Biting Cold

It was a freezing night in Alaska, the temperature had dropped to well below zero, fifteen below with a driving wind that shrieked and laughed as it sped viciously past causing lashing snow flakes to fall fast and furiously. Up in the high mountains the man shook his head as he stoked up the fire causing the flames to dance creating shadows on the sod hut's walls. They seemed to move with a life of their own. Forming first a pattern a fleeting glimpse of a unicorn or so he thought. He needed the storm to pass by so he could check out his many traps. He was working two lines this winter for pine martin with the odd trap for Lynx and wolverine who were a bane always robbing his traps of his fur. He also had traps deep in the river by the beaver's dams, the price of their fur was sky high this year. He needed to hunt for more meat too as his freezer was nearly empty and it would be a long two months before the thaw and he could get supplies flown in. Turning in he slept well waking to find the storm was tailing off, quickly he got things ready. Daylight was a brief five hours this time of year and one was already gone. He worked the line nearest to his hut first gathering up the furs and resetting the traps. It was so tranquil now, the spruces stretched up high seeming to touch the sky shedding the odd pile of snow from laden branches that drooped with the weight. Picking up some deer tracks that were fresh he followed. Soon spotting some elk high up on the next ridge he climbed around to get into position. He lined up his sights on a healthy male and took a clean shot dropping it in its tracks. Quickly he field dressed it taking the hide and meat leaving the rest for the various predators that were already gathering. At least it was mainly downhill to what he called home. Striding on as darkness started to fall he soon was home and now the work began. He have several furs to skin, stretch and pin out to dry, others that now needed more work, scraping carefully he removed and smoothed the hides and hung them on frames in his smoke room to colour and cure. Then he had his dogs to feed before he himself could also eat. It had been a long hard day. He now had a moment to reflect and gave thanks to the elk who had died so he and his dogs could eat. This would be his life for the next few weeks, then he would take his furs to town to sell. He would be glad to see his family again it would be nearly five months since he was last home and over three since he had spoken to another soul. Yet he would not give up this way of life. The last thing he did before he flew out was to dismantle his sod hut and burn the remains on the iced up river removing all signs that he had been here. Next winter he would build another in a different place and life would go on.