Last Saturday was a good day. Not only was it a birthday for one of the kids in the family I’ve been staying with, but my dog and my truck arrived just in time for us to pick up my son from the airport. Then the next day they picked up an RV from storage and parked it on a cleared spot across the creek. So now Chris and I have our own space and the old generator until we get the cabin made. We say it’ll be a month but with the way things have gone so far I’m not holding my breath.
Chris and Clay, posing on the future ridge beam.
Another thing that came up from Oregon was a longer bar and a ripping chain for the saw. Lance has a bracket that’s made to slide along a 2×6 board with a chainsaw clamped to it. We’re using that to turn three logs into two beams to support the cabin and one to support the roof. 12″x12″x30′ beams are no joke. It’s going to get interesting when we have to move them into place on our pier blocks and footers.
Starting the first cut. 2*12 to give width, 2*6 to slide the saw along. When the first cut is done you spin the lumber around and do the other side. Then you roll the log and do it again. Chris gets some time with the saw.
While Lance was working with the saw, Chris and Zechy got the roof on the outhouse. That’s closer to completion, though for now we still have to head for the bushes. It shouldn’t be much longer before we can go up the stairs and close the door.
We have another day of sunshine and heat. The rain is paused so access is good. When we quit last night we had two beams cut with one longer beam to go. I’m ready. Maybe by tomorrow I can post that the beams are set in place.
There has been very little progress on anything. It has been raining. It was dry until the evening the excavator got back on my driveway. Then it poured for several days straight. It still hasn’t been completely dry for a single day since. Even so, the slopes along the sides got smoothed back and ditches were put in. That made a better path for the water to drain away. We walked it on Thursday and it hasn’t washed out this time. Yay! That feels like a bit of traction, even if I can’t drive a 2wd up there while it’s wet.
Wet, mucky, rutted, but not washed out this time.
While he had the excavator there he dragged out three logs that will become foundation beams and a ridge beam. We would have gotten them milled except for the lack of the proper chain for the chainsaw. It was out of stock up here. So I bought a plane ticket to Portland. The person with a passport is going to load up some things from Oregon and drive them up. He’ll see about getting what he needs to cut logs while he’s down there.
This is where the cabin will be…if I can get all the materials there.
So I wait. I’ve been doing some part time work helping a house cleaner. I interviewed for a job as a shuttle driver for a luxury destination with views of the northern lights. I’ll probably take that for winter. My truck and things and dog should arrive later this week. My son should be here in a week as well. Then maybe we can kick all of this into gear. I can’t wait to get my cabin built.
My mailbox!
I did get one thing accomplished this week. I installed my mailbox. I might not have a house but I have a house number. I visited the post office and was told to put it in by the main road on the left of the grouping. So there it is. Ready for mail. Mail helps establish residency so I can get my license switched over. I find that slightly ironic that I can establish a residence without a house. I have an appointment to take all the knowledge tests next week. Hopefully I’ll have my Alaska class B by the end of the week.
Whenever people talk about living off-grid they think about solar power or wind power or some other magical source of electricity. Or maybe they imagine living like the pioneers did. I guess those are doable, but never underestimate the power of a generator. Just go camping for a week and tell me you don’t miss things like fans or lights, or a reliable way to charge your cellphone so you can share to social media or post to your blog.
The family I’m staying with has been off-grid for 5 years. They use an outhouse year round. They bring their water home either in 5-gallon jugs or 55-gallon drums. In summer the wash water comes from the creek. And even though there is a power line accessible a few hundred feet from the house they have their power supplies by a trusty Honda 2200 generator.
Being off-grid usually brings to mind a primitive cabin far into the wilderness. And in a way the life is a bit simpler. There’s no worry about riots here. It’s more likely you would be trampled by a moose. But these kids are far from deprived. They’ve been blowing through video games all week. The 9 and 11 year olds learned how to tame and breed animals in ARK while the 17 year old is beating bosses in Ori.
