The SNOW CAVE (Written by Chris and edited by Heidi) - December 11-12

The plan for our return trip was simple. Under no circumstances did we want to spend another night at Lonely. One night in that freezer/sleeping accommodation was enough for us. On the day we were to return to Deadhorse, the plan was to get up at 4:30am, pack all our gear, load the sleds, and call the pilot at 7:00am to check on the weather. Then, if it looked like he could fly, we would drive to Lonely using a different (faster) route, put the snow machine back in the shipping container, and be ready to fly by 11:00am or noon. That would give us plenty of twilight to fly back to Deadhorse (as dictated by US Government flight contracting rules).

On the appointed day, we got up at 4:30am, after a night of sleeping on minimal padding, as Heidi had so skillfully packed the super thick Thermarest pads into packages that were half the size any mere mortal could have achieved! We ate a quick breakfast and had everything packed and ready to ride at exactly 7:00am. Chris called Deadhorse and was given the go-ahead. Yes, it looked good for flying.

We climbed on the snow machine and headed north. This time, we lashed everything down with ropes so that there was NO CHANCE anything was going to fall off (not that this had happened previously – ahem). As it had snowed a few days while we were at the cabin, many of the troughs that had made travel so slow coming to the cabin had filled in, and the going was surprisingly, suspiciously smooth. We stopped a couple times to walk around and warm up. We finally realized at one point that travelling was so easy we could abandon our complicated path and just drive directly to Lonely. We did that and arrived at Lonely at 10:30am, as the twilight started to lift. We very skillfully packed (manhandled) the snow machine back in the CONEX, reinserted the puzzle-like mass of gear on top of the snow machine, and called Deadhorse to announce our readiness to fly. [Note: As we approached the buildings at Lonely, we saw a polar bear track that appeared to be relatively fresh. This sighting raised the vigilance level to an all time high].



Chris: “Hi Mike, we are all ready to go.”
Mike: “Ah, what’s the weather there?”
Chris: “Looks good. I can’t really tell the ceiling because everything is white, but it looks high, winds are less than 10 and straight down the runway.”
Mike: “Oh. Well, the fog just moved in here and we can’t fly. Call me back in an hour and we can see how it looks, then.”
Chris: “Okay. Talk to you then. “

The above conversation was repeated an hour later.

Then, at about 2:00pm, the following conversation occurred:

Chris: (tentative and pleading tone) “Mike, how does it look?”
Mike: “Uh, Chris, I know you want to get out of there, but it isn’t going to happen today.”
Chris: (imagining days of this weather) “What other options do we have? Does ERA have helicopters in town right now?”
Mike: “Well, they do, but you would be looking at about $8000 to make the flight.”
Chris: “Okay. We will call you in the morning.”
Mike: “Okay. I’m sorry. Have a good night.”

Dejected and horrified by the thought of another night in that freezer of a control tower, Chris relayed the news to Heidi. Together, they talked about all the alternatives.

1. We could unpack the snow machine. Load one sled with just the essentials and drive back to the warm and comfortable cabin. That would be a couple hours of unpacking the snow machine and about three hours of travel. Followed by three more hours of travel and repacking the snow machine tomorrow.

2. What about the Borough search and rescue helicopter? Could it come get us? Any more than one night in this freezer would certainly constitute an emergency. Really! [This was Chris’ idea. Heidi stubbornly and steadfastly maintained that we did not need to be searched for nor rescued].

3. We could just make the best of it and figure out a way to make it through the night.

After a few minutes of discussion, we settled on option 3. But, we had two different ways to make it more comfortable.

Heidi [marching up to Chris with a small avalanche shovel slung over a shoulder] “I’m going to dig a snow cave.”
Chris: [thinking Heidi’s idea will never work] “I’m going to try to fix the heater so we can heat the control tower a little.”
Heidi: [thinking Chris’ idea will never work] “Go ahead. We can both work and let’s see who has the better option in the end.”
Chris: “Isn’t a snow cave just going to be as cold as the air around it?”
Heidi: “You doorknob. Didn’t you dig snow caves when you were growing up?” [As she finished asking the question, Heidi was struck by images of little Chris playing on the sandy beaches of Southern California.] “Oh, right. You grew up in California.”

Heidi then began to explain the basics of snow cave construction and bragged up the snow cave that she and her cousins built one year as kids growing up in Saskatchewan. Chris was certain that she was slightly exaggerating as it included a curving staircase and was claimed to have plenty of headroom that allowed even an adult to walk around comfortably. In Chris’ mind, he saw a room with Roman pillars and red velvet curtains…certainly this was a hoax.

Heidi edit: No hoax!! I’ll find a picture of the staircase and pillars, oh ye of little faith! No curtains, though. And it did take a week.

At this point the wind was picking up and visibility was dropping. Chris was concerned about a bear sneaking up on Heidi and eating her as she was digging. Chris repaired the heater (which was no simple task), but it was useless. Although it ran just fine, it didn’t even put out as much heat as a small hair dryer. Chris was dejected and walked out to concede defeat. Heidi was digging away, as happy and absorbed as a six-year-old making sand castles on a beach in Hawaii. This only served to make Chris feel more dejected.

Chris: “Geez. This wind is crazy! I can’t see very far. I’ll sit out here and watch for bears.”
Heidi: “Okay! You better call and reschedule our flights!”
Chris: [Does she have to sound so frickin’ happy? This chick is nuts.] “Okay.”

The next 20 minutes were spent making sat phone calls to Alaska Airlines to reschedule. The first was dropped just as the agent pulled up Chris’ reservation. The second (again including about 5 minutes of music at $2 a minute) was successful in getting Chris’ reservation changed. Then, the call got dropped again. A third call: more music, followed by an agent who was not as friendly. He got Heidi rescheduled, but wanted a credit card number to pay a $50 change fee. What? This is crazy.

Chris: “Are you serious? Just use the card that it was booked under. That is what the last agent did.”
Agent: “No. I cannot do that. You have to give me the number.”
Chris: “ It is -35 and windy, I’m watching for bears while my colleague digs a snow cave that we have to sleep in tonight. I can’t exactly just reach into my back pocket to get my wallet.”
Agent: “I’m sorry, sir. I need the credit card.”
Chris: [Digging under two layers of clothes to get his wallet]. &*@($ @#$@# &*%
“When you get home. I want you to go to Google maps and Google “Lonely, Alaska”. Then, as you go to sleep in your warm house, I want you to imagine me freezing in a snow cave. Here is the number….”
Agent: [Giggle] “Okay, sir. Thank you very much.”
Chris: [after hanging up] “JERK. “

At this point, Chris gives in to the snow cave construction, grabs the other shovel and starts helping. We spent another couple hours working on the snow cave. Unfortunately, Chris got so excited and had so much fun that he let himself get too active and started to work so hard that he got sweaty (not a good thing when you have to later slow down and it is so cold). We realized after the cave was 90% done, that as the wind was increasing, we should have put it in a slightly different location on the drift. The wind was blowing across the opening and depositing snow. Looking around, Chris noticed that an upwind barrier might cause a vortex that would scour snow from the opening. He tried to construct such a barrier…but it wasn’t successful. In the end, he was able to scrounge some metal roofing that we put across the opening of the cave.

At about 9:30pm, we went in to an abandoned building just in front of the snow cave to get ready for the night. We left our parkas in the building and took refuge in the snow cave. It was perfect. There was room for two large thermarest pads and two sleeping bags. It was a tight fit getting situated. Chris got in first, took off his boots, and got in his sleeping bag. Heidi followed and did the same. As Chris settled in, he realized that it was very warm in the cave. He couldn’t see his breath.

Chris: “Damn! It is nice in here.”
Heidi: “Doorknob.”

