Mountain Bartering

Lyrics to a great song by Eddie Vedder:  If you know the song Society, this is how I felt in the video above.

Oh, it's a mystery to me
We have a greed with which we have agreed
And you think you have to want more than you need
Until you have it all you won't be free

Society, you're a crazy breed
Hope you're not lonely without me...

When you want more than you have
You think you need...
And when you think more than you want
Your thoughts begin to bleed
I think I need to find a bigger place
Because when you have more than you think
You need more space

Society, you're a crazy breed
Hope you're not lonely without me...
Society, crazy indeed
Hope you're not lonely without me...

There's those thinking, more-or-less, less is more
But if less is more, how you keeping score?
Means for every point you make, your level drops
Kinda like you're starting from the top
You can't do that...

Society, you're a crazy breed
Hope you're not lonely without me...
Society, crazy indeed
Hope you're not lonely without me...

Society, have mercy on me
Hope you're not angry if I disagree...
Society, crazy indeed
Hope you're not lonely without me...

Often, days start out rather slow, progressing little in speed or in interest and, often end slow. But occasionally there is a day when unexpected surprises pop out and make everything feel so much more interesting and alive. I was sitting here at my desk, on the computer in the mid afternoon when in the corner of my eye, I caught the movement and shine of lights. Five snow mobiles and six people were outside my cabin just yards away. I was shocked, excited, nervous and skeptical all at once. I grabbed my pistol, shoved in my pants and braced myself for the first encounter with another person in almost five months.

There was the knock at the door, and I could see a smaller man in height but not so much in width due to his attire of winter gear. He was a native from the village Aleknagik down the river and across the lake. He and his entire family were out fishing at Lake Nerka and were headed back for the day. He was asking about the trail through the forest, which I explained no one had been on this year, and that he would be the first.

It was monumental to see someone, very heart pounding and overwhelming.... I was all smiles.

There was a snow storm that night and I figured, that if I were to have any luck finding the trail they had just made, I'd better get out there as soon as I could. I managed to find the trail, which wasn't the best in ways of marking, so I found myself stopping and hanging flagging tape up every so often for the couple miles until the lower lake was in sight.

Once I had cleared the forest, there was a new landscape, the one in the video. A new frozen terrain, much more open and breathtaking that what I have been staring at for months. I took time to take it all in, strap on my backpack with emergency supplies in case my venture on the ice proved catastrophic. All around me were mountains and miles of open range for touring. To the right, were my nearest neighbors all the way at the end of the lake, along with a host of other small cabins and part time residents of the area. Some were constructed of not much more than what you might find in a nicer Tijuana barrio. Others were very nicely crafted log cabins with steep pitched roofs and tall chimneys. I couldn't resist the urge to have a look around and explore this new scenery, so I set off. Snow machine trails were clearly visible, weaving in and out of inlets, up and over bluffs, and braided throughout the lake ice. I was uncertain of most areas so I skirted the shore all around, occasionally following other tracks that had gone further from shore but returned out of uncertainty. At one point, I needed to cross an area where there were no tracks, so I got up some good speed and said a prayer. Later I found out that the area is about three feet thick in ice, so no worries.

I saw a man out on the ice in the distance and waved as I approached, receiving a welcomed wave in return. I had emailed this gentleman earlier that month, along with his wife. They have been caretaking up at that lodge for the past five years or so, and had given me an open invitation any time I felt like getting away. I had a real conversation that day, with real people, over tea and by their wood stove. I must say that it was a relief to meet someone, and to know my social skills haven't completely gone away. After a couple hours with them, we managed to find out what each other needs or wants in the way of supplies and so our mountain bartering began. I had no intention of going to visit that day and had not brought any trading goods with me, but their generosity was abounding when they gave me a few packs of Top Ramen and large can of mandarin oranges. It seems small and even unappealing to most who can have that anytime they want, but to me, who is without, it was glorious.

In the next week, I'll be headed down for another meeting, trading and even a homemade pizza with a large green salad.

February feels like it never came and yet is almost gone. I am busy shoveling snow from roof tops, sliding off in to the snow below and keeping tabs on the fox. Now that the trail is clear to the lower lake, I think I may do a little exploring and see what else is out there.  I have about five weeks left out here and will be departing on the first of April which is the six month mark. I have my days of envy for all who are out enjoying the comforts of modern life, but consider my life out here to be much more civilized. I already feel that my time has gone by too quickly, but if you had asked me how I felt back in November, I'd have said something to the effect of how much longer I had to go. Now, it is going so quickly that I'm trying to grasp every moment, each little joy and savor it to the best I know how. I may feel different next year when and if this opportunity presents itself again. Partly I wish to duplicate my experience and enhance it by knowing what to expect and how to deal with it. I also feel like my repeating of this would deprive someone else of truly a once in a lifetime experience. When the time comes, we'll see what happens but no matter what, through the thick of this past winter and the thin of the new year, I will never have traded this experience and personal growth for any other offer. No regrets.

