(Lou, Yukon)
We’ve drilled holes in the bottom of our boat. Why not? A few holes in the transom can only improve things. The weather warmed up to -7c yesterday, time to get the power tools and get a few jobs done. The Garmin Fish Finder instructions told us to drill two holes in the boat. It suggested not to do this whilst afloat. Can’t think why? Good job they pointed that out.
I was a bit nervous so we spent ages fiddling with the bracket and screws to make sure it was absolutely in the right place before drilling.
It wasn’t, so we now have extra holes that we’ll have to fill or spend a lot of time bailing.
Why fit a fish finder in March? We’ve heard about ice fishing so thought it might be fun to winch the boat across the river and look for grayling through 10 foot of ice. Let’s see how well this baby works.
No, even we’re not that mad. We will use the device in the summer as a depth sounder to stop us hitting gravel bars and tearing chunks out of another $200 propeller, we hope.
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| Our battered prop |
Having made a balls up with the boat we decided to attack another important piece of equipment with the drill. There’s just no stopping us.
We have shoes for our little snowmachine- Piccolo. Our kind friends Norm and Aedes brought us a pair of skins they had that didn’t fit their machines. They didn’t really fit ours either, but undeterred we went at them with the drill and reamed the shit out of them until we managed to get them on. Skins increase the surface area of the skis and gives the machine extra float in soft snow.
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| Got my new shoes on |
On our first journey to town this year, after fresh snowfall, I spent more time plunged nose first into the snow than I did above it
Read it about here in Journey From Hell. So hopefully Piccolo and I will surf the powder next winter rather than dive like a submarine whenever I come off the trail.
Other chores have gone just as well. We have 24 logs now, probably half what we’ll need to build our workshop. The design is simple as we want to make the process fun and not put ourselves off something more complex in the future.
In the words of friend who built his own house:
“I’m 65 now and I don’t want to see another fucking log as long as I live, except to burn it.”
I’ve hit that stage twenty years ahead of him. All the straight dead-standing trees in our area were taken by the people who built this cabin. What’s left is as crooked as the President of the USA. So we are cutting down green (living) trees on our property, dropping them onto the creek then taking straight (ish) 20’ and 12’ sections.
Green trees are full of sap and moisture and so much heavier than dead wood. It is a huge load for our snowmachine to get up our steep and bendy ramp.
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| Stuck on a bend. Hauling the sled with the rope puller |
We realised that hauling big logs late in the afternoon was a bad idea as the sun makes the snow soft and slippery.
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| Stuck on the ramp. Hauling with the rope puller |
But we’ve ignored our own advice and kept on doing it (because we never have the trees ready to go until late in the day) and so repeatedly veered off the ramp and into the willows.
The whole shebang gets stuck and we have to unhitch the sled and log, try to drag it back down the slope so we can reverse the machine, chainsaw willows out of the way and then painstakingly haul the log up with a rope puller.
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| Yup, hauling with that fucking rope puller again |
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| These are all different logs, by the way. Check the sky and the straps if you think I'm kidding |
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| Stuck at the base of the ramp. Hauling with rope puller to look forward to |
The fun of getting logs is evaporating with the spring snow.
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| "Hey, why don’t you try pulling it up in the mornings you dumb asses" |
We’ve been able to get some sound advice on building design from our very good Alaskan friend, Earl, who is a master log builder. Earl has been one of many visitors this week.
Most people who pass our door pop in. It wouldn’t work in London. If everyone got off the 658 bus to say “hi” each time it went down Plumstead Common Road we’d be out of custard creams and patience by 6 o’clock in the morning. Visitors are rare here and always bring something we need: advice, company, trail news, gossip, stuff from town, even ski skins.
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| Racer passing |
We’ve had 9 whole visitors this week. March is travel season- days are long now (yesterday it was light from 6am to 10pm) and the trails are slick and smooth. The Percy DeWolfe dogsled race runs along the river
(Read about The Percy by clicking this link).
Dogsleds pass with just the scuff of paws on snow for the most part, so we only managed to spot 3 of the 20 racers, but we caught up with friends travelling by snowmachine staking the trail, transporting vets, or heading out to man checkpoints.
But not every visitor brings. We’ve had our first crime since Homer stole the ratchet and chewed the handle. Sadly, this felony was perpetrated by our best friends.
“What’s that fluff in the snow? It’s…fur.”
“My squirrel!”
We’ve been battling to keep rodents out of the old cabin. I lay the casualties on the porch table. I let them freeze for a couple of days before “butchering” and skinning them to kill any fleas.
It’s taken all winter, but the ravens plucked up the courage to grab themselves a fluffy snack from the porch whilst we were out getting logs.
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| The scene of the crime |
Damn them! Just when I’d discovered a really tasty recipe for squirrel “wings”
Recipe's at the bottom of this blog
The ravens are our only real winter friends. When the river is freezing or breaking up and we have weeks and months of isolation, the ravens still come to visit. They are very smart and very spooky. I tried all winter to get a picture of our local pair but as soon as I raise the camera, they fly away.
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| Got this one shot only |
They wait in the trees nearby for us to go out. “Och-och” they say. “Och-och” we say back, having no idea what we are saying. “Och-och-och” they reply. And so it goes on until one party gets bored. There’s not much to do during freeze up.
Sometimes, as we head out of the yard, we see them fly in to peck at Homer’s moose bones. They are extremely cautious creatures.
Ravens have a bond with wolves (and so, dogs) that goes back tens of thousands of years. Where there are wolves, there will be kills. Where there are ravens, there will be carrion and so their lives are intertwined. I have watched ravens working in pairs in a dog yard. One pecks a feeding husky’s tail, the other grabs its food whilst it turns to bite. They do the same to wolves.
Out with Homer this week, I saw our friends investigating something on the trail. Homer went bounding towards them. One deftly drew Homer almost within biting distance then floated off, our hapless husky in dumb pursuit, whilst its mate finished the snack.
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| The tiny blob in the tree is a raven |
The world is changing fast here. We were still down to 20c below at night but days are longer and warmer.
This morning the sun rose twice. The warm air holds humidity which allows fog to form. A spectral mist of ice crystals hung over the river. As the sun neared the horizon these crystals reflected the light and sent a brighter sister sun into the sky before it (known as a “sun dog”). Dusted with snow and hoar frost the trees across river gleamed a soft silver grey.
The river ice is sinking. Water flow drops throughout the winter and the ice sags under its own weight. Deep cracks appear at the edges of the ice shelf.
Homer doesn’t like them. They are nothing to be scared of, unless you jam a foot in one. In contradiction to everything you know about ice if you come from temperate climes, they are a sign of very deep, and so safe, ice. These go deeper than I can see, 5 feet, 10 feet or much deeper.
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| Crack ahead. He's not too sure |
There’s no telling that to Homer, though and he baulks at stepping over them.
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| "Hey, looks real safe. You go first, Miss Louise" |
We are leaving shortly for a trip back to England. As well as thieves, we have flood, ice, fire, bears, lemmings and bloody squirrels to worry about, with only the ravens to watch over the place.
There will be more explaining to do to Homer. In a couple of days he will be escorted in his travel box to B-Line Kennels outside Dawson City where he will spend part of the summer. We’ve repaired the hole he chewed in his box, so we just need his compliance to get him in it on Friday.
We’ve told him he’s going to London and he’ll have lunch at the Wolesley, see all the West End shows and hang out at cool bars in Dalston. It’s only a white lie. Dawson/ London it’s all the same to a sled dog.
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| “Oh boy, oh boy I can’t wait to see London. Pleeeese can we get tickets for “Cats” at The Palladium” |
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