If you work with your hands, the chances are good that sooner or later, you’re going to need a tool. Tools can be as small as a tiny nanotech chip, integrated circuit, or a needle, or as big as a rocket or the “Star of Egypt,” a monstrous dragline that works in the open pit mines of Appalachia. Webster’s Third defines a tool as: “…an instrument or apparatus used in performing an operation.” Many years ago, the only kind of excavation tools in existence were shovels, and the cathedrals of Europe and the pyramids of Egypt were all excavated by hand with shovels.
Shovels are the entry-level tool to any job that requires labor. If you aren’t willing to work with a shovel, maybe you should go find a pencil, which is also a tool. Sooner or later, everyone who lives in Alaska is going to have to use a shovel.
The shovel is one of the compleat Alaskan’s most important tools. You can’t live in Alaska without several shovels. You’ll need one for heavy snow, one for light snow, and perhaps one or two for dirt.
Shoveling snow in Alaska is one of the most thankless tasks a person can perform (next to washing dishes and writing letters, but I digress), especially in Valdez, which gets up to 50 feet of snow each winter.
When we lived in Valdez we had a neighbor who counted it a matter of pride to shovel his 75-foot driveway by hand. (Most homeowners at least had snow blowers, or hired it done by front-end loaders.) But Michael was determined to do it himself. The winter wore on, the snow came down, and Michael fell to with his shovel. He was a small, wiry man with plenty of energy, and it wasn’t long before the snow was way over his head–but his driveway was clear. The sides were carved as straight as walls, and were twelve feet high where he threw the snow. The driveway looked like a tunnel. Of course, he wouldn’t allow anyone to drive or walk into the area until he had it shoveled. He was out there shoveling before it even stopped snowing, and he kept it open all winter. We’d come outside every once in a while to check on his progress, and see the snow flying up out of the hole, and hear Michael talking to himself. We listened carefully and finally realized what he was talking about, and that it was cutting his work in half by melting all the snow around him.
Mobile homes aren’t noted for the load-bearing capacity of their roofs, so when a four-foot snowfall blessed us, it was necessary to go up and start shoveling, at least around the furnace stack. (Yes, the snow can accumulate fast enough to plug a chimney.) Snow shoveling was a good way for kids to make money, like enterprising youngsters in the “South 48″ earn their first wages mowing lawns. In Valdez, they shoveled roofs. But we had to watch them, or they’d poke holes in the metal roofing or break off standpipes and stacks. Sometimes it was simply easier to do it ourselves.
And, all that snow had to go somewhere, which was usually right around the trailer. It made a cozy, windproof insulation, but it also covered up the windows. With luck, we could get to it before it froze too hard to shovel. Having the windows uncovered was almost like spring to people who’d been closed in for long periods. It brightened their whole outlook for days–until the next snowfall. (Law of Alaskan Life #2: It’s going to snow.)
Around our house, the standard snow shovel was an aluminum grain scoop. The shoveler wanted to complete the task as quickly as possible, and used the biggest shovel available. If we had wet, heavy snow, we used a smaller shovel, but the grain scoop was the reliable standby, especially after it was sprayed with silicone or some other lubricant that would keep the snow from sticking to it. (There are limits to how many times shovelers are willing to lift the same clot of snow.) Sometimes we had to switch in the middle of a project, thanks to Mother Nature’s capricious rain, especially after the end of January. As the days lengthened and the average temperatures crept up, the probability of rain was increased. Shoveling was sweaty work, so we didn’t dress warmly, or we’d be overheated too quickly. A wool sweater was usually plenty. Of course, what generally happened was that about halfway through the project, it would begin to rain, and the sleeves on wool sweaters stretch when they are sodden. Just ducky. (Law of Alaskan Life #3: It’s going to rain.) (Corollary I: Law #1 and Law #2 can often be observed in the same twenty-four-hour period. Deal with it.)
Alaskans have a corresponding tool for use in the house during these times of heavy snowfall: The mop. It was usually left out all the time to be handy for wiping up whatever of the outdoors was brought in. One nice thing about winter was how clean the “mud” was. Snow doesn’t leave dirt when it melts, making cleanup much easier, since the clean-upper doesn’t have to wash gravel out of the mop.
Buckets come in very handy in Alaska. They can be used to bail boats, hold fish, carry water, and often even double as toilets, one of life’s other little necessities. A five-gallon bucket lined with a couple of strong garbage bags does duty when the water lines freeze, in which case, they are called “honey-buckets.” After use, we would close the bag with a tight knot or a wire twister, set it outside until it froze solid, then put it with the rest of the garbage, to be picked up and hauled away. (It’s biodegradable.) Of course, the more rural your homesite, the less often you had to resort to honey-buckets, since most bush homes have outhouses.