Northern Nights

Woodcutting at its finest hour, the last one. I felt at this moment that Paul Bunyan had nothing on me, except his blue ox. A good month and a half out in the woods, mostly dreading having to freeze on the ride out, the search for trees in a feasible location for cutting but more importantly extracting. Dreading the magnitude of how much I was supposed to collect, not knowing how far I had come or how far I had to go.

Daily routines never cease to be adventures in some form or fashion. A ride through the forest to a meadow might kick up a few grazing moose. Along the trail just past the far eastern cabin would be a pair of eagles that would watch as I passed by. Often there were days I would be distracted and follow the tracks of a fox or hare, sometimes both. I had my spills on the ice, the crashes of my snow mobile and plenty of times it became lodged in between trees and bushes, sinking further down as I tried to free it. Many days I decided that my time could be better spent by the fire indoors, and prolonging the task seemed justified by whatever excuses I conjured up.

But now, the much anticipated end of mandatory woodcutting is over, and I rest. I know that I may go out a few more times, out of boredom or perhaps for fun. There are trees abound that call to be cut, and with every massive tree I see, the vision of how it would crash down cannot escape my thoughts. I have always been good at creating a mess, but never cared much for cleaning it up. Some trees have blown over in our great wind storms, and others that grew leaning heavily by some misfortune in their youth, beg to fall.

There are patches in the forest that are bare, and others that choke out light by density. I should like to think that I opened up a very small portion of these areas, allowing for new growth and perhaps those trees will be undisturbed for another hundred years or more.

Every action here is more than what it seems. Every thought has an impression that can freely traverse the mind to warp or enhance beliefs and opinions. Actions such as woodcutting bring out so much feeling deep within. I could only hope that all my thoughts when I leave this place, can be filled with the spirit and life they have now. Hope that my actions spring forth feelings that I now know they have the potential for.

One night a while back I wrote this from what I saw, and what I had seen in past times.

Northern Nights- 

Like pedals of a pond Lily, silky smooth and with a pureness of white, so is the snow that layers the forest, covering a multitude of barren colors.

Grey's and greens, browns of many shades are wrapped with this holy white.

The old diseased trees, rotted and forgotten with time, are strewn over the land and blanketed for a season, laying to rest their soreness in sight.

Young saplings are hidden away for nature to slowly unravel with the melting of a Spring sun.

A thousand stars shine bright, and a thousand times that many dust over the darkness of space, glistening off the waters, mirroring the relaxed gilded sword upon Orion's belt. He heroically shines his light, illuminating the fields of snow that blanket mountains from base to summit and challenging darkness to conceal his glory.

The mighty heavens with guarding constellations and stars that hang in the midst, circle Polaris, taking refuge in the West as the remaining flee from the all consuming sun rising in the East.

To be seen by the rays of its light, means the demise of their visual splendor.

As silent and dark as six feet under, nailed in a coffin, the black and motionless wilds of Alaska project strongly the feeling of brutal and unforgiving ways in this treacherous frozen land.

Flickering of planets and of the brightest stars imitate a gentle breeze that ripples the waters surface, distorting the clarity of the object yet leaving a small amount to the imagination.

A late invitation is the presence of a nocturnal glow, as the moon beams reflect off each facet of crystallized ice, creating lanterns that fill the air with our own twinkling of lights.

And to the passing of night, the treeline silhouette graphs a continual spiked rhythm on the dawns horizon, and the sun defeats all.

As for the peaceful world that remains hidden beneath the slumber of winter's wool coat, it awaits to blossom vibrant colors of life once lost. In a hurry to live and in a hurry to die, this land is preparing for another arctic wonderland.

Bitter Sweet

Days have opened up, lasting much longer and feeling a touch more realistic than twenty hours of dark. The clouds have cooperated with the setting sun day after day, clearing up at the right moment to show a small bit of color in my isolated world. There are times like these, when the evening falls, that where I am fades away from thought, the temperature is no longer a factor and for that moment there is no where else that I would like to be.

Snow is... enjoyable and dreadful. In the last two weeks, there have been approximately four feet of new snow and all powder. In the middle, there was a break in temperature that rose to about thirty three and snow showers became rain showers lasting a couple days. This morning was back at ten below and a nice crunch with each footstep. The volume of snow makes gathering wood harder in every aspect. Falling trees quickly vanish once on the ground and digging them back out is more work than its worth.

