Wildlife Questions of Alaska Fish and Game

At least once a year, I call Fish and Game (and other state Natural Resource departments) with questions about wildlife changes I have noticed.  The biologists are always responsive, nice, and well informed.   

Below are Q and A from a recent phone call with a Fish and Game biologist:

Wolverine tracks in the snow

Q:  We saw large bear tracks in the snow on New Year’s Eve, a cold week.   No raining into a den. Didn’t the bruin get the memo about hibernating?  Why would a bear be out and about that time of year?

A:  Bears that are old, starving, or infirm will often leave their den in order to die elsewhere.  (That was certainly illuminating to me!)

Q:  Since 2007, the first wolf we saw up close was last year, sitting on the frozen lake across from our cabin.  This winter, we hear more of them, my dog smells them, and we hear/see fewer coyotes.  Insights?

A:  Fish and Game had a predator control program in your area of Alaska from 2012 to 2016.  We culled the packs to about 41 wolves.  Since we stopped, we have recently counted 15 packs of about 125 animals in the region.  Yes, as wolf populations increase, they cull coyotes.

Q:  We used to see lots of hares and their tracks.  Last year and this, very few.

A:  We are nearing the end of their 10 year population cycle.  You will likely start seeing more hare and lynx tracks (a major predator) in future years.

Q:  Last year and this, we have seen more wolverine tracks close to our home.  Last winter, one walked right under our cabin, tracking dirt into the snow as he walked down to the frozen lake.  This winter we see big tracks and long gaits - bigger and longer than estimated in my “Scats and Tracks” book.  A big guy nearby.   

A:  You live in a zone with a healthy wolverine population.  I am not surprised by your observations.

My contact, Chris, was on top of every question I asked.  He was great.      

Wolverine (stock photo)

I forgot to ask him if the death of millions of spruce trees to beetle kill in the past 8 years has impacted animal populations.  I would certainly think that as an important component of our eco-system declines, animal populations dependent on spruce would shift.  I already see succession plants moving into the newly open areas previously densely shaded by 80 foot spruce trees.  We still see spruce grouse and ruffed grouse, but not the darling two families that each year reliably raised babies on our property, marching the little ones to and fro with gentle cooing by the mom. I LOVED those! I saw only one porcupine, years ago, and none since then.  We hear fewer owls at night than we used to.

Some years, our land is traversed by several bears (usually black, seldom brown) and moose with calves in June.  Other years few.  We are down to our last two quarts of bear meat from two years ago.  (Saving it for bear tacos).   Moose chow down on birch branches, but hide behind healthy, thick spruce boughs, and blend in beautifully.  I would think that these enormous ungulates might be easier for predators (wolves and bears) to spot as the spruce thickets thin and die.

Even the population of insects varies (except for mosquitoes, which are consistently tortuous in June).  This rainy summer, we saw very few hornets or yellow jackets.  Nice that the rain had at least one advantage.  When temperatures topped 80 degrees F, the lake never bloomed with a red, waterlogged rainbow of spider mites. 

My dog sits inside today, with his paws on the window sill, watching “snow TV.”  Yesterday, his hackles rose (for the second time this year), as he smelled or heard wolves behind the trees that line the lake.  Observing nature’s changes, from inside and out, entertains me, too.

A Clogged Chimney at a Wood Heated Alaska Cabin

Stove pipe creosote, 3 months' use

Note:  After reading this article, readers may ask themselves, “How long has it been since I cleaned my chimney?

 

Our off-grid log home is heated by a Drolet wood stove that burns spruce and birch almost 24/7 during the coldest winter months, up to 40 logs per day.  Fast, hot fires burn more cleanly than do slow, cooler fires because of the speed and temperature of the smoke that rises and exits through the stove pipe.  Wood that is less than optimally dry* or letting fires cool down, go out, and then restarting them frequently contribute to smoke conditions that coat the interior of the stove pipe with creosote and ash.  This builds up like cholesterol in arteries, narrowing the circumference through which the smoke escapes.  A clogged chimney is a dangerous chimney.  Dependent as we are on heating our home with wood, these issues warrant frequent maintenance to ensure a clean burn, clean air, and a safe home. 

