As December rolls in, the men are once again setting their traps in hope of catching some prime beaver, lynx, fox, mink, marten, wolf, and wolverine. Once the fur is caught, skinned, stretched, and dried it will be traded for much needed cash to buy Christmas presents, fuel, oil, gas, and pay bills and other needs.
During the winter, the few jobs in the construction have shut down. Fishing and wild-land firefighting is over. So it can be a economically challenging time for villagers as they try to make a living. Fur sales is one way they can make it, rather than welfare and government subsidies
The animal populations here are just short of amazing. Since we have so few people per square mile, the fur resource is hardly even fully utilized. We have beaver everywhere and lots of fox and we are in a high cycle for lynx. We can harvest these animals during the season as a renewable resource. And it will not harm the population as a whole. As one area is trapped, it makes room for the young of the past year to fill in the void and reproduce in that area. It's a never ending cycle that works pretty good. The alternative to controlling the populations is disease and starvation naturally, and that is cruel and such a waste in my opinion.
There are people that are dead set against trapping; claiming it's cruel and unjust. But the alternative is worse and can be way more devastating to the populations than what the trappers can ever do. And if the populations ever get low enough to warrant a decrease, trapping seasons are adjusted or even closed entirely to let the population recoup until they are healthy again.
Fur is truly a green renewable resource and very warm. The folks that live in northern climates still wear fur. Since there is no real substitute that is comparable in warmth and style, it's the only logical thing to use. And it looks great as well.
Many trappers feed themselves with there catch. Beaver, muskrat, lynx, and even otter are eaten. And if not being eaten by the trapper and their family- the village dogs get their much needed protein (that is so important to survive the sub zero temperatures in this northern climate).
Daylight is slow coming in this norther region. As the sun slowly crept over the horizion at ten AM, I checked out the back window and see if the local pine squirrel was at the bird feeder that is set up on the side of the smokehouse. It usually sits and eats the beans or seeds or crusts of bread we put out there for him. The birds, who struggle to survive in this snowy climate, also come to nibble on the treats.
On this crapisicular morning I could just make out a ghostly pale silhoutte of a small owl perched on one of the upright posts. He sat at the top, on the pointy end of the verticle post; from his advantage point he could see the bird feeder where some seed was scatterd across the snow. There, the voles were getting a free lunch as well.
I could see his head slowly rotating while he scanned below for the slight movement of a vole searching out the seeds in the snow. I sat and watched as it became full daylight and realized the squirrel would soon arrive at the bird feeder for his customery breakfast.
I went in the kitchen and got a cup of mocha (that was my morning ritual) and by the time I made it back to the window all hell had broken loose. The squirrel had arrived and was loudly chattering and bouncing around the side the smokehouse like spiderman on crack. All the while cussing at that owl - that didnt look much bigger than a ptarmigin. To tell you the truth, had this been Las Vegas I would of put my wager on the squirrel. He was fearless of me and the neighborhood dogs that would send him scampering up the pole to the feeder. But once just out of reach of the dogs, he would sit and cuss their mother and everything else about them and showed no fear of even God himself.
Well he went spinning around the smoke house chattering for an hour, while the small boreal owl swiveled his head around trying to make sense of all the commotion that was going on while he was trying to take a nap in the new morning sunshine.
The owl eventually seemed to get aggravated and flew to perch on the piece of plywood that was partially covering the smokhouse door. He fluffed his feathers and ignored the squirrel as best he could while dozing off.
The squirrel still seemed upset about the owl's presence at "his" feeder, but was content to sit just above the owl on the smokehouse. There, he could keep and eye on the intruder and doze off into the morning sunshine with him.