I do find myself sometimes shouting, other times a mumble under my breath the word "timber" as each tree crashes down. Slowly cracking and splitting at the trunk, these massive trees gain momentum as the destroy carelessly other tree's limbs, glancing off smaller trees or sometimes buckling them in half before the bushes below become as flat as a french pancake.

Fifteen more trees did fall at the mercy of my saw. Some twenty plus inches diameter at the base. I had a moment to cut a slice off of one, to count the rings and see how old it was. In the very center, the rings are too hard to see, so the estimation is between 145 and 155 years old. It would seem that about a hundred years before Alaska even became a state, this tree was just springing forth from the ground. Through the civil war, through the presidency and the death in 1885 of Ulysses S. Grant.... the first airplane by the Wright brothers, NASA and the moon landing.... war after war, my birth and up until the end just a few days ago, this tree lived a peaceful life. Just another angle to see from when woodcutting.

A while back, a month or two maybe I was sitting around bored and decided to carve a ring from a caribou antler that I pulled out of the forest. Passing the time away can be hard to do sometimes, when there isn't much around to work with. It always seems that men of old, be it in the woods or at sea, possessed the trait of carving, sculpting or other small artworks... so with my time at hand, I too thought of something.
The holes are representing stars in the constellations Leo and then the Big Dipper and Polaris.

There are two Eagles that watch from a perch along my trail for gathering wood. It seems that my passing by has no effect, but when I stop, they seem to mind. They too are looking for food, maybe setting their sights on a rather plump fox they've seen around. Mr. Fox still gets his daily fish sandwiches when he shows up, and now he knows that there is a bottom piece of bread so he takes the whole sandwich.... I like that.

Another moose encounter on the snow mobile.... running fast!

I've cracked open the last five pounds of my crab meat. Bread and water after this is gone.

                                                         Scenery

Hard believing that February is here, and soon the spring will unravel with the melting away of packed ice on the lake, mountains of snow and new life will emerge. I've seen the summer months and how wonderful they are. Now living up here for the winter months, they too are wonderful in their own way. Some said November would be the hardest, others thought January but I can't say until I've seen them all. I can most certainly pick out the highlights and low points of each month so far, but there is more to come so I will wait and see. I will miss the summer up here, when the bears come to feed on the salmon and the days are never dark. I will not miss the unrelenting mosquito's and gnats.

As I ponder things during the day, one of my biggest questions is how bad will I miss being up here when I'm gone. I have stopped thinking about other places mostly, trying not to give too much effort into the thought of a tropical setting, because I know once I'm there, I will wish I was back up here. No, for now the days are enjoyed, sunshine or grey, the feeling of the downward slope is upon me.

Bitter sweet.

Black & White

My cabin walls are the only barrier between sub zero winds and the ambient forty eight degrees I wake up to. The silent hum of the wind turbines accelerating and braking with each gust can be compared to a soothing light drizzle on a tin roof.  Although these walls are the first line of defense, they are only moderately effective as a slight breeze can be felt on every door jam, window sill, corner, crack and visible crevice.

The nights have been alive most of this month, with howling winds and swaying shadows produced by a full moon. But in the last week, with heavy cloud cover and the absence of a moon, have made nights much darker than before. Black and never ending is my expectation and feeling of every dusk than begins a new night. Unrelated in scenery but comparable in description of a black abyss, is the color of water after washing my pants for the first time in almost four months. It was.... nice to have clean pants.

Snow fields on high mountain sides, snow fields in the tundra below. Through the forest and covering the alders, being whipped across the ice capped lake and piling up random drifts in the most unpredictable variations of size and shape.
I would dare say that looking outside, facing the wind, no one could open their eyes enough to see where they might walk. The snow is not falling, it is not going in any sort of a downward movement than can be seen, it only is going sideways and occasionally at an upwards angle. It is blinding and relentless as if someone has thrown you into the snow for a traditional white washing, white is all that can be seen.

Between the blackest of nights and the whitest of days, my world of color is confined to a two room cabin that I have hardly left in the last week. The visions of what I would do if I were up here, all the grand romanticized emotions and actions are now quite tamed after almost four months of solitary life.
I am learning about myself, about others in my life and yet others whom I do not know. I have found it much easier to tolerate people when I am not around them, among other conclusions about my own life and choices made. There have been many good days up here, but there have also been the challenges of my own mind, my own obstacles to overcome that offer plenty of days that are not so good.

