Just Call Me Frosty

I have made a discovery that will turn the psychiatric world on its head. That is:
Cabin fever leads to temporary insanity. And I have the story to prove it.

Here we live in the frozen tundra, but I got such a severe case of cabin fever that the fever part must have affected my brain. I was BEGGING to get outside. Unfortunately, “getting outside” around here is a team sport. It is stupidity to try it alone. And although I may have become insane, I’m not stupid. I needed an outside-buddy to come be miserable with me. The nature of the terrain, the freezing temperatures, the grumpiness of the wildlife when they run across humans, and the chance of getting lost all make it necessary to go with a buddy. That way, if you die, you have company.

I’d asked around, but no one seemed to want to take up cross country skiing—mainly because it involved going outside. After many not-so-subtle hints, a bit of nagging, and an episode of tears, Keri finally agreed. The problem was that he rarely got home before dark—and usually arrived long after. And “getting outside” is not only a team sport, it’s a daytime sport. Otherwise, you find yourself hanging around wolves and other cute and cuddly fanged beasts. So he began heading in to work earlier. Much earlier. That first morning, he got up at 4:00 AM so he could get enough work done to come home before dark. That is about the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard of. I think he likes me.

Even with the 4 AM start, he had a hard time getting home—but he made it, with about an hour and a half of sunlight to spare. So we grabbed Taco (Jeremy) and took off. (Tanner wanted nothing to do with it. Apparently he is immune to cabin fever.) It was marvelous swooshing through the snow and just being outside! Who cares that it was 20 below zero—40 below with wind chill. We were having a blast.

The trip was problem-free for about five whole minutes. That’s about how long it took me to realize that I couldn’t see. Seems my glasses don’t take too well to sub-zero temperatures. They somehow formed a layer of ice over the lenses. And since I am legally blind without them, and couldn’t see with them, it posed a bit of a problem. But I refused to turn back. I just alternated between looking over them, under them, and through tiny cracks in the ice. Occasionally, I stopped to chip the ice off, and I’d get a couple minutes of sightseeing in. But the ice didn’t stop at my glasses. It covered my body. My hair and jacket turned white with ice. (Notice the picture at the top? That’s me.) Keri started calling me Frosty.

Even so, it really was wonderful to be outside. We skied through the trees and scrub brush for a mile or so, dropped onto the Yukon, and headed back up river on the snow-covered ice. Eventually, we got back on land and kept going parallel to the river, looking for the turnoff to take us back to the village. Meanwhile, the sun went down. And it was dark. This was a bit worrisome. But it also turned out to be a good thing, because with no sun, Keri was able to spot the rotating light of the Alakanuk airstrip. It was behind us. WAY behind us. Apparently, we’d shot right past the village. We were on a fast and furious trip to the North Pole.

By the time we got home, we were frozen and exhausted. I was actually glad to be INside again. I collapsed into a chair, and since Tanner had stayed home, I elected him to pull off my boots and snow pants while I sat there and thawed. I ended up with frostbite on my left ear. (FYI: frostbite hurts!)

We slept well that night. And the next day, I covered up my left ear really well, and we took off on skis again. It really is great to be outside!