Posted by: goodcoldwater | March 17, 2010

lumps of freshwater ice: shackleton in the weddell sea

I took the book South out of my bag and immersed myself in its prose as I waited for my sushi to be prepared. The sidewalks outside were icy, but indoors everyone was jacketless. In another time, near another continent, Ernest Shackleton and his men were not so comfortable:

We ate a cold meal and did what little we could to make things comfortable for the hours of darkness. Rest was not for us. During the greater part of the night the sprays broke over the boats and froze in masses of ice, especially at the stern and bows. This ice had to be broken away in order to prevent the boats growing too heavy. The temperature was below zero and the wind penetrated our clothes and chilled us almost unbearably.

One of our troubles was lack of water. We had emerged so suddenly from the [ice] pack into the open sea that we had not had time to take aboard ice for melting in the cookers, and without ice we could not have hot food.

The Dudley Docker had one lump of ice weighing about ten pounds, and this was shared out among all hands. We sucked small pieces and got a little relief from thirst engendered by the salt spray, but at the same time we reduced our bodily heat….

Beautiful crab rolls wrapped in luscious mango … spicy tuna and deliciously oily eel … almost one hundred years after Ernest Shackleton and his crew attempted Antarctica on the Endurance Expedition, it seems a miracle that these succulent mouthfuls of non-Northern fare were available in Whitehorse where I unwound for a weekend meal at Tokyo Sushi.

Shackleton and 28 men left The Endurance on October 27, 1915, when it was pinned, and later crushed, by ice floes in the Weddell Sea. They drifted on ice floes until April 11, 1916 before the winter ice broke up enough for them to launch their three small whaler boats into the floe- and berg-thick ocean. Their goal: a rocky chunk of land called Elephant Island. The alternative: drowning in Antarctica’s summer thaw. The suprise-attack enemy: thirst due to lack of freshwater ice.

As described on night three:

We were dreadfully thirsty now. We found that we could get momentary relief by chewing pieces of raw seal meat and swallowing the blood, but thirst came back with redoubled force owing to the saltiness of the flesh. I gave orders, therefore, that meat was to be served out only at stated intervals during the day or when thirst seemed to threaten the reason of any particular individual.

… The temperature was twenty below freezing point; Greenstreet’s right foot got badly frostbitten, but Lees restored it by holding it in his sweater against his stomach. Other men had minor frostbites, due principally to the fact that their clothes were soaked through with salt water.

At daylight we found ourselves close alongside land, but the weather was so thick that we could not see where to make for a landing. Having taken the tiller again after an hour’s rest under the shelter of the dripping tent, I ran the Dudley Docker off before the gale, following the coast around to the north.

This course for the first hour was fairly risky, the heavy sea before which we were running threatening to swamp the boat, but by 8 a.m. we had obtained a slight lee from the land.

Then I was able to keep her very close in, along a glacier front, with the object of picking up lumps of fresh water ice as we sailed through them. Our thirst was intense. We soon had some ice aboard, and for the next hour and a half we sucked and chewed fragments of ice with greedy relish.

Rarely has an ice-cold Kirin and a chaser of ice water felt so refreshing.

Quotes from “South: The Endurance Expedition,” by Ernest Shackleton, first published by UK press William Heinemann, 1919. There are dozens of editions of this book out there; I used the Penguin pocketbook edition from 1999.

Posted by: goodcoldwater | March 6, 2010

shot glasses for birthday toasts

What to make for a friend’s birthday when she already has everything she needs? Ice shot glasses, for sure!

It was only -16 C last Sunday, so I put the shot glass molds fairly early to give them enough time to set (10 a.m. on a weekend is early for this bird).

When I removed the plastic at about 4:30 p.m., the ice was thicker than I’d anticipated. This meant the air bubble – i.e. the hollow that would hold liquid – was quite shallow. And that shallowness meant I had to saw the opening into the bottom, wider end of the ice oval instead of using the bottom as the base. The shot glasses ended up more like ice-cream cone shapes than like goblets:

So I was a little surprised, but when you work with ice, you have to be open to the chance elements. These shot glasses are easy to grasp, and they look pretty, so I was satisfied.