This learning experience has been a daily challenge. There have been few physical difficulties to overcome, leaving the majority of issues to a mental struggle. I know that lessons I learn subconsciously will prove their worth in later times of angst. I am certain that the time up here will be not spent how I had envisioned, but rather in a much slower, less glorified manner with a strong emphasis on endurance.

The truth of the matter is, I cannot fish every day, I cannot fight off a Grizzly with my bare hands. I cannot hunt and trap to sustain my needs of survival. I cannot fashion a rocking chair using only my Leatherman or pretend to be some twenty first century Jeremiah Johnson for a winter. I have lost most ideas of why I came up here, why I thought this was such an incredible thing and why I felt so compelled to leave most all sense of civilization behind.
I figured what I would get out of this experience would be far different, far more worldly and far less demanding.
There is nothing I can think of better than this moment of realization. Realizing that although the constraints of living alone in the wilderness are exciting and adventuresome, they are also depriving.
Realizing that what it takes to survive is more than merely food, shelter and water.
Realizing that when you think that you are a strong and independent person, you find the cracks and holes where the breeze comes through and weaknesses are revealed.





            My meal preparation and presentation has diminished rapidly and it would seem that I might be priding myself on creating the most unappetizing, unappealing foods just for the sake of consuming food.
This is a sad day for myself to admit that, a lack of passion for cuisine and presentation.
Goulash... that is what I have been eating. A random stew/mixture of the most horrid combinations.
Example:  one can of kidney beans, one can of yellow hominy and crab cakes made into a scramble/hash sort of  "goulash"
OR... a thirteen bean soup mixture with sole fillets mashed in, once plain, once with adding crab, once with adding chicken and every time using at least a half a bottle of hot sauce.
Goulash is what I'm making, it doesn't smell great, doesn't look great, but tastes.... better than bad.

Here are some pictures of my food supply, drink supply, a completely unorganized freezer and my little stove.

Zzz PLANE! Zzz PLANE!

This looks like the perfect start to a perfect day... fishing, alone in the wilderness and not so much as a breath of wind to be seen or felt. The day actually turned ugly rather quickly after the sun fully came up, only to disappear again. I was unable to fish that day, but have since been out in the boat on the far side of the river, trying to raise interest and a bite from the depths below.
Twisting and turning, flashing the silvery white tones of the belly was a trout more beautiful than my words can describe. The red stripe down the side was that of  the wild cranberries, the green like the darkened winter needles of a spruce and the length, well it was short enough to measure with a yard stick but just barely.  His head was large, over grown, showing what potential is there in growth and looking like he will make an angler or two quite upset about loosing their fly to a "monster", ever growing in size each time the story is told. The eyes were golden like the aspen leaves after the first frost with a perfectly black pupil, making a fish eye quite attractive and unique.
Everything about this fish was magnificent, challenging and special. I was pleased to pull him alongside my boat, and scoop down with the net, unhook and for a moment, I forgot that my fingers were frozen, the icicles hanging from my hair and even the fact that my left boot was full of water.

The best part about this fight, was the family of five otters that came floating down, seeing the splashing and the hearing the song my reel played as the give and take game wore on. Their heads bobbed just above the surface right past my boat, leaving my fish alone and allowing for the catch, and then a release. It was a great time to forget my camera, although with the earlier plunge in the water, it might not have survived.

Most recently, my expeditions have been bundled up tightly to go crashing the the forest, disturbing the silence that extends for hours. Woodcutting is part of my job, and collecting a hopeful eight cords is what I am aiming for. This is the start, and although it doesn't look like much, it feels like it.

I do enjoy the falling of trees, the attempt to perfect the wedge cut, directing where the tree falls, not too far to the right or left, not snagging in trees or worst of all, only partly falling over. I have been about 80% accurate so far, one went the wrong way, pinching the saw, one fell over about 3/4 of the way, and I think that's about it.

I cut them into sections, ranging from four to five feet or so, large enough to make work easier, but small enough to handle with snowshoes and many layers of clothing. The journey from the cutting site to the drop off at the lodge is about a half mile, maybe a fraction more, but its not that bad. There are plenty of chances to take in that short distance, crossing several creeks that have thin coverings of ice, slopes that pull the sled towards the lake and often completely turning it around, and other obstacles like rocks and ditches, alder bushes and the occasional instance of a missing driver.... yes that is me, sprawled out on the ice with all my gas, oil, chainsaw and accessories, while my sled is in the other direction, on its side.

I keep a backpack on, containing a satellite phone, sleeping bag, flashlight, and a few other good ideas.

