Intrepid, and not so intrepid, trail blazers of the Yukon
(Lou, Yukon)
We put in a trail across the river last week. How do we know if the ice is safe? We walk on to it, hit it with an axe, and wait to see if we plunge through. Yes, really. We’re clever folk out here in the bush.
It’s hard to improve on this process as you’ve got to go on to the ice to test it. My best idea so far is, get your husband to walk ahead carrying the axe because “my arms are a bit tired” and have him do it.
We can make a fairly good judgement about where to go. We don’t have any open water (leads) in front of the house and, as the river stopped in a huge jagged mess, we know most of the ice is safe.
If it is “jumbled” it will be thick, maybe 20’ eventually, as the chunks of ice are piled on to each other. Also opaque ice is usually thicker, older. The places to test are flat areas with black ice as they may be recently frozen.
We chip our way across them with the axe, cutting down to at least 3 inches. If water comes up, panic, push your husband in front of you, turn tail and run for your life. Throw the dog behind you for good measure. That was my plan anyway.
We’d had a week at -26C since the river stopped so were fairly confident it would be well frozen. Homer was not. He would not join us. He sat on the bank like a nervous aunt and howled and fretted. “Aaa-ooo-they are walking to their deaths and I do not knoaooow where they keep the kibble ooooh naaaoooo!”
He kept this up for the full hour or so it took it us to get across and back. We were welcomed with a rapturous display that would not have disappointed Shackleton on his return from Antarctica.
The following day we took maul axes and started to smash in a trail that we can use for our snowmachine. We get firewood across the river in an area that burned some decades ago. There are dead-standing, completely dry spruce trees which make grade A firewood. So there is a reason for this insanity not just a desperation to go “somewhere else.” Though that’s part of it. We haven’t been a more than a couple of miles from home since early October.
We tempted Homer to join us this time. He doesn’t like ice but we had trained him to walk on the frozen creek and on the ice shelf before the river stopped. Homer is eager to please and likes his food so a handful of kibble and lots of praise go a long way with him.
We’ve already trained him to enjoy being shut in his pen (or, more accurately, penitentiary) by exploiting his kibble habit. We’ll need to leave him in it for long periods if ever we can attempt the journey to town.
He was just about convinced to give the river crossing a go as our scent was already on the trail. His approach was a kind of low, spread-eagled dash. It was like watching very old silent film footage of a gecko trying to negotiate a rope bridge.
We stuck willows in the ice to mark our trail. You’d think we’d know where it was but the ice is a mess of boulders and ridges that look like someone has taken an axe to them in every direction. Our trail is only marginally flatter, and once it snows and blows there will be no finding it.
The crossing will need a lot more snow to make it smoother or we’ll be bouncing our teeth out of our heads on the snowmachine.
Trails and tribulations
60 miles south and in another world, the river is still open below the Klondike at Dawson City. We have no idea how good the ice is north to Forty Mile, although we know the river has stopped there. Friends tell us it is still open further on. So we still don’t know if we’ll be getting to town this year.
We are working on a walking/snow shoe trail up the creek behind us, in to the hills. Our Alaskan friends will try to leave a snowmachine for us in the mountains on Christmas Day, that’s if the mountain trail isn’t drifted in with snow. The hopeful plan is, we walk to the machine and spend Christmas with them. It’s about a 3½ hour walk, if we don’t hit overflow (where pressure forces the creek to flow over the ice rather than under it). Then at least an hour’s drive by snowmachine, about 30 miles in total, so it will be quite the Christmas expedition for us.
However, Neil has the promise of a roast dinner so we will have to endure, even if it is 50 below and I lose a foot to frostbite on the way.
I cannot blame him. I woke this morning thinking about a pub. Not a nice pub, just a local boozer near our flat in SE London. We’ve never even been in it. Why did we not go in when we had the chance? I mused. Most likely because, in the summer the “beer garden” at the front is resplendent with tattered bunting, sour people puffing on fags, screaming kids in prams and mean faced dogs tied to the railings (or some other combination of the above things). So we give it a miss.
I would crawl a thousand miles through the brush in a bikini to get to it now. It’s funny how these ideas take hold.
To make our trail (to the mountains not the pub) we are hacking paths through the aprons of land in places to avoid the weaving of the creek and any open spots.
