The journey from the highway was only two miles. Since we were hauling our gear to the public use cabin at Fielding Lake with our snowmachines, we weren’t going to travel fast. I decided to forgo my helmet, but in deference to the -15 F temperature, I pulled a balaclava on under my hat.
Within moments after I started driving my Skidoo, my eyes were watering and the tears were freezing to my cheeks. My eyeballs were so cold they started to feel hot. Ducking behind the inadequate windshield proved ineffectual, so I slowed down to a crawl. After several long minutes, I pulled up to the cabin. I was relieved that my eyes started thawing as soon as I stopped moving.
Thane, Rowan and I had driven north on Monday to Fielding Lake. We were to share a tiny public use cabin for two nights with friends from North Pole, Mike and Cindy, their daughter Sarah, and Mike’s mother, Cathy. The cabin, about 12 x 14 feet, officially slept six, but we figured we could find a way to make do. Luckily, Cathy was a game grandma: she noted that the table was just as soft as the plywood sleeping platforms and would suit her just fine. By stacking two coolers at the end of the table, it was even long enough.
Fielding Lake public use cabin
****
“You’re in water! You’re in water!”
As soon as Mike’s voice reached my ears, I jerked my feet up and flung myself forward on my belly. Apparently, the hole I’d been stomping down under my stuck snowmobile felt bottomless because the snow was going down into the open creek water flowing under the snow pack.
My Skidoo was well and truly stuck. I’d been trying to do what I could to clear the way for getting it out, but my torn left rotator cuff was preventing me from doing much. In the end, I’d just made matters worse for Mike and Thane. Thane was up to his knees in the frigid before they succeeded in pulling the machine out with a bungee strap and Mike’s sled. It’s a good thing bunny boots keep your feet warm even when they’re wet!
Stuck!
It was only a minor mishap marring an otherwise beautiful day. We’d ridden up a wide river, flat, easy riding even with my injured shoulder. I was disappointed that I couldn’t play in the deep powder, but it was worth it to be out in sunshine for the first time in well over a month. It didn’t even matter that the sun was only up for a very few short hours and that it never really got above zero.
Riding the river
Sarah and I made long shadows as we waited for the others.
The highlight of the day was just above the creek into which I’d sunk: a real suspension bridge. I haven’t figured out which creek we were on, but I will go back this summer to find the footbridge again. It was fun to sway across it over snow, but apparently it’s a real adventure in the summer when the creek is raging high with mountain rains. I’m thinking that Rowan and I will reserve the cabin for late July and make another trek out there. According to Mike there’s a short hiking trail to the bridge.
Suspension bridge
View from the river
****
The propane lanterns hissed as they cast twin circles of yellow light, the soft sound providing an unceasing aural backdrop to the evening. The glass lantern globes kept the mantles‘ flames steady as Mike opened the cabin door, letting in a billow of below-freezing air that eddied around the wood stove’s heat currents. He quickly closed the door behind him; we were losing enough heat through the uninsulated floor to let any more than necessary flow outside.
Cindy squeezed precooked frozen chili from a Ziploc bag into a pot on the wood stove. It was her turn to provide dinner for our group of seven adventurers. Our stomachs growled as the chili’s spices warmed and wafted through the room. Cindy smiled softly as Mike wrapped his arm around her shoulders and kissed her cheek, thanking her for cooking dinner.
As we waited for the chili to be hot enough to melt shredded cheese, conversations swirled among us, snippets of nothing important, stories being shared.
“Did I tell you about the time we snowmobiled up to Tonsina Glacier?” Thane asked Mike.
“Do you remember when we rode from Kaltag to Old Woman cabin?” I asked Thane. “No, you’re right, it was Tripod cabin. We never went to Old Woman.”
“Is there chicken in the chili, too?” someone asked Cindy.
Above me, out of my sight, Rowan and Sarah relaxed on the top bunks, quietly enjoying their tea and cocoa, pre- and early-teen energies run down. Beside me, Cathy, enjoying her status as the eldest of our group, relaxed in the green camp chair, her soft qiviut hat helping to keep her warm while blue down booties protected her feet from the frigid floor.
The battered aluminum coffee pot perked on the wood stove. Crackles from the burning wood promised that soon we’d all be warm.
Alpenglow from the cabin
A blast from the past. Thane fixed up our first sno-go, a 1993 Tundra II, for Rowan to ride, but he had to take it for a nostalgic spin.
