Alaskan
Snow Shelter - 2014
March 13
To me, Alaska is the land of adventure. So, I
planned one of my own - two weeks of winter camping,
skiing, and hopefully aurora viewing outside of
Fairbanks. The plan came to be several years ago so I'm
glad to finally be here. After just one day of collecting
the final provisions, I'm racing down a snowmobile trail
with a pack full of camping, camera, and survival gear.
Well, half the gear; this length of trip at these
temperatures (nights around -10 degrees F or lower,) two
or three gear-hauling laps will be required to fully
stock my camp. I have chosen the north ridge for my
initial exploration. I soon leave the main trail and head
up to the ridge line where I wander around along the
south and north sides of the ridge looking for a suitable
campsite. In addition to the standard requirements (flat,
free of widow-makers, etc.) I am searching for a spot
with good views to the north. Predictions for this year's
northern lights are good and I hope to see plenty of good
light shows (or at least one.) I settle on a spot only a
few hundred paces north of the ridgetop. It's late
morning now, but I feel a little nervous about retrieving
the rest of my gear to ensure a survivable first night.
Tree cover is too thick, making a GPS reading impossible,
so a quick mental map gets me back to my camp with the
remaining gear. A hot cup of noodles and I'm straight to
bed. Despite the cold and the various animals bound to be
in the area, I leave my tent window open in the hope the
famous lights will appear on night one.
March 14
Dissatisfied with my selected campsite, I head
out on my trusty skis in search of better. I traverse
over to the SW ridge on the other side of the valley.
There I find a few flat spots on a sparsely timbered
north-facing slope. This location will offer better views
to the north as well as better sunrise/sunset views, and
it will receive considerably more sunshine, a much needed
commodity for morning warmth and for charging my various
batteries with my solar charger (a birthday gift from my
wife.) The long-term plan is to build a snow shelter,
which should be much warmer. I don't think I can stand to
wake up to an ice-cold tent every morning for two weeks.
For now, back to the north ridge camp for another cold
tent night.
March 15
The wind yesterday on the SW ridge was
significantly stronger than at my original camp.
Concerned by this, I decided during the night to build my
snow shelter on the new ridge prior to relocating. The
shelter (a pseudo-igloo) is both warmer and sturdier than
a tent. After the exact location is decided on, I begin
construction, only to realize the snow is not only
shallow but has the consistency of dry sand, making
excavating snow blocks impossible. The typical remedy for
this is to stomp out a large "quarry" and wait
a few (to many) hours for the disturbed snow to
consolidate into a stiff mass that can then be cut into
blocks. I boot-pack a 12ft by 12ft area, collect some
dead timber for roof rafters, and with nothing else to
do, return the 4 miles to camp for another cold night.
March 16
There was no wind yesterday at the new site, so
I change my plan and decide to relocate my tent camp to
the new site today and begin igloo construction tomorrow.
This will minimize the repeated 4-mile journeys between
camps and will allow my quarry to solidify for a full 2
days. Making this decision is the easy part; now I need
to haul two full packs across the valley. That's 4 miles
with a full pack, 4 miles back with an empty pack (except
for some emergency items,) and finally 4 miles again with
a full pack. My back aches, my feet hurt, and my right
shin has developed an egg-shaped bruise. Construction
begins tomorrow; good night.
March 17
Last night was the warmest yet. I must be
adjusting to my environment because the temperature was
one of the coldest so far. My body parts feel better
(including my shin.) I enjoy a relaxed cup of instant
coffee and oatmeal and attack my quarry. Thankfully the
stomped snow consolidated nicely, making block excavation
successful. Seven hours later I have all the walls up and
supporting a temporary tarp roof. The floor needs to be
cleared of brush, but exhaustion and a setting sun push
me into my tent for one last night. At least it is only
40 feet away. After a much earned Chili-mac Mountain
Meal, I snap a few sunset photos and crawl into my -20
degree F North Face cocoon. No light show yet.
March 18
An early a rise as I can manage sets me off in
search of dead timber for my roof. Inside a few acres I
am able to harvest another five rafters. I replace the
temporary tarp roof with 12 timber rafters, spruce bowes,
the tarp, and a layer of thin snow blocks. She's ready to
occupy once I shovel out the inside, clear the brush from
the floor, fill in the major holes/cracks, and stack some
snow blocks on the inside for sealing the door once I'm
inside. Moving my stuff down to my new home goes quickly
and after re-finding my immediate necessities I settle in
for another Alaskan night. I have placed small
plexi-glass windows in three of the shelter walls, so as
not to miss any aurora borealis during the night.