Warm as TOAST

We could hear the increasing wind blow across the opening. Although Chris expected a restless night (like we had experienced in the control tower) it wasn’t to be. Chris woke at 2:30am and checked his watch. Next thing he knew it was 7:30 the next morning and he could have easily (and very comfortably) relaxed for another couple hours. When Chris went to get out of the snow cave, however, life was not so relaxing. The snow had drifted in the hole, and packed in right down to Heidi’s toque. Chris was concerned the entire hole had sealed solid and that they were stuck. [Sidenote: Chris is claustrophobic]. Chris checked the satellite phone for a signal before panicking. No, one could not phone from inside the snow cave.

Written by Heidi in between asterisks
*********************************************************
Heidi had roused herself enough by this point to note Chris’ concern. Swallowing her own, she said, “Don’t worry, I brought the shovel inside in case we need to dig ourselves out. Could get a bit tight, though. Try pushing on the door again.”

Chris pushed. It didn’t budge.

Heidi: “Sit on your bum and kick.”
Chris: “It won’t work!! Relax, okay, just relax, Chris.” [Heidi’s concern grows over Chris talking to himself]
Heidi: “Chris. Look at me. Sit down and kick.”
Chris: “It won’t work!!”
Heidi: “Take one breath. Now sit. Good. Now kick!”

And the door gave in, luckily, as Heidi was not entirely sure where they would have put the snow in the event that they had to dig out. She chose not to mention this.
*********************************************************
Chris: “Heidi, you were right. I like this snow cave sleeping!”

Chris’ wife upon arrival back in Anchorage: “Good thing you took a Canadian!”

Heidi: “Good grief.”

We’ll tell you all about flying back to Deadhorse with contaminated fuel in the next installment!

The Door, after 1 hour of blowing in the next morning. You can imagine what the 10 hour blow-in looked like!

Our Transportation Plan Backfires on Us (written by Chris and edited by Heidi) (December 10th)

[BANG. POP. Rev….BANG.]

Chris: “Go ahead and shut it down.”

Heidi: “What’s going on? Did I break it?”

Chris: “I’m sure you didn’t break it, but I’m not sure what is wrong.”

We had just finished fishing at a spot that was only about 1mile (1.6 km) south of the cabin and Heidi had driven the snow machine until we came to a stop just at the lake’s edge at the cabin. The snow machine started back-firing and wouldn’t go any further. Heidi made a few suggestions/questions about what it might be and then quickly surmised that Chris needed some time alone with the uncooperative snow machine. She went about the task of hauling gear the 100 m or so to the cabin. Chris raised the cowling and started poking around to figure out what the problem could be. Perplexed, Chris called a friend in Anchorage.

Chris: “Hi, Paul. I’ve got a little problem with the snow machine. Can you help me?”

Paul: “Sure, what…”[dead silence as the sat phone dropped the call]

Chris goes through the 2-minute drill of dialing the phone and waiting for the satellite. This happens three more times.

Paul: “I know. Satellite phone dropped us. So, what’s up with the snow machine?”

Chris: “Well, it was functioning perfectly and then began backfiring and won’t make enough power to move. But it seems to idle okay. “

Paul: “Have you been running in a lot of blowing snow?”

Chris: [Picturing the view we had on the ride back the night before in a 30 knot crosswind when we used the direction of the snow to aim for the cabin – this is actually another anecdote*.] “Uh, yeah, we don’t do much else.”

Paul: “Well, I bet you have carb ice then. “

Chris: “Ah! That makes sense.”

Paul: “What’s the temperature right now?”

Chris: “Hmm…I’m guessing it’s minus 20 today.”

Paul: “Ohh…it’s going to be hard to get that warm enough. “

So, carburetor ice (or carb ice) can block the flow of fuel to the engine, which can kill it. In our case, Paul (who owns this snow machine and one just like it at home) thought that we picked up some of that blowing snow, which was now coating the inside of the carb. Sounded reasonable.

To get the carburetor warm enough to melt the ice, Chris decided to wrap the cowling with his down sleeping bag, build a snow berm to block the wind, and let the machine run until everything got warm enough to melt the carb ice. Then, he put some duct tape (can’t have a bush repair without duct tape) over the cowl openings in the hopes that we could get a little warmer running temperature. After about an hour, his sleeping bag was completely saturated in hydrocarbons (luckily he had a clean one in the cabin, otherwise he would have asphyxiated while sleeping) and the surface of the cowling was warm to the touch. Great. That carb ice had to be gone.

Chris hopped (well, waddled, let’s be honest – he was wearing a LOT of clothes) on the snow machine, gunned it and drove around for about 200 meters, when…

BANG. POP. REVVVVVVV….same thing all over again

[Insert foul language of your choosing that Heidi could hear from inside the cabin]

At this point, Chris came into the cabin for a snack and a warm-up. Heidi was packing. She looked up when Chris came in the door and quickly surmised that asking any questions was unwise. There is a natural division of labour that evolves during field trips, usually based on ownership and/or experience. For instance, Heidi was in charge of all things gill net during the summer sampling. The gill nets were hers, and she nets a LOT. Chris has more experience with motors, planes, snow machines, etc, and the machine belongs to Chris’ friend. When the person ‘in charge’ of a certain piece of equipment is facing a potentially trip-threatening problem, it is generally wise to shut the **** up until your assistance is requested.

Heidi’s brain to Chris’s brain: “Can we bring the snow machine inside?” (This was communicated by Heidi looking contemplatively at the door, not by speaking).

Chris: “I thought of that and measured. No dice.”

Heidi: “Rats and squirrels, as they say.”

Chris: “Let’s pour boiling water on the carb. That will do it.”

No. It didn’t.

Okay, another hour under the sleeping bag and a large tarp.

Nothing. Same problem.

Paul was called again.

Paul: “Wow. Let me think. The carb is attached to a black rubber boot with a spring clamp. You could remove that and look in the carb to see if it is clear or if something has lodged in there.”

At this point, Chris was stressed. Here they were with a snow machine that did NOT machine over snow. He had to fix it so they could take it back to Lonely. Tomorrow. And we still had to move a bunch of fuel and equipment over to the other cabin. Also, the machine was borrowed! We couldn’t just abandon it at the cabin until Spring. Although, Chris thought, if he didn’t get it running, he might just have to do that and arrange for us to get picked up here. Oh…that was not good. [Heidi edit: This would be a MAJOR loss of Alaska man-points. Also, we left the CONEX at Lonely looking locked, but not locked because the lock had frozen solid and we were too frozen solid to thaw it out and lock it before we left. Also, our snow machine helmets were there. We couldn’t get them on when we left Lonely, because they were frozen solid. Heidi chose not to remind Chris of this.]

In order to take off the carb boot, Chris had to work bare handed. That meant, he could do a few minutes at a time and, then, had to revive his hands in his jacket. Off came the boot (being VERY CAREFUL not to lose the spring or any of the other small bits in the pitch dark). Chris stuck his head in the cowling and eased the carburetor over to look inside. Nothing. No ice, no foreign objects, just a perfect looking carburetor.

Damn.

Dejected, Chris went back to putting the rubber boot back on the carb. The boot was attached between a black plastic box and the carb. As Chris was reattaching the spring clamps, he realized that the black box was held together by two bolts that also held a solenoid to the spark plug and one of the nuts was missing and the other was very loose (resulting in a faulty ground to the solenoid – and hence the misfiring which resulted in the backfiring.) ARGH!!!! Why didn’t he notice something so obvious? [Heidi edit: Seriously? You think this was obvious? Please.] Chris rummaged around and found a wing nut on one of the ice fishing tip-ups. With that in place and the other nut tightened…everything ran perfectly!