Preparations continued: I set the bottle of Gray Goose out on the porch to take it to below-freezer temperatures; a film-maker friend dropped by to chat while I baked the orange chiffon birthday cake; people phoned to reconfirm time and location and “of course bring another friend if you want to, it’s your birthday!”

In the evening, when the 5 friends arrived, I put some blueberry juice out on the porch to cool as well. Since even fridge-temperature liquids are warmer than ice, it’s important to have chilled liquids to pour into ice glasses.

Dinner! Cake! Laughter! Song! And then it was time for the birthday toast.

We stood on the porch, and I passed the shot glasses around.

When I was sawing the shot glasses earlier, I paid careful attention to the bowl part. Now another feature became obvious:

It certainly added to the hilarity! (Insert bawdy unrepeatables here.)

I didn’t get many photos from the toast itself, since I was quickly told “enough with the documentation!” (not to mention I was busy filling the glasses for repeats.)

For once, the morning-after-party “mess” was lovely, not headache-inducing to look at.

They’re out on the railing still, morphing slowly in the afternoons when the sun somehow beams focused warmth through the sub-zero air. For a set of one-time-use shot glasses, they’re having a pretty good afterlife.

Posted by: goodcoldwater | February 25, 2010

seeing blue (ice) + gold at Vancouver 2010

I believe the Olympics have highlighted social issues we have here in Vancouver. And Canada. And the World. With or without the Olympics. They’re issues that need to be talked about. And I’m glad we’re talking about them. But I’m not willing to let that interfere with my respect for the Olympians – past and present (*with a nod to my godfather, former Olympic gymnast and judge).

The Olympics. The spirit of them. The passion of them.. I support that whole-heartedly. Go Canada. Go World.

Kaen Valoise as an urban Olympic ski-jumper

When the Vancouver 2010 Winter Olympics kicked off, The Ice Cubicle liked how Vancouver writer and budding playwright Kaen Valoise contrasted the lead-up to the Olympics and the Games themselves in a Facebook note, excerpted above.

So when I found out that Valoise had been enjoying not only the athletics but also the glowing, blue presence of ice in Vancouver – mild-weathered, coastal Vancouver! – I asked her for photos! thoughts! stories! and she graciously guest-blogged the following.

* * * * *

My friend Miranda and I walked all over this fine city, and checked out lots of Pavilions – including the Bell Ice Cube. Although the obvious corporate focus did make us hesitate, we were surprised with a truly fantastic experience! Of course, timing was also on our side.

As we arrived, we were handed a free pair of excellent quality headphones, and entered the large cube of a room all decked out in white. (Even the complimentary headphones were white!) From the ceilings hung long white wires – some with tiny white lights, and others with plug-ins for our headphones, so we could listen to one of several massive plasma screens that covered the walls.

In the centre of the room were waist-height podiums with screens and headphone plug-ins. These offered a small selection of short features, and we chose the “Athlete Profiles” option.

We plugged in and were instantly charmed by the terminally sweet Maelle Ricker. We giggled as she admitted to being an accordion player, inspired by an accordionist she saw during Vancouver’s World Expo in ‘86.

We then turned to one of the massive plasma screens, and I noticed a new Snowboard Cross race was about to start.

We strode over and plugged in, and whaddya know: Maelle was one of the racers! You can imagine the charge of excitement we felt as we watched our new favourite Olympian win the gold!

The 31-year old, a two-times X-Games champion, who was fourth at the 2006 Olympics, raced to victory at Vancouver 2010.

It was a very thrilling race and the whole cube roared with cheery joy as she charged through the finish line! What a rush!!

The next day, I found my way to a local fancy shmancy restaurant, Monk McQueen’s in False Creek. Though not a place in which I would typically hang my hat, they had a very special feature I made a point of visiting: an Ice Lounge! The fee ($20.10, which includes a complimentary beverage) was a bit expensive, but in my world worth every penny!

Since first reading about Quebec’s ice hotel years ago, I’ve been fascinated with the idea of relaxing in a sub-zero climate. I mean – don’t we usually relax after releasing ourselves from the frosty outdoors? That I should be able to enjoy a -5 climate in Vancouver – whose temperatures only very rarely dip below zero – was even more of an unusual treat.

I giddily donned my big and fuzzy rental parka and stepped into the Great White North! The space was tiny, and I wondered if it served as their walk-in freezer when not decorated up as a lounge..!? But the limited capacity made it more cozy than crammed. A handful of ice sculptures decorated the space without threatening to take it over, and there was an ice bench draped in animal furs. (Luckily, I’m not a member of PETA)

The Ice Lounge serve drinks in an ice goblet. This was too challenging to firmly grip while wearing my mittens, but a bit too cold to hold without them. My solution? To drink quickly!! But then again, that’s pretty much just my general style anyway.

When I was there, the space was deserted. A moment of calm between two large groups, one which I watched leave, and another I watched arrive as I was preparing to leave. The sparseness gave me a moment to talk with the very kind and interesting bartender.

As I left, I wished a little that I’d gone with friends – a small group could easily have “owned” the space, and made it feel like our very own little frozen party! I hear they are thinking of keeping it open beyond the Olympics, so who knows, we might have our chance.

guest blogger Kaen Valoise a Vancouver-based writer, budding playwright and passionate theatre-lover who breathes deeply, laughs loudly, lives fully and loves blatantly.

Posted by: goodcoldwater | February 23, 2010

terje isungset: ice trumpeter seeks glaciers

One thing that strikes me about at Norwegian percussionist Terje Isungset’s invented instruments is how personalized they are. Isungset is one of only a handful of people in the world to make ice percussion instruments. And I’m pretty sure he’s the world’s sole crafter – or at least the master crafter – of ice trumpets.

ice trumpet! (photo Vidar Herre)

But his music sounds older than a human lifespan – sometimes ethereal, sometimes windy, sometimes like a howl – and it’s hard to say why, but it must have something to do with the instruments’ materiality.

Isungset nurtured his passion for making music out of natural elements over many years, so when he began exploring the possibilities of ice music, it didn’t take long before he started an IceMusic Festival in Geilo, Norway.

The first edition of the IceMusic Festival was in January 2006. One if the central themes of the festival is to celebrate and align with nature; on this note, the event is always scheduled to happen on the first full moon of each year. Some of you may have seen the Ice Cubicle post about this last June; discovering this imaginative, “impossible-music” festival has added a huge amount of inspiration to this blog in subtle ways over the months.

I interviewed Isungset just before this year’s IceMusic Festival, held January 29-30, 2010. Bill Covitz, an American ice sculptor who has worked with the festival since its inception, came to Geilo a week before the festival to make the stage, the ice harp and the decorations.

More than 150 visitors at the main concert saw Isungset, harpist Sidsel Walstad and vocalist Lena Nymark perform Wintersongs. The songs were from Isungset’s new album by the same name; it’s his sixth CD on the ice-music-only label that he started, All Ice Records.

Isungset spoke in a detailed way about listening carefully to the ice. My favorite part was how the physical qualities of the ice demand improvisation.  “I always have to improvise because I don’t know exactly how the instrument will sound,” he said.

the Wintersongs concert (photo Esther van Berk)

“It depends on the weather conditions, but even more than that, the instruments are always brand new or very new. If you play a violin from the 18th century and you’ve played it for 20 years, that’s different, you know what to expect. For me, I just have to listen to the instrument each time – you can decide a little bit beforehand but not too much.”

And there’s more. Here’s the interview, with thanks to Terje for having the patience to Skype in his last hour before catching a train to Geilo for the festival weekend.

Ice Cubicle: When did you first start using ice as a musical instrument?

Terje Isungset: In 1999 I was invited to play at a concert in Lille in a frozen waterfall. I used natural elements: sounds from the waterfall, also some stones and wood alongside other musicians, and I also tried ice! It sounded amazing, so I just had to continue the work.