On the first of every month, my husband opens the exterior “chase” and shoves upward an extendable chimney sweep, which, with its thick circle of metal bristles, scrapes off creosote.  The flakes shower down, looking like greasy, shiny bits of charcoal.   We sweep up the debris and dump it in the outhouse hole, not wanting it in our gardens, yard, or water table.

Still, this task is not enough to ensure a clean chimney and part of the problem may be our less than

Wood stove with hot water tank

optimal design.  We have an interior metal tube that rises about 4.5 feet from the wood stove and then exits the structure at a 90 degree angle, to ascend 2.5 stories above our metal roof.  The horizontal section slows the smoke and collects debris (see photo above).  Every spring cleaning, we dismantle the interior pipe and vacuum it out.   Another problem is much higher, where it is hard to address.  Many chimney tops, including ours, are encircled with several inches of mesh wire to retard sparks and deter birds from nesting within a quiescent, summer chimney.  This mesh is topped by a flat, metal cap to keep out rain.   

With a hot fire, the smoke quickly ascends the 2.5 stories before it cools.  A cooler fire means cooler, slower smoke and more creosote build up.  Even in mid-winter, when one would think that our fires are very hot, we used to see salmon colored creosote icicles dangle from the mesh, eventually crashing onto the back porch, leaving a distinctively resinous scent that we did not want our boots to carry inside. 

Back of cabin, hot tub to right

Every summer, Bryan climbed our longest ladder with a poking tool that he jury rigged out of a paint roller to hammer and poke at creosote accretions that clogged the mesh.  I stood below, holding the ladder, wearing a hard hat to protect my head from the rain of hard chunky bits that he dislodged.  After complaining about this task to a wise friend in Wasilla, we heard the directive:  “Remove the cap.  You are in more danger of smoke damage than of a bird nest.”  Heard and noted.   So, two summers ago, Bryan ascended the ladder with tin snips and succeeded in cutting out the section of mesh that faced him, and two of the four tines that held the cap in place.  However, he could not reach those on the far side of the chimney.  So he descended the ladder, got a hammer, and rammed the cap up and back at a rakish angle.  The chimney now had a “mouth” to which no creosote could cling.    This helped for two years.

However, since then, we have been burning beetle killed spruce inside, rather than birch.  It creates less ash in the wood stove, which is an advantage, but it produces fewer BTUs (British Thermal Units) than birch, meaning that the heat per log is not as high.  Within the past month, we have had to contend with two times when the smoke in the firebox could not ascend the stove pipe.   This could be dangerous. At the end of December, we let the fire go out and then dismantled the interior chimney tube.    With spoons and a shop vac, we removed about 2 gallons of ash and creosote and swept the upper stove pipe, too.  This week, my husband was dismayed to discover, during a midnight check on the firebox, that the smoke within was swirling, not drawing.  The temperature gauge on the pipe 2 feet above the wood stove read a meager 150 degrees. 

Creosote clogged cap and mesh,

 

 upside down

Before the cooling smoke could escape into the house (heat rises, cool air sinks) as happened several years ago, described in a prior February blog, Bryan donned his parka, hat, gloves, and boots, along with a bright headlight.  He opened the exterior chase of the stove pipe, quickly inserted the chimney sweep and shoved it so hard up the chimney that he rammed the rusting metal cap off altogether!  It careened down into the snow.   By the time he dismantled his tool and re-entered the cabin, the stove top thermometer had doubled to 300 degrees when the firewood reignited and burned brightly. 

The attached photo shows the gross looking creosote gunk that coats the mesh, blocking air flow. 

From now on, we may get some rain in the chimney, but I will feel safer all winter, and safer for my husband.  I was always nervous when he climbed that long, steep ladder to stab and cut the chimney top. 

-----------

* Our wise friend in Wasilla also gave us the gift of a handheld, battery powered gizmo make by a company called General to measure how dry a log is.  You simply stab two metal probes into the wood to get an immediate moisture reading.  The closer to zero the better.  A reading of 13% is considered medium, not optimal.  For this reason, storing firewood under a tarp or roof is obviously better than leaving it outside uncovered.  Trying to burn newly cut wood is even more fruitless.  Readers:  if you pay good money for a cord of wood delivered to your home, ask the vendors to measure its dryness.  They know.  You may want to spend $20 - 30 for a tool like ours to confirm the wood dryness upon delivery, or before burning some inside.   

