On a recent trip to Fairbanks Alaska, Marie and I had an interesting insight offered on a pretty slick (couldn’t resist) form of transport….dogsledding. We pulled into our accommodation and there were loads of dogs and sleds, literally. As we burrowed in to the goings on, our education on the event began. It turned out all of the dogs, mushers, and their supporters were just finishing up a thousand mile overland dog sled race. Every sled team was comprised of 14 dogs, one musher, and their support unit. The support came in to play, mostly at check points, some scattered over 200 miles apart. This would leave the 15 mostly in transit, and enjoying one another’s company. The goal of the game is to…make time, and of course live to tell about it. One of the most interesting rules was centered around the dogs. If you had a dog “fall out” due to exhaustion, sore feet, or just losing interest, the dog could not be replaced. Furthermore and to this point, any teams with under 7 dogs remaining were disqualified. I thought these rules truly spoke to the commitment of the musher. The underlying behavior derived from this spoke to me of human and canine supporting one another in a pack fashion, and conjured thoughts of ancestors in tune with their world slipping along under mystical and primordial lights, happily sustaining themselves by an understanding of their world and their role in it, and with no WiFi connectivity. Amazing!!
The human spirit is something incredible. These things that are unquantifiable like love, passion, and the spirit of freedom are deeply rooted in us. Our current condition becomes inconsequential when we recognize and feed that spirit, even if we don’t fully understand why, or how. We need to transcend; it is required to touch even fleeting joy. Run and skate under the mystical lights. Howl, even if only in the privacy of your pack, and realize the chill in your blood does not belong to the frigid wind. Cheers to you, Jack!
A traveling man, plump and grey Weary and wrung out on Christmas Day Jolly and hollies all through the night Up on the rooftops can cause quite a fright Zinging around spreading the joy Packing and tracking and giving out toys When the sleigh’s finally empty, he gives Rudolph a pat Scarfs down a cookie in one minute flat Then you can spot him, softly singing a tune The wind in his beard, south bound to Cancun
The following is an account of day six of our trip to the Arctic Circle. If you missed day five, you can catch up in quick fashion with a recap found here.
We woke up to another thin layer of ice on the tent. Our bodies were a little sore from the pack out, but not as bad as we’d feared. We had our mochas, did a little stretching, and decided to try our luck at fishing. Prior to the trip we’d investigated what kind of fish might be swimming around in the lakes and streams of the arctic, and learned grayling and arctic char were a likely bet. They allegedly loved the Blue Fox lure… so we made sure to pick up a few of those before we left.
We headed out of camp and toward the spot where the Oregon boys told us they were catching fish one after the other. Trout, they claimed. We brought our collapsible poles and a rifle… we did have one more tag to fill, and didn’t want to see a huge bull with no way to bring it down.
The morning fog and drizzle refused to go away, but our Gortex gear kept us nice and dry. Back in the lower 48, I was skeptical about buying a rain jacket and rain pants… but I was glad I did. They fit over my layers and would not allow any of that Alaska moisture in.
On our way to the fishing hole, the decision to tote the rifle proved a good one. We spotted a herd of caribou. They were plodding along on the far side of the hill, headed toward Whale Rock, near where Edgar had taken his bull the day before. We also saw a lone bull, who decided to lie down in the field about two miles away. We decided to put off fishing for a moment to track the single bull. We crept toward him, quietly as possible and without exposing ourselves to the horizon. We were just about on him when he heard the other group of cows and calves calling, and got up to join them. We could see then that he was on the smaller side, and limping.
I’ll pause here to get a little personal with how I feel about hunting. I love animals. I have always loved all sorts of furry creatures, and even thought about being a vet at one point. I also eat meat. I’ve been one of those people who understands where my food comes from, but sort of ignores the delicate details of how that all happens. Until now. Now that I’ve been on some hunts, I understand the process a bit more. I understand that there are different kinds of hunters, and that there are many who really like animals as well, and have a great deal of respect for them. I understand that there are “canned” hunts where the outcome is all but decided, and true hunts where your skill and persistence as a outdoorsman is required. I appreciate the skill and enjoy the adventure, but I have never taken an animal myself. It means something to me, and I can’t just pull the trigger without a lot of thought.
