My bare feet touched the cold pine boards of our bedroom floor in stark contrast to the warmth of our down covered bed. I quickly pulled on my fleece pants and top which I had strategically placed before jumping into bed the night before. This made them easy to find in the early morning darkness. I made sure the fleece pieces were right side out and laid in such a way that no additional time was needed for my limbs to enter. Our bedroom is heated, but when nighttime temperatures are single digit or below zero, the heat struggles to reach 60 degrees, usually 57-59. Perfect sleeping temperatures. The sun can quickly warm the room, but this past January, it was shy about appearing. If it did break free of the clouds, it was diffused through the Spruce trees.
Heat escapes out our very large bedroom window, but I've never wanted it covered, preferring to watch the ever changing world outside.
This morning, before strolling to the coffee pot, I twirled in place three times and speaking quietly, so I wouldn't wake my sleeping husband, I uttered “rabbit, rabbit, rabbit”.
February had finally arrived, bringing with it increased daylight and my hope for good luck.
The glow of Christmas lights was long past and my head cold, which arrived on New Year’s Day, had disappeared except for a lingering cough. The 31 days of January, at times, had felt 2 months long. Thankfully, along with January’s snow and cold came birthday celebrations and hockey.
BB's birthday ski included missing school and hotdogs!
The ice of the pond returned, leading me to think shoveling wouldn't be needed for a return to skating. What looked like solid ice, was in fact overflow produced by the weight of the snow forcing water to the surface. BB and Esme skated over the rough ice while I picked up hockey pucks embedded in snow banks the result of errant shots on goal. I had no luck retrieving a shovel and a goal that were solidly frozen in.
By mid-January, Bucky and I had a routine of having tea around 3:30 in the afternoon. It was a chance for me to pull a blanket around my feet and warm myself from both inside and out. Three nights a week, I’d also warm my dance clothes by the pellet stove, before stripping down in the heat to pull them on. How lucky we are not to have close neighbors! From any room in our house, I can look out through large windows without fear of others looking in. In January, when darkness arrives at 4:00, getting in my car at 6 o’clock to drive to town is hard, but it's been a habit for 40 plus years and I always return home feeling better for having gone.
Most of our children and grandchildren have played or are presently playing ice hockey. Bucky commented recently on how we've been watching kids play hockey for over 40 years. It's easy to watch hockey games knowing we're not responsible for transporting players to practices and games that start way too early in the morning and are played too far away, sometimes during winter blizzards. We can now share with our children, who are driving our grandchildren to games, the harrowing experiences we had of hitting black ice on I 89 or white knuckling it through the curves of Roxbury Mountain Road with them asleep in the back seat. Those "near death" experiences are never forgotten.
Quinn #7 is following in her sister Hana's footsteps with the C on her sweater this season.
Quinn
Levi wore #5 as a player and now coaches his daughters, BB #5 and Esme #7, like cousin Quinn.
BB
Esme
Ceremonial puck drop by BB with her cousin Quinn #7
The future!
Quinn, BB and Esme.
Burke's boys are also tearing up the ice from Connecticut to Canada. Bucky and I watch them using an app on my phone called Live Barn. We're able to screen mirror the games to our TV. It a great way to follow the action when games are played out of town, out of state and even out of country. However, we took the opportunity to watch Joseph and Justice play in a suburb of Montreal. Typical of Quebec in January, we were greeted at the border with bitterly cold and windy weather. Our many walks from the snow clogged parking lots to the rinks of Sportplexe Pierrefonds provided us with plenty of fresh air.
Burke and Joseph
Justice and the West Hartford Wolves
Bucky and I made the trip from the suburbs into Montreal's Chinatown. It was well worth the slipping and sliding on both the highway and the sidewalks. Due to poor weather, we were lucky to find a parking space right outside our favorite shop for buying duck. The barbecued pork we bought was also delicious and devoured before we were back at the hotel.
Our calendar still shows hockey for the month of February and into March, but Hana begins her lacrosse season soon. Thank goodness for artificial turf. I'm sure it will be April and possibly May before we'll feel the sun on our faces in the bleachers.
I recently took this photo and wanted to include it in this post. It has nothing to do with hockey nor do I know this couple, but it spoke to me in several ways. In it, I see a loving couple with compromised mobility sharing their day, not at the Sportplexe Pierrefonds, but in the frozen food aisle of Walmart. His Johnson Wool hunting coat tells me that he was and possibly still is an outdoorsman. I see a couple facing life and its trials together. It was a scene that made me thankful for my spouse and the fact that we were able to trudge through the slush of Montreal to buy a duck. Perhaps it's not what we're doing or where we're doing it, but more about who we're doing it with. Life with loved ones is indeed a luxury.