I am a percussionist, a drummer, so I started with the ice percussion. In Sweden they have very high quality ice there, so I did some work with ice music for The Ice Hotel [in Jukkasjärvi].

The next year I went there to record what I think is the world’s first ice music CD – a work called Igloo. After that we did build one ice harp with a Swedish artist named Bengt Carling. And then made blowing instruments out of ice.

Ice C: These performances happened before you started up the first IceMusic Festival in 2006. How did the Festival begin?

TI: The idea of the ice music festival I had in 2005, so I asked a couple of winter-sport resorts in Norway if they would have an ice music festival. They were very positive but said, ‘We have to make the financials work out first, so you have to wait.’ Then I met Pål Medhus from Geilo, and he said, ‘Okay, let’s do it.’

... and then carved into instruments "backstage" at the 2010 IceMusic Festival (photos (c) Solfrid Gjeldokk, used with permission)

He’s still running it and I am doing the programming and the creative direction. It is an amazing way to work out my ice music ideas.

Ice C: What physical qualities of the ice instruments influence the music that you compose?

TI: I try to create different moods in music, I am searching for the soul in the ice, so I try to find the ice that can sing. Read More…

Posted by: goodcoldwater | February 17, 2010

ice carving tips galore

Serious reverence ripples through the demonstration in this video. How would you carve a block of ice with a chainsaw?

Note the pristine, artificially created ice (river ice and other “wild” ice contains air bubbles and other variations of opacity).

This video’s original home is icecarvingsecrets.com. This information-drenched site is run by an ice sculptor named Dawson List (not joking – I had to read that twice to see if I was skimming past a Dawson City connection). List has been working as an ice sculptor full time for more than 13 years, and he seems to tend the site with a lot of care, both creating a blog about ice carving he loves and also providing an incredible number of resources for ice carvers at all levels of experience.

Here’s one of the impressive pictures that caught my eye:

A version of this crocodile head was ordered as a strawberry-holder for the set of the movie All the King’s Men in 2006 – apparently I’m not the only one who finds these teeth alluring (how does he carve it without them splintering off?!).

The other thing that strikes me about this croc (and the site generally) is the willingness for the knowledge to be “open source” – there are drawings, diagrams, tips on how to weld metal into your ice block if you need that structure – too much for me to list here, but I’m enjoying it as an example of how information-sharing adds to a craft, instead of people protecting their trade secrets in a way that stops knowledge from expanding.

Rant complete. More pix to see. Have a look around the site and, mixed among the many aesthetically Hallmark-card-inspired angels, hearts and cheery beasties, you’ll find wonders like this double-helix spiral (artist uncredited).

It all makes me wish I could attend the World Ice Art Championships when it opens in Fairbanks, Alaska this weekend, February 20. Anyone driving from Whitehorse to Fairbanks in the next couple of weeks? I promise I won’t bite.

Posted by: goodcoldwater | February 11, 2010

Shackleton’s whiskey at last (plus brandy!)

My Darling Wife,

I am working day and night I can only send a line all I will tell you when I get back and on the way to Sydney. Child I cannot say how I feel about all the worry to you but it is over now sweeteyes and all will go well you can judge from the cables re lectures work etc. The expedition has been a success darling though we did not get the Pole I did my best I had to come back to you and the children.

- letter from Ernest Shackleton to his wife Emily, April 1909, transcribed at “Virtual Shackleton”

On Tuesday night, Dawson City had a sign that our Yukon winter is at least half over. Bombay Peggy’s - the only pub in town that serves martinis – opened again after its annual winter closure. The sun is back and so is my favorite after-work place to relax!

In the middle drinks with friends, I ordered a whiskey. It was a moment to toast two things. First, a toast to another, longer winter: the six-month darkness that Ernest Shackleton and his crew endured in 1908-09 in preparation for excursions to the magnetic south pole (successful!) and the geographic south pole (not successful – this time).

Shackleton's base camp at Cape Royds, Ross Island (photo: nzaht.org)

At the end of this expedition, Shackleton and his nine-man shore party reboarded the Nimrod ship, leaving a few things behind: frostbitten toes; ponies that fell in crevasses or onto dinner plates; the hut they had built at Cape Royds; and several crates of whiskey stored in the ice about two feet below the hut. I would guess, reading the letter above, that the crates were the farthest thing from Shackleton’s mind.