This is a photo of me, giving it a lot of thought.
So for weeks leading up to the trip Edgar would causally ask me, “Are you planning to shoot a caribou?” and for weeks my answer would be, “I don’t know.” One day I was sure it was an experience I wanted to have, to prove to myself that I could be a hunter, and I could fend for myself in the wilderness. The next day I thought about looking at that beautiful animal and taking its life and thought there was no way I could do it. “I might cry,” I told Edgar. “You will cry,” was his reply.
Now the moment had arrived. I could track this wounded bull and probably get within shooting distance. I had practiced at the range with the 7mm-08 and did better than I thought at 100 yards. If I could get into position I had a chance at making the shot, but did I want to? I admit ego was also getting in the way of my decision. I could shoot the wounded animal and it might be a way of showing mercy; he likely wouldn’t make the winter with an injured leg. But if I did shoot him, did it show some kind of weakness on my part, for taking a specimen who could not run away like the others?
While I pondered, the group moved off, and I decided I didn’t want to track them. I would hold off for a better opportunity, and perhaps a better bull.
As we headed back toward the fishing hole, we saw two more groups of caribou, but they were cows and calves, so we stuck with fishing. A few casts in, we had dinner. Two nice-sized grayling jumped on our line. We cast a few more times just to see if the char would bite, but they weren’t interested, so we headed back to camp.
Our camp supplies included some onions and potatoes, so I got to chopping those while Edgar prepared the fish. I don’t know if it was because of the cold drizzle or the calories we’d burned the day before, but I was starving and that fish really hit the spot. Even now I remember that meal as one of the best of the trip.
After our dinner, we warmed up in the tent for a while, and then Edgar wanted to go for a walk. My knee was bugging me from the pack out, so I decided to rest it and wait to see if he saw anything good. He came back from a wander over toward Elephant Mountain and said he saw a bunch of caribou by the spire. We took advantage of the last hour of daylight to see if a bull might be among them. As we walked along the lake the rain got more and more serious, and dark was coming quickly. We realized it wasn’t going to be the right time to pull the trigger even if we did see something, so we headed back to camp. We made the most of the trip back, picking up driftwood to burn for a little warmth, and taking a moment to enjoy the brisk night air and arctic sky.
On day seven, we nearly lost our boots in the muck of the tundra, and spotted some young caribou who definitely lost their herd.
It’s one thing to balance in the safety of your living room, but quite another to go out on a ledge, and trust your focus and your favorite standing leg to keep you upright. Today’s post is another share from Kim, who shows us she’s not afraid to be daring.
“Be daring; be different; be impractical. Be anything that will assert integrity of purpose and imaginative vision against the play-it-safers, the creatures of the commonplace, the slaves of the ordinary.” – Cecil Beaton
Kim says she was originally drawn to yoga because she wanted something to calm herself, then later, she felt the practice helped with anxiety and depression. If you want to learn more about that, and what she says is the best part about teaching yoga, head on over to her site.
Photo location: Potato Chip Rock, about an hour outside San Diego
TSY is always looking for people who want to share their adventures, yoga practice or surf sessions with us. We ran across Kim’s photos and enjoy what she has to say about yoga’s benefits for the mind and body. If you want to see more gorgeous pictures, check out her teaching schedule or just find out how she feels about non-dairy ice cream, head on over to Kim’s site.
“Practicing self-love daily is the key to happiness and success; when you love yourself and your journey, you cannot fail.”
Note: I call my friend Sarah “Sunshine” because she radiates. She’s warm and genuine in her life, and in her yoga practice. We’re excited to share this photo and quote from her.
“Being mindful is a special skill acquired through practice, just like riding a bike.”
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