Crossing The Gates of Alaska:. Dave Metz
It wouldn’t allow me time to explore the wilderness around. After paying the cashier I put my jacket and hats back on before exiting the final doors. I move around the building to where the dogs are. They start sniffing my bags as I pack them up. “Come on, guys,” I say. “We got to go.” Then I grab the dogs, shuffle back over to my camp, and get inside the tent. I give the dogs most of the milk right away before it freezes, which it would do if I left it out overnight. It’s that cold, perhaps ten below now.
March 22, 2007
I sleep in today, snuggled in my two sleeping bags like a cocoon. I remain in my sleeping bags for twelve straight hours, nearly content to wait here forever until the spring thaw arrives. I don’t want to face the cold outside, or even the cold inside my tent. The thermometer hanging on the frost-covered wall of the tent reads twenty degrees and I know it must be a lot colder outside. Around one in the aft er-noon, the temperature on the wall of my tent where the sunlight is hitting reaches forty degrees; however, the corners are still encased in thick frost from the vapors in our breathing all night. I begin to stir in my sleeping bag and after a few minutes I sit up, brush some flaky ice crystals off my outer sleeping bag, and prepare to hike over to the post office from my frozen camp. The dogs don’t move a muscle and stay curled up under their sleeping bags until I’m ready to leave the tent. Here cold weather takes on a whole new dimension. If you don’t prepare for it on a trip like this, it could kill you when you aren’t paying attention.
I get fully dressed, boots and all, before I go outside. Then I haul my two sleds to the post office and find that all my packages are there. There is one box filled with lentils, oats, and a few freeze-dried dinners; one box with sixty pounds of dog food; one box of assorted meals that all require adding water; one box of energy bars and snacks; and one box of warm arctic clothes. I’m grateful to get the expedition-weight bib pants. They prevent any cool drafts from reaching the skin of my lower back since they reach so far up from my waist. This also helps keep my thermal shirts tucked in and snug against my body.
I hurry around to the back of the post office where I have the dogs secured out of the wind. They stand there motionless, waiting, but when they see me coming around the corner, they start wagging their tails and jumping up and down. Jimmy likes to throw his head back and forth like a puppy. It’s his way of inviting play and saying hi. Will never does this. He jumps up and down like he’s on a trampoline. “Okay guys, okay guys,” I say in a pleasant tone, “we’re going, we’re going. Don’t worry.” Then they jump on me and I pat them a couple of times before they calm down. I load up the boxes into my sleds, tie them down with some cord, and start towing them back to my tent. I saunter over the frozen bay along the bridge and let Jimmy and Will wrestle as we walk. They can play-fight with each other when they are standing still, walking a few miles per hour or running at a dead sprint. To them it doesn’t matter where they are or what they are doing. They want to wrestle all the time, like no other dogs I’ve seen before.
They’re handling the cold well; as long as they’re moving they stay warm and exuberant. I keep them on a long rope so they can romp around without running off to chase other dogs. Their capacity for play and their vigorous nature amazes me. Nothing seems to dampen their high spirits. When they see other dogs they want to run right over to them. If they were not on leashes, they would jump on the other dogs like they had known them their entire lives. The only problem is that other dogs usually get scared and freak out over an Airedale’s rough style. And if those dogs react aggressively back toward Jimmy and Will, who only want to play, they might start fighting. Airedales have a history of being used to hunt bears and mountain lions. Their lack of fear toward bears is one reason I picked them, but it could also get them into trouble. Airedales are well adapted for fighting and hunting, with huge teeth and a long muzzle that can clamp down over most other dogs’ muzzles. Airedales are flexible, with lightning-fast reflexes. They are quite strong for their size and have heads and necks that look disproportionately larger than the rest of their bodies. When they rush in for an attack, they always lead with their front legs up in an attempt to knock the other dog off balance before they risk bringing in their face and mouth for biting. Airedales approach situations with little fear. They don’t hesitate at all when they approach another dog or a wild animal. Wrestling with them is hard enough, and often the mere weight of their teeth and jaws will create a bruise on my arm.
Back at the bridge I unload all my supplies and put them into the tent where I can organize them in warmth. I melt snow on my stove so Jimmy and Will can drink. I have to do this at least twice a day because everything is frozen. I keep melting snow until the dogs have quenched their thirst and don’t want to drink anymore. Then I pour the remainder of the water into a bottle, and during the night I stuff it inside my sleeping bag so it won’t freeze and I can use it in the morning. I also put my stove in my sleeping bag; otherwise it will jam up with ice particles and not function in the morning when I’m groggy, chilled, and need to get it working quickly. At negative five to twenty degrees Fahrenheit I have no patience for a shoddy stove while I’m trying to wake up.
In the evening it gets dark around ten and we get ready to sleep. The night never gets completely dark, though. There is always some dim light giving a hint to the coming summer when for a brief period in late June, the sun will never set. Snowmobiles whiz by throughout the night. Many of these people are up at the oddest hours because they don’t really have to go to work the next morning, and late in the evening is when the weather is the calmest. One of the noisy machines drives by my tent about every fifteen minutes. This is the only point where they can get to the other side of the road without having to drive on bare pavement. Here they can simply drive on the frozen water as they go under the bridge. I don’t mind the people so much. If I were to get into trouble there would be someone around to go to for help.
Before going to sleep I write in my journal. I have to write with my gloves on because even inside my tent the temperature is too cold to expose my fingers for long. I wear three layers of thermal underwear, three pairs of wool socks, and a thick balaclava on my head, and a fleece hat over that. I also have on a vest and pile jacket, but still I’m a little cold. The dogs are wearing their jackets, too; the ones that my mother had made just for this trip. The dogs also nestle under an extra sleeping bag that I brought for them. I will give it to someone in a village in a few weeks along with other cold-weather gear when the temperature warms up for good. The entire floor of my tent is covered with two layers of pads to insulate us from the ice beneath. This is crucial when dealing with this kind of cold; a great amount of body heat can be lost from direct contact with ice beneath. I think it will be twenty below zero outside tonight and in the teens inside my tent. Occasionally the dogs get up during the night to change their positions, and in the process they uncover themselves. I’ll wake to feel them shivering against my legs, so I have to rouse myself to cover them back up. These dogs rarely whimper, so the only way I can tell if they are cold is if their bodies are shaking. If I don’t cover them back up, the cold might wear on them during the night, making the journey a little harder for them than it needs to be. I want them to be able to have fun on this trek, at least most of the time. I will need them as fresh as possible in the coming days, too, so keeping them warm, hydrated, fed, and well rested is important if I want them to pull my sleds with me. It’s critical if I want to trek across Alaska.
I hope Jimmy and Will will grow strong physically and mentally from our journey. Most of the time I want them to feel free—while I watch them carefully—and to know how to maneuver across a wild landscape. I think their nature will become more animated and amiable from all the exercise and sniffing around they’ll get to do. It’s a locked-up sedentary life I’m hoping to eliminate from their lives, as from my own.
March 23, 2007
Today I try to light my stove outside, but it doesn’t work. The cold wind extinguishes my lighter flame before I can get it to my stove to ignite the fuel. I get out my windproof matches, strike one, and put it next to the burner, but the stove doesn’t ignite. I strike several matches and put them next to the burner one at a time, but still my stove doesn’t ignite. I fiddle with it for about an hour before coming to the conclusion that I can’t take my chances on a junky stove like this. I want to throw it down and smash it, but I put it back inside my tent instead. I walk into town to call Julie and have her order me a new stove and a windproof lighter (it’s like a small