Warm (Sort of) Below Zero

The week approaching Winter Solstice has been clear and cold.  Today, it is minus 15 degrees F.  Hoar frost (from ice fog) coats the bottom thirty feet of forest that spikes through 6.5 ft of sugary snow. The spruce boughs droop white. I see no animal tracks at all.  Everyone and everything is hunkered down on these short days of blue light at 9 am and sunset at 3 pm.

Hoar frost coats the branches

Outdoors, we do our jobs as quickly as thick mittens and bulky parkas allow.  When I light the fire for the hot tub, (yes, we bathe outside at these temperatures), I notice an inversion layer of cold air that presses the smoke to flow horizontally out of the chimney.  To the chickens, I carry warm water and snacks of meat fat or seedy berry pulp. I kick a hole in a frozen layer of the chicken water, pouring warm water in the allegedly heated bowl.  Their coop is insulated, with a thick carpet of straw, but their body heat and a light bulb are not enough to keep their eggs from freezing, which I boil and feed back to them. 

Down to about zero, we walk on the frozen lake, playing fetch with the dog, who skitters and slides on icy patches.  Below that temperature, a stroll or a brisk walk is less appealing to all of us.  Buddy lifts alternate back legs off the cold snow, but I have not yet succeeded in getting him to accept four fabric and Velcro booties.   

Our machines suffer, too.  The solar batteries are nowhere near as efficient in winter as summer, so we awaken to a loss of power every morning (if there is no wind for the wind turbine).  In the cold and dark, Bryan trudges uphill to the power shed, dragging a sled with the ever-reliable Honda generator that he warmed in the cabin overnight. Plugged in for about four hours (one gallon of gas), we eke out another 20 hours of electricity.

Inside the 750 sq ft cabin, the wood stove burns 30-45 logs per day, 24/7.  The 23 gallon aluminum hot water tank above the stove radiates some heat into the room, but we still need to wear several layers of clothes inside.  The double layered windows need additional insulation, so we hang blankets over rebar, tucking them behind the drapes during the day.  However, the chilliest corners of the log cabin measure 29 degrees today. Olive oil has congealed on a shelf.  The warmest center of the cabin, though, is a pleasant 60 - 63.

Summer view of our woodstove

The drain under the kitchen sink freezes, so every morning, we plug in an electric line that dangles inside the pipe to warm it.  On exceptionally cold days, when the drain line requires more power than we want to allocate, I wash dishes in a bucket and dump the gray water outside.  Outside, the well pump can freeze, too.  On those days, we bring in buckets of snow to melt for wash water. 

Challenging though this weather can be, it does offer compensatory benefits. 

We save up indoor projects and pleasures for this time of year. This morning I cuddled in bed with an Agatha Christie novel.  Previously, I finished two online courses on dog training and another on making herbal remedies.  Herbal leaves, berries, and flowers that I harvested and dried during the summer are turned into salves, balms, and tinctures now.   The chocolate brandy made in prior summers my husband likes to sip, warm, on cold winter evenings.  I favor mint tea with rosehips.

Some people may get cabin fever.  I figure it is my job to make sure that I don’t.

Our Dog Learns to Haul Firewood

Learning to haul firewood

On October 25, we awoke to a silent, frozen lake.  No water lapping at the shore, no ducks tempting our dog.  Ten noisy flocks of geese (50 -100 birds each) flapped southward on that day alone.  They knew it was high time to head out.  How far do they fly in a day? Where do they find water -perhaps rivers - which freeze later?   Given our weather, I was astonished to see a float plane fly north several days later when I outside was in the wood fired hot tub, and wondered, “Where the heck is he going?” NORTH????  It had to be a river.   

The day after the lake froze, our chocolate lab, Buddy, ventured down to the dock and tentatively punctured the thin ice with his paw, to explore it.  Perhaps he saw his reflection, like Narcissus.  He bent down to sniff the transparent surface and then lapped up some water from the hole.  He repeated this a few feet to the right, as though to confirm his initial experience. 

Two days later, he trotted out 30 foot ellipses on the thickening ice. I was a bit nervous that he might break through, but he was fine.  His toenails sounded EXACTLY like a woman in high heels traversing a marble floor!  All of a sudden, he spied a coyote along shore.  He tried to run but slipped and slid like the three stooges, during which time the animal ran off into the woods. During these initial days when the ice thickens, it makes eerie booms, shots, and groans. The dog is nonplussed by these sounds.