The generator powers lights when needed (with the sun literally up 24/7 there’s not much need now) and fans, TV and Xbox, an air conditioner, instapot, phone chargers, etc. In winter it keeps the oil heater running. All the kids except for the 3 year old know how to restart it when it runs out of gas. The older ones know how to troubleshoot and fix it when fuel isn’t the problem. The quickest way to wake up the house is for the generator to die.
When I get my cabin built I’ll take my friend’s advice and get a Honda. I asked about the ones we walked past in Costco and she says she’s tried them but they just don’t hold up to the constant use that they put it through. They’ll last a few months where her Honda generators will last for a year or more of constant use with proper maintenance. Of course I would like to add a battery bank so my electronics don’t die every time the generator runs out of gas. We’ll see how that goes. It would be nice to have some leeway.
Having said all this and knowing more, does it seem silly that I’m intimidated by generators? I am. I want to learn how to manage them and service them and maintain them because I know that’s a valuable skill. But I’m intimidated by them. Even so, I took the first step today. When I went out “around the corner” I heard the generator stop. If I waited I know one of the kids would show up and refill it and get it back on. I decided not to be ridiculous. I was right there.
It’s just like a lawnmower, really. Open the tank, take the cap off the gas can. Put in the funnel and pour gas until full then close it up again. Give it a bit of choke and pull the starter cord. When it starts running let off the choke and walk away. Easy. Now bring on the small engine repair lessons. If it’s worth doing it’s worth doing right and I don’t relish the idea of having one die at -°30.
I think today is the second day with no rain in the last two weeks. I keep getting told how unusual this is, but it’s still keeping me from working on my property. The runoff avoided a couple of the culverts and eroded big holes. We need to get the excavator back out there to redo some of the road before I can even bring materials to make my cabin. We have the sawmill available, but cannot put it in place to cut lumber. It’s all held up by the damaged driveway.
Erosion on the driveway that must be repaired.
Another blockage to progress has reared its not so ugly head. The person who knows how to operate the excavator and sawmill has been called back to work. He hauls diesel fuel up to Deadhorse on Prudhoe Bay to keep vehicles moving on the oilfields. When oil prices dropped they shut down some of the operations, but now prices have come back enough that they won’t lose money by working so they need fuel again. He’s back to work, running loads north from Fairbanks and coming back for more. I got to ride with him on a trip last week.
It’s 500 miles to Prudhoe Bay, crossing two mountain ranges and a lot of wilderness on gravel roads that are bumpy at their best.
We got started in the evening. My friend had just returned from a trip to Valdez and back, bringing a load of a different fuel up. He took a break and fueled up his truck. His daughter gave me a ride into town with a stop at Walmart for some snacks and drinks. We had to wait for his buddy to arrive and fuel up so it was about 11pm when they went to fill the tankers with their loads. We headed out of Fairbanks at about midnight, only to run into trouble on the first hill north of town. The other truck was misfiring and losing power. The guys debated for a while and ended up heading back to the yard to hook up another truck and leave the bad one for the mechanic. I went to sleep somewhere along the way and didn’t wake up until we were bouncing along the Elliot Highway.
Here’s what I very quickly learned about highways built this far north. Gravel is your friend. Asphalt is not! With the freeze/thaw cycles the roadway will heave and slump. Asphalt ends up having ripples in it that will bounce and jounce you and try to throw you out of your seat. Gravel can be the same, but it’s easy to run a grader over it to smooth out the surface again. I quickly learned to cringe when we came across asphalt and relax for gravel.
The Dalton Highway starts on gravel. I was awake enough to get out of the truck and stretch my legs for a bit before deciding the mosquitoes were too thick. I’m pretty sure there’s a photo of me in front of the sign, just not on my camera. I got my pic of it the next day on the way south. The highway was finished in the fall of 1974 to facilitate the building and servicing of the Alaska Pipeline and oilfields. The pipeline runs parallel to the highway and can be seen from the road for the most part. The farthest north section uses the pipeline miles as mile markers.
I slept off and on as far as Coldfoot, which is at about the midpoint. It was originally a camp where supplies were staged. When construction was finished and the supply camp was no longer needed a guy took the leftover pallet materials and made a building for a saloon and cafe. Now it’s a good place to stop for food and fuel and to take a nap or get a shower. The guys slept for a few hours while I got to eat and explore and sit to watch the show I had downloaded while I still had service.
I forget the name of this mountain, but every angle was different. I wish I could have caught the light shining on it like liquid gold. Going up The Shelf. Looking up the valley to the left of the road. It’s easy to lose sense of scale up here.
I took a lot of pictures. Not many of them were good. It’s hard to get a good shot while cruising down a bumpy road with rain on the windshield. The scenery is impressive and I hear that the wildlife is too. I didn’t get to see any of the wildlife though, except for a few caribou just outside of Deadhorse.
I got to hear a lot of stories too. Various spots have distinct names, some for the nature of the challenge, some for events, some for people. Names like Beaver Slide, Surprise hill, Oil Spill, and others that I can’t remember. I got to hear stories about wrecks and near misses. And I got to hear about drivers who lost their lives to the highway. Anyone who drives this road successfully will have wrecks and mechanical failures. The code of the highway will not allow for anyone to pass by another driver who is stranded. They all know that they might be the one with whatever part or tool or bit of knowledge needed to get the other back up and running. They also know that they might be the next one in need. The highway and the weather can be unforgiving.
11 pm as we approach Deadhorse. The sun is nowhere near the horizon and never went lower. And these caribou were the most wildlife I saw on the entire trip. Leaving Deadhorse. Heading south to the mountains again.
Deadhorse is not a normal town. Every lot is leased by one company or another. There are no houses. There are equipment yards, wellheads, shops, and hotels that look like mobile homes stacked end to end and three or four stories tall. Nothing was open when we were there, not just because of the hour but because of quarantine restrictions. Nobody needs an outbreak so far from civilization. It would interfere with productivity, among other things. We parked in the yard where the fuel was to be delivered, ate food that we had brought with us, and took turns sleeping in the back while the other day and watched videos on the phone or iPad. The sun was just as high in the sky at 11pm as it was at 3 or 5am. The only change was which side of the sky it filled. Midnight sun, indeed.
Fuel got unloaded, some minor maintenance on trailer brakes was done, and we were heading south by 9am. Apparently the level of road grit experienced can be bad for fittings. You have to know where to keep it clean. Heading toward Atigun Pass we passed a few cyclists. One was northbound on his own, another two were southbound. Both drivers were as courteous to the cyclists as they were to other traffic. If you can, slow down to 25 mph or slower to avoid throwing gravel and breaking windshields. I heard plenty of grumbling about tourists. The cyclists were referred to as “Meals on Wheels” by the guy who almost ran over a bear to keep her from prying his truck open to get to his food. One can only hope that the cyclists were well prepared and carrying more than bear spray.
It took almost 24 hours to make the trip north due to load, mechanical trouble, and rest breaks. The trip back took 12 hours. I managed to stay awake for most of it. I’ll admit that sleep is my favorite cure for motion sickness. I chose to nap through one of the roughest sections of road. I had to brace myself while I dozed, but it was better than bouncing around in the seat.
We only stopped a few times going south. Lunch, bathroom break, once for the dogs, and once for a paving crew on the Elliot Highway. For miles we drove through swarming dragonflies the size of my hand. They didn’t show up in the video I tried to take of them, but they covered the grill of the truck. I can only guess that they were hunting mosquitoes.
Rough roads and lack of sleep aside, I am so glad I tagged along on this trip. I got to see things in person that very few people get to see. I would gladly go again. I want to see it all in sunlight. I want to see the moose and bears and musk ox that hid from me this time. I only have one limitation. After hearing all the stories I don’t think I want to ride along in winter. I don’t know if I can handle that. Yet.
