Wilderness First Aid

Disappearing water hole

Sometimes I find myself thinking, Christ this is hard. When it’s 45 below, and our waterhole has disappeared under glacial ice, and everything we didn’t put upstairs froze solid overnight, and we cannot get warm in the house as no matter how much wood we burn the heat stops 3 feet from the wood stove. It’s times like those when you need to remind yourself just how much worse it could be and go camping.

We didn’t purposefully pick the coldest night so far this winter, we just went “Let’s go test the new tent out on Tuesday.” Tuesday was the beginning of a cold snap that’s kept us between 35-45 below for two weeks.

Setting off

We set off anyway, late in the day with the 40 year-old wall tent and "hippy killer" wood stove. It was a test to see how it would feel if we’d been travelling all day and then had to stop, find two trees the right space apart to hang the tent, clear the ground, cut firewood and camp for the night.

Clearing the area with axe and chainsaw

Hoisting the tent with come-along and rope

We'd feel bloody cold. If it weren’t for my amazing discovery of gin and hot chocolate (yes, who’d have thought?) I’d have been tempted to burn the stupid thing down and snowmachine home.

We managed to hang the tent higher than we’d done when we put it up in the yard, nice for headroom, but the stove pipes were too short so we had to stand the woodstove on logs. 

Snowmachines on the river

So despite our caribou hide mats and other bedding, any heat was a foot above us and convecting into the frigid forest air. And at 45 below, a 40 year-old wall tent with no proper door and holes you can put your finger through is just fucking cold no matter where you put the woodstove.

Warming the machine with a generator in the morning

For anyone thinking- why didn’t they just lower the tent a little, the fools? When it’s pitch black and the temperature’s dropping like a stone, you just want to get some food cooked, melt snow for water, feed the dog, make sure there’s enough firewood to get through the night and crawl into your sleeping bag. 

All packed and heading home, at long last

Just imagine how much you’d fancy another hour of freezing fingers and fucking around with the tent. Or any of the other helpful advice we’ve received, like “Why didn’t you build an igloo?” (Why don’t you build an igloo? Why don’t you brick it right up and suffocate, asshole, I thought, generously.) See footnote on why not to build an igloo in the Yukon, if you’re interested.

Very chilly gray jay

Finally been cold enough to wear the beaver mitts I made this summer

Fun, it was not but it was all worth it as when we got home, our house actually felt comfortable. And for this- for the lonesome song of the wolves, so close they woke me up. Those heart-rending chords wound and echoed through the darkness and, half frozen, half dreaming, it was as if a spell were being cast around me, through the deep and tangled fairytale forests. I listened until the dog ran to the end of his chain in a panic, straight into the tent onto our plates and saucepans and the magic came to a clattering end.

"I was so not scared"

The cold hasn’t been so good for the mushers on the Yukon Quest dogsled race. We headed up the Forty Mile river valley to the Canadian/ Alaskan border to take a peak. It was still 45 below and the air bristled with frost. 

Rangers put up a welcome arch at the border for the Yukon Quest mushers

Bunch of illegal caribou at the border. Someone needs to build a damn wall

We ran into this amazing girl, Paige Drobny, at that point in second place though sadly she didn’t finish. Allen Moore steamed in and won for the third time. The lovely Matt Hall was second and we are very pleased for him. I’m also delighted there was a girl in third place- Laura Neese.

It’s been a busy few weeks since the last blog. We took the Red Cross Wilderness First Aid Course, which meant a very giddy over-stimulated 4 days in town for us and short holiday at a dog yard for Homer. 

Driving in at 45 below

The guy who ran the course also runs dog teams and kindly accepted our mutt into his beautifully trained yard for the period. The course was spendy, $600 for both of us so we were reluctant at first. We could buy a lot with that money and what could really go wrong out here apart from falling onto a red hot woodstove, running a chainsaw into a leg, getting a head injury from a snowmachine crash, breaking a limb skiing, frost bite, hypothermia, infections…? 

We coughed up that $600.

I did CPR on the fella in black. I'd say he's looking pretty good

  

I’m glad we did as it was bloody excellent and we had a bit of a grin doing it, which is always a plus. I’m desperate to come upon some kind of incident whilst I can still remember what to do and utter the words “Step aside, I’m a trained First Aider!” 

Baby pile up? I'm ready to help.

It’s not nice to wish terrible accidents on people as an excuse to show off, but you know, if you were to be choking on a peanut, I’m definitely the girl to call for a few handy J-thrusts.  

It’s a marvellous addition to all the Kempo Jujitsu training I did in London. I can break your arm and then splint it. How cool is that?

Dawson from across river

But the course was lacking in one major area- brain farts and general fuck-wittery. I managed to tip the machine whilst dropping Homer off and had to walk back into town to find Neil to help me right it. We have a rope-along winch and ice screws for such an emergency but with no trees to winch off and only rocks on the uphill side, I’ve realised I am doomed to never have the right tools on hand for any incident. 

Tipped the machine but forgot to get a pic- "Hey Neil,

can you push it back over?"

Luckily we pushed it upright, and no-one saw except a lovely Swiss fella from West Dawson who we see very rarely and only when the machine is on its side. He must think we drive it that way.

Poor Homer in his travel box on the sled

Going back, we were nervous of the 40 mile journey home along the river as the weather suddenly warmed up which could mean the overflow ice unfreezing and us getting stuck and very wet. It also began to snow heavily making it hard to see the trail. 

Stuck in soft snow on the way home

A difficult journey was made 100% harder by the fact I accidentally took a sleeping pill instead of my daily allergy pill in the morning. I was so dazed I managed to get lost in West Dawson going to collect Homer. Quite an achievement as there are only two streets in West Dawson. Neil rode behind me in case I fell off into a snooze.

Homer cooling off

When we got home the inconvenience factor of bush living had ratcheted up a few notches. Our “waterhole” is now a glacier that built copiously in the 4 days we were away. Melting snow is tedious and tends to turn up squirrel poo in your coffee so we will be walking the creek with a chainsaw and hoping to find another spot for a hole. The only plus side is I now feel fully justified in giving up on doing any more laundry this winter. Every cloud.

Having a fruitless dig for the waterhole

In next week’s blog, we are planning a long journey downriver to visit friends so there will be plenty more opportunity for brain farts and fuck ups, but hopefully not First Aid. Or Jujitsu.

Footnote: Igloos are not traditional in the Yukon. Snow here often remains granular, especially in the deep cold. It is not wind-packed like that on the open tundra, so it would be like making bricks out of dry sand. You’d need to find deep snow, pack it down and let it set up overnight. That’s going to be a long, cold night. You could choose not to camp up in the trees and find deeper packed snow on the river and banks but you’d be blasted by the wind all night. So if you have a tent and stove with you but decide to leave both on the sled and build an igloo, you’d probably want your head examined. That's if you survive.

Footnote: For river nerds re. last week’s blog. I’ve latterly been informed that Fort Reliance, the point where local river distances are measured from, is 7 miles below Dawson City by one person, and 8 by another. Not 6 as stated in Yukon River by Mike Rourke. So this just confirms my point that it’s a kind of competitive bingo and folk just name any number they take a shine to and shout it out.