On shore, he trots, leaps and runs through the snow.  Early November storms raised the snow depth to 19 inches (chest high for him, knee high for me) and then deeper and deeper.  He plows through, digging with his whole head thrust into the snow, after which he shakes his head clear and sneezes.  On our walks among our buildings, Bryan and I point out tracks of hare and voles (meadow mice) which he explores, squeezing under decks and outbuildings when he smells a critter or two, who remain safely out of reach. 

Excitedly approaching Bryan

Given his enjoyment of the cold, his need for exercise, and his enthusiasm for “helping” us, I trained him to haul sled loads of logs about 60 feet from the wood corral to the back porch.  First I had to get him familiar with a chest harness, which, of course, he wanted to chew.  Then, I had to figure out the length of the sled rope so that when he turned around in curiosity, he wouldn’t get tangled up and flip the sled.  Finally, I had to add enough log weight that the sled would not bang into his back legs when he stopped.  As you may imagine, this required several practice sessions and lots of peanuts and praise.  On our fifth try, we had a kinda-sorta success, and on our third day, he successfully hauled (with more enthusiasm and less confusion) three sled loads of 8 or 9 logs each while I hauled a larger sled ahead of him.  A week later now, he gets excited when we start to load a sled with logs for him. We discovered that he was just as willing to haul without the harness, by simply picking up the rope in his mouth and pulling backwards.  After he chewed through the rope several times, we threaded a long wire through two holes in the sled, and attached a smaller rope to that, which the dog puts in his mouth.  This worked well.  Twice this week, he even hauled a generator downhill with Bryan, from the power shed to the cabin, a 400 ft distance.  This enthusiasm will come in handy for these rather tedious winter tasks, especially as we age (ahead of him). 

When we cut trees in the woods in March, Buddy will help too.  After Bryan limbs and bucks the tree into logs, Buddy and I will transport loads in the same plastic sleds he hauls now.  I will load two sleds with logs and our 6 legs will move them from where the tree fell to our 11 foot sled/ snowmachine on a hard packed trail nearby.  I bet he will love to run behind me as I navigate home to drop thick logs by the wood corral and thin ones by the hot tub.  I look forward to more inter-species teamwork.   

 His outdoor enthusiasm motivates me to enjoy more aspects of the long winter season, too.

April: Wolf, Wolverine, Swans, and Geese

April is full of firsts, both for spring, and, this year, forever.

This was the first time in over a decade of living here full time, that we saw a wolf.  What a gorgeous creature.  He was alone, sitting on the lake ice across from our cabin, facing this way.  He appeared to occasionally lick a foreleg.  Eventually, he rose and limped north.  Had he fought with the alpha wolf and been kicked out of his pack?  I do not know.  But he kept looking backward as he walked.

Late in the month we saw for the first time the distinctively round, 3 inch prints of a wolverine.  His feet picked up the mud and dust under and around our cabin, so the tracks were very clear on the snow heading down to the lake, including five sharp claws where he ascended the snow pack. This proximity was a bit alarming because these animals have a very fierce reputation. 

Twice, the motion detector light on the chicken coop attracted Bryan’s attention.  Sure enough, he saw the bright eyes of a sleek, black marten probing for openings in the structure.  This is a good time of year for that, because as the snow melts and the ice loosens its grip on the soil, the buildings can shift, creating an opening in the chicken wire that connects the coop to the 4 x 10 foot covered run.  Needless to say, the hens did NOT want to venture out the next morning.

Speaking of hens, for the first time I did something that Bryan thought was the silliest thing ever.  I dragged thin spruce trunks into an 80 foot line between the coop and our back porch as a “chicken sidewalk.”

 

The girls love the sun and the dry space beneath our cabin, but they do not like the texture of snow, particularly soft pack.  Two intrepid explorers traversed the trees every day, enjoying the expanding open ground and initial grasses denied their less venturesome colleagues. 

Throughout the second half of the month, we greeted returning migrating birds.  Swans travel in mating pairs, and three sets rested on the frozen lake before winging north.  With their long necks and legs stretched forward and back, they look enormous.  One morning, we awoke to a large flock of geese resting on the ice.  Given how noisy they are in flight, I was surprised that we did not hear them land or take off.  Perhaps quietude is important when grounded.  Pairs of sand hill cranes, which are usually the first birds we see, finally showed up the last week of the month.  They, too, are noisy “talkers” with a distinctive cry for which we give them the moniker, “the clackers.”  These birds fly so low that I can see up close as they fly past the front window. 