But that brings me to my second toast: a cheer to these crates of whiskey, because they’re out of the ice at last! The New Zealand Antarctic Heritage Trust (NZAHT) discovered the crates in 2006; in November 2009 they announced plans to dig up at least two cases of McKinlay and Co spirits (see the Ice Cubicle’s Dec 12/09 post for more about this story).

Last Friday, February 5, NZAHT excavated five crates. Here’s the story as told by TVNZ:

When conservators began excavating the two crates of apparently forgotten century-old whisky from under Shackleton’s hut, their aim was simply to get the boxes out intact.

“We were lying on our stomachs on the permafrost completely under the hut removing the ice enclosing the boxes, to say it was a pleasant job would be untrue,” says Al Fastier of the NZ Antarctic Heritage Trust.

For three days they chipped their way closer and closer to the crates. Their efforts were more than rewarded, with what they have now stored carefully away.

“We got the two boxes out and were very excited and pleased with ourselves and then we looked through the layer of ice behind the second box and could see through the opaque ice the words whisky again,” says Fastier.

Not only an extra crate of whisky, but two more of brandy would follow.

“There’s still liquid sloshing around indicates that there’s alcohol in the bottles and we can see the neck of one bottle and it’s still got a lead seal around the cork,” says Fastier.

You can see a long clip from the news show here:

Now, what about the scotch itself? Will anyone be allowed to taste it (or would anyone want to?)

A press release from the NZAHT states that the crates will remain on site at Cape Royds (artefacts can’t be removed from Antarctica, according to international agreements). But the great news for scotch drinkers is that samples will be taken from the bottles:

Ice has cracked some of the crates and formed inside them which will make the job of
extracting the contents very delicate. The team is confident that the crates contain intact alcohol, given liquid can be heard when the crates are moved. The smell of whisky in the surrounding ice before excavation commenced also indicated full bottles of spirits were inside, albeit that one or more might have broken.

It’s not clear who will have access to these samples, though it looks like the list includes the folks at Whyte and Mackay (the current name of the distillery that supplied the McKinlay to Shackleton’s expedition). Master blender Richard Paterson has been blogging about his company’s hopes to recreate the recipe; he writes that “it’s great to actually see it” and I’m sure there will be details about the recreation process as it happens.

the crates as they look now at the Cape Royds hut (photo: nzhat.org)

Posted by: goodcoldwater | February 5, 2010

no ice in the aurora, but peter mettler’s near

When I was a kid, I thought aurora borealis were extra special, super-high-in-the-stratosphere ribbons of ice reflecting wild lights from outer space.

aurora borealis in Kulusuk, Greenland (image Nick Russill, creative commons attribution/non-commercial license)

Now I know better, but no matter how much we learn scientifically about the Northern Lights – no matter how measurable they are, or they may become mappable – when I see the Northern Lights, factual data doesn’t matter much. The knob on fact knowledge gets turned down to almost zero and the dial for “wonder” zooms up to the 10 when the non-icy curtains of sheer, brilliant light curl and breathe across the icy sky. And many others experience this too.

Peter Mettler’s film Picture of Light reminded me tonight about how that surge of curiosity and delight can temporarily muffle, or even displace, intellectual knowledge. And I would argue that’s a beautiful thing.

Picture of Light is saturated with stunning scenes, of aurora borealis and much more. The film describes Mettler and his crew in Churchill, Manitoba, hanging out with their specially housed cameras that can take temperatures to minus-40 C.

The film prioritizes mystical or magical explanations. “Before science explained, the Northern Lights were interpreted as visions, prophecies, spirits — a trigger for the imagination — images provided by nature framed by no less than the universe itself,” Mettler’s voiceover says, and the idea is so central that it’s repeated on his website as a teaser.

