“Old Man Winter” by Anne Louise Pittens

Old Man Winter I’ve been thinking,

Too much eggnog you’ve been drinking.

Looks like water, feels like rain,

When’s it going to snow again?

Question answered. Friday December 5, the snow began. We’d all been watching the weather report for a week, and it was predicting a doozie of a dump. But would it come? Yes, yes it would.

From Friday to Monday morning Ma Nature cut loose with a foot and a half of the white stuff.  White Gold, as the shovellers call it. It’s a lucrative business, this keeping of things in motion, in winter, in the Yukon. For me, heaven. Nothing satisfies like pushing snow.

On Saturday afternoon, I sat in my writing room, typing away. When I suddenly felt dizzy, I stopped, feeling my stomach lurch. Oh yeah, I know what this is. 180 miles away, off the coast of Alaska, outside the little hamlet of Yakatuk, a 7.0 earthquake had my wine glasses toasting each other as they swung about in the overhead rack. 

My dog jumped from his bed and barked at me. I ran around grabbing passports, medication, boots and jackets. It’s not as easy as it sounds when the floor is rolling under your feet. The shaking lasted a long time! Some said two minutes. Not sure, but it did leave an impression – on most of us.  

My husband was out plowing the driveway with his best friend, John Deere. He never noticed a thing. I told him about it over beer that evening.

Between snow and earthquakes and extremes in the north, he related his own stories. Seems he was working on Baffin Island fifty odd years ago, building housing in the Inuit community of Pangnirtung. An unforgiving place this Baffin Island. Rocky. Windy. 

When he got off the plane, the first thing he noticed was that all the houses were low to the ground like they were crouching. Each had a steel cable secured to the ground from one side across the roof to the other. When he asked what that was all about, an Inuit elder gently explained it was to keep the houses from blowing away.

There was a Northern store there, fresh built. No cable holding her down. The wind took the roof off. For the next year, anyone requiring a new pair of socks, a blanket or a tin of coffee, hitched up the dog team and mushed their way onto the tundra. Everything they needed was blowing around in the arctic breeze. Or so the story goes.

On another occasion, in Paulatuk, building supplies were flown in. There were a couple lifts of plywood – G1S to be exact. If you don’t know, that stands for Good 1 Side – which is to say one side is ugly and the other is fit to be ogled.

The lifts of G1S plywood got tossed in the storm. Next day, the crews were out with long poles, poking around in the snow like an avalanche rescue team, searching for the lost material. Michel came across several pieces and yelled out to his companions. “Found it. Got the G1S. NFC”

“What?” Someone called back.

“Got the G1S. NFC” Michel repeated, yelling over the howling wind. “No F’ing Corners!” The plywood had been trashed as it bounced across the frozen ground and finally came to rest on the ice-covered bay. And you don’t just call Home Depot for another load. It took a week to replace the product so building could continue. Anyway, too many stories. Someone should write a book!

Sunday, the day after the earthquake, my friend Maria called me to check in and see if I had felt the shaker the day before. I said yes and she reminded me about the last one we had several years back when her husband was still alive. It arrived in the summer when it is light eighteen hours a day. We had a good laugh because back then we also discussed our experiences.

When she felt the earth move, Maria went running to check on her husband. She found him mid-flight racing to save his TV. Twenty miles away, on the other side of Whitehorse, I was running to check on my sweetheart only to find him bracing his beloved motorcycle.

Yeah…

It's Monday now and Mother Nature has blown herself out. The snow has stopped. The temperature sits at -22 which is perfectly livable. Thanks to the fresh snow, the world has all gone quiet and turned to varying degrees of white. There is, however, a hellacious wind howling down from the North. To all the snow-machiners, skiiers and other weirdos out there that love this white world, this is for you. May your igloo keep you warm and your batteries never fail you. Cheers! The deep freeze is upon us.

Just a few hours south of the Arctic circle, Dawson City sits stoic at the confluence of the Klondike and Yukon Rivers. Tomorrow, the temperatures are set to plummet to -45 degrees. Whiskey freezes around -27.

My husband’s daughter and her partner have a cabin in West Dawson. They are determined to spend Christmas there. They will fly into Dawson, run across the Klondike Highway where they will install a warm battery in an icy car.

Then if the metal of the engine doesn’t shatter, they will drive an hour through the almost perpetual dark so they can cross an ice road over the frozen Yukon River to their off-grid cabin. They think this is a very romantic idea. I think they’re off their nut! But let’s not snow on their bon hiver parade.

Between us, I suspect they’ll be praying for a vacancy at the Eldorado Hotel once reality frosts their backsides.

But for now, six hours to the south in Whitehorse, me and my guy have gone to ground, holed up in our home for the duration. Two wood stoves will be exhaling smoke. I will continue to crochet a blanket, an excellent craft to take up when one lives in the north. Michel will be chapters deep into some book or other, and our hundred-pound pup will be stretched out beside him.

If you look at our house from the road right now, through the dark you’ll see two reading lamps warming the room with a soft orange glow. If you listen, you’ll hear our wood stove crackling while the cedar logs of our house snap at the cold.

I get why the bears sleep the season away, and while I will also be hibernating for the next several days, I am beyond grateful to be here.

Cheers!

Anne Louise Pittens lives in Whitehorse, Yukon, with her husband Michel and Gryphon – a Swiss Mountain Dog who hates the cold.

 With almost a full retirement recently upon her, Anne is spending her time writing, shovelling snow and shivering to produce a little extra heat.

 Occasionally she can be found scrolling through old photos of Mexico and Costa Rica.

The Yukon is a magical place and welcoming to every person who cares to give it a try.

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