No Alaskan would be caught dead without matches. Matches are lifesavers. If we have dry matches, we can survive almost anything. Matches are cherished, hoarded, and protected in the Bush. The wooden ones, called “cabin” matches, are sometimes dipped in thin paraffin to waterproof them, then tucked into metal cans or glass jars and covered tightly for storage aboard boats, in the trunks of cars, and packed in backpacks. Candles are another handy item, and every household has bunches. The electricity goes off frequently in the winter, and candles are quicker to use than lanterns and don’t need batteries, like flashlights. Besides, candles are more romantic than lanterns, which smoke and need their wicks trimmed frequently; and if you’re out of lamp oil, you’re out of light.
Guns are very popular in Alaska. They are frequently the way a family acquires its meat, especially in the Bush. They also protect lives, because in Alaska, bears still attack. The downside of gun ownership doesn’t seem to be as big a problem in rural Alaska as it does in urban areas. Alaskans respect weaponry, and take the proper precautions, which begins with education at a very early age into the proper handling and use of firearms. Youngsters in the Bush are sometimes even responsible for bringing home the day-to-day meat (usually rabbits, ptarmigan, or an occasional porcupine, which tastes like spruce trees, whose tips comprise their diet). A 22-caliber pistol in a boat is the preferred brain surgery for a flopping halibut, which can reach 350 pounds. (The most important thing to remember here is to shoot the fish before it’s pulled into the boat, for the obvious reasons.)
You might think because of all the discussion of winter that it’s the only season Alaska has, but you’d be wrong. In coastal Alaska, there are two distinct seasons: rainy and winter. If it’s not raining, it’s snowing, most times. It’s one of the things than can be reliably counted upon. One of the results of this is lush, green vegetation in the short, intense summer. Spring springs quickly in coastal Alaska. Sometimes “greenup” (when the green grass shows and the trees begin to leaf out) occurs in a matter of days. Some of this luxuriant vegetation can be found around homes in the form of lawns, in which case, it needs frequent trimming.
Lawnmowers can be handy items, provided the homeowner ever gets a chance to use one, in between the rain showers and winter. The occasional sunny day brings out every lawnmower in the area to the accompaniment of the roar of numerous two-cycle engines and a soft, blue haze that hangs over the neighborhood for the duration of the nice weather. Power mowers are best, because growing conditions are optimum for lawn grass. Long, long daylight hours and frequent rain add up to thick, succulent grass that will resist any but the most powerful mowers. (Any gardeners who fertilize their lawns deserve what they get.) The grass grows so fast because of all the daylight, so that in June and July, a gardener needs to mow almost every other day. It is a very daunting prospect, and makes planting a lawn an undertaking not to be gone into lightly.
Hammers are specialized tools that have been around ever since the first cave dweller picked up a rock to crack a bone. They serve well as doorstops, and are beautifully suited to the conking of fish (although some fishermen prefer an ashwood hatchet handle or part of a baseball bat). In winter, hammers come in handy for breaking the buildup of ice on the front step, because salt rusts nails and soaks into the ground, making life tough on green, growing things.) Hammers fill any number of uses. They can even be used to build things, like new garages, boathouses, woodsheds, or smokehouses.
Woodstoves are a particular favorite in Alaska. The electricity goes off frequently, as mentioned earlier, and if it’s off for any length of time, it can get downright cold in the house. A woodstove gives off even, comfortable heat, is much more pleasant than forced air, and causes little concern when the electricity is out.
They say a woodstove warms us twice: Once when we make the wood, and again when we burn it. Woodstoves and teenagers don’t mix very well, because one is always having to feed the other. Orders to fill a woodbox can bring on shocking displays of malingering and excuse-making, followed by disconsolate, slumping steps to the woodshed. A half-hearted load of ten or twelve pieces of wood is placed into the wheelbarrow and brought to the house, where it is flung into the woodbox to the accompaniment of sighs and muttering about slave labor and “none of the other kids have to do stuff like this!”
Related tools for this work include axes, wheelbarrows, and chainsaws. All that firewood has to come from somewhere, and that always means work for somebody. In our case, it was Mom and Dad, since the kids invariably found somewhere else to be on wood-making day, presumably because the chore was so much like work.