We arrived at Chandalar Lake on August 16 and departed on September 16. During that time we experienced only a handful of pleasant days. Most days had intermittent rain and others were squall like. The lake and creeks filled to overflowing causing anxious moments around the float plane’s mooring. The beach quickly disappeared and the willows lining the shoreline had to be cut in order to move the plane to a safe location. Tobin Creek, originating in the hills above the lodge, raced brim full before emptying into the lake.
When there was beach.
Plane in the willows
Carlisle and I had an unnerving experience on a morning walk with the dogs. Breezy caught sight of a rabbit crossing our trail and took chase. We soon heard her yelping and crying. To me it sounded like our beagles when on a rabbit so I wasn’t concerned. However, Lisle sensed she was hurt and dashed into the brush to locate her. There she was, clinging desperately to the creek bank, half submerged in the fast moving water. Grabbing her by the scruff of her neck, Lisle pulled her up the bank and onto dry land. I definitely witnessed a mother’s love.
We spent the next hour looking for Carlisle’s favorite hat that was lost during Breezy’s rescue.
We walked down lichen covered paths scouring the creek banks for her hat and were surprised by seeing a moose antler protruding from the mud. Against my advice, Lisle decided to get it.
Hunters came and went during our month at the lodge. Most caribou hunters were successful and Bucky added an extra spruce pole to hold the racks, but soon a third sitting on sawhorses was needed.
The caribou antlers were changing from velvet to brown hard horn. The velvet was stripped off when the racks arrived back at camp. It’s beautiful, but almost impossible to keep as it begins to dry.
(The following is AI generated)
Deer have velvet on their antlers to supply blood and nutrients for rapid bone growth, with the velvety skin containing blood vessels and nerves that nourish the developing antler tissue. This living tissue is highly sensitive, and as testosterone levels rise in the fall, the blood flow stops, the velvet dries up and dies, and the deer rub it off on trees to reveal the hardened bone antlers underneath.
A hunter suggested drying the velvet for dog treats, but I wasn’t keen on the idea. Breezy and Pika would occasionally eat scraps of velvet from the ground and neither seemed impressed.
Hides are cared for.
We were excited to begin our own hunt. Unfortunately, Lisle couldn’t join us due to lodge and dog responsibilities. However, our family friend, Carter, came a long and was not only terrific help, but brought much laughter to the rainy days we’d experience.
We were flown into an abandoned gold mine! Many mines dot the hills of the Brooks Range and some remain somewhat intact as if the miners just stepped away, never to return. The mine where we were placed had been abandoned for years, but just a quarter mile away was one Carter explored. He reported solid buildings, a nice bathhouse, lots of available hand tools, clothes, books, and more. He returned with a shovel, western novels for Bucky and a pair of Levi jeans just his size!! We’d have to wade across a creek to reach it, but it was good knowing a dry place was available if needed. There’s talk of some mines being reopened with gold at an all time high. However, most of the equipment that Carter saw was missing parts and apparently unusable.
This solid log house with gravel roof sat just below our camp. Unfortunately, a bear had ransacked it. There was a sealed steel drum outside with food, expired 2006!
Cabin’s interior
The building behind our tents was once a decent cabin. Now it’s in rough shape but could be used for shelter if desperate.
Our exploring was done on the day we flew in which happened to be sunny, blue sky and a no hunt day. Regulations prohibit shooting an animal the same day as airborne, wolves might be an exception. I was delighted to find a clear, rectangular glass medicine bottle in a dump near the gravel roofed cabin. Frankly, the bear activity and tall grass I was walking through gave me the willies so I didn’t stay long.
Continual rain made leaving the tent to pee very uncomfortable. I know you’re curious on how I’ll address this topic. We traveled with a luggable loo (google if necessary) lined with a plastic bag. Dirty tp went into a separate tin can and was burned. We were able to bury the contents of the loo, minus the plastic bag….Carter’s job! The dilapidated building seen in the photo above housed the loo. It gave privacy and i carefully situated the loo so the leaking roof didn’t drip on us.
Our tent.
It’s big country.
We hunted eight days with only two clear days, the day we arrived and one other. We saw animals most days, but often they were out of range or covered by cloud.
Caribou in the clouds.
Bucky and Carter hoping the clouds would lift.
Bucky’s charcuterie and books provided by Carter!
We experienced a 27 hour stretch of steady rain.
During this prolonged wind and rain our Cabelas tent stayed warm and dry. Carter’s small spike tent became damp so he moved in with us, placing his sleeping bag at night between our cots. We had resorted to cooking in our large vestibule and the tent’s size allowed for a folding chair to be opened inside. So, there we were, for hour after hour…..sitting on cots, laying on cots, some sitting, some laying, one in a chair…..talking reading , sleeping. Carter heard about our childhoods, our days at UVM, past loves and marriage. We heard of Carter’s high school growth spurt, his time at UVM, meeting Lisle, and fish stories….literal fish stories…..his walking on the ocean floor in diving gear, grabbing sea cucumbers and geoducks while tethered to the mother ship floating above. Stories of Orcas sighted and their possible danger to him while diving and docile fish bumping his body, tales of regaining the surface from the deep and how to avoid the bends, stories of my life at home during college and Bucky’s much more exciting college exploits.