We ended up losing a day due to this little incident. However, it happened within 100 m of the cabin. Clearly, karma was on our side. The day before, we were over 20 miles from the cabin and it was -30 with a 30 knot wind. The day before that we were 20 miles from the cabin and Heidi got so cold that she had to stamp up and down a patch of ice for 20 minutes while singing Christmas carols to herself. This could have been MUCH worse.
_______________________________________________________________________________________
*Anecdote. Driving back from fishing on that day (we refer to it as “that day”, as it was colder and windier and scarier than any other day), Chris stopped for the 20 millionth time and said, “Heids, we’re just not making any progress. The GPS won’t run for any longer than 10 minutes, and there is no good light today and no landmarks. We’re all over the place. It worked okay when you were sitting backwards and could steer me by staring at the moon, but you can’t see that anymore, either.”

Heidi: “Wait for the GPS to warm up. Then when we’re running again, memorize the angle that we’re crossing the blowing snow at. Memorize where it’s hitting your face. Then hold that angle. Hopefully the wind doesn’t shift.”

Chris: “Ah, blonde Inuit, how in the hell did you come up with that?”

Heidi: “Driving on the south Saskatchewan prairie. When it’s blowing snow, which is 4 months of every year, and it’s night, you often can’t see the road for a few seconds at a time. But the road is straight, because it is the prairies. So I memorize how the snow looks to avoid the ditch.”

Chris (working his frozen thumb back into the trigger position): “Huh. Sounds reasonable.”

Good grief.

A typical day fishing (December 6-9, 2011)

[Slam goes front door]

Chris: “I think it might be warmer outside. I took my hands outside of my mitts to refuel the stove and they don’t ache. My hands, that is.”

Heidi: “Sweet. Let’s catch some fish!”

[15 minutes of dressing later]

[20 minutes of packing later]

[1.5 minutes of last-minute babybel-cramming later]

[30 minutes of snow machining later]

Heidi (yelling): “All I can smell is exhaust. Also, I’m starting to lose feeling in my right foot, despite foot warmers and these $200 boots.”

Chris: “Same here.”

Heidi: “They’re supposed to be good to -100C or -148F.”

Chris: “Thus, we can only conclude that it is below -148F. I hate it when that happens.”

[2 minutes later, after Heidi does windmills, karate kicks, and otherwise stomps around to get warm, and Chris warms up the GPS, we resume our positions on the snow machine]

[Repeat 30 minutes of snow machine, 2-6 minutes of warm up, several times]

Chris: “We’re here. Let’s drill some holes. Of course, this would be easier if we hadn’t broken the auger. I was told not to buy Eskimo augers.”

Heidi: “Why did you buy one, then?”

Chris: “They didn’t have any Jiffy augers in Anchorage. I would have had to go to Wasilla.”

Heidi: “Where the heck is that?”

Chris: “It’s where Sarah Palin is from.”

Heidi: “Okay, well, we have most of an auger. And we can operate it, as long as we divide the labour into holding the auger and operating the throttle.”

Chris: “This would also be easier if my thumb wasn’t permanently frozen.”

[After drilling holes, Heidi and Chris stare at each other]

Heidi’s brain to Chris’ brain: “So……who’s going to take off their mitts and put the bait on the hooks?”

Chris’ brain to Heidi’s brain: “Someone also has to operate a pair of pliers. This will be next to impossible.”

Heidi’s brain and Chris’ brain: “Both will take mitts off.”

[35 minutes later, all tip-ups are set, and Heidi is jigging. Chris is going from hole to hole and slushing. Holes tend to freeze up quickly on this lake (quelle surprise)]

[20 minutes later, Heidi and Chris switch, without saying anything. Repeat several times.]

Heidi: “I think I’m hungry. All of my snacks are frozen in my pocket. Also, I don’t want to take off my mitt to get into my pocket.”

Chris: “I think the lake trout have been extirpated from this lake.”

Heidi: “Time to cut bait and return to the land of zucchini casserole and a stove???”

[Repeat most of first half of this post. Substitute playing tag for windmills and karate kicks]

First Day at Tesh (December 5, 2011)

8:00 am – BANG…..bang….clang……whoooosh.

Heidi: “Sounds windy.”

Chris: “I’m going outside to fill up the snow bucket.”

[Bang goes door]

“HOLY *****!!!” [Muffled yell from outside]

[BANG]

[Crash]

Chris comes in, panting slightly.

Chris: “The wind whipped the bucket right out of my hand. I can’t stand up out there.”

Heidi: “Yikes.”

Chris: “We won’t be working today. I’d also recommend that you pee in a bucket.”

Heidi: “Yuck. I’ll take the risk on the spray zone. The key is orientation.”

Chris: “The key is staying upright!”

Hangin' in the cabin on a windy day

Leaving Lonely for Tesh (December 4, 2011)

Chris looking a trifle frosty


Sounds straight forward…..17 miles, a few hours of daylight, 3 GPS units. What could possibly go wrong?

Well, we woke up frozen. Heidi, particularly, was slow off the mark and even when she did manage to get up and into her super-suit (long underwear, down pants, long underwear shirt, merino wool, micro puff, giant Canada goose jacket, 3 toques, 2 pairs of mitts, 2 pairs of socks, Baffin boots, etc), she had to stomp up and down the 5000 ft runway several times before feeling returned to her extremities. She was essentially useless. Chris started to get things ready, and then had to take his own warm-up break. Basically, we used most of our ‘light’ (twilight) getting ready.

And so we started.

Problem 1: The GPS units were pretty much all popsicles and did not function well. We had to keep putting them in our jackets to warm them up.

Problem 2: There are NO landmarks and NOTHING to point toward when the GPS arrow is not arrowing.

Problem 3: We could see Lonely for over an hour. [Demoralizing.]

Problem 4: Not much snow on tundra = very slow progress. We were slower than a herd of turtles stampeding through peanut butter.

One hour into the trip we stopped to stomp around and warm up.

Heidi: “Let’s take stock.”
Chris: “The GPS’s are barely functioning. We can point toward the sun-ish for about another 10 minutes. We can still see Lonely. I’m uncomfortable. Do you think we should go back?”
Heidi: [Thoughtful for several minutes]. “Probably. But I don’t want to. The lure of a warm cabin is simply too tempting.”

So, onward we forged. It was painful. We saw the tail lights of another snow machine going goodness knows where. Other than that, we saw very little. We lost some bags off the sled and had to backtrack. Heidi did step aerobics on the tundra while waiting for the retrieval mission to return.

The Borough cabin at Teshekpuk Lake is right beside the only feature – some cliffs. (A bank in any other topographical setting). Seeing those cliffs elicited a feeling of indescribable relief. Four hours after our departure, several stops, several course corrections, and 1 retrieval mission, we arrived. And the stove started.

SUH-WEET!

Arrival at Lonely (December 2, 2011)

So, after waiting a day or two in Deadhorse, Chris and I headed out to Lonely on December 2, 2011. Chris had flown out with Bob the day before to drop gear at Teshekpuk. They also flew over the route that we would be snow machining (Lonely to Teshekpuk).

Chris (yelling to Heidi over the noise of the generator as we were madly flinging gear around the hangar): “Just to warn you, it’s a little eerie. Flying, that is.”

Heidi: “What do you mean?”

Chris: “Well, it’s kind of like being inside a dimly-lit ping-pong ball.”

Heidi: “Surrounded by white…..sounds good. Can you see anything – textures in the snow or tundra?”

Chris: “Nope. Just white. Until you get to Lonely. Then you see a big radardome and a giant hangar.”

So off we flew. An hour later (Heidi was a Heidsicle), we landed at Lonely. Bob, not wanting the plane to sit for long at -30, quickly threw the engine cover on and we tossed stuff out of the plane. Bob took off.

