Fill 'er Up

Impossibly hardy little spruces giving way to tundra; ridge paths ever enticingly winding; golden slant-sun splaying around tree trunks; fresh snow falling: such circumstances delight and stoke vitality.  There's a hint of nirvana, a sense of going onward to remain there.

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We arrived a few days before the reappearance of the sun, and so are on the upswing of winter.  I've never had a problem with the cold or dark, or gray skies, but I know the uncanny feeling of being at a remove from the world as well as out of sync with seasonal markers.  Here, freezing temperatures last from September to May, not everybody has regular hours or days off, and without some significant date -- end of work=>vacation or big shake-up event -- you can hit a psychological wall.  A friend told me today he just unwittingly stalled out.

Most vehicles here are either running or plugged in.  When we go up the road to ski somewhere different or stay overnight at the company cabin, the van stays pulled off to the side with keys in, idling, so there's no fuss about it (not) starting.  (Also not a lot of car thieves around.)  This takes extra gas, whether from the tank or the generator in camp.  We all burn extra gas in winter, just staying warm, and lighting the way to springtime.

On the way to Twin Lakes

crystalline eyebrows above Wiseman

I suspect part of the reason my friend hit a wall was staying up all night drawing this poster for our party

Caloric Wonder

There's so much here to be awed by, in such different ways.  I suppose the food is just another expression of the wild and beautiful contrasts that define the Arctic, like the dramatic swings in daylight and temperature, or the massive industrial infrastructure paired with the majestic landscape.  In just the last few days the kitchen has seen:

-homemade s'mores (shmallow, chocolate, and graham all from scratch)

-eggs hard boiled for 45 minutes

-moose marrowbone and dutch oven sourdough with historic old starter

-slop pile of aging leftover meat (for dogs)

-double chocolate cake, Boston cream pie, mantecados (Spanish cookies), lemon tart, walnut blondies -- all the same *day*

-mummified cranberries and potatoes lurking on the back shelves

-"You can leave that grease on there, I'm gonna use it." -Line cook Jeremy

I like being night cook because my day is so nice -- sleep in, read, ski, chat with friends, watch beautiful sunsets.  Aside from occasional busy periods during which I forget which burger gets which cheese, the only real downside is cleaning the fryer.  Hot, dangerous, and disgusting, every third night is a little tragicomedy that involves trotting with a giant pot of boiling oil through the frigid night to a little shack, climbing a ladder while clutching said pot, pouring it into a begrimed funnel to slurp down into the Great Grease Cube, then scooping, essentially, the remaining liposuction material from the fryer.  There is no feeling quite like unwittingly planting your foot in two-inch thick semi-soft lard because the shack door is frozen shut and you've only partially successfully squeezed past the rubber berm/"skirt" of the Great Cube.

Photo by Justin of our fabulous igloo, s'mores fire at left

proud baking papa

We got to go dog sledding!

Trucker table skeleton

Trucker table featured artwork

We saw caribou at the far end of the lake