Yesterday was an absolutely beautiful day on the glacier. Only half the crew was up and we had very few tours. Taken together these things mean we get to play a lot. First off two of the mushers took three of us, with our skis, up the glacier on snowmobiles. They dropped us off and went on to make a wide looping trail for a dog sled adventure later in the day. We climbed up onto a ride and looked down through a low valley, out to the trees and more mountains. To our left were giant shelves of ice beginning to glisten through the snow which has, as of yet, covered them pretty effectively. But in the sunny, 70 degree weather, the ice was glinting through in spots. We worked together to push a big rock off of where we stood and watched it start an avalanche down the ridge before it leapt off to where we could no longer see it. Then the sound of the snow, rolling over itself. The sound of a rain stick mixed with a waterfall. We spent two hours skiing around on the upper glacier then zoomed back into camp in time for a 20 minute nap, then another tour.
At 4:30 4 of the mushers
hooked up their dogs and we all took off up the trail that had been made that morning. It was about 9 miles long and we looped up past emerald green pools and below towering, jagged cliffs. From camp they look like the spine of a dragon sleeping under the snow. From the feet of them, they loom overhead. The colors of the rocks and the shadows they cast make you aware of them as being something almost beyond 3D. Streaked with red from the iron inside they are a mix of volcanic rock and some form of granite. Wide and networked with rivets and cracks, they almost seem to invite me to climb but the sharpness would almost certainly tear my hands. And then there are the funny rocks, precariously setting on ledges. A balancing act that has lasted for probably longer than I have been alive...but which could also end without a seconds' notice. One of the pools lay deep below the snow. Looking down I could see the snow bulging over the ice that stepped in layers down down down.
There is something empowering when you stand on a sled, pulled by 14 dogs. Each with their lines pulled taught off the center gangline. Dogs that jump about and bark all day in camp suddenly make not a single noise. Heads down except to glance back when the musher congratulates
one on his efforts or yells 'haw' (left) or 'gee' (right). I stand on two runners protruding from behind the seat. Between my feet is a bar, parallel to the ground with two downward-facing metal claws. The brake. Held down it slows the dogs. Stomped on, it can almost stop them. Holding the brake lightly as we go down the hill (so the sled does not run into the dogs) I watch as the slushy snow rainbows over the bar and piles on the runners in front of my feet. Like the wake of a boat. Churning. Then you smell something that is less than pleasant and you glance down and note the tasty tidbit of doggy doo mixed in with the snow. Yum. The less glamorous product of their exertion.We rolled back into camp an hour and a half later and the dogs are certainly at NO risk of running away as we unharness them and take them back to their houses. Then I wash my hands in the bucket outside the kitchen. Cleaning well up to my elbows and go help Karen the Cook making pizzas. She tosses to dough and I butter the crust and add the sauce. Bake them for 2 minutes, pull them out and add toppings to taste. 20 minutes later we are all gathered in the lounge assessing one another's degree of sunburn and reveling in the glorious day. Just as the post dinner lull begins to tug I get up and clear the lounge of dishes. Three of us scoop water out of the pots that we keep filled and boiling all day and fill up three small tubs of water on the counter. One with soap, one just water and to the third we add bleach. Olaf brings in some 70s funk music and we dance our way through the dishes. Chattering about Iditarod racers, the weather and just about anything and everything else.
From there we all head out into the dog yards to do a little after dinner poop scooping. Settle the dogs houses back into snow (for those that like to knock them over or dig them up). Brush a couple that are shedding their coats and pet and console those that did not get to go on the run earlier.I sat with Big Momma (who is not really big at all) and watched the sunset. A glorious show which I will probably try to describe in a later post when I have found better words to try to wrap around it. And then, it is 10:30 and well past my bed time. Into my bag. It was a 'pull the mummy bag closed around my face' kind of night. Only my nose and mouth peeking out. Then up at 6 am to help scoop the puppy pen and feed and water. Breakfast. Then I don an orange vest and hop on the helicopter with my hot chocolate and down to town.First order of business, to the showers. I insert my dollar, hoping whoever showered before me left the water at a manageable temperature b/c I do only have 5 minutes to the dollar. Ah the glory of hot water. And as I wash my hair I realize a very definite pattern in the jobs that I love is that showers come infrequently. A coincidence surely... Not that I enjoy NOT showering. It is just that when you have to wait for them longer, you truly appreciate them more. Right? Maybe.
