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Poem
It was a freezing night in Alaska, the temperature had 
dropped to well below zero, fifteen below with a driving 
wind that shrieked and laughed as it sped viciously past
causing lashing snow flakes to fall fast and furiously.   

Up in the high mountains the man shook his head
as he stoked up the fire causing the flames to dance
creating shadows on the sod hut's walls. They seemed
to move with a life of their own. Forming first a pattern
a fleeting glimpse of a unicorn or so he thought. He needed 
the storm to pass by so he could check out his many traps.

He was working two lines this winter for pine martin with
the odd trap for Lynx and wolverine who were a bane
always robbing his traps of his fur. He also had traps
deep in the river by the beaver's dams, the price of their
fur was sky high this year. He needed to hunt for more
meat too as his freezer was nearly empty and it would
be a long two months before the thaw and he could get 
supplies flown in. Turning in he slept well waking to find
the storm was tailing off, quickly he got things ready.

Daylight was a brief five hours this time of year and  
one was already gone. He worked the line nearest to 
his hut first gathering up the furs and resetting the traps.
It was so tranquil now, the spruces stretched up high
seeming to touch the sky shedding the odd pile of snow
from laden branches that drooped with the weight.

Picking up some deer tracks that were fresh he followed.
Soon spotting some elk high up on the next ridge he
climbed around to get into position. He lined up his
sights on a healthy male and took a clean shot
dropping it in its tracks. Quickly he field dressed it
taking the hide and meat leaving the rest for the
various predators that were already gathering.

At least it was mainly downhill to what he called
home. Striding on as darkness started to fall
he soon was home and now the work began.
He have several furs to skin, stretch and pin
out to dry, others that now needed more
work, scraping carefully he removed and smoothed
the hides and hung them on frames in his smoke room
to colour and cure. Then he had his dogs to feed before
he himself could also eat. It had been a long hard day.

He now had a moment to reflect and gave thanks to
the elk who had died so he and his dogs could eat.
This would be his life for the next few weeks, then he 
would take his furs to town to sell. He would be glad to 
see his family again it would be nearly five months
since he was last home and over three since he had spoken 
to another soul. Yet he would not give up this way of life.

The last thing he did before he flew out was to dismantle
his sod hut and burn the remains on the iced up river
removing all signs that he had been here. Next winter he 
would build another in a different place and life would go on.
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