And there we were. Lonely is an odd, odd place. It was quite pretty right when we landed. The sky was pink (as light as it ever got), and we could actually see a horizon of sorts. Lonely is an abandoned DEW line site and has supposedly been ‘remediated.’ I’m going to go ahead and call it random. In one building, which we called ‘disgusto building,’ there would be a wall ripped out, insulation down, light tubes taken out, and then a case of unopened Comet, a nightstand, and a closet with hangers in it. It was pretty eerie. The place was silent with the exception of a persistent and very rhythmic, “Clang……clang…….clang..” It sounded like an empty flagpole.

Chris: “Phew. This is like being in a creepy sci-fi movie.”
Heidi: [Surveying the scene] “What this adventure needs is a little more cowbell!”

Our first task was to find Chris’ colleague’s CONEX, unpack it, and extract the snow machine. This turned out to be a little more time-consuming than anticipated (as is everything at –stupid degrees Celsius), and started with the lock being frozen solid.

Heidi: “Too bad we don’t have a propane torch. Not that it would work at –30.”
Chris: “We’ll have to light the MSR stove.”

Turns out, matches don’t like -30, and white gas doesn’t like -30. Heidsters also do not like -30, but we knew this in advance and planned for it.
Several minutes later, the lock was thawed out.

Heidi: “Let’s take stock.”
Chris: “I am going to hold up this ridiculously heavy door and frame. You grab that 4x4 and wedge it underneath bit by bit as I lift the frame higher.”
Heidi: “Good plan. Wait. What if we get crushed?”

We were not crushed, but we could have been by the leaning tower of field gear Pisa that threatened to avalanche out as soon as we had the front open. After about an hour of meticulously removing a jumbled jigsaw puzzle of action packers from the CONEX, we could see the snow machine, and lift it out. AND it started on the second pull. Clearly, higher beings were on our side.

Until, of course, the snow machine refused to move anywhere. Turns out, the belt does not engage when the machine is that cold. Apparently higher beings enjoy amusement. We spent 20 minutes trying to start the machine for the second time. By the time it was running and moving and the sleds were hitched together, it was getting dark. We decided that it would be better to stay at Lonely than to snow machine in the dark to the cabin.

Ah, fools we be.

Chris recounted the experience to Mike via satellite phone later in the week.

Chris: “Yeah, we have a plan that will avoid the need to stay at Lonely another night.
Yeah……that was TERRIBLE!”

The good parts were: 1) zucchini casserole; and, 2) hand and foot warmers. That was all.

Waking up dark-circled and chilly on the morrow, we found that our sleeping bag torsos were covered in ice from breathing inside the bags (yes, we know, winter camping instructors). At this point, Heidi allowed that yes, wearing part of a dead seal and a dead otter on her head was indeed warmer than not. Chris was pondering at this point if it would have been: a) more comfortable; or b) less comfortable, if we had lit a bunch of pallets on fire in the hangar and attempted to sleep there.

And so it began…….Mike, Bob, and Jesus H. Dog

We can’t make this up. 70N Aviation, who flew us from Deadhorse, AK, to Point Lonely, AK is composed of Mike, Bob, and Jesus H. Dog (all pictured below). Upon arriving in Deadhorse and phoning Mike for a ride, we were enthusiastically greeted by a golden lab that we recognized from the summer.

Chris: “What’s the dog’s name?”

Mike: “Jesus H. Dog.”

Mike has a long beard, hip glasses, and lives in a seacan (CONEX for you Americans out there) beside the unheated hanger. Bob (owner) lives in a Winnebago parked at the back of the unheated hanger. Jesus H. Dog LOVES playing fetch with sticks. Sticks are thin on the ground up here (particularly in winter), but this dog can find the smallest sticks imaginable.

Mike and Bob are great. They managed to get us out to Point Lonely, AK, and back. Thank you, Mike, Bob, and Jesus H. Dog.

Seriously?

The plan

So, some of you may be wondering what in the heck was up with field work on the north slope of AK in December. Back in July, a group of us, including USGS folks and Nancy and I, went to Teshekpuk Lake, AK to catch lake trout. We were foiled. Big time. Those nefarious LKTR completely evaded our attempts to capture them. So, we had the bright idea that we should try ice fishing. Part of the problem with Teshekpuk Lake is that it is HUGE, and it is difficult to get to some spots on the lake from where the research cabin is located without a lot of fuel, a pretty big boat, and a lot of luck. Travelling on the ice would surely be easier, non?

Ah, yes.

The easiest thing we have ever done.

The plan was for Chris (USGS) and I to charter from Deadhorse, AK, to Point Lonely, AK. Point Lonely is an old DEW line station with a nice airstrip, and some other USGS folks have equipment there that they kindly allowed us to use. The plan was to snow machine from Lonely to Teshekpuk and go ice fishing. Why now? In the dark? Well, we thought there would be too much ice in April. Like, a LOT too much ice. And the ice was late coming on this year. Hence December instead of November.

'A' on the map is Deadhorse. 'B' is Point Lonely. 'C' is Teshekpuk.

Easy, right?

What could POSSIBLY go wrong?

I should mention that this plan was a lot easier than earlier iterations of plans, including 60 mile snow machine rides and self-propelled transport.

The Exploding Toilet

So, living on the Arctic Star (barge) involves what Nancy and I call 'suction plumbing.' It sounds like an airplane, but much louder. The first time Nancy took a shower and the suction plumbing kicked in, she was so startled and jumped so high that she hit her head. When you hear the sink valve trip, you brace yourself for an almost deafening noise.

A couple of weeks ago, I was eating dinner while Nancy went to take a shower (having previously eaten, of course). With a spoonful of corn halfway to my mouth, Nancy came running in.

"HEIDI!!! COME QUICK!!"

This was all she said before blasting off down the hallway. Turning back she yelled, "Heidi, FASTER!"

Upon arrival in our room, I saw that the toilet was about 0.5 nm away from overflowing.

Heidi: "What did you DO?"
Nancy: "NOTHING! I didn't even pee - it just started doing it."

Quickly turning the water off, we rushed back to the kitchen.

Nancy to room in general: "Who takes care of the toilets around here??"

Keith was the person to look for.

Heidi: "What does Keith look like?"

"Oriental. Or Native."

Heidi: "This is not entirely helpful."

Nancy ran upstairs to find a person yielding a shop vac outside a bathroom and quickly ascertained this was the person we were looking for.

Nancy: "Our toilet's exploding! Are you Keith?"

Keith: [Throws down vac] "ANOTHER ONE?"

Apparently, the lines had been flushed that day and some of the valves had gone. After fiddling with some things for a bit, Keith left and then came back.

"I just checked the system and she's right pinned. This whole line is running at 60 PSI."

Nancy: "60 PSI??? The TOILET is running at 60 PSI?"

Yes. And this is why it exploded.

Last day of fishing today - Nancy is back down south and Chris has been in for a week. Wish us luck catching spawners in a boat that floats.

EPIC....E-PIC

So, September 8, 2011 was epic.

Arrival at site. We go to land beside our aluminum boat and zodiac.

Nancy: "Don't land...DON'T LAND!!!"
Pilot: "What?"
Nancy: "Lots of bears, LOTS of bears."
Pilot: "Where?"
Nancy: "THERE! In our gear!! There are....1...2... THREE bears."

Landing not being an option, we reassessed. Coming back later, doing a big bear sweep, and seeing no bears, we also employed a strategy where the pilot waited for us to launch our boat with all of our gear before taking off. We then moved all of our gear to the side of the lake where the bears don't seem to hang out.

H: "To the ESCAPE POD!! Ha ha!! Look at the escape pancake (zodiac looking flat)! Good thing we don't have to inflate that while the blades are turning!"