When a long blizzard forces the crew indoors for several days, the storm gradually takes shape as the second main character beside the Northern Lights. Claustrophobia, or winter fever, keeps tension between enforced stillness and the things the humans do to stay in motion: even to the point of shooting a hole in the hotel wall, enlarging it with a crowbar, and waiting to see what snowdrift shape will appear. All with the hotel owner’s blessing and participation.

Snow drifts into piles higher than cars. We see ice on a lake during a long helicopter flyover scene. Frost covering windows, frost so intense that one shot lingers on a scratched white surface with a blackish background and visual perspective is so dissolved that the frost might be a landscape, a floor, a snowscape from here to the next road. There are two faint, slightly blue lights in the iced scratches. It isn’t until the camera pulls slightly away that we can see they are reflections on Mettler’s glasses.

I’ve hit a slow spell with inspiration for The Ice Cubicle. That’s in part because teaching is full-on right now, but I think largely it’s because an element of familiarity is settling in. While I don’t see glaciers in my daily walk to work and back, I see the frozen Yukon River and the hunks of ice pushed along roadsides by trucks or snowplows. I’m habituated to the icicles on the bright blue Yukon Energy building, not to mention the endless supply of tiny icicles that frost up our scarves, hoods and noses when we walk through deep chill weather.

our inefficient Yukon Energy building in Dawson

So maybe I’m skating over a period of ice-image-saturation. What do I do now? I promised myself I’d write about ice for a whole year – until May 2010.

Back to a script quote from Picture of Light:

We live in a time where things do not seem to exist if they are not captured as an image.

But if you look into darkness you may see the lights of your own retina — not unlike the Northern Lights, not unlike the movements of thought. Like a shapeless accumulation of everything we have ever seen.

Lately I’ve been using images of ice from all over the world to frame my questions about the poetics of ice, the physical nature of ice, the integration of ice into art and art into ice. The process is becoming a little too abstract and general, a little too locked into one part of my thinking; the intellect is voicing suspicions about the creativity that ice can and does inspire in many.

Last weekend I entered a 48-hour Short Film Competition through KIAC (the Klondike Institute of Art and Culture, in Dawson City). Of course, that means I was actively capturing images all weekend. But I was also treating ice as a sculptural element. Playing with it and allowing spontaneous, even ridiculous responses. After all, one of the main characters was a 7-foot high snow monster. With foodcolour-blue ice for eyes.

When Mettler talks about seeing external images and then seeing the lights of our own retina, it reminds me that my writing is best, my ideas most fresh, when all this pixelated eye-drenching research blends with bodily experience. It reminds me that haptic, tactile and sensuous knowledge wakes up new ideas.

Poetics of ice are not separate from poetics of sky, light, snow, wind – and bodily experienced wonder, tension, brightness, darkness and cold.

Posted by: goodcoldwater | January 26, 2010

ghost head from the north pole

if you’ll excuse my constant return to the north-north (further north than Dawson City) as a subject of conversation, here’s another ice image from Tuktoyaktuk … I’m still dream-thinking about the wonders we saw in December there.

this ghost head must have come from the north pole, as there are no topographies in place to prevent drift between that magnetic location and a perch near the windswept Tuktoyaktuk airport –

as the sun nudged light below the horizon, the ghost took on a soft glow and let its tentacles ripple in the wind. that is all –


Posted by: goodcoldwater | January 15, 2010

ice skeptic: shelley hakonson

Dear readers, I’ve been reminded repeatedly that all my ice adoration needs a counterpoint, since ice isn’t always kind and friendly and tame. In particular, Shelley Hakonson provides this story as a contrast to my obsession with ice’s beauty. (At the bottom of this post you can find a brief bio for this Dawson City painter and maker of incredible cakes that out-mouthwater any bakery’s work.)

Fear of Ice

Let me say right off that I’m not a devotee of ice. At the very least it fills me with anxiety, and at its worst, it consumes me with panic.

We had a placer operation over in the 60 Mile Valley a while ago, and that meant the Yukon River was between us and it.

It was a hassle at times with the ferry, but the crew there knew we were on the clock and did their best to accommodate.

But in the spring, it was the ice we were travelling on.

