The Cold
Jackson Peters
50 degrees below, A man can trek along the Yukon alone. 60 degrees below, A man needs a companion to trek along the Yukon to get to base-camp. And here I was 75 below, alone with a true bred husky. Six miles away from base-camp. I am making great progress, I am making three miles an hour, at this pace I can make it to base-camp in no time.
I am a stubborn man, and a confident one at that, I wail my arms and hands to keep blood circulating. I am a very observant man, I listen to the cracks of the snow, and where my feet land. Though it may be 75 degrees below zero, water under a foot and a half of snow still wont freeze. I look at my surroundings, and I made one fatal error. I hear a crack! My feet fall in to the subzero water. I immediately get up, and asses the situation, I look down and the water is only up to my shins all the way down to my feet. I remain calm, but worried. But none-of-the-less I keep moving.
The wind howling, the snow feels like small frozen bullets hitting my face, there is ice sickle hanging off my beard, my feet are beginning to become frozen. I see what I make out to be a tree in the distance, but snow blinds me, I can barely see my hand. My trusty husky finds what is to resemble a tree, and it is! I rush to as fast as I can, but I can barely move. There is roughly a foot of snow that engulfs my feet, my dog can barely keep his torso up above it.
I make it to the to the tree, and there is a ridge-line, where a forested area had laid. I begin to go into the forest, and I begin to scavenge for dry wood. I scrape the wet frozen bark off, of the tree next to me so I can begin a small fire. I create a make-shift fire by shoveling the snow away from where I am. No less than ten minuets I’ve found all the dry wood I need to create this fire I so desperately need.
I grab my matches from my right coat pocket, and with the light of one match the dry wood had set a blaze, I’ve created fire! From the little fire in my hands, I place it down to my make-shift fireplace, and BOOM, I’ve created a personal fire for me and my dog.
“I have finally done it!” No less than a minute the tree that I am under begins to drip water. The branches of the tree begin to moan and whale, from the smoke of my fire, snow from the branches to fall. Then the worst happens, snow fills the fire that I have created.
I stay calm, but my hands begin to go numb, and I can’t feel a thing, I can barely move my index figure, I do the same thing, but I can’t grip my knife. I have to hold my knife with two hands, and both of them ache and moan at me, I feel sharp needles piercing my nerves when I move them.
I now panic, I wail my arms and hands around to keep circulation. But the cold keeps pursuing, now my feet and legs go numb, the water that once soaked my feet is now a frozen cuff around my ankles. I hit, pinch, and run, just to keep circulation throughout my body.
Finally, I have enough dry wood to create the fire I need, I grab a match from my pocket. But I can’t feel a thing, my hands are so frozen it aches and I have sharp pains trying to move a single finger. I grab whatever was in my pocket. And there it is, my wad of matches. I grab them with both hands, and with one strike all the matches ignite. I bring the matches to the twigs, and in a instant they catch fire. I start feeding the fire more and more wood, bigger as fire grows. But I made one fatal mistake. One of the sticks that I picked up kicked up snow, and it instantly killed the fire.
I yell in anger, but no-one can hear me except my husky, and the echoes of the Yukon valley.
I am so frustrated, all my matches to light a fire are wasted. In my despite attempt, I reflect to myself, and I look towards the husky. I charge at him and tackle him. He fights back, scratching and clawing at me, but I can’t feel a thing. I cuddle with the dog thinking I can get some warmth from him, but he breaks free and snarls at me. I reflect upon myself and think back on the advice I was given. “Never trek the Yukon alone when it’s below 60” I thought to myself. I chuckle.
Then I start running aimlessly, I feel a warm sensation in my chest like I am regaining circulation. I try to keep my mind off of the cold, but the cold is all-knowing, and it pursues harsher and harsher each step I take. I fall, and stumble, but I always get back up, fighting the cold is something no man can do alone. Thinking about myself, in a frozen state is what keeps me going, but panic races through my mind, and then I fall again, but this time I give up, and I stand back up, and go to a nearby tree, in a desolate snow wasteland.
I sit down, and the husky follows me. The dog waits as it thinks that I will build another fire, but sometime passes, and the dog gets the impression that death lurks nearby, and he leaves on the path back to base-camp, where there is more food giver and fire providers for him.
After my dog leaves me, I come to the acceptance of death with dignity. My ears, nose, feet, and hands are all frozen still, all my senses are gone but my vision. I see a man emerge from the treeline, I feel relieved, but he soon vanishes. “I am going delusional?” I don’t even remember where I am, my mind is going numb. I think to myself that I will just sleep, and let the cold take the final toll on me. The cold is such an unforgiving force, it is something that will kill off the weak no matter what, it exploits every weakness of man.
I shut my frozen eyes, and take my final breaths, The cold acts like an anesthetic, and puts me in a comatized state.
“Maybe I can sleep it off” I think to myself, but there was no way I was going to make it out alive, and I knew that. I am wheezing for air, I close my eyes, envisioning myself with the boys back at camp searching for my body, and there it was. A man who was so foolish to trek the Yukon alone seventy-five below. I give out one last thought there are worse ways to die I chuckle. I drowse off and go to sleep.