So, while our pilot sat on the ground with the blades turning, N and I hucked stuff into the escape pod and got out onto the lake, at which point the helichopper could safely leave. We didn't have time to change into our waders during this panic, and I went over my boots. LOVE going over my boots at 9 am. Safely changed into dry stuff on a bear-free beach, N and I set the nets, and then went to bear-free beach #2 for a snack and warmup walk. During the time, a siksik ate ANOTHER of Heidi's dry bags (it had NO food in it), and Heidi did a siksik dance to ward it off.

After swearing at the nefarious nature of siksiks and their seal-bag eating ways for a good 5 minutes, we discovered that we were freezing and went on a constitutional to check out an abandoned silver mine (which has happily been nicely reclaimed since the last time I saw it).

Toes warmed, we went to check the nets. And, as usual, crap weather means good fishing. Nancy saw her first red charr, and we caught a HUGE lake trout.

H: "HOLY CRAP!! It's a shark! Look at the head on that thing!!"

N: "It's a TUNA! Look, you can see a fish down its throat."

H: "Well, now our boat will REALLY be a bear attractant. Good thing it's aluminum. As far as I know, they can't eat aluminum. But I have been proven wrong by bears in the past. And siksiks. DAMN that siksik!"

The Lake of Futile Death and the Leaky Red Boat Reunite

After our return from Nauyuk, where we caught our limit of fish but hardly any spawning females (DOH!), we headed to Hovaktok (Louie Lake). Experience had taught us that this lake can be very, very tricksy. In fact, it has been named the Lake of Futile Death in previous years. Previous experience has also taught us that there can be a LOT of bears at Hovaktok.

Nancy: “Heidi, I feel that your luck and my luck together are…….catastrophic.”

Heidi: “This indeed appears to be the case. Let’s take stock. We have one barely floating boat (LRB), a few less floats, a plug in cooler that is now a box, and some damaged camping equipment. Our radio doesn’t work from Hovaktok. I feel that we need to plan for ALL contingencies.”

Nancy: “I used to think you were cynical and a bit pessimistic. Now I realize you are just realistic. Let’s take both bear kits and extra noodles.”

This being decided, we slung out camping equipment, food, and fuel in the likely eventuality that the ceiling would come down while we were working one day and we would be unable to get home. We also signed our gun in and out every day, AND we brought all of our nets home every day. This was extremely time consuming, as it involved taking all floats and weights off and bagging the nets BEFORE trying to wrassle them into the helichopper. The strategy apparently worked, as we did not see a single bear during our entire time there!!! The fishing was weird – as opposed to previous years we did not catch big spawning charr, and once again the spawning female lake trout were very elusive – BUT we did not have our equipment ransacked by bears. We also did catch our limit of lake trout, which was great, and we saw a wolf!

The other great thing is that Nancy is turning into a nerd. Quite often, Nancy speaks of ski patrol and rafting. The other day on the bus up from the barge, Nancy hadn’t said anything for about 5 minutes. This was unusual. Then she said, “I can’t believe that female last night was resting!! She even had her red fins on.” Later that day Nancy said, “Phew. This periphyton is slippery.”

Other quotes:

Nancy: “Oh, hello pretty lake trout. Welcome to the LRB. Population: you. Oh look, you are a ripe male.”

Heidi chuckles evilly. Another convert. ☺

The only problem these days is that we are a little short on sleep and have slept in the last two mornings. When this happens, Heidi bolts awake and shouts, “NANCY, IT’S GO TIME!”

Nancy: “WHERE ARE MY PANTS? WHY ARE THEY BACKWARDS?”
Heidi: “GO GO GO GO GO GO – we’re going to miss the shuttle!”
Nancy: “Heidi (upward inflection) – why are we always running when we’re awake?”
Heidi: “We can’t run while sleeping.”
Nancy: “I never drank coffee before I started working for you. Now I rely on it.”
Heidi: “And this is unfortunate, because we are running low on high-test. Too bad we can’t inject this into our veins.”
[Nancy bites into first cinnamon bun of the day]

Today we start our first real day on Roberts Lake. The Lake of Futile Death (now the lake of grudging life once again) is complete for this year. Good news: we can switch to an aluminum boat (maybe). Bad news: there are three bears in the area. Ha!

The Pump

As some of you may remember, when we arrived here there was ONE pump for the leaky red boat, and it had to stay with the rescue boat [read: safety pancake]. Mike Braeuer shipped us a pump overnight, and the above photo shows what we did to ensure that it was not purloined. Nancy spent the better part of a weather morning on this.

On the day it arrived, we carried Super Pump everywhere around camp.

Heidi: “ I don’t want to put this pump down. Where will we store it?”
Nancy: “When one tires, the other one will carry.”

Super Pump, we thought, was not going to be useful once we got our new boat. Sadly, the new boat had no need of a pump because it held air about as well as a colander. So, Super Pump’s value sky-rocketed.

Yesterday, we arrived at LRB at Roberts Lake to find that a bear had ransacked the place. One dead float, many scratched floats, bear hair in boat, gill nets upended, etc etc. We walked over to LRB in trepidation…..had the bear ate Super Pump? Pumps have been eaten before…..

Nancy: “PHEW! Luckily, the bear read the death note! Okay, I’m going to turn the escape pancake back into an escape pod.”

Heidi: “Good idea. As we know, the key to a good bear strategy is an escape pod. [Counts floats]. Sigh. Good thing Mike gave us extras!! We should tell those bear DNA folks to fly over here. Actually, maybe they should just follow us around.”

Before the hurricane

Days 2 and 3 at Nauyuk


Day 2 at Nauyuk Lake dawned clear-ish and calm-ish, and the extremely leaky red boat arrived at approximately 1 pm. By 5, we were setting nets. True, we could see air bubbles coming out of the pontoons, but this was not a problem as long as we kept on top of the pump situation. Which, thanks to Mike Braeuer, we could. The pump deserves its own post, but that will come later. ☺

So, after catching some fish, we put them on strings on processing island (along with the nets – to avoid attracting bears), and headed back to camp. The next morning dawned hurricaney. Winds were gusting to 50 knots, and Doris Camp reported that they were getting blown off of the mountain. After hemming and hawing, we decided that we could get the nets and fish from the island (it’s quite close to the cabin), but we could not set any nets. So, processing began! First challenge: how to weigh fish parts on a sensitive digital scale in a hurricane.

Hank: “Well, Jim, I think the only way around this is to set up the tent. I’d rather not do this because it’s my own personal tent and is likely to become completely covered in fish guts, but I think it’s our only option.”

Jim: “Hmmmm. I think you might be right. Is that the lake blowing off the lake?”

Hank: “Yes.”

So, we took Mark down to American beach where there are drums and a giant piece of wood (rare commodities) to cut fish on, and asked him to scope out a slightly more sheltered spot to set up the tent. We saw him shake the tent out of the bag, and we were a tad concerned. But hey, Mark camps all the time. What could possibly go wrong?

Approximately halfway to the island to get the nets and fish, Nancy’s eyes got REALLY wide.

“HOLY SHIT!!”

Expecting to see a bear and preparing herself for it, Heidi turned toward shore. Whereupon she witnessed her $400 Nunatuk 4-season MEC tent cartwheeling across the tundra and cliffs and headed for the drink. Revving the ELRB as high as possible, she beat it toward shore at an angle of interception. Nancy, oblivious to her personal safety, launched herself out of the boat in an attempt to tackle the tent. Unfortunately, the water was over her waders. However, she avoided the abyss by somehow grabbing onto a boat handle and literally catapulting herself toward shore.

Heidi: “NANCY!!! Look BEFORE you leap!!!”

Nancy: “It’s the raft guide in me!!!!”

After successfully tacking the tent and surveying the damage (one large rip in the nylon, one medium rip in the nylon, and one damaged pole), we looked up to see Mark beating it over the cliffs.

