Post the Last

Well, dear readers, I have just arrived in Anchorage after the longest drive between the cabin and home I have ever experienced, clocking in at 8 hours. I spent the early day frantically trying not to forget any of the 3,000 things required to properly shut up the property, and I am sure I forgot at least 1,500 of them, but hopefully nothing so egregious that my parents show up and find a smoldering pile of moldy straw in a couple weeks.

Skylar was sad to see me go, but honestly, he doesn't look good. We had a really awkward goodbye, but I did make sure not to let Sancho pee on him.

I got the truck all kitted out to sustain anything that nature could possibly throw at it. I was ready for the most slippery of roads, the deepest ice wells, and the sharpest tiger traps. Observe the impressive beast ready for battle.

I got out on the road, and there were a couple spots that tried to test my metal mammoth.

In the end though, the road was much tamer than I thought it would be. An inch of snow fell and provided plenty of traction. It took me about an hour of cruising along at 15 miles an hour with the chains on before I realized I needed to change my game plan if I was going to make it home before I caught a bad case of death by old age. So I took the chains off and cruised into Chitina (35 miles from the cabin) about 2 hours after I left. I thought things would be peachy from then on out.

By the time I hit Glenallen it was completely dark and snowing profusely. Driving down the highway was like crossing the galaxy with Han Solo after Chewy kicks in the hyperdrive, and all the stars turn to lines and start zooming past. This is a great effect to observe for a second or two on television, but let me tell you it is the most mindfucky thing in the world if you trying to look out for moose in it for hours. I went pretty much the whole 300 miles at about 45 miles an hour. I had to stop three times to make sure Sancho got all the peeing he needed done. I was really worried he was going to start pooping everywhere because I gave him some bacon this morning, but he did very well and now he is playing his face off in the backyard with two of his doggy chums.

I think the time has come to declare the winner of the Memorial Anthony of Egypt National Most Hermitly Award. It has been a race to the finish as Germany, Denmark, and Ecuador appeared out of nowhere. South Africa has been coming on strong. The winner is........ (Bum badda bum bum BUM)

NEW ZEALAND!!!!

 

with Uganda coming in second and South Africa a very close third. Congratulations New Zealand! Since I now know that it was Xavier operating undercover in the Southern Hemisphere, the final addition to the prize vat is a bottle of Crown and a jug of apple juice. I am so proud of all the nations that showed their true hermity stripes.

Well, folks, its been a blast. Thanks for reading! I got 2000 hits over the course of the month, which I think shows some dedicated readership. All the comments especially I read with the greatest appreciation and contentment. I'll be seeing you....

The Atoms Start Flying Apart!

Well, dear readers, I have decided that the world is falling apart. Whatever it is that holds the cosmos together in its loose alliance has abandoned us, and the world is now coming to a close. The Apocalyptic wind that shipwrecked poor Tim has for the most part abated, but the temperature remains above freezing. My sister always tells the tale of driving the McCarthy road when she was sixteen, fresh out of sophomore year, (maybe junior year, who knows? I was probably still in junior high and seriously considering the social ramifications of wearing sweat pants instead of jeans, so I didn't have time to remember) on the hunt for a car of her own. The winning candidate was the 1990 blue and rust colored F150 that was sitting at the cabin and had to be returned to Anchorage. The way she tells it, the road was made out of Teflon, and horrible gargoyles were holding it up at a 45 degree angle so that she would slide off one side into the mouth of a tremendous Leviathan named Walter, who would devour both Stump and her unshiny F150 without remorse.

I always thought she was nuts, but now I understand. I am about to face the same sort of conditions on the morrow, when I sally forth into the unknown in hopes of reaching civilization, grocery stores, and ultimately, an airport. Grass is showing in the fields, the road looks like a speed skating rink, and Skylar has withered into the most horrifically decrepit thing you could possibly imagine. I have to get out of here, dear readers, before I am devoured whole!

I got to feeling nostalgic today, it being my last full day of hermitage and all. I went for a walk (and I do mean walk. No snowshoes, no skis, no snow, no worries. This place looks like the colony in Aliens after Sigourney Weaver torches the whole thing with a flame thrower, and then the whole shebang goes up in a nuclear explosion) with Sancho, and it really was pretty nice. I ended up walking around in a T shirt and watching the sunset, which I have to say is pretty damn strange for Alaska in February. The rest of my