Far North Rambles #29: Chopper 0/5, Part 2: The Dog House

In a previous post (August 7, 2020), I described our toilet paper chase where we found out that we would spend an unscheduled night in the bush because of a mechanical issue with the helicopter. We had no emergency shelter or food because of poor decisions we had made that day.

Even though it was late June, on a clear northern night, the night temperature dropped to single digits. Once we found out we were spending the night in the bush, with no food or shelter, our first instinct was to prepare a shelter for a cold night. I started to build a small “dog house” shelter out of spruce boughs. It was suitable for one person, because I wanted to trap my body heat. My two colleagues built variations on the theme. John, the experienced one, did not build a shelter. He used the lingering twilight to collect wood for a fire. He asked how we would stay warm. We proudly said “in our dog houses”. John just quietly collected wood.

The clear twilight was beautiful. The temperature dropped. The deer flies, blackflies, and finally the mosquitoes disappeared. The temperature dropped some more. The Sun set. The temperature dropped some more. We could hear the mysterious sounds of the nighthawks diving to capture flying insects. The temperature dropped some more. The sky darkened enough to see the brighter stars. The temperature dropped some more. Three of us retired to our dog houses. John started his fire and settled in sitting against a log.

We tried to sleep, but it got colder and colder. We were dressed with only our day time summer clothing. Finally, at about 2 AM, it became obvious that it was too cold to sleep and three of us emerged simultaneously from our cocoons as if a temperature warning went off in our bodies at the same time. We sheepishly huddled beside John’s fire, which crackled and cast a warm yellowish glow around the area. Feeling guilty, the three of us stumbled around to find wood to contribute, but it was hard in the dark. A few token twigs was the best we could do.

Fires are funny. You stand facing the flames. You roast on that side. Meanwhile, the backside freezes in the cold air. You turn around to heat the cold side, while the warm side cools off. Then, you repeat the cycle. This went on all night - cook one side and freeze one side, turn, repeat. In no way did that night resemble a cheerful campfire that you read about in camping magazines. Bob commented it was a lot like roasting a turkey. It was suggested Bob was a cannibal. I suggested this was like the freeze-thaw action that splits huge rocks into tiny pieces. The muted response indicated it was not a good time to talk geology.

We made it through the night. At sunrise, our first thought was if the chopper was fixed. Would they send the Otter back to bid us a good night again? Would they fly in a new helicopter? Would we spend the rest of the summer roasting and freezing? Cannibalism was out, so we would have to find rabbits and grouse. Maybe we would have to make soup from our boots! At 8 AM, we heard the distant whine of the chopper’s turbine engine. We were saved. We felt like we had survived an epic test, when in reality, all we had done was spend one cold night in the bush. But we did learn two valuable lessons: a) never leave your emergency survival gear behind; and b) a toilet paper roll is an excellent way to drop a message from an aircraft - with unintended benefits as well :) .

I never again left my emergency supplies behind. But, then, I never again had to spend an unscheduled night in the bush.

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Andy Fyon, Aug 15, 2020 (Facebook Aug. 14, 2020)