By May 1, our property is still about 75-80% covered with snow, but increasing brown doughnuts of open ground expand around trees and buildings.  The weather was odd all April – still freezing at night but into the 40’s in the afternoons, so the snow was hard and easy to walk on in the morning, and then receding rapidly in the afternoons.  Already, several wild currant bushes sport their small, mauve flowers.  Even one of the haskap (honeyberry) bushes has two yellow flowers despite otherwise nude branches.  By May 5, the mature birch trees are covered with catkins and the younger ones are starting to leaf out.  Soon, surfaces will be coated in green pollen. 

 The ice on the lake is softening, but I spy no open water yet.  This is a long, slow breakup.

March: Chainsaw and Snowmachine Fun in Rural Alaska

March is my favorite winter month.  Why wouldn’t it be?  We have the longest daylight of the season  - 12 hours (when it is sunny and not snowing) PLUS the long, languorous sunrises and sunsets for which northern latitudes are justly famous. 

 

Snow machine with freight sled for logging

This sun sparkles on the 6 or so feet of snow on the ground, eroding parabola shaped shields around trees as the sun arcs from south to west.

 

On sunny, windless afternoons, even in the high 30s to 40s F, we enjoy a drink and sometimes a meal on the front porch, warmed by the sun (wearing jackets and hats).  Intrepid little insects emerge from… wherever… to heat themselves and mate on the sun warmed log walls.

 

My favorite task this month is culling trees in the forest for firewood. My roles remind me of go karts and county fair competitions.

 

Each autumn, when the bugs are gone, the ground is firm, and the birch leaves have dropped so we have a clearer view of the woods, we bushwhack a trail along a concentric circle of standing dead spruce trees.  In the winter, we snowshoe and then snowmachine a hard packed path there, so we can get close to the trees with a snowmachine and large freight sled, plus two little plastic sleds that carry the tools to the work site and cart away the log rounds from the tree to the large sled.  On cool March mornings (and this year, even into mid-April), we head out with chainsaws, kevlar chaps, ear protection and snowshoes to fell some trees.   Bryan assesses the direction that each target tree wants to fall, based on orientation and heavy/light limbs. After that, he limbs the tree and bucks the wood into rounds. 

 

Then, the fun part starts for me.  I play bocce ball with the logs by tossing them toward a target near the small sleds. I judge my prowess by how many subsequent logs hit the first one.  Some of the really skinny trees with no lateral branches, I throw like a javelin.  Then I lumber over to the pile in my snowshoes (if the snow is soft) or regular boots, if the snow is hard, load up the sled(s), unstrap my snowshoes to straddle the snow machine and deliver the logs to their destinations.

 

Spruce logs awaiting splitting

I feel like a kid on the go kart tracks my boys loved as kids when I careen around the trails through the woods and around our hilly property. The thin top trunk logs of black spruce go next to the wood fired hot tub. Thick ones that will need to be split next summer with an electric log splitter I pile up under the larch trees near the wood corral.  Rotted trunks with a neat central hole I ream out with a crowbar for future planters. Bryan usually quits after two tanks of chain saw gas, while I serve as log loader and delivery gal.  It is great that this is so fun, because we are incentivized to gather 11 cords for winter.  A friend with a 5 bedroom house needs 40 cords each year!

 

This year we are also harvesting 10 to 12 foot long trunks of the slimmer trees (or the tops of them) to use as posts and poles for construction projects.  These I drag behind me towed by a looped ratchet strap.  Some will support an electric fence encircling the bee yard.  Others will support perennial climbing vines (clematis) that I plan to plant on either side of south facing doorways. So pretty!

 

This year, nights were still below freezing until mid-April, so we were able to gather firewood for a longer period.  This is good for two reasons.  One, standing dead spruce are highly combustible fire hazards.  Two, they will rot upright over time and be less useful in the future for fuel or construction.

 

Wood corral as of March 29

In mid-April, we finally wrapped up this project by cleaning up some of the flammable debris on the ground.  I towed many sled loads of the pine cone rich tops of the trees to the wood corral, where we chop them up as tinder.  Dead branches fueled several days of bonfires in a snow filled meadow.  (Don’t you love a bonfire in winter?) These locations serve as our version of terra preta, or maybe biochar.  A few years hence, dozens of little birch seedlings with sprout in this year’s burn spot, just as they have in others.

