Behind the ice wall

The river broke up on May 9^th. After weeks of watching and waiting it tried to sneak out on us when we were in bed. 

The day before, crazy caribou out for a stroll, deep channels of water at the side

Luckily Neil’s bladder isn’t all that and he had to get up at 4am for a pee. “The river’s breaking up!” he shouted as he ran back in. You know when you’d just rather be asleep? “Oh for heaven’s sake,” I said putting on my wellies and grabbing the camera. We have 24 hour daylight now, as far as I can tell, so at least we were able to see it and film it.

All the drama at 4am, icebergs breaking apart

Here’s a very exciting compilation from the moment Neil ran back out the door into the yard, to later the next day when there must have been a jam upriver and it cleared for a bit. There is some foul mouthed and inarticulate 4am commentary from us to enjoy too (“Wow! Look!” etc)

Perhaps because break up happened late in the year and the ice was beginning to rot, it seemed to flow out in one smooth rush. 

It was all rather leisurely as we sipped our morning coffee, perched on camping chairs on the bank, and watched it go by in a swishing and swirling parade. 

On the creek. Frost marks the high water mark and ducks collected at the mouth

We saw massive chunks, the size of football pitches and the water surged high up the bank at first, but soon there was just one long stream of bobbing, crumpled ice. The ducks were most put out and congregated at the mouth of our creek, quacking their dismay.

Our beach under there, somewhere

Unbeknownst to us the ice that was being pushed up on our shore was gradually forming a solid wall of silty ice concrete, over 15 foot high in places. 

Bottom of our trail

It reached from the water’s edge right to the bank, a distance of maybe 30 or 40 feet. It stretches all the way along the river frontage of our property. 

Ice wall across river too

So whilst all our friends are putting their boats in and getting on with their lives, me and Neil are sitting around drinking rum cocktails, swatting flies and watching the country spring back into life. It’s tough, but we’re coping.

From across the creek. Ice-free beach but we can't get the boat to it. 

We have roused ourselves to get on with a few jobs. We have peeled all the logs we gathered to build our workshop so they won’t rot in the time it will take us to get started. 

Using a cant hook to move 20' logs like it's no big deal

The bark holds moisture in so it’s best to get it off if you’re intending to store them for a decade or so, which is probably what will happen. We need 50. We have 30, but looking at them up off the snow I can see they are mostly banana-shaped. This will be a severe architectural challenge.

Peeling bark with a draw knife

Perhaps we’ll build a Celtic Round House. Not many of those in northern Canada, I’ll bet. I expect we can get a grant.

Neil in the background pulling a log onto the pile with rope puller and bridle

We have also laid our new insulated floor, or as much of it as we can as we have run out of plywood, so we still have a split-level thing going on in the house. I didn’t bring enough in the autumn and we simply couldn’t contemplate trying to get it here by snowmachine over the winter. I’ve tried moving 8’x4’ boards on a sled before and it would be faster and less frustrating to try hauling dry sand in a fishing net. Running out of things you need is one of the joys of living in the bush. More time to sit and watch the world go green, glass in hand.

Doing laundry at the creek, ice still intact and water flowing over the top.

Homer, our cautiously minded husky, likes the new insulated floor about as much as he likes his new house. Not much. We tempted him onto it but he was so vexed by the new smell and funny creaking noise of the poly-board he then daren’t step off. The creature is a total freak. 

We did get him to go into the new house we built for him, briefly. We were very mean and I’m not afraid to admit it. “Shall we do some target practise and clean the rifle while we’ve got free time?” I asked Neil. A thought occurred to both of us at the same time. Not to shoot at Homer until he goes in, no, but he is very scared of guns. 

The Refusenik

We’d need to chain him up, obviously, and where could he hide except in his new house as the rifle shots cracked through the air? I fired two shells and ran over to see if he’d gone in before I even checked the target. Bullseye. Look at that-

As is perhaps becoming apparent, we’ve spent a lot of time sitting around. The river has been still for so long we’re mesmerised by its suddenly coming back to life. 

The change of just a few hours is so astounding that I’m now waiting for the mountains to rise up, shake off any loose rock and march off to Alaska too. You can almost see the plants growing. The birch leaves popped, not overnight but in minutes. 

We went down to the river, leaving them decked in tight emerald buds and came back 20 minutes later to find the yard alight with the brightest pea-green foliage. 

In two days, the hills opposite have gone from tawny brown to a vivid green as if someone has swept a watercolour wash over them. From a nighttime low of -30c at the end of March, 6 weeks later we hit +25c in the sun.

Watch out ladies! No need for this. Washing in the creek at +25c

The yard is hopping with birds, tweeting, chirping, warbling away through 24 hours of daylight. They don’t stop. God knows how they ever get any rest. 

North American robin. Much larger than the British robin, like everything else here.

My favourites so far are the little juncos, too shy for me to get a good picture, they make a cheep-cheep sound as they skip through the undergrowth like two bits of polystyrene being rubbed together.

Osprey or Eagle. Not sure. Again, very big and landed in the yard.

Woodpecker on the outhouse

The bears are back. We watched a small black bear nibbling willow buds across the river, a pleasantly safe distance away. After some kerfuffle with Homer barking in the yard last night, we found grizzly tracks across the creek which felt rather too close. Hopefully it was just moving through. 

On the sturdy ice bridge over the creek

The world is on fast forward and we are dumbly stumbling after it, trying to keep up. Yesterday we took a walk downriver, crossing this massive chunk if of ice that formed a bridge across the creek. It was at least 3 foot thick and would hold for ages. No. It collapsed in the hour we were out and we had skip over it to get back. 

Ice bridge collapsed, view from the top

View from the creek

The only thing that is going slowly is the ice wall. We’ve had to put down our cocktails and help it along. We were supposed to be in town this week but we’ve had to cancel. Neil has a meeting at the end of May and the melting is so slow we are actually getting worried we may not have the boat in by then. 

Chopping our way out

Hour later. Not a huge amount of progress

There is not a huge amount we can do, just tap at the ice with a pick axe and hope for warm weather. And truth be told, we’re not trying too hard. It is rather pleasant sitting behind an ice wall on our camping chairs and sipping rum cocktails.

Ice rots into shards called Candle Ice and falls into the silt with a tinkle. Perfect for cocktails

By the next blog we will have run out of rum, got the boat in the water and be thrusting ourselves back into the mainstream of life again to get 8 x 4’s and insect repellent, you see if we don’t.