Now for the good stuff :

I was not doing anything in particular yesterday afternoon, when the familiar yet forgotten noise of a single engine plane came rumbling in from over the distant mountains. Making two or maybe three passes, naturally my hermit style instincts were to stay inside my shell. So to the window I went with binoculars hard pressed to my eyes, searching the skies for any information, any recognition of who might be paying a visit.

Up the lake corridor it headed, only to circle around and come back, flying lower than safely desired had I been aboard. It came at me. Passing the ice cap and now into the blue water, an unknown object came flying out or falling off of the plane, smashing down into the wind swept water. SPLASH! and a loud fly by overhead, and off the plane went. I kept my eyes peeled, searching back and forth trying to pinpoint the area, using the help of a few birds that briefly went in to investigate. I put on my boots, coat, gloves and raced out the door with my binoculars, heading towards the area, doing my best to dodge apartment size sheets of thick ice floating down stream.

The wind was not suitable for boating, much less a search and recovery of an unknown object just hurled from a plane. I searched until my fingers were numb, my eyes watering from the wind and dizzy from the waves and constant change from binocular to bare eyes.

No recovery was made, no object was seen floating, and just when I thought things were settling in up here, the sky starts falling.

~ Heat Wave ~

Most people, including myself usually describe special circumstances or situations that need a reference point with dramatic exaggerations of the truth. Today my descriptions of the weather and other events are extreme and wild enough that exaggerating in any fashion is almost impossible.

Its New Years day, (Happy New Year to all) and it began last night with the warming climate from the negative double digits to a startling twenty above and snow falling in more of a ice dust than flake. As the Night wore on, the temperature progressively warmed to produce flakes the size of quarters but only for a moment before the wind started. Between a very poor choice of movie to start and finish, there were drifts of twelve inches of new snow and by morning there would be over thirty inch drifts.

Restless was at best how my night was, trembling and shaking violently, the cabin was feeling like it had eaten a bit of bad Chinese food. The wind was gale force, and by definition:

A gale is a very strong wind. There are conflicting definitions of how strong. The U.S. government's National Weather Service defines a gale as 34–47 knots (63–87 km/h, 17.5–24.2 m/s or 39–54 miles/hour) of sustained surface winds.^[1] Forecasters typically issue gale warnings when winds of this strength are expected.

I first awoke to the leaking of the window seal above my head, drip,drip,drip,drip..... between three and four drops per second, it was no time to put the pillow over my head and ignore the potential flooding situation.
drip,drip,drip,drip.... at the foot of my bed, in the wood stove room over my work bench.... it was a ship that had been tossed in the rocks or more likely for me, hit an iceberg and started taking on water.

Trees bent in half, but only in one direction as these gusts came to try and take me away. I thought a time or two that whoever had built the cabin must have secured it down to the foundation quite well and for that I am thankful. If I had my bed sheets fashioned to my chair, paragliding would have been an event to remember.
My boat had been tossed and beaten against the ice and rocks, sending it down river the length of my anchor rope which was tight enough to now practice slacklining.
Waves pounded the bank, washing up rocks and debris, making it impossible to find clean water for drinking. Windows shaking and vibrating, massive sheets (tonnage) of snow scaling the roof and smashing the ground below. The cabin has been anything but quiet.

The good news? Its a heat wave of  41 degrees !!!! the snow is slush, the ice is water, and everything is a sore sight to see.
I have been asked two questions consistently and numerous times, the first being have I seen the movie called The Shining and the second is do I ever get warm? Well I can say yes to the first and no to the second, however I have been comfortable in the sauna, truly warm from head to toe....no.
This warm spell might change things, but it won't last for long...
 Prior to the tremendous display of mother natures huffing and puffing to blow my home over.....

The fox who answers to  nothing but whistles and smooching noises.... has been quite happy with my feeding him in exchange for a quick picture or few.

I am also pleased to say that my oar has been replaced and I was able to get back on the water for some fishing. Doing so from the bank was fruitless and actually more painful than anything. I have fell flat on my face a dozen times trying to walk over the ice, climbing up the slippery slopes and causing nothing but ugly bruises on my legs and arms. So back in the boat, the first five casts, four fish were caught. I kept two for the fox who is more than spoiled and probably the most doted upon in Alaska. I could argue that I'm not soft on him, just fattening him up for a nice pelt, however I don't plan on losing my only semi constant friend. It is a pure give and no take relationship, but that is alright.

The ice had continued to be very spectacular with daily decreasing temperatures, forming a new artwork collection called:   Negative Twelve ~

So begins a new year, new resolutions and new dreams. Warm tropical destinations is on my mind today, but cleaning up the mess of last year both inside and outside is the chore for the days to come.
Salmon is on the menu, but I'll change the cous cous or quinoa to rice. I could use a donut, maple bar.