March: Five Months without Re-supply

 

A frequent question people ask me is:  “What do you miss most about a city?”  I miss live theater, authentic ethnic food, museums, and certain seasonal events.  But this time of year what I miss most is... access to fresh, raw, crunchy vegetables.  Yup, something as prosaic as that! 

 

We are officially “crunchless” now that I have cut up my last onion.  It has been 5 months since we last flew to town (and a supermarket).  My mouth is watering for a bite of crisp celery or crunchy cabbage.  I even want to hear the sound!  The only greens we have now are the sprouts I grow all winter and the few leaves of plants I start under grow lights in late February.

 

Missing celery reinforces my big Life Lesson of living here, which is to take nothing for granted and to appreciate the grace notes of life:  a fresh vegetable, a warm fire, the pristine whiteness of (yet another!) snow.  

 

Textural preference aside,  we have plenty of food, both what we raise and what we buy (on a meticulous 275 line spreadsheet).

 

Among  produce that I raise/forage, my food shed, even this late in the winter, is full LOTS of berries, rhubarb, dried dill, and lovage (the leaves tastes like celery, but alas, no crunch) and homemade condiments, like horseradish, zucchini relish,  and chutneys.    We still have plenty of potatoes from the dozen plants last summer and lots of dried mint, rosehips, lemon balm, chaga, and  the leaves of fireweed and berry bushes for tea. 

 

But other vegetables and herbs that I labored to grow, harvest, blanch/freeze, pressure can or dry are long gone.  Last summer's home grown oregano, thyme, parsley, cilantro and basil are already depleted as are sorrel, tomatoes and brassicas.   I had hoped for a robust harvest to last all winter,  but two damp summers in a row made my gardens very attractive to lots of hungry slugs that chowed down on all of the broccoli and cauliflower leaves and then moved into the crevices of the heads.  Gross.  Compost?  Yes.  Side dish?  No. I understand that in some languages of cold weather cultures, the name for the months  of March/April are akin to "the month of hunger."  Isn't that sobering?

 

Among produce that we buy, citrus and bananas freeze well, so we have that tasty flavor throughout the winter, both the juice and the rinds, which I dry in a cold oven and save.  (I love orange rind in split pea soup, for instance). Bananas freeze well, too, both in and out of the skin.  I make a chocolate banana pudding with the frozen pulp.

 

My clever friend, Betty, reminded me that one can sprout green onions by putting the root end of any (store bought, too) onion in a shallow bowl of water.  She NEVER buys scallions.  Darn.  I forgot that.   This approach is true for many store bought vegetables with an intact root end, like celery.   Next winter, I will remember this. 

 

To supplement dwindling supplies of veggies, we stock dehydrated and freeze dried vegetables.  The reconstituted texture is not great, but they add color and nutrients to rice and stews. Dried mushrooms are particularly tasty.   The flavor varies by brand, so I encourage interested shoppers to try a small quantity before buying a case.  Betty's home dehydrated vegetables (and fruits) are much more flavorful than others that I have purchased. 

 

To all of you who have convenient access to a supermarket, you may be more alert to food inflationary prices than I am, but you can also bask in  the delights of spontaneous purchase and consumption.  What a treat!  Please bite into something juicy and crunchy today and enjoy it on my behalf!

February at an Alaska Homestead: Snow, Fire, Mail

February was certainly a three ring circus, weather-wise.  It began with several days of high wind that made it hard to sleep at night.  Our log cabin creaked and sighed like an old wooden ship at sea.   The weather was far more destructive throughout the notoriously windy east side of the Matanuska Susitna Valley, though.  There, the wind ripped antennae and siding off a friend’s home in Wasilla, as well as causing roof damage and power outages throughout the area.   Imagine a power outage.  In Alaska.  In February.