I am a stubborn man, and a confident one at that, I wail my arms and hands to keep blood circulating. I am a very observant man, I listen to the cracks of the snow, and where my feet land. Though it may be 75 degrees below zero, water under a foot and a half of snow still wont freeze. I look at my surroundings, and I made one fatal error. I hear a crack! My feet fall in to the subzero water. I immediately get up, and asses the situation, I look down and the water is only up to my shins all the way down to my feet. I remain calm, but worried. But none-of-the-less I keep moving.
The wind howling, the snow feels like small frozen bullets hitting my face, there is ice sickle hanging off my beard, my feet are beginning to become frozen. I see what I make out to be a tree in the distance, but snow blinds me, I can barely see my hand. My trusty husky finds what is to resemble a tree, and it is! I rush to as fast as I can, but I can barely move. There is roughly a foot of snow that engulfs my feet, my dog can barely keep his torso up above it.
I make it to the to the tree, and there is a ridge-line, where a forested area had laid. I begin to go into the forest, and I begin to scavenge for dry wood. I scrape the wet frozen bark off, of the tree next to me so I can begin a small fire. I create a make-shift fire by shoveling the snow away from where I am. No less than ten minuets I’ve found all the dry wood I need to create this fire I so desperately need.
I grab my matches from my right coat pocket, and with the light of one match the dry wood had set a blaze, I’ve created fire! From the little fire in my hands, I place it down to my make-shift fireplace, and BOOM, I’ve created a personal fire for me and my dog.
“I have finally done it!” No less than a minute the tree that I am under begins to drip water. The branches of the tree begin to moan and whale, from the smoke of my fire, snow from the branches to fall. Then the worst happens, snow fills the fire that I have created.
I stay calm, but my hands begin to go numb, and I can’t feel a thing, I can barely move my index figure, I do the same thing, but I can’t grip my knife. I have to hold my knife with two hands, and both of them ache and moan at me, I feel sharp needles piercing my nerves when I move them.
I now panic, I wail my arms and hands around to keep circulation. But the cold keeps pursuing, now my feet and legs go numb, the water that once soaked my feet is now a frozen cuff around my ankles. I hit, pinch, and run, just to keep circulation throughout my body.
Finally, I have enough dry wood to create the fire I need, I grab a match from my pocket. But I can’t feel a thing, my hands are so frozen it aches and I have sharp pains trying to move a single finger. I grab whatever was in my pocket. And there it is, my wad of matches. I grab them with both hands, and with one strike all the matches ignite. I bring the matches to the twigs, and in a instant they catch fire. I start feeding the fire more and more wood, bigger as fire grows. But I made one fatal mistake. One of the sticks that I picked up kicked up snow, and it instantly killed the fire.
I yell in anger, but no-one can hear me except my husky, and the echoes of the Yukon valley.
I am so frustrated, all my matches to light a fire are wasted. In my despite attempt, I reflect to myself, and I look towards the husky. I charge at him and tackle him. He fights back, scratching and clawing at me, but I can’t feel a thing. I cuddle with the dog thinking I can get some warmth from him, but he breaks free and snarls at me. I reflect upon myself and think back on the advice I was given. “Never trek the Yukon alone when it’s below 60” I thought to myself. I chuckle.
Then I start running aimlessly, I feel a warm sensation in my chest like I am regaining circulation. I try to keep my mind off of the cold, but the cold is all-knowing, and it pursues harsher and harsher each step I take. I fall, and stumble, but I always get back up, fighting the cold is something no man can do alone. Thinking about myself, in a frozen state is what keeps me going, but panic races through my mind, and then I fall again, but this time I give up, and I stand back up, and go to a nearby tree, in a desolate snow wasteland.
I sit down, and the husky follows me. The dog waits as it thinks that I will build another fire, but sometime passes, and the dog gets the impression that death lurks nearby, and he leaves on the path back to base-camp, where there is more food giver and fire providers for him.
After my dog leaves me, I come to the acceptance of death with dignity. My ears, nose, feet, and hands are all frozen still, all my senses are gone but my vision. I see a man emerge from the treeline, I feel relieved, but he soon vanishes. “I am going delusional?” I don’t even remember where I am, my mind is going numb. I think to myself that I will just sleep, and let the cold take the final toll on me. The cold is such an unforgiving force, it is something that will kill off the weak no matter what, it exploits every weakness of man.
I shut my frozen eyes, and take my final breaths, The cold acts like an anesthetic, and puts me in a comatized state.
“Maybe I can sleep it off” I think to myself, but there was no way I was going to make it out alive, and I knew that. I am wheezing for air, I close my eyes, envisioning myself with the boys back at camp searching for my body, and there it was. A man who was so foolish to trek the Yukon alone seventy-five below. I give out one last thought there are worse ways to die I chuckle. I drowse off and go to sleep.
Peters is a cadet at NMMI.