After a rough ride through the broken ice on my snowmachine I got to the other side of the river. There is a high cut bank that detours me down river a short ways until I come to a small creek that allows me acces up the bank. From there it's a big frozen swamp with huge areas that the snow is pawed away. Often times moose get down on their front knees, while their hind ends are still standing and eat the plants that are froze under the snow. They gather in these areas in large numbers when the snow is not too deep. There they forage while also scraping bark from the willow bushes with there lower front teeth. They munch the tips of the branches usually by method of grabbing the branch in there mouth and breaking it down for easy access.
The Alaska Department of Fish and Game estimates 4000 moose in this area and down river to the coast.
The moose are a blessing for sure. This part of Alaska was meat hungry as early back as the 1980s. The moose population was dier and they closed hunting season for 5 years in hopes they would repopulate. They sure did. It was a success story unlike any other. The population increased rapidly, due to what many believe was the fires upriver. They think they drove many moose down to inhabit this lush willow rich country. With very few wolves in the area as well, they have a pretty easy life around here.
I also can see a down side to having too many moose, especially when I come riding down a thick willow trail and there is a moose or three on the trail ahead. The drill goes like this: Do a face off for a few minutes and see if he leaves the trail. If not, yell and clap my hands. If that doesn't work, I get off and start manually turning my machine around on the tight trail all the while keeping one eye over my shoulder watching the moose.
Once, while having a face off and getting about midway turned around I had a impatiant moose charge down the trail towards me. I had to jump off the trail and flounder through the chest deep snow to a tree to climb. I was able to get five feet up before the now running moose decided he would jump over my snowmachine. He leapt through the air with form much like you would see a flying reindeer on Santa's sleigh. The moose's leap fell short; his back hooves didn't clear the machine and caught on the back rack and he fell like a grand piano right in the snow next to me in the small tree. He looked over. We shared a glance while he layed there for a moment gathering himself. Then he got to his feet and trotted down the trail in the direction he so desperately wanted to go; like nothing ever happend.
The ice in front of the village has stopped flowing and jammed early last week. With the colder temps the river is now locked under hard water until mid May when it breaks up again. It will be our highway, our grocery store, and from its banks we will utilize the driftwood to heat our homes through out the long winter. The women will gather down on the ice in front of the village and jig for pike through the ice. They will catch them to be freeze-dried on fish racks out in there yards so they can keep a close eye on them and keep the ever hungry ravens at bay.
The men will be busy with their nets and fish traps out on the ice, so there is a social atmosphere about it. There is always someone doing somthing out on the ice.
The ice quickly thickens with the colder weather and by spring it will be as much as four feet thick in some places.
The water is low during the fall freeze-up so the tops of sandbars are sticking out and can blow sand during storms much like a desert dust storm.
The men are eager to cross and usually one man will walk on the jumbled broken ice (that looks like broken glass pushed into piles and ridges) testing with an ice pick ahead of each step to see if it's safe enough to drive a snowmobile (snowmachine) across.
If he succeeds and makes it, he will return with his snowmachine and get his sled. Then he will gather driftwood poles and stand them up in small holes chipped in the ice with his ice pick to mark the trail. These will be used so when it snows folks can find the marked trail and make it across safely. Some places are still open so we must not deviate from the trail for fear of going through a thin spot on the ice until everything is solidly froze over in a month or so.
On the far side of the river is a mud cutbank that's ten feet high and must be climbed with the snowmachine to access a network of trails called portages cut through the thick willow and alder brush with stands of cottonwood mixed in.
These trails are arteries that lead to sloughs that we can travel on. They lead to lakes and that's where the country opens up and travel is uninhibited by lack of trees so we can go most anywhere.
The men will busy once they get across the river. Some will be hauling driftwood logs and loading sledloads of firewood before the snow gets deep and the wood is burried. Others will be setting blackfish traps in the marshes. And many will be setting out and tending their traplines to catch meat and fur- the latter for much needed winter income to buy gas and everyday needs.
It will be the beginning of the long Alaskan winter. A time to slow down and enjoy the peace and tranquility only the winter snow seems to bring.
I will be out there almost daily doing my thing. It is my favorite time of the year.