We are following an old trail, probably a trap line, marked occasionally with blazes.
What the blazes?
Blazes are trail markers cut in to the trunk of trees with an axe, often on two sides.
We do use them, but the drawback is, if you change your route you can’t rub them out. Once you’ve accidentally blazed trees in a few directions there is the danger of wandering in circles through the woods until you die of hypothermia, so we also use a pretty bright pink flagging tape. We tie short strips to tree branches like ribbons in a little girl’s hair. It’s all very camp and much less work than this macho axe-cutting stuff.
As we are walking straight up a valley it would be hard to get lost, though don’t put it past us, but just losing the trail for a bit means endless fucking around in the brush, so it is worth marking.
About overflow
We went to work on the last section of the trail today, the hour-long climb up the mountain side, but turned back as the creek was overflowing badly.
The creek may overflow and refreeze into a safe, flat highway that we could get the snowmachine on. Or it may just keep overflowing and we won’t be able to walk it. Not even for a roast dinner. And I’m not swimming, Neil.
For foot fetishists
This season, I’m wearing US military issue bunny boots. They are the height of style and show off the turn of a young ladies ankle marvellously.
Once temperatures drop I will be able to model the white bunny boots, rated to -50C (if you keep the idea of a snowshoe hare in mind, you’ll see how they got their name.) The black ones are pretty good down to 30c below.
These boots will keep your feet warm, even when wet, at really low temperatures. They are a bit heavy but for anyone who has ever spent a night out in stilettoes, which must surely be most people in the US military, not that uncomfortable at all really.
More training for Homer
The good news is, it snowed today. Just a couple of inches but enough to get the dogsled out. After our success with the kibble-based ice and penitentiary training, we wanted to see how Homer took to it as this will be his first time pulling a sled without a team around him.
He got it straight away. He was unfazed by taking all the positions- lead, swing, team and wheel dog, by himself.
We have yet to see if he will pull without someone in front of him. So Neil was actually the lead dog in this little exercise as he stayed ahead of Homer.
Neil did very well too and I hope to teach him right (gee) and left (haw) over the next few weeks. So a handful of kibble all round.
The problem with a kibble habit
Less happy news for Homer is that his craving for the kibble high is taking him places he won’t want to go. We’ve trained him to walk in to the dog carry box we’ve made. Just now, it’s a nice wooden tunnel with food in.
It will one day it will become a cold, cramped cage. He’ll be locked in it hours on end and bounced down the Yukon, choking with snowmachine fumes. Again, that’s if we can travel otherwise it is a very extravagant dog bowl and a waste of lumber and screws.
Nothing is certain
Will we travel? Will the creek keep overflowing? Will there be more snow?
We will run out of oats, butter, peanuts, pasta and instant potato in the coming weeks, and any fresh goods are long gone. Either we weren’t able to buy enough, didn’t have space in the truck or weren’t able to keep it.
We have one last onion which we are chopping as thinly as cocaine. The poor thing has already frozen twice from being left in our “fridge” (the floor). Though we may have to go without, we will not starve.
But I will not get to a pub, that is certain.
We put in a trail across the river last week. How do we know if the ice is safe? We walk on to it, hit it with an axe, and wait to see if we plunge through. Yes, really. We’re clever folk out here in the bush.
It’s hard to improve on this process as you’ve got to go on to the ice to test it. My best idea so far is, get your husband to walk ahead carrying the axe because “my arms are a bit tired” and have him do it.
 |
| Such tired arms |
 |
| Bloody mess |
If it is “jumbled” it will be thick, maybe 20’ eventually, as the chunks of ice are piled on to each other. Also opaque ice is usually thicker, older. The places to test are flat areas with black ice as they may be recently frozen.
 |
| Chipping ice whilst standing on a frozen lead |
 |
| View to our house from river |
The following day we took maul axes and started to smash in a trail that we can use for our snowmachine. We get firewood across the river in an area that burned some decades ago. There are dead-standing, completely dry spruce trees which make grade A firewood. So there is a reason for this insanity not just a desperation to go “somewhere else.” Though that’s part of it. We haven’t been a more than a couple of miles from home since early October.
We tempted Homer to join us this time. He doesn’t like ice but we had trained him to walk on the frozen creek and on the ice shelf before the river stopped. Homer is eager to please and likes his food so a handful of kibble and lots of praise go a long way with him.