“Windy.”

Good grief.

Let’s take stock. One ELRB, one plug in cooler that is a box, one bag of cookies and danishes from the kind people at camp, one bag of emergency jelly beans from Jill, 10 L of kerosene, two sooty stoves, a hurricane, and one damaged tent.

But no bears!! And no bugs, either.

Arrival at Nauyuk

Arrivals at Nauyuk tend not to be dull (please see previous entries from 2007 and 2008). This year proved to be no exception. After waiting for good enough weather for 1.5 PAINFUL days, we circled above Nauyuk and I noticed the cabin looked….different. That’s because a bear had ripped the front door out by the frame. There was insulation everywhere, siksik poo everywhere, it smelled like bear pee, the stove was on its side on the floor, 1/3 of the ceiling was down, a bunch of vapour barrier was down, etc etc. Basically, there was a giant mess.

Heidi to Mark: “Well, Mark, looks like we have some fixing to do.”

Mark: “Heh…. yep!”

Pilot to Nancy: “Are you sure you girls are going to be okay here?”

Nancy: “Oh, COME ON! Just because we’re out here in the middle of nowhere doesn’t mean we have lost our domestic skills. We’ll have this place fixed up in no time.”

Heidi: “Let’s take stock. Our stash of nails has been stolen. We have no broom. In other news, the windows have fallen out of the door, and the door is a pancake on the tundra. On the bright side, the frame is still in one piece.”

Mark to Nancy: “Nancy, let’s go to Walmart.”

So, Nancy and Mark take off down to the other camps in search of goods. Heidi, in the meantime, takes apart what is left of the freezer outside (see previous entry where she stripped the wiring) and the fridge inside in order to scavenge screws. Mark and Nancy come back grinning. They have found a box of nails, and have taken the middle screw out of every hinge in every door at the other camps. They have also scared up the brooms that Heidi and Marilynn used in previous years.

Two hours later, we had a frame, a door, and the windows were being held by Tuck Tape. The inside still smelled slightly of bear pee, but otherwise we were in good shape. It was time to haul stuff up to the cabin. It turned out, upon inspection, that our plug-in cooler (shipped in its original packaging) had arrived without its cord. This effectively rendered it a box. No matter, we had brought a GIANT stash of icepacks and an Xtreme Cooler for just such an eventuality.

So, the time came to inflate the boat. We had been gloating for the previous 2 days about how we had a boat shipped overnight from Edmonton to camp, to replace the leaky red boat (which had become the extremely leaky red boat). We had tested to make sure that the floor boards fit, and had inflated it half way. Assured that the boat was pressure-tested, we packed it up in the pouring rain and shipped it to Nauyuk.

Ah, fools we be.

After each of us pumping for what seemed like an eternity, Mark started circling the boat. Nancy and Heidi stopped pumping. And listened. It was not so much a hiss they they heard, but a gush. Nancy knelt down near the bow of the boat and pressed on a pontoon. Her face got closer. And closer.

Nancy: “Well!! There’s your problem, Hank!”

There was a 2-inch gash in the seam of our recently-shipped boat. The leak was so bad that the boat wouldn’t even inflate. While Nancy attempted to patch it (we knew this would be unsuccessful, but hey, might as well give it a whirl), Heidi phoned camp.

“Hi Jill, this is Heidi. Ummmm. If you could somehow get us the extremely leaky red boat, that would be great. The thing is, that one at least deflates after inflating, instead of just refusing to inflate in the first place.”

Jill, bless her for all eternity, assured us in extremely comforting tones that the boat would be flown out that night or the next morning. Somewhat deflated (literally) at this point, we decided that the best course of action would be to call it a long day and have some supper.

This, also, turned out to be slightly more difficult than originally anticipated. Surprisingly.

A few weeks earlier, Heidi had asked for some white gas to be shipped to camp. This is a dangerous good and takes some special handling, so folks in Yellowknife had kindly agreed to take care of this. The fuel arrived in its dangerous goods packaging, and thinking that we should leave it in that packaging for the sling to Nauyuk (to prevent leaks), that is exactly what we did.

Ah, fools we be.

It was kerosene, NOT white gas.

Now, kerosene will burn in Heidi’s MSR stoves, but not well, and not unless you change the fuel jets. Being too tired to read the label properly, Heidi did notice that the fuel did not light well and was sootier than all heck. When the stove erupted into a giant fireball and she just about lit the cabin on fire, she deduced that this was NOT white gas. A phone call to Erik later and the digging out of her instruction manuals and stove maintenance kits (which she did have) resulted in a sooty Heidster, changed fuel jets, and stoves that would work…….with a lot of patience.

“Let’s take stock. We have a bear-ravaged cabin, a plug-in cooler that is effectively a box, stoves that smoke like a hot damn, and absolutely no way to float. It is day 9 in the field. RATS AND SQUIRRELS! But the door is back on. And mom’s zucchini casserole is amazing. Even if I may or may not have added some carbon.”

Nauyuk is as beautiful and peaceful as ever. No bears yet! (Only the evidence thereof).

Hmmmmm. It has turned to 'Fogust'

This term was coined by Maury, one of our pilots, and relayed to me by Angela. The weather, unlike that shown in the photo above (our first night - we're staying on the barge to the right), has turned, well, craptacular! We are scheduled to leave for Nauyuk tomorrow, but we will see if the ceiling is high enough. Once again, we will be employing the dual helicopter strategy, where an A-star slings our gear and we follow in the long ranger. We have Mark on board again (hopefully - he should turn up tomorrow), a whole bunch of Heidi-friendly food, a boat that FLOATS AND an accompanying pump, and enough gill nets to hopefully catch some fish!!

I anticipate, however, that the tough will have to get going. Not going to lie - the weather is NOT pleasant. In previous years, Kathryn and I adopted song-writing as a coping skill. Marilynn and I had alter egos - Beatrice and Rosie, of course. Nancy and I have also adopted alter egos - Hank and Jim. It all started with us figuring something out and me saying to Nancy, "Well, there's your problem, Hank!" After looking at me strangely, shaking her head, and taking a bite of the stale marshmallow square in her pocket, she said, "That's right, Jim! The problem here is that your patches have been ripped off and replaced with duct tape (true story!)."

So, if you don't hear from us until August 25th, this is a good thing. If you do, at least we can take our boat that floats and go fishing somewhere near by!!!

- Hank and Jim

Heidi taking one in the chin and dissecting a disgusting carcass with tools from the first aid kit - excellent potential for large otoliths

Return of the Leaky Red Boat (or is it final death for the leaky red boat?)

So loyal blog readers, you’ve waited a long time for this post. Three years in fact. This year, it’s Nancy and I, and we’re back at Hope Bay. Things are looking a little different around here. There is an airstrip, roads, a giant camp (or is it a rat maze?), and even MORE safety rules. A girl can’t go anywhere without PPE on around here.

Anyway, Nancy and I arrived on Friday, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Even 1.5 days of safety orientations did not dampen our spirits. At one point, Nancy even said, “Wow, this place seems really organized.”

Ah, fools we be.

If you cannot remember the story of the leaky red boat (LRB), please refer to previous blog entries. Suffice to say that LRB has seen its share of service. It may or may not have encountered the following things in its long, long life: a) attack by grizzly; b) slung into broken piece of drill stem; c) picked up with a fork lift and dragged across beach.

Anyhoo, LRB was supposed to be less leaky (we were dubious, but chose to believe). In fact, rumour had it that LRB had been replaced. On Saturday afternoon, after safety orientation 375647c, Pants (i.e., Nance) and I headed down to the location of the boat. Our guide proudly announced in a Newfie accent, “I’s soaped her all down good, and look at this – she’s rock hard!” At this point, Pants and I looked at each other dubiously. Why? Our eyes said to each other, “I hear hissing, do you hear hissing?” Foolishly choosing to ignore this ominous sound, we prepared ourselves for a Sunday am departure.

