When the ice isn’t thick enough
Most trappers will have a story about seeing their snow machine dive into a hole in the ice. This happened to us … Riding nonchalantly along a small lake, I saw Paul’s vehicle crash through because the toboggan was hooked up but had tipped over and the overflow was anchoring it down, stopping its progress.
I was on my machine, in the back. When these things happen, one is wise to react and to act fast—to jump off and hope for ice that will hold a human being (we were lucky there). The toboggan had to be unhooked, first, in order to get a grip and pull on the machine. To do that, Paul needed to dunk his whole arm into the slushy water. The front end was still sticking out of the water and leaning on the ice. We were able to hook up the come-along on the front end and to a tree on shore, then slowly we could pull the machine out of the water. But, of course, she wouldn’t start up any more.
So, home we went—Paul with the little Tundra R, and me using my two legs. The next day we drove back there in order to rescue her: first, we strapped cross-country skis under the track, then we added a rope to the front so that the working machine could pull her out to the riverbank, from where we’d pick her up by boat in summer, if necessary.
So the next few days we tried to get all the water out and have her make some noise again. Paul worked on that (including using quick start, coaxing, mumbling and maybe some light swearing) and I strapped on snowshoes, holding the GPS in my hand and trying to wiggle my way through the bush while searching for a new trail to bypass the little and deep lake.
Our southernmost line cabin is close to a nice-sized lake. The problem there is that all winter long the ice is covered by overflow, which is covered by snow. The whole lake looks like a spider’s web.
We used to ride the snow machine and toboggan around the lake, along the shore. Sometimes we did okay, but once we got stuck in overflow so bad that, again, the toboggan had to be unhooked to get the machine out.
Back in camp, I had to clean out the track from all that overflow. But first I had to wait for the slush to freeze some; otherwise, I’d have just swished that watery snow around the vehicle.
Say whaaat?
We’ve used a heavy-duty snow machine for 20 years, breaking trail, trapping, logging and getting firewood. Eventually it was time to upgrade, so we bought a brand-new one. From the very first ride over snow, she’d run fine then would start to sputter and eventually die. After 15 minutes, she’d start up fine again, just to do the same once more. It was frustrating and we walked home to get another machine, again, to tow this one back home if she couldn’t make it.
Enough was enough, and back home the mystery was investigated properly. Now the fuel filter and fuel pump are in one piece and are inside the fuel tank. It was gingerly taken out, so that the tank could come off as well. But what was that black stuff in the suction hose? It looked like narrow but longer pieces of black plastic.
We dumped the fuel out of the tank (we always use multiple filters so as not to have dirt, moss or tiny pieces of branches in the fuel). Then we could see, by shining a light into the then-empty tank, that there were the same shavings in it. If it wasn’t the shavings from cutting out the fuel tank’s hole (where the fuel filter’s place is)! And this little bit of negligence got us in big trouble. It would have been nice if the factory could have cleaned out that tank before the assembly.
Mud, mud, everywhere
We try to start prepping a landing strip for the plane as early as possible. This was a bad idea, one winter, when Paul rode too far into the swampy area at the end of the lake. His snow machine got stuck in the mud (mud will keep warmer much longer and therefore not freeze to the top or bottom), so I had to leave my spot inside and go on a rescue mission with another machine.
About an hour later, the smelly vehicle was on top of snow and ice, dripping muddy water. Needless to say, our coveralls smelled of sulphur and looked, well, a muddy greyish-brown.
Take some heavy-duty wire
You get what you pay for: our big, eight-foot-long toboggan looked well built. In it, we carried the fuel needed on the trailbreaking enterprise, as well as the wall tent, wood stove and stove pipes. Turns out the hitch was not as sturdy. Partway in, the bolts loosened. Then the hitch ripped off the toboggan. All of a sudden, the load on the snow machine was lighter and the toboggan was sitting, lazily, 20 metres back. We carried wolf snares, so we used those to put the items back together.
Back in Whitehorse, we went to Tony, who was a master welder in our opinion. He welded and reinforced not only that toboggan’s hitch, but two other hitches.
Winter canoeing
The old canoe at the southernmost line cabin got broken by a tree falling onto it. Now we had two canoes at the main camp, so we hatched a plan: cache one of them (in the summertime) at the place we hit in the winter with the snow machine, tie it to the back of the snow machine’s toboggan, and hope for the best.
We were surprised the canoe “swam” so easily, without ever tipping when being dragged around a corner. This funny venture lasted for 30 kilometres. If we hadn’t had this idea, the canoe (or a new canoe) would have to be flown in (if one wanted to canoe the lake). Of course, a trapper (most times) is in no need of a canoe in the winter time, anyway, and it sure is nice, when being out on the line in the summertime, to take a rest from fixing up the cabin or getting firewood and, instead, to head out in the canoe and check out the shoreline—and maybe hook a fish for supper.
Sonja Seeber, Yukon trapper