 

Well, we experienced a small hint of that issue.  To heat our home through the winter, the wood stove is stoked 24/7.  This year, for the first time, we burned spruce inside instead of birch.  The latter has higher BTUs and burns cleaner, but the former is plentiful because of all the beetle-killed trees on the property.  We had postponed using it because we had read that the resinous wood can clog a chimney faster with creosote.  “Nah,” our Fairbanks friends told us.  “That’s all we burn here!” Maybe so, but one chilly, dark night in late February, our chimney stopped drawing (smoke) at all.  Finito.  Nada.  Since my husband sweeps the outside 95% of the chimney every month, we knew that the blockage was in the interior pipe, but there was nothing fruitful we could do while the firebox was hot.  

 

We let the fire go out overnight, sleeping in lots of clothes under several blankets.  We awakened to an interior temperature of 51 F.  Not too bad.  Then, Bryan dismantled the interior pipe.  Sure enough, with serving spoons, buckets, and a shop vacuum, we withdrew several pounds of ash and chunky creosote.  So much for spruce vs. birch.  (Photo:  So far this winter, we have burned all the logs that used to cover the left side of the building.)

Because of our location, we get a lot of snow over the course of the winter.   Mid-month, two multi-day snow storms deposited FIVE FEET of ADDITIONAL snow.  My husband scurried, as fast as his snowshoes and an extendable snow rake would let him, to shovel off some of that snow weight from the shallower roofs here that do not slough it off easily.  Recommendation to others:  a  45 degree metal roof is worth the extra construction cost because becomes virtually labor free.  A 33 (or shallower) degree roof in a snowy area requires frequent, annual attention.  Either way, over the course of the winter, both generate high berms around the buildings. (In the photo here, the low side of the outhouse roof is 7 feet high. Note the snow "labyrinth" path from the back porch to the outhouse.)

Thank goodness Bryan is attentive to snow load.  A friend’s metal airplane hangar COLLAPSED onto TWO airplanes, pancaking them.  The photos were devastating.  Every year we hear of residential and commercial buildings that succumb to the hazard of flat/low angle roofs and lots of snow. 

 

At the very end of the month, temperatures surged to the high 30’s, with a bit of rain crusting the snow.  On a sunny day, we enjoyed our first BBQ of the year on the front porch.  The sun felt gloriously warm. We even heard flies awakened from their dormant state, hovering near the warm, log walls.

 

February yielded three highlights, too.  One was seeing lots of little seedlings sprout under grow lights that I start this month. This thrills me every time, especially since it is not guaranteed; older seeds age out of production.  I also tried something new (gardening is all about experimentation).  To warm the soil to an attractive germination temperature, I set the seed pots on cookie sheets over the pilot lights on my gas stove.  This raised the temperature of the trays to 70 – 75, resulting in faster germination. 

 

Another treat of February was longer days.  In January, the low sun disappeared behind our western windows at 3:10 – 3:30 pm. But by late February the sun finally rose high enough in the sky to sail above the mountains, providing sunsets starting at 6 pm.  The morning sun also “moved” further east, giving us blue light at 7:30 am.  Yea! These warmer temperatures and longer hours of sunshine also render our power system’s battery bank more effective and efficient.  March 1 and 2 we did not need to run the generator at all to provide us with electricity. 

The third highlight was the delivery of mail and some supplies by hardy snowmachiners from a Mennonite community near Wasilla.  Each year, we buy frozen chickens and construction services from these wonderful people.  This year, one man said that he had some friends visiting from the Lower 48 and wondered if he could visit us as a snowmachine destination.  Of course!  It took them two tries to arrive over unmarked terrain through woods, bogs, and waterways.  The first time, instead of a 2.5 hour one way trek, they bogged down (several times) in overflow and soft snow up to their waists and had to return home (an 8 hour effort).  A few days later, these intrepid guys succeeded.  They arrived, cheery and hungry.  I now appreciate the ditty about the post office delivering “through rain and sleet and snow…”.  These guys lived that! Thank you!

 

Since we never want to waste a trip out here, we asked if they would bring some pent-up mail and supplies.  Thanks to them, I opened delayed Christmas cards, 10 lbs of green coffee beans that I will roast at home, and wine kit boxes which I put into fermentation mode the next day.  (It is so interesting to lift the lids and see the swirling movement of billions of active little yeasties gobbling up the sugars in the pinot grigio and cabernet sauvignon grape concentrates).  This may not be Napa Valley quality, but it is delicious in the boonies at Latitude 61.

 

In general, mid-January to mid-February may not be the most appealing month of the year.  But maybe experiencing it is important to appreciate the rest of the year.