I would drive to town in my faithful step-side Robin’s-egg Blue Ford pick-up every week or so for groceries and parts. I didn’t have to deal with a huge frozen river on the upper Eldorado, our previous ground, and I didn’t like this new obstacle at all!

And I began to develop my escape plan, if anything dire were to happen.

The shore edges of the ice bridge rot away first in the warm spring weather, they get punky. The top layers of the ice bridge generally become softer and melt as the day goes on. Vehicles keep going back and forth, causing deeper and deeper ruts that smaller vehicles have trouble with.

Not my Old Blue though. My plan: I would pull up to the ice bridge, take my seatbelt off, fling the door wide open and floor it as fast as I could drive that old Ford, hoping maybe it would hydroplane on the water and not fall into a hole somewhere. That was why my door was open: it was supposed to magically stop the truck from going straight down into the river! I was sure it would catch on the ice and I could then jump out and run to a safe, solid place.

And I believed that implicitly.

It was a good, workable plan. And thankfully, I never had to use it.

But the tension in the cab of my truck was very thick, and the language to get through it all was atrocious. I was quite possibly channeling one of the C.B. truck drivers.

And I had to cross that ice twice in a day.

But let me backtrack here a bit.

My first two years in Dawson City were spent downriver in a beautiful log cabin, designed and built by my husband Greg. Actually, they were my first two years ever out of the city.

It was exhilarating and so foreign to me, a girl from Vancouver, lately of The Gaslight Follies, the summer show for the tourists at the Palace Grand Theater here in Dawson, and the reason I arrived here in 1976.

Away went all my theatre buddies to the South and I stayed behind with my soon-to-be husband as the entire town emptied. It was exhilarating to be whisked off the stage and brought to this quiet and beautiful place downriver from Dodge.

And there was no lack of learning to be done. But I couldn’t chop wood as I was too afraid of the ax, I was sure it would bury itself in my shin…and I still don’t chop wood.

Getting used to an outhouse for every day use, year-round no matter the temperature? Okay, outhouses were summer things for me, and if experienced on a weekend at Lac la Hache campground with 100 other people, an outhouse could be almost exotic.

Not so much now.

Our water was hauled from the Yukon River two buckets at a time on Greg’s shoulders, and we flavoured it with a tad of bleach, just in case there was anything nasty in it.  (Which there sometime was!)

In my city life I was used to chin-high steaming hot perfumed baths, and I now had a galvanized washtub where I sat with my knees up to my ears with a bar of Ivory in hand. Really hoping no one would come bursting through the door.

However, I did learn to excel at cooking on our beautiful woodstove (before the bear tore it apart). I had to have something I was good at being married to Greg, the Yukon outdoorsman!

So I learned to cook on that hot, wood-hungry beast and I loved it, buns, muffins, bread, cakes, you name it, appeared regularly on the table and in the spring, Greg and I rolled into town like butterballs – a case of too much of a good thing.

Shelley and Greg's cabin after a bear tried to break in to access Shelley's baking

But back to the ice! I clearly recall standing on the bank down at Clear Creek that first year watching the first small ice cakes come by. They looked like bits of wax floating on the cold water, and I realized our riverboat was going to be hauled out very soon, cutting us off from town.

It was a disconcerting feeling for me, a mere city girl, to think that all we had in the cabin for human contact was a C.B. radio.

We listened to truckers talking to each other as they were hauling loads to who knows where – always entertaining. And “As it Happens” with Barbara Frum became a nightly tradition.

Oh, and there were bears and wolves there…did I mention that?

When I first heard the wolves howling on the ridge, it was an extraordinary feeling for me…a shiver of uneasiness, but yet a wonderful sense of wildness for me…where had I ended up?

And who was this guy chopping wood incessantly? Read More…

Posted by: goodcoldwater | January 9, 2010

icicles, cumulus, coral

they’re everywhere, icicles, and this formation is the most complex one I’ve seen yet.

in a rare anti-gravity feat, icicles attempt imitation of coral or of cumulus. caught rising from a heat vent at the Nova Hotel, Inuvik, last weekend.

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