“Making wood” involved a Forest Service permit, a heavy-duty pickup truck, and copious amounts of bug dope and drinking water. The standing dead trees would be felled, branched, and cut into slabs short enough to fit into the stove. Deadfalls would get similar treatment. The chunks–generally eighteen inches high by roughly the same width–would be loaded onto the pickup in a precarious-looking load and tied down. At home, the real work began. Hubby called splitting wood “making choppin’ music,” and he’d go to the woodpile as soon as he got home from work and split wood to relax until suppertime. This could have been very difficult without good tools like the axe and the splitting maul and wedges.
The chainsaw we were fortunate enough to adopt was one of those faithful, indestructible things that comes along once in a lifetime. But before Hubby had had his new Stihl two months, he dropped the dozer blade onto it, not realizing it was there. With tears in his eyes, he jumped down from the dozer to check, and found his dented and wounded new chainsaw lying in the dirt and debris. Roughly translated into language suitable for the faint-hearted, his words were: “My baby! Speak to me!” He dusted the worst of the dirt off it and gave the cord two pulls, and was rewarded with the sweetest sound in the world to a woodsman’s ears. His son is now making the winter’s wood with it, and it still runs like new.
Using a chainsaw means using an axe or splitting maul, and it also means back-breaking work for someone. Axes are also ancient tools, and not to be confused with hatchets, which are small, one-handed tools used for splitting kindling and blazing trees so one can find one’s way out of Alaska’s thick, impenetrable forests. An axe, on the other hand, is a serious tool used for felling trees in the absence of a chainsaw. A related piece of equipment is a splitting maul, which is a long-handled sledgehammer-like instrument with one side of the head tapered into a blade. The maul is used with a wedge of steel and is used to split the large pieces of wood into smaller pieces suitable for the stove. A power splitter can be used, but where is the romance in that?
Next, one needs someplace to put the split wood to move it from the point of production to the point of consumption. This is generally a wheelbarrow, which takes the place of two outstretched arms, and holds much more. Never ask a kid to use a wheelbarrow. It causes whining, muttering, and sometimes even tears.
Wheelbarrows are too much like work for most teenagers, who will do anything to avoid having to use one, usually because one never uses a wheelbarrow without having to fill and empty it, which jobs are the stuff of a teenagers’ worst nightmares.
Probably the most versatile tool in the Alaskan’s toolbox is “100-Mile tape,” or, as Red Green calls it, “the handyman’s secret weapon.” Those on “the Outside” call it “duct tape.” It’s referred to as 100-mile for its indispensability on long trips. A few wraps of the silvery magic on a failing automobile part, or around a cracked propeller, far from the nearest service station or landing strip can enable the driver or pilot to make it another hundred miles. I’ve seen it used to mend breakup boots, hold together a plaster cast, bind a book, patch a hole in a gardener’s watering can and put the delicate tip back on a fishing pole long enough to finish the day’s fishing.
One tool that rarely gets mentioned is a boat. Many of the craft in Alaska’s water are for pleasure, but if Alaskans are isolated, the only way to get to town is by boat, usually a skiff, less frequently something with a cabin. Boats should be classified as tax-deductible dependents, because of their expensive habits. A trip to town in winter water is can be a life-threatening undertaking, and may be one main reason why most Bush-dwellers prefer to live where they’ll only have to walk a couple of miles rather than take a boat.
Tools aren’t just for work and survival, though. There are a lot of tools in Alaska that are strictly for recreation. The first thing that comes to mind when thinking about Alaska in this regard is the fishing pole. There probably aren’t too many Alaskans who don’t own at least one. Most have several, and use them frequently, having favorites–poles they talk to and name, like other people do their cars. They consider favorites lucky, and won’t go fishing without them, whether they plan to use them or not. Just their presence in the boat, they claim, is enough to put a fish on the end of the line.
Then, there are the other recreational tools; skates, skis, snowshoes, sleds, and hockey sticks. These are required. No kid wants to be the only one on the block without any of the above. Until he gets old enough to drive. Then, it’s–
Snowmobiles! Snowmobiles wear out in Alaska. It’s not uncommon for them to be in use for eight months out of the year, and they can go almost everywhere there’s snow. I’m not an aficionado, you understand, but my two sons still are, and in their growing years, they reeked of two-cycle gas fumes all winter long.
Snowmobiles are also very useful for those who live in the bush, because they can be equipped with any number of options that make them useful for heavy loads. They take the place of dog teams for hauling freight and passengers to and from the villages, and are catered to like celebrities.
As you can see, the Industrial Revolution is alive and well in Alaska. Just look at all the tools we use!
