOL.

A couple of comments from facebook:

Joe May: We had five of them in the yard at one time today. Eating shrubs, lilac bushes,a Siberian Pea tree, and the Mugo pines. Last summer it was the neighbors cows on the lawn every week, now it's moose.
I don't begrudge the animals a meal, especially the wild ones, but it seems now they're bringing all their friends and relatives to dinner.

        Gretchen Small: same here with birds.....lots of chickadees, downy and hairy woodpeckers, a few magpies, and a few ravens   and a pair of boreal owls.    no redpolls, crossbills, grosbeaks, siskins, or nuthatches at all.   but several black backed woodpeckers which i have not seen in years.  last summer's birds were of fewer species also

It's everywhere. Check out this thread on the Birds of Alaska facebook page