Beyond that, the newest exciting news is that Spain has offered me a teaching position on the Balearic Islands. Certainly an option to be considered I would say. Think of me and pray for me that I may make the right decisions. OR better yet, write to me and give me advice and encouragement.
At 4:30 4 of the mushers
hooked up their dogs and we all took off up the trail that had been made that morning. It was about 9 miles long and we looped up past emerald green pools and below towering, jagged cliffs. From camp they look like the spine of a dragon sleeping under the snow. From the feet of them, they loom overhead. The colors of the rocks and the shadows they cast make you aware of them as being something almost beyond 3D. Streaked with red from the iron inside they are a mix of volcanic rock and some form of granite. Wide and networked with rivets and cracks, they almost seem to invite me to climb but the sharpness would almost certainly tear my hands. And then there are the funny rocks, precariously setting on ledges. A balancing act that has lasted for probably longer than I have been alive...but which could also end without a seconds' notice. One of the pools lay deep below the snow. Looking down I could see the snow bulging over the ice that stepped in layers down down down.There is something empowering when you stand on a sled, pulled by 14 dogs. Each with their lines pulled taught off the center gangline. Dogs that jump about and bark all day in camp suddenly make not a single noise. Heads down except to glance back when the musher congratulates
one on his efforts or yells 'haw' (left) or 'gee' (right). I stand on two runners protruding from behind the seat. Between my feet is a bar, parallel to the ground with two downward-facing metal claws. The brake. Held down it slows the dogs. Stomped on, it can almost stop them. Holding the brake lightly as we go down the hill (so the sled does not run into the dogs) I watch as the slushy snow rainbows over the bar and piles on the runners in front of my feet. Like the wake of a boat. Churning. Then you smell something that is less than pleasant and you glance down and note the tasty tidbit of doggy doo mixed in with the snow. Yum. The less glamorous product of their exertion.We rolled back into camp an hour and a half later and the dogs are certainly at NO risk of running away as we unharness them and take them back to their houses. Then I wash my hands in the bucket outside the kitchen. Cleaning well up to my elbows and go help Karen the Cook making pizzas. She tosses to dough and I butter the crust and add the sauce. Bake them for 2 minutes, pull them out and add toppings to taste. 20 minutes later we are all gathered in the lounge assessing one another's degree of sunburn and reveling in the glorious day. Just as the post dinner lull begins to tug I get up and clear the lounge of dishes. Three of us scoop water out of the pots that we keep filled and boiling all day and fill up three small tubs of water on the counter. One with soap, one just water and to the third we add bleach. Olaf brings in some 70s funk music and we dance our way through the dishes. Chattering about Iditarod racers, the weather and just about anything and everything else.From there we all head out into the dog yards to do a little after dinner poop scooping. Settle the dogs houses back into snow (for those that like to knock them over or dig them up). Brush a couple that are shedding their coats and pet and console those that did not get to go on the run earlier.I sat with Big Momma (who is not really big at all) and watched the sunset. A glorious show which I will probably try to describe in a later post when I have found better words to try to wrap around it. And then, it is 10:30 and well past my bed time. Into my bag. It was a 'pull the mummy bag closed around my face' kind of night. Only my nose and mouth peeking out. Then up at 6 am to help scoop the puppy pen and feed and water. Breakfast. Then I don an orange vest and hop on the helicopter with my hot chocolate and down to town.First order of business, to the showers. I insert my dollar, hoping whoever showered before me left the water at a manageable temperature b/c I do only have 5 minutes to the dollar. Ah the glory of hot water. And as I wash my hair I realize a very definite pattern in the jobs that I love is that showers come infrequently. A coincidence surely... Not that I enjoy NOT showering. It is just that when you have to wait for them longer, you truly appreciate them more. Right? Maybe.
Beyond that, the newest exciting news is that Spain has offered me a teaching position on the Balearic Islands. Certainly an option to be considered I would say. Think of me and pray for me that I may make the right decisions. OR better yet, write to me and give me advice and encouragement.
I love you all.
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