Media frenzy, more bush skills and a truly shocking event

(Lou, Yukon)
We’ve been fortunate enough to be involved in a media project for the last couple of weeks, which has involved multiple people toing and froing and even camping at our property. We are unused to seeing so many people in one go and all got a bit dizzy with it. Neil has been stuffing his face with their exotic luxury food, I’ve been too excited to sleep and Homer’s forgotten all his training, who we are and probably his name again. 

Me and Homer getting dizzy with it

Snacks- brilliant!
I won’t say much about who visited at this stage which makes it all sound terribly exciting, like we have had MI6 here listening in on Putin. 
Thankfully it wasn’t MI6 as I can’t imagine the British civil service would have brought such nice biscuits. 

In fact, the food was so nice we were tempted to empty the squirrel’s winter stashes out from under the tree roots and stuff the holes with KitKats. 

Learning the river
Aside from snacks, we had the privilege of meeting folk who have been on the river a lot longer than us. As they had to stick around, they were unable to avoid our incessant questioning about boats, outboards, greasing snowmachines, hunting, guns, calling moose, chimneys and many other things that are integral to living in the bush and that we usually have to guess at. 

Yukon River at its best for our media friends

The most important information came from their boat driver who showed us exactly where to go on the river so we don’t rip off a $200 propeller every time we go to town. Like many people we meet here, he was quiet, humble and unassuming but with the most astounding breadth and depth of knowledge, skills and stories. So unlike all the super-serious Bear Grylls types you’d imagine the bush was full of when you see it on the telly.  

He brought us a wonderful book (“Yukon River” by Mike Rourke) with a hand-drawn map of this section of the river on which we were able to pencil the route of the deepest channel. We’ve added copious notes to ensure that we are able to stay on it until we get our depth sounder (which any sensible people would have done in the first place.) 

Damaged propeller, hung above the door as a reminder that the $100 we saved on a depth sounder has cost us a $200 prop already

We’ve packed the book with extra notes like “cross at the birch tree,” “hug the bank at the bluff” and “mid-river at quartz seam.” All extremely useful until you remember that birch, bluffs and quartz seams are fairly ubiquitous here and it all looks different when you come the other way. Still, so far so good and we are very grateful to him and the diligent Mr Rourke. 

Chaga
We also learnt about chaga, a cancerous-looking fungi that grows on birch trees. Another of our wonderful guests, also a fountain of knowledge about bush life, sold us on its astounding properties. Chaga’s supposedly packed full of antioxidants, helps with bad digestion, boosts the immune system and all manner of things. We have it growing all over so, as it’s here and it’s free, we tried some. You knock a chunk off the birch bough with the back of an axe, grind it and then boil the skanky looking black powder into a tea.

Chaga. Yum. Much better than a cup of Tetleys, I'll bet

The last mushroom tea I had tasted vile and made my head spin, to say the least. We were a bit sceptical. The only people we know who drink it are fundamental Christians who won’t touch tea or coffee on principal. Never trust people who won’t enjoy a decent cuppa to advise you on hot drinks. 

The truth is, it tastes…well, not bad. Almost quite nice or of nothing at all depending on how strong it is. Considering all the possible benefits, we are happy to persevere. 

Supernatural goings on
We’ve noticed that visitors from outside the bush tend to fret about washing and clean clothes. It becomes quite a frequent topic of conversation. We never quite know what to say and the response, “we only wash every week or two and change our clothes then,” doesn’t seem to sink in. Perhaps they think we are joking? (Surely they can smell us?)

Anyhow, these clever folk even made their own shower with a propane heater, battery and water pump. Neil and I shied away from such magical doings (“Hot water out of a tube with a tappy thing, it’s downright blasphemous and no mistake!”) We weren’t tempted until their last night. Although it’s chilly standing behind a tarp rigged around a few spruce poles next to the creek it was rather lovely. 

Shower during building process. Can’t say it got much more fancy

I think we’ve been spoilt rotten and along with chocolate digestives, brie cheese, beer and other such amazing things, we’ve had our heads turned a bit. Next project after moose hunting has to be an en-suite bathroom plus shower room in smart white ceramic with grey slate floor, I reckon. 

So moose hunting, still
Our guests were very keen to hear our moose calling. Or at least they said they were. Neil gave a few good blasts with his signature lonely lady moose call. Everyone was terribly impressed except the local bull population who are yet to investigate.

With our guests now departed it’s time to get back to it for real. Although they have generously left us such a glorious pile of food, we are wondering whether we really need to be up at the crack of dawn bellowing across the river. Perhaps we’ll just get on with the shower room extension and eat Hungarian salami?

It feels rather lonely now everyone’s gone. We’re thinking it was kind of fun to have lots of people around, eat nice things and get a bit pissed and maybe... fuck this wilderness rubbish. Why don’t we head back to London?

We change the name of this blog to BlockofflatsSELondonlife, pack our bags, shoot the dog and we’re off. 

Are we going grouse hunting?

There’s plenty of wildlife in Woolwich, so watch this space.

A shocking event
So, I wrote that last sentence two days ago and started tinkering around with photos to post. Homer began fussing outside, and so Neil went to see if maybe a boat was coming. He came running back in and said “I can hear a moose on the beach.”

We ran down and there was, indeed a moose on the beach.

And so, this-

We have our winter’s meat. And plenty for friends who didn’t get one.
I am, for once, speechless. I can’t think of anything to say right now and will have to come back to this in another post.