We’ve already trained him to enjoy being shut in his pen (or, more accurately, penitentiary) by exploiting his kibble habit. We’ll need to leave him in it for long periods if ever we can attempt the journey to town.
He was just about convinced to give the river crossing a go as our scent was already on the trail. His approach was a kind of low, spread-eagled dash. It was like watching very old silent film footage of a gecko trying to negotiate a rope bridge.
 |
| I am brave though |
The crossing will need a lot more snow to make it smoother or we’ll be bouncing our teeth out of our heads on the snowmachine.
 |
| A confident dog returns |
60 miles south and in another world, the river is still open below the Klondike at Dawson City. We have no idea how good the ice is north to Forty Mile, although we know the river has stopped there. Friends tell us it is still open further on. So we still don’t know if we’ll be getting to town this year.
 |
| Frozen waterfall on the creek |
 |
| Standing in overflow on the creek |
I cannot blame him. I woke this morning thinking about a pub. Not a nice pub, just a local boozer near our flat in SE London. We’ve never even been in it. Why did we not go in when we had the chance? I mused. Most likely because, in the summer the “beer garden” at the front is resplendent with tattered bunting, sour people puffing on fags, screaming kids in prams and mean faced dogs tied to the railings (or some other combination of the above things). So we give it a miss.
I would crawl a thousand miles through the brush in a bikini to get to it now. It’s funny how these ideas take hold.
 |
| Creating a ramp down onto the creek for easy snow shoeing |
 |
| A mini ice cathedral created by an open spot, plus silly hat. |
What the blazes?
Blazes are trail markers cut in to the trunk of trees with an axe, often on two sides.
We do use them, but the drawback is, if you change your route you can’t rub them out. Once you’ve accidentally blazed trees in a few directions there is the danger of wandering in circles through the woods until you die of hypothermia, so we also use a pretty bright pink flagging tape. We tie short strips to tree branches like ribbons in a little girl’s hair. It’s all very camp and much less work than this macho axe-cutting stuff.
As we are walking straight up a valley it would be hard to get lost, though don’t put it past us, but just losing the trail for a bit means endless fucking around in the brush, so it is worth marking.
 |
| Up the creek |
We went to work on the last section of the trail today, the hour-long climb up the mountain side, but turned back as the creek was overflowing badly.
The creek may overflow and refreeze into a safe, flat highway that we could get the snowmachine on. Or it may just keep overflowing and we won’t be able to walk it. Not even for a roast dinner. And I’m not swimming, Neil.
For foot fetishists
This season, I’m wearing US military issue bunny boots. They are the height of style and show off the turn of a young ladies ankle marvellously.
 |
| Bootful of overflow |
 |
| Image from Mickey Mouse Boots |
More training for Homer
The good news is, it snowed today. Just a couple of inches but enough to get the dogsled out. After our success with the kibble-based ice and penitentiary training, we wanted to see how Homer took to it as this will be his first time pulling a sled without a team around him.
He got it straight away. He was unfazed by taking all the positions- lead, swing, team and wheel dog, by himself.
 |
| We've also trained him to skid logs for us |
Neil did very well too and I hope to teach him right (gee) and left (haw) over the next few weeks. So a handful of kibble all round.
The problem with a kibble habit
Less happy news for Homer is that his craving for the kibble high is taking him places he won’t want to go. We’ve trained him to walk in to the dog carry box we’ve made. Just now, it’s a nice wooden tunnel with food in.
It will one day it will become a cold, cramped cage. He’ll be locked in it hours on end and bounced down the Yukon, choking with snowmachine fumes. Again, that’s if we can travel otherwise it is a very extravagant dog bowl and a waste of lumber and screws.
 |
| Wasting time and hardware? |
Will we travel? Will the creek keep overflowing? Will there be more snow?
We will run out of oats, butter, peanuts, pasta and instant potato in the coming weeks, and any fresh goods are long gone. Either we weren’t able to buy enough, didn’t have space in the truck or weren’t able to keep it.
We have one last onion which we are chopping as thinly as cocaine. The poor thing has already frozen twice from being left in our “fridge” (the floor). Though we may have to go without, we will not starve.
But I will not get to a pub, that is certain.
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