Sunday am dawns. Pants and Heids head to the helipad and look at the boat. It’s flat as a pancake. No worries. We’ll pump it up.

Ah, fools we be.

The original armada of boats is unfortunately not accompanied by the original armada of pumps. There is ONE pump with ONE correct attachment. Unfortunately, new safety regulations require that said pump stay with the ‘rescue’ boat that lives in a sling ready to rescue people at a moment’s notice. [Sidenote: rescue boat is also currently flat as a pancake].

Pants and I are undeterred, know we will figure something out, and head to the 730 safety meeting.

Direct quote from Nancy after the meeting, “Heidi, I’ve never really understood why people think The Office is funny. I understand now.”

Chair of meeting: “Heidi, do you have any safety concerns for today?”

I really did ponder my next words carefully. I knew what I should say, and then there was what I did say.

“Well. My boat’s flat as a pancake, and it’s going to sink like a rock to the bottom of the lake.”

[Nancy bursts out laughing, only to realize that nobody else is laughing.]

“So. I guess I’ll deal with that.”

Seeing that half of western civilization is up on this patch of tundra this year, we were informed that ‘The Fountain Tire Guy’ would patch our boat. We waited for a day. We visited Roberts Outflow, caught some char, did the same thing again, had a somewhat humorous electrofishing experience. No patched boat. These two prairie girls decided to take matters into their own hands.

“Nance. I’m going to try to get a pump flown in from Golder. Yes, I know I have no way to pay for said pump and we are not working for Golder this year. However, I think this is our best shot.”

Nancy: “Agreed.”

At which point, Nancy, with her considerable experience patching rubber boats, patched the rubber boat. This was not easy. All of the repair kits on site were well past their glue-by date. We used bike tire patches that we brought from Edmonton. After 5 hours of patching, Nancy declared the job a success. With baited breath, we left the boat to cure, and decided to check this morning if it was holding air. In the meantime, and as if by a miracle of god, Mike from the warehouse at Golder got us a pump. We don’t know how. Also, he sent us a candy necklace. We owe Mike many, many cheeseburgers.

Fast forward to this morning.

“Hey Nance, why don’t you go check the boat, and I’ll do up the journey plan and track our still-missing generator, white gas, and blue Rubbermaid.”

Nance: “Cool.”

Heidi was halfway through figuring out where the erstwhile generator may or may NOT be, when Nancy returned.

“Heidi, the boat’s gone.”

“What do you mean, the boat is GONE?”

“The boat’s gone.”

After staring at each other and laughing hysterically (it is Tuesday, and we arrived on Friday and have still not seen the water), we go down to find the dude who might know what’s gone on.

“Oh, sorry there girls….I forgot to tell the tire guy not to pick up the boat.”

The boat had been picked up by the tire guy. Upon further investigation, it was discovered that he removed every last patch from that boat, and that it was unlikely to be in service any time soon. This discovery may or may not have involved us hitchhiking a ride in a cube van and wandering around asking where the tire shop was. A particularly memorable response was,

“What’s a tire?”

So, you may ask, what are we going to do? Well, of course any rescue mission must involve Mike at Golder. Angela (formerly Golder, now our Newmont contact!) moved heaven and earth and other planetary units and arranged for this to be a legal and paid operation, via Claire (who I would imagine is laughing as I type this).

So. We have a pump. Mike, bless him forever, was going to drive our boat to the Edmonton airport tonight or have it picked up at the crack of stupid tomorrow morning. It will arrive by Buffalo on Thursday. We are scheduled to leave with Mark for Nauyuk on FRIDAY.

Quotes from Mike, “Boat…boat….Heidi, not sure if we have one. How soon do you need it? Stupid question. Yesterday, right? Boat….boat…..here’s one! And I just got an email that said I’m authorized to send this. Don’t worry, Heidi, we’ll get there. Sometimes we get to the finish line upside down and on fire, but we’ll get there.”

Know what’s great? We haven’t been able to test the motor.

What could be possibly go wrong?

Nothing, because quite obviously, this is the easiest thing we’ll ever do.

Pants and Heids

PS. Don’t worry, mom – we’ve bribed the cook and I am eating actual food.

Hi ho, hi ho, back to the north I go......

And I need someone to come with me!!

LAB/FIELD TECHNICIAN JOB POSTING FOR ARCTIC FISHERIES PROJECT

I am looking for a hard-working, enthusiastic lab and field assistant to assist with a collaborative fisheries research project in the Arctic

Responsibilities will include:
• Preparation of laboratory samples
• Assistance with fisheries permit applications and returns
• Up to 2 months of remote Arctic field work (expect extensive travel)
• Preparation of educational materials for NWT and Nunavut communities
• Partial supervision of second assistant

Eligibility
• Undergraduate (completed or currently enrolled) education (subject area flexible)
• Interest in freshwater Arctic ecology
• Interst in engaging communities
• Sense of humour
• Experience in remote environments
• Certification (or willingness to be trained) in wilderness first aid
• Possesion and acquisition license (or willingness to obtain license) for restricted and unrestricted firearms

Pay is $2,500 per month for up to 10 months. Start date negotiable but as soon as possible. Current students may apply for the field season (beginning of May to end of August) only. Send resume, cover letter, and dates available to: arcticfieldjobATgmail(.com)

Random conversations on the tundra

Below is a collection of snippets that left us, at various times, rolling on the hummocks with hysteria/giddy giggles.

************************************************************************************
Marilynn (while peeing): “Crap. Helicopter. Go pee, go."[Jumping into waders] “Uh-oh…. wetness. Sweat or pee? Sweat or pee? It would be warm if it was pee, right?”

5 minutes later.

Marilynn: “Gross. I just stepped on a dead bird.”

Heidi: “WHOA. Look at the size of the maggots on that thing! Those are the biggest maggots I’ve ever seen. Do you have any campinos?”

**********************************************************************************

One day, we found ourselves half-trotting over hummocks from Stickleback outflow to our launch site on the lake. Helichopper ETA was 2 minutes.

Marilynn: “!*@&#, are you serious? Bloody substandard.......”

The bag of water bottles had broken and there were bottles scattered everywhere in willows, hummocks, and scrub birch. An hour later, we were similarly trotting between Fickle Duck outflow and Fickle Duck lake. Heidi looked down at the bag and panted, “Oh boy. Structural integrity compromised.”

Marilynn: “Make sure you’re running on hummocks and not on rocks. That way the bottles won’t break when your bag breaks. You know what’s really easy? Running through a swamp in waders with a 100 lb pelican case.”

*********************************************************************************

Angela and I stumbled out of our dark cabin at 6:15 am one day with one eye open against the light and thoughts of nothing but the disgusting coffee we were about to wolf down.
Angela: “Heidi, you know what? I’m not getting any LESS tired.”

*******************************************************************************

Angela, Paul, Claire, and I were all on Patch Lake one day in rather horrific weather. Paul had branched out from cookies to tarts on this particular day and somehow, our lunchtime discussion turned to soda crackers. This was perhaps because I was wolfing down about 5 packages of crackers in an extremely ill-fated attempt to kick the cookie habit. (For the record, it didn’t work and at one point during the day I resorted to a 2-year old granola bar in the bottom of my pack that tasted like rancid peanuts).

Paul: “Have you ever tried putting 4 crackers in your mouth at once and eating them in a single minute without drinking any water? It’s impossible. You THINK it’s going to be easy, just like eating a tart (opens mouth impossibly wide and inserts an ENTIRE butter tart while Angela, Claire, and I look on incredulously), but it’s actually impossible.”

