After working a long and quiet night in th ER and sleeping most of the day away at home, I was beginning to feel cooped up again. Around 1am I head to work to eat lunch with Kim (good stew Gina), but she's too busy to visit much, and so I make the quick and cold ride home to watch a movie, and maybe pack a few more things. I rolled into my driveway and started the short walk to the door, when I noticed how bright the moon was. It was slightly less than full, sitting atop a mostly clear sky, lighting the dark up like it was midnight in July... a little dusky, but enough to see the river below my apartment.
The Kenai had frozen completely in front of my place earlier this winter. But a few days of warmth had opened a lane on the far side. Porter and I walked the Kenai's edge in December, looking at the amazing ice crystals that lived in the nooks and crannies of the massive heaves that had formed. You may not know it, but the river doesn't freeze flat. It is a maze of ice that refuses to lie down or stay put. 100yrds of frozen river is a never ending playground for the brave.
Tonight, with the air so cold and clear, and the moon so brightly shining, I've decided I needed to check out the small slough of river still open. I carefully made my way through the woods and down the bluff on a trail only a few people use, ending just south of Slikok Creek at the rivers edge. In the moonlight I can easily see the tracks of different animals criss-cross the path the river had cut. I follow them.
Slowly, I trudge in shin deep snow, on top of 4 ft of ice (hopefully), feeling the cold penetrate the meat of my face. My beard was frozen from the first second I stepped out of the car, and now my fingers began to feel the sting of winter inside my gloves. My trusty mittens were left in Kims car earlier. I missed them dearly.
At 20 below zero, you begin to appreciate long johns a whole lot more. A pair of good boots and long johns under my flimsy jeans are my armor. Half way across the river and the heaves are no longer giants, making walking much less difficult. The quiet of night allows me to hear the sounds of the world. Nothing interrupts the music made by nature tonight. The breeze throws branches against branches, the rivers ice cracks loudly, and the water rushes against the icy wall of the narrow slough.
I started to wonder why I wanted to make the hike across the ice, and turn around in the direction of home. On the river, the breeze is more of a wind. With nothing to weaken it, the wind whips down the rivers path, and lashes at anything sticking out. I stick out badly. Without stopping, I pull my Carhart collar up higher and stocking cap down lower. Back on the bank of the river, I decide to make a little fire.
It's important for a man to feel like he has roughed it now and then. I dig beneath the snow finding the dry frozen grass I expect, then gather small sticks from the base of the spruce trees nearby. Proudly, with only one match lit, my small fire is alive. I can hear something moving in the woods, and wait to see where its going. The footsteps crushing frozen ground get quieter. My small bundle of collected sticks is already gone, so I kick snow on it, and climb back up the bluff. Another 5 minutes finds me kicking my boots off and starting the hot tea brewing.
A small but fulfilling adventure.
On a side note...
... as I walked into the new hospital admiring the clean smell and learning the road to the Med/Surg, I spotted a big fat dust bunny making his way down an adjoining hall, reminding me of the tumbleweeds in Idaho. It hit me that this dust bunny probably knew the place better than anyone...
Really no point to the story, but funny in my mind.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment