Wednesday, January 28, 2009 12:01:08 AM

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"Perfect Actions"

Arctic Cacoethes


Image Copyright : Enrique Vidal Vijandi

 

Dancing With Death

In the arctic it is essential that one does not test the Creator. People who choose to live in the polar north must face the fact that trying to live outside the home is not much different than trying to live outside a space station. Astronauts who venture into the void of interstellar space must wear clothing and other gear to protect their bodies from the extremes of temperatures and breathable atmosphere. Life here is not much different.

Just the other evening I felt I the need for exercise. I'm fond of skiing the many back trails found in the woods between the north side of the university here and the vast wilderness that lay beyond. A week before temperatures went down to almost -40 making the ski trip feel like I was trying to ski on sand. The crystals of snow were so hard and sharp that even my glide wax refused to glide. However, just about a week later the temperatures had warmed up to a very "toasty" 20 degree Fahrenheit .I hit the trails at night (for at this time of year there is about 20 hours long) and found that I could glide across the trails with the greatest of ease. There is an area behind the university which is lit with those high intensity sodium vapor lights giving the snowy trails a yellow orange glow. I always bring my high intensity head lamp to make the unlit back trails accessible.

I went down hill about 20 miles per hours coming to a smooth stop in the open field near Lake Smith. I met a couple trying to make it back up the hill and shared cheerful greetings before I swept down the last few hills to the wide open surface of lake Smith. All was very dark and still; a cover of clouds kept the evening temperatures warmer than usual. The tail was perfect for skating on so off I went alone as there seems to be few who ski at night and since the days are short when most people work, night is simply something one has to prepare to deal with.

It had been 12 years since I had been on these trails and my memory of the nights I used to ski on these trails and now seemed no different. The only discernable difference was the subtle sensation of the metal in my lower spine from the surgery to repair a place where a car tried to park while in Korea.

That night I skied about 15 miles but not by planning as I had found in my effort to avoid the boredom of familiar trails, I found my way to a trail system never before explored. The university shuts dow the trail lights at 9:00 PM and in no time I found the orange glow of sky I was using to navigate back to the university was gone; it was just my head lamp now. I certainly got the exercise I had been looking for but I heard my cell phone ring and I ski skated along a narrow trail I figured must end on the trail where I begin.

The trees were all encrusted with frost and I grew thirsty. I reached for my partially frozen water bottle and paused to get a during of refreshing ice crystal filled water. As I stood there in the stillness of the arctic night I could see steam from my breath rising as I took another drink; I held my breath and notices that the cloud of steam didn't stop as I held my breath. The steam that I could see in the bright beam of my head lamp was rising off my clothing as I had really worked up a sweat.

My cell phone rang but I couldn't answer it because it would mean trying to get it off my warm body where it was sealed in a zip lock bag to protect it from moisture. I just figured I needed to get back to the car quickly as I wasn't sure who may be calling me. Once at the car I discovered that my wife had called and needed a ride home.


Life these days has pushed me to the fringe of frugality where simple trips to the ski trails by car are a luxury I can't afford. In a land where snow is everywhere it would seem natural to think one should be able to ski anywhere but where ever one wants to ski, it must be an open area without obstacle like streets, cars and small rock or gravel. The nicest place to ski is on the surface of the large frozen Chena River; it's very close, has no debris and can be groomed by snow machine; however, this is early in the year and the river is still in the process of freezing over so there are many areas of thin ice and open water.

Not wanting to waste gas and having the lure of the river so close I decided to go and inspect the surface of the 200-300 foot wide river; sure enough there were snow machine trails on the outer edges of the river where the ice is the thickest. I decided that it was a good time to go for an early evening ski trip up the river.

I found a place to sit down where there was no snow under a bridge. In the bright light of my head lamp I changed into my ski boots on the icy surface of the river. I couldn't tell how thick the ice was but I sure was nervous without seeing snow machine trails. I had to think for a bit and figure how safe it was to try skiing on thin river ice. I have no friends who like skiing at night. As a matter of fact I have no friends who like to ski as I realize that most people up here prefer to have some kind of gasoline operated equipment to ride on be it a snow machine, jet ski, motorcycle, ATV or motor boat. Seems to be a pattern for men; they somehow equate the power of their gasoline fueled equipment to their man power. Few men get out into the arctic wilds with just the power found in a good meal and the skill obtained through physical exercise on skates, skis, canoes, bicycle or ropes on rocks and ice. The only machine up here that I have a "love / hate" relationship with is the snow machine. I hate the sound of the loud stinking machine which destroy the peace of the deep polar places yet I do like and appreciate the trails they leave in the snow that make for excellent ski skating trails to places where the nordic race herd frequents.

But this firs night out wasn't without it's prayerful moments as I skied on the surface of trails left by the insane snow machine riders who are required by the laws of physics to fly across a filed of death at super high speeds (like 60+ miles per hour) simply because survival on the thin ice of the early winter river depends upon how much weight is on the ice for a periods of time. Simply, on thick ice up to three feet thick you can begin to think of it as being as safe as standing on a paved highway; people do drive cars across the ice here on the river when it freezes to the bottom of the river leaving only inches at the bottom where water can flow; if the ice were to give in a break it would only drop a few inches and the car could keep going across; I know this because my friend use to operate a taxi service (by car) on the Yukon river between villages during the winter.

At this time of year when the ice is a few inches thick in many places and none existent leaving open leads in the river surface, you are faced with a view as in the above image. There are places where there are obvious open areas where water can be seen and yet the rest is simply a cover of pure white. It all looks inviting to the eyes of city people but under that cover of pure white can be a layer of ice that is five feet thick or a thin as a potato chip; one step on the wrong area of white and a person can vanish from sight beneath the icy waters inescapably floating under the surface of ice they can't break through; death happens quickly. Yet there are people up here who should have a psychological examination before trying to use a snow machine. There is a plethora of psychiatric hospital in the north for very definite problems but I will detail one problem for which nature has a cure.

As I skied last night I noted a snow machine trail near the middle of the white snow field which defines the river in the winter. Most snow machine trails are laid down by cautious snow machine operators who wisely travel near the thick ice by the river's sides. However, there are some wild and perhaps intoxicated snow machine operators who prefer to trust in their rapid velocity over the ice to escape breaking through thin ice. On the tail I began to mention, it went from the edge of the river and swung out to the middle for about 200 feet. At the end of the 200 foot run of snow machine track, it suddenly disappeared into a 5 foot wide and 10 foot long jumble of broken ice chunks where the snow machine suddenly became an arctic submarine. Judging from the size of the opening in the river ice and other trails leading to the opening, the rider wasn't alone and found assistance getting out of the freezing waters. The mess of jumbled ice indicated that there had been a lot of activity as others perhaps brought trucks to the nearby road side to haul his snow machine out of the frozen river deeps.

I'm a lot lighter than a snow machine but I am cautious to poke with my ski poles onto any area that I may think is too thin to ski on. I go skiing on the river ice alone and after much prayer, as I'm out to get exercise and not attempt the foolish activity of trying to "test God."

These rivers in the arctic are beautiful places to enjoy winter sports but one must develop a sense of "feeling" out the safe and stable areas of the river which eyes can't discern. This is done by skiing on the river as spring approaches watching for the first places where the ice melts away exposing areas of the river. The other methods providing greater certainty which is to watch carefully over the months of freeze up to see where the river freezes first; every river has its own character and there is a narrow channel where the flowing river waters freeze last; it is these areas that one should avoid each time they plan a trip on the ice.

 

 

 

 

 


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It Begins In Light

 

 

 

English Lessons

from the days when

Meaning Was Conveyed Gracefully

 

Now the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, that ye may abound in hope, through the power of the Holy Ghost.--ROM. xv. 13.

 

 

To heaven I lift my waiting eyes;
There all my hopes are laid;
The Lord that built the earth and skies
Is my perpetual aid.

I. WATTS

 

Grovel not in things below, among earthly cares, pleasures, anxieties, toils, if thou wouldst have a good strong hope on high. Lift up thy cares with thy heart to God, if thou wouldst hope in Him. Then see what in thee is most displeasing to God. This it is which holdeth thy hope down. Strike firmly, repeatedly, in the might of God, until it give way. Thy hope will soar at once with thy thanks to God who delivered thee.

E. B. PUSEY.

The snares of the enemy will be so known to thee and discerned, the way of help so manifest and easy, that their strength will be broken, and the poor entangled bird will fly away singing, from the nets and entanglements of the fowler; and praises will spring up, and great love in thy heart to the Forgiver and Redeemer.

I. PENINGTON.

 

 

 

© Bill Watterson

This One Has To Be The Best Yet!! Ha


Thank You Bill Watterson; Live Forever and continue to Prosper !!!

My E-mail: al7mi@yahoo.com

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