Slowly, the sound of rain on the tent roof softened and we awoke to snow!
Carter’s tiny tent!
The snow melted except up high and on a somewhat clear morning a small group of animals passed within range. Bucky decided to shoot. The caribou was within range and stood broadside. As he went to pull the trigger, as if in a magic act, the animal disappeared. A cloud descended like the sweep of a magician’s wand and the caribou was gone!
It was a wonderful week and we’re pretty sure Carlisle and Luke will share some meat with us. Spending a month above the Arctic Circle and in America’s remaining wilderness was such an amazing gift.
Leaving is such sweet sorrow!
From the plane window
The family and a few others celebrating Luke and his Dad’s return after flying the final clients into the field.
It’s quiet when dinners are for 10 instead of 20 or more. The days are getting shorter and soon it will be just Carlisle, Luke and the dogs at the lodge. Northern lights will dance across the sky to the music of the wolves’ howls.
Her name is Breezy. Her mother is an Alaskan husky and her father is a Karelian. She was born in a litter of 8 and was the remaining female when we retrieved her for our daughter Carlisle. She won us over, as most puppies will, the moment we cuddled her. She’s now 11 weeks old and full of wiggles and energy. She spends her days playing, eating and sleeping.
Breezy has the dot of tan in her forehead.
We reached out to our friend and vet tech Anja, who helped us make our selection. She provided us with a crate, collar, leash and armed us with the confidence needed to bring Breezy home to our cabin in Talkeetna. Pika wasn’t sure if she liked her new role as teacher and nanny, but accepted it with unexpected grace. Bucky and I, also questioned our strength and energy at raising a puppy until we could deliver her to Carlisle and Luke at their lodge further north, at Chandalar Lake. I’m not sure if Breezy was an easy puppy or nanny Pika’s modeling eased the process, but Breezy accepted her new crate and spent her first night and all the following nights crated without a whimper. I also found it convenient to use the crate during the day if we had an errand to run and Pika performed her nanny duties from her spot on the couch.
Better together
Breezy was at ease on car rides, in fact quickly fell asleep and slept most of the five hour drive in the motorhome to Luke and Lisle’s home in Fairbanks.
We spent several days in Fairbanks running errands and emptying food from our motorhome before the final leg of our trip by plane to Chandalar Lake, north of the Arctic Circle. Luke and Carlisle were anxious for Breezy’s arrival. Breezy was active in the office of Wright Air as we waited for our flight.
The hour and a half flight went quickly with Breezy sleeping on my lap. Dogs are required to be kenneled, but our flight was chartered by Luke and Lisle’s lodge, Tyrrell’s Trails, so Breezy was able to be loose.
Finally together!
Breezy quickly made herself at home among the many hunters, guides and packers. It was hard for most to ignore her wiggles and velvet soft fur. However, her dagger sharp teeth were avoided by all!
Lisle and I chose an unusually calm day to cross the lake and pick blueberries. The berries weren’t plentiful, but the scenery was superb.
We’ve been at Chandalar for a little over a week. Several hunters have been successful harvesting Dall sheep. At least one wolf has been killed and numerous caribou. Luke, Lisle and Rick, Luke’s dad, spend much of each day flying hunters in and out of the field as well as bringing trophies and meat back for processing. The camp is always busy with tents to clean, beds to make, meat to cut and meals to prepare. Bucky and I sleep in Luke and Lisle’s cabin which provides an escape when lodge life becomes too hectic. This is Bucky and my third summer at Tyrrell’s Trails and I’ve found areas where I can be helpful and others where it’s best to just step aside. It’s amazing when all the moving pieces come together and a hunter enjoys “the trip of a lifetime”. The lodge clientele is as varied as the animals they hunt. They are from all walks of life. Some hunters make return trips while others have scrimped and saved for one opportunity to hunt in Alaska.
We’re trying to teach Breezy to swim. Pika loves to swim and models this often. However, Breezy has yet to show Pika’s enthusiasm for being wet!
Sheep season will soon end with moose hunting upcoming. The tundra is changing color each day. We will probably hunt caribou within the next 10 days. Right now, the caribou aren’t where we normally hunt. We’re waiting and hoping they arrive soon.
By mid-January, Bucky and I had a routine of having tea around 3:30 in the afternoon. It was a chance for me to pull a blanket around my feet and warm myself from both inside and out. Three nights a week, I’d also warm my dance clothes by the pellet stove, before stripping down in the heat to pull them on. How lucky we are not to have close neighbors! From any room in our house, I can look out through large windows without fear of others looking in. In January, when darkness arrives at 4:00, getting in my car at 6 o’clock to drive to town is hard, but it's been a habit for 40 plus years and I always return home feeling better for having gone._Original.jpeg)
