Arctic Supply Run

“Two hundred fifty inches of snow,” we heard over the short-wave radio.

“How many feet is that?”

“Twenty-one almost.”

“You ready for our run to Tok?”

“Yep.”

The thermometer showed negative forty-one Fahrenheit as we climbed onto our snowmobiles. Multiple layers of insulated clothing protected and vented us; couldn’t risk perspiration wetting our clothes. My machine pulled the supply sled; Myron’s carried Badger, his hundred-pound Husky.

The wind had died down, and we could finally see to drive. Speeding through the scrub over deep white, we dodged the branches draped in snow that tried to whip our faces. It was eleven in the morning, and we didn’t have much time until sundown. We didn’t want to stay in Tok for the night, so we planned to be home before the three o’clock dusk.

Forty-five minutes later, we skirted Lake Louise, frozen at these temperatures.

“Let’s cut across,” Myron shouted.

Badger jumped back up after leaving a spot of yellow ice crystals.

“Cold! Badger’s pee froze instream.”

The lake cut thirty minutes off our time, and we rolled into Tok at one thirty. Our supplies were ready; Deb filled our thermoses with steaming coffee; we took a leak and climbed back on.

Moose tracks were in our sled trail; Badger howled, and we saw the bull moose leap into our path. We cut the engines and hoped. Badger hopped off and attacked, Myron shouting, fearing for Badger. The dog led the moose off, then rejoined us eighty feet down the road.