****************************************************************************
Marilynn and I arrive at Boston Lake, where Claire and Dan have left a boat for us to use for water sampling.

Heidi: “Hmmm. That’s interesting. I thought they would have left the pump with the boat (kicks half-deflated pontoon). I wonder why they would take the pump back to camp?”

Marilynn: “In other news, it’s hurricaining again. No bugs, though.”

Heidi (zig zagging half an hour later through the chop): “It’s like driving a shovel with a sewing machine. Man, this is easy.”
********************************************************************************

Marilynn and Heidi are sampling the ocean at the base of Louie Lake outflow, where the bear they chased earlier is back fishing in the rapids and there are seals congregating around the boat. Also, we may or may not have forgotten the paddles on this fine day, so the boat was a bit crowded with pieces of 1 x 4 (we tested, and we could actually paddle) and a LARGE rock to be used as an emergency anchor, if necessary. Marilynn was passed out on a pontoon.

Heidi: “Mem. how many Benadryl did you have today? Only, you’re missing bear TV and seal TV. It’s pretty cool.”

Marilynn (drowsily groaning): “Three Benadryl.”

Heidi: “Don’t they have non-drowsy stuff?”

Mem: “Yes, but you know I’m a cheap-ass and it was a few dollars more.” [Pondering for a few seconds] “Perhaps if there was a Shoppers Drug Mart on shore I would spend the extra money.”

Heidi: “You are ridiculous, you know. Is that a bear-shaped rock up there or a rock-shaped bear? I’m not wearing my contacts or glasses. Haven’t all summer, in fact.”

Mem: “I’m ridiculous? Rock-shaped bear. How fast do you think bears can swim?”

Heidi: “Don’t know, but if he heads this way, you paddle with the 1 x 4 and I’ll throw the anchor rock at its head.”

Hurricanes and safety dudes

I have previously mentioned the abundance of safety dudes on site this year. One day, after a safety dude saw us in a boat and had a conniption, Marilynn was approached by one of the staff in camp.

Direct quote: “Does it ever get rough when you’re in the boat?”

Marilynn looked at this person in stark amazement. “Does it ever get rough?” she thought to herself. At which point, a raft of answers flooded into her mind.

Marilynn (in her head): “Well, we are at WINDY Lake.”

Marilynn (in her head): “Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re in the ARCTIC. The BARREN lands.”

Marilynn (in her head): “You know when it’s too windy for the planes to land? And we’re in the boat?”

Marilynn (in her head): If by, “Is it ever rough,” you mean, “Is it ever so horrendously windy that you zip up two rain jackets to your eyes, bail while driving, drive with only one eye open, and zig zag for two miles across a lake wreaked by 18 inch waves while a bear eats your gear on shore,” then “Yes, sometimes it’s rough.”

In any case, Claire and I were one day off of finishing the August water sampling. We could smell the finish line. We could taste it. Anticipating the sweetness, Claire processed an entire day’s samples on her own one evening while Heidi went out and sampled 7 more streams just to bring the finish line that much closer. So, it was the last day and we were on Hope Bay. It was a TITCH windy. As in, it was Hurricaine Hope. Perhaps we should have waited until it was less hurricainey, but we didn’t.

Beatrice (gazing out into the swells): “Claire, I believe this is going to be the EASIEST thing we have EVER done.”

Fast-forward approximately one-half hour.

Heidi: “Windy logistics, do you copy Heidi on channel one? Yes, we’re going to need an extra hour at this site.”

Beatrice: “Claire, according to the GPS we have dragged the anchor 300 metres since arriving. I think we’re going to have to lift the anchor and move it back to where we’re supposed to be. And then we’ll have to re-sample. RATS.”

Claire: “Right. But, ummm, Heidi, the anchor is about a million pounds at this site.”

Heidi (pondering): “Okay, let’s just get it off the bottom. Then we’ll tie it off on the handle of the boat and long-line it back to the site.”

Claire: “Is this: a) a good idea; or, b) a bad idea?”

Heidi: “B. Bad idea. But it is significantly less painful than: a) lift anchor 25 m into boat.”

So, off we went. Do you know how easy it is to drive a boat in 1- 1.5 m swells while you are pulling an 80 lb anchor approximately 15 m below you? I should mention that the wind was a headwind at this point. Not easy, let me tell you. But we made it and re-established our position. We also let out more slack, in an attempt to reduce our drift.

Heidi (glancing at GPS, then yelling): “RATS. Claire, our strategy has proven ineffective. We are still drifting like an SOB. [Thinking]. Okay, this is what we’re going to do. I’m going to attempt to drive the boat in reverse into the waves while you deploy the Kemmerer. That way, we MIGHT have a chance of getting a vertical sample!”

Claire (looking dubious and recounting the loss of the DFO zooplankton net and the Aqua-Vu camera): “Isn’t it sort of likely that you’ll cut the rope while driving?”

Heidi: “Ha. Yup. That would really suck, especially because this is a brand new Kemmerer. Okay, let’s go. Hey Claire, is it ever rough when we’re sampling?”

Claire: “Do you have any cookies?”

I had 2, and an hour later we were shivering triumphantly on shore, with Claire remarking that her hands had never been so cold in her life. Luckily, dexterity is not required for eating cookies.

The Lake of Futile Death throws us a (small) bone

So, until the last week of August, Louie Lake was the lake of futile death. As mentioned in a previous entry, Maril and I fished like we had never fished before and bug hunted like the world depended on it……all for naught. NADA. ZIP. Not a single anadromous fish and narry a mysid nor gammarus to be found. As a last ditch attempt, Maril and I hatched a plan. Hatching plans is one of our strong points. Bug hunting in the Arctic, evidently, is not.


Maril: “Okay, here’s the problem. You have to start water sampling and I have to go home. And the lake of futile death has not yielded. How about I work for two days on water sampling and then Claire can help you on Louie for two days when the water sampling’s done? Maybe the fish will be moving by then.”

Heidi (while bringing up yet another empty kick net): “Yes, I think this is an excellent idea. Largely because THIS is not working (gestures toward net). For whatever reason, the fish just aren’t moving yet and the bugs are exceedingly elusive. Maybe the water’s too high? [Heavy sigh]. Mem, do you have any patience cookies left?”

This brings me to an important point. When things are really going terribly, the only thing that keeps two fish girls sane is cookies. LOTS of cookies. The best ones are oatmeal with chocolate chips.

Maril: “No, but I do have some campinos. I’ve re-named them, actually. They’re called Heidi’s anti-grouchy medication.”

Heidi: “Hmmm. Yes, sorry. Fruitless bug hunting makes me grouchy. “
So, after a whirlwind of water sampling that shattered all previous time records, Claire and I headed to Louie Lake with our three bears. On day two I was lifting a net when….

Heidi (barely above a whisper): “Claire, I need you to find the dip net. Quickly. There is a CHARR. A BIG CHARR! And he’s only barely caught by his teeth.”

Claire dug frantically around the boat only to discover that the dip net was hopelessly trapped between 2 fish tubs, a cooler, and various other detritus.

Claire: “Ack.”

At this point, I reached into the water and grabbed the poorly-caught charr by the tail. While lifting the awkward load into the boat, I may or may not have fallen backwards into the fish tub. Everything’s a bit of a blur.

Heidi (grinning ear to ear): “YESSSSSSS!!! Look, look, look!! Claire, a CHARR! Ouch. I think I pulled both hamstrings doing that. But who needs to walk? All I have to do now is find otoliths.”

And so, the lake of futile death became the lake of mediocre, grudging, life. It didn’t give us much, but in three days we got half a dozen charr and a couple of sea-run trout as well as some amazing shots of our bears.
Pathologically stubborn? Perhaps.