Unfortunately, I bought non-glare glass which apparently
means "not very see-through."
March 19
Wow, that was a cold night. I may have to plug
some of those drafty holes. I had anticipated this new
shelter to provide the warmest night, so I am a bit
disappointed. It is however, a nice looking structure
given the snow conditions and just two days of work. It's
snowing and cold today. I spend most of it hunkered in my
new cave trying to stay warm. Looks like sunshine for the
next few days, so hopefully the corresponding clear
nights will offer up some northern lights.
March 20
Not much to do today except igloo repairs,
battery charging, and snow melt collection. The bruise on
my right shin is back and the pain is approaching
unbearable, making ski touring in the area very painful.
This adventure is proving to be quite challenging. The
forecast is for -15 degrees F tonight; I plan on sleeping
in until the sun has a chance to unfreeze my world.
March 21
Some padding cut from my ground pad has solved
my shin troubles. The sky is clear and mid-day
temperatures are reasonably warm. A 5-mile ski tour helps
to warm me up and lifts my spirits. A quick sponge bath
and shampoo help in this regard as well. The
hardship/reward ratio, which has been slipping away, is
now back in the positive.
March 22
After sleeping in late, enjoying my standard
breakfast of instant coffee and oatmeal, and taking care
of a few chores, I retire back into my sleeping bag for a
relaxing day of reading and listening to Alaska's classic
rock station. The aurora forecast for tonight is
"moderate" - finally! In order to maximize my
view, I decide to move back up the hill into my tent
which has not been taken down (or blown away.) I set up a
nest worthy of the expected 0 degree F temps, that looks
out my large north-facing window, fill a bottle with
coffee, turn on the radio, and wait.
I've never seen the northern lights before, so I'm not
sure what to expect. The first glimpse comes early (the
very tail end of dusk.) The light is a very pale green,
almost white, and I'm not sure if it is simply the
Fairbanks city lights from the next valley shining up
into a band of clouds. An hour later now and in the full
darkness, it's obvious and beautiful; the same pale green
light but brighter stretches across the entire northern
sky from the eastern horizon to the western horizon. The
bands of light come and go and move left and right and
occasionally stream downward as if they are illuminated
rain showers. Photographing the spectacle proves
difficult, so I just sit and watch until 4am. This is why
I am out here; hardships be damned, this is a memorable
night.
March 23
The east wall of the snow shelter is looking a
bit like Swiss cheese. I am going to put off repairs as
the forecast is for warm, sunny weather for the next few
days and I am content to enjoy the green house effect of
the tent for now. It looks as though my fuel and food
supplies are going to hold out; in fact I have a second
lunch mid-afternoon. Come evening, another bottomless pot
of coffee by my side, I sit and admire the light show in
the northern sky.
March 24
The northeast corner of the igloo has collapsed.
It's time to abandon it in favor of the more convenient
and, in this warm weather, more comfortable tent. A short
ski tour and hot soup for dinner is followed by a good
night's sleep.
March 25
Last night was quite windy and this morning it
seems to be intensifying. My tent is being batted around
violently; it may not remain intact throughout the day.
Since my igloo is now un-inhabitable without major
reconstruction, I tear off the roof and tear down the
leeward walls and re-use the blocks to reinforce the
windward (northern and eastern) walls turning the
structure into a two-sided wind break and drag my tent
behind it. The tent still flaps around but is much less
likely to be blown apart (or away.) With a
"low" aurora forecast, I turn in early and read
until I fall sleep.
March 26
This is the final day. I eat the remainder of my
breakfast rations, pack up camp, and haul it out in two
trips back to the trailhead. It has been an exciting
trip; at times it felt a bit extreme; at times it felt a
bit tame; the entire time it felt like an adventure. I am
thankful none of my equipment failed; I am thankful my
fuel and food held out; I am thankful my car started
after sitting out for two weeks at the trailhead; I am
thankful my next meal will be served to me in a warm
Fairbanks bar; most of all I am thankful the solar wind
blew into my view and rewarded my efforts with two nights
of beautiful aurora borealis. Perhaps in a few years when
the aurora predictions are again favorable, I will
venture even further north to Alaska's Brooks Range for
another unforgettable adventure.
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