15 Feb -  It’s a few minutes after 10am.  I’m standing on Lake Halloran.  Fading in the distance, the soft sound of the propeller as it sliced the air.  Sorted my gear into two piles - that which I’d take with, and that which I’d leave in a tree for when I returned this afternoon.

    Radio telemetry confirmed that Middle Pack was far from where they’d killed a moose several days ago on the north side of the Siskiwit Swamp.  Now, the plan is to snowshoe to that site, perform a necropsy, and collect a few bones that will help us better understand the moose’s condition at its time of death.  

    Easy going at first - just half a mile up the gentle slope that contains Halloran’s north shore.  Turn southwest down the Siskiwit-Feldtmann Trail for about two miles.  The trail was rutted from moose that had been walking up and down the trail since the ground was snow covered.  Just before Coyote Ridge turn north straight into the heart of the big Siskiwit Swamp.  The south side was easy enough, where the earth is only covered, but just lightly, with alders - spaced far enough apart to make the snowshoeing almost casual.

    Then the Siskiwit river.  It’s been a cold winter, so the ice should be solid.  Unbuckle the belt and loosen the straps of my pack - just in case.  Uneventful.    

    The next half mile would take longer than the previous 2.5 miles.  On the north side of the swamp, the alders only seem inert.  Animated  grabbing and pulling at your pack and snowshoes.  It’s a bit like crawling, but you’re upright - most of the time.  Both hands are needed to pull you through the tangle of alders.  After a bit of that, cedars relieve the alders.  Then for every yard forward there is about a yard of up, over, and down one fallen cedar after the next.  

    In this terrain, finding the carcass could be a challenge.  As I continued, wolf tracks became more abundant, suggesting that I’m headed roughly the right direction.  A raven called.  I stopped immediately and imagined very carefully where that raven had been, given the direction and distance of its call.  The raven never lies, but they never tell their secret twice.  I turned left, and in just a short distance I saw the carcass, from which a raven had been feasting, but was now long gone.  

    I took my pack off and got to work.  With a -20F wind chill, I wouldn’t linger too long - my warm clothes were at Lake Halloran.  Within moments a fox came out from the cedars.  We worked side-by-side, each sharing our appreciation for the moose carcass.  After recording some data and collecting some bones, we had lunch.  As the fox gnawed on the frozen moose hide, I gnawed on a half frozen Snickers bar.    

     Except for the weight of a frozen moose head and lower leg, the hike back would be easier - no need to think about navigation, I’d just follow my trail out.  Nevertheless, the return trip counted as exercise.  Wearing only a light, long-sleeved shirt, I was dripping in sweat.  An ice cube’s worth of ice hung from my beard.  Without waiting to cool down, I changed into the dry clothing I’d cached immediately upon returning to Halloran.  

       For much of the time I had been doing this work, Don and Rolf were snowshoeing to conduct a necropsy at an East Pack kill site.  

      I waited until Don picked me up.  When he did, we had enough daylight to quickly locate Middle Pack and Chippewa Harbor Pack.  (Rolf and Don had determined that East Pack had remained for the third straight day at their kill site northeast of Lake Eva.)  After spending two days in Chippewa Harbor Pack Territory, Middle Pack returned southwest to more familiar territory.  East Pack remained for the third day at their kill site northeast of Lake Eva.  We observed Chippewa Harbor Pack as they approached to re-visit their kill site from earlier.  But they would not do it.  They only came close - presumably the scent of Middle Pack prevented them from returning.

 

16 Feb - Snow and wind all day.  Set up the bone boiling pot.  Spent most of the day on chores and catching up on field notes.  Sauna, dinner, & bed.

 

17 Feb – By the time it was bright enough to see, we saw the damp, grey sky nearly meeting the ground.  As the morning wore on, we suffered a brief case of delusional optimism, and thought the sky was clearing up.  We gathered our gear, changed our clothes, warmed the plane, and took off.  A view from the plane cleared our judgement.  Even the Greenstone Ridge was flirting with the clouds.  Within ten minutes of taking off, we landed back home at Windigo.  Here we stayed for the remainder of the day.

 

18 Feb - Thirty knot winds.