Surviving the Cold

-47C!  Brr! Put more wood on the fire and keep close to the heat!

I think of the poor birds so cold outside, yet when I pull back the curtains at 9 a.m., when there's enough light to see something in the yard, there's a great deal of bird activity at my feeders. Common Red Polls in the driveway, on the shoveled snow mounds around the feeders, in the trees - busy eating the high protein black-oiled sunflower seeds.  A Downy Woodpecker clings to the log suet feeder pecking at the peanut butter suet mix; a Hairy Woodpecker climbs up the poplar tree trunk. A few Pine Grosbeaks mingle with the Red Polls at the feeders; most sit on the tree branches shivering to increase their metabolic rate to warm up.  All the birds are speckled with frost.

In this extreme cold, I don't see the Chickadees feeding in the morning. Either they've already eaten and will return near sunset or they are still snuggled together with their lowered temperatures in a cozy place. I won't see the Gray Jays until the temperature rises.

Cold days mean blue skies and intense sunshine. Between feeding, the birds sit high in the treetops where the sun rays reach. Their bodies are round balls with feathers fluffed to trap air creating insulating layers.  As the Red Polls hop around the driveway feeding on seeds, their legs are hidden by the feathers, and it looks like they're hopping just on their fat bellies.

Then, the ravens come. They settle on the ground in the driveway and under some of the feeders. The smaller birds fly up to the tree branches or move to other feeders. Today, the ravens have frosted white caps and cheeks, and as they move around, their 'pants' are fluffed to keep their legs warmer.  As I move in the window, the ravens fly off to find another source of food, and the other birds return to the feeders.

I put on my thick snow pants, parka, toque, neck warmer, mitts and big boots, fill up a bucket with seed and venture into the cold. My breath floats as a cloud before me; my boots scrunch on the dry snow. The birds fly into the trees and wait for me to fill the feeders and throw some on the ground. I return to the warmth of my woodstove and watch the busy birds through the window. What better thing to do on such a cold day?

Winter Day

Yesterday I went x-country skiing. Fresh snow had fallen the day before on old hard-packed snow, and I was eager to ski on the snowmobile trails through the forest. The sun was bright, the sky an intense blue, and the temperature only -2C - quite warm for this time of year. The trail I choose was packed by a snowmobile, yet the snow was soft and as I skimmed along, it whispered beneath my skis.

Fresh wolf tracks were pressed into the snowmobile tracks, and I followed them as the trail descended gradually, twisting through the forest. In three minutes I was past the last turn and onto flat ground and soon reached a large abandoned gravel pit.

I was a half mile from the Alaska Highway and the centre of Watson Lake town, but the only sounds I heard were from my skis and surroundings. The wind shook bushy tops of spruce and pine and snow cascaded down the trees. Two gray jays fluttered across the sky. A pine grosbeak called from the forest. Ravens flew on their air path from the garbage dump to the sewage lagoon, and at times circled downward to check on this creature on the trail.

The gravel pit opened up before me and snowmobile tracks led off in numerous directions. Do I ski an hour longer down to the Liard River? Do I go upward on a snow covered road to circle back to my pickup? Or do I continue through the gravel pit where the wolf had gone? I follow the wolf tracks.

Other animals had left signs of passage. Snow hare prints were in the soft snow and disappeared into willows and brush. Tiny paw prints stopped where long feather marks were spread out on each side of the snowmobile tracks.  An owl had found a meal.

The open gravel pit allowed me a wide view of the sky and landscape. Clouds floated lazily through the blue expanse, often changing shape from elongated pools to swirls and spirals created by a master artist on a canvas. Sun rays dressed poplar and birch trees and spread as fingers across snow covered side hills.

As the sun lowered, the sky and clouds turned purple, rose and deep orange. Time to leave the wolf tracks and return to my pick up. A squeaky chirp from the forest stopped me and I 'cheed cheed' back to the boreal chickadee. It chirped back. We continued the conversation until the wind shook the trees and the bird flew away.

When people ask me how I deal with northern winter cold and darkness, I smile and remember a day such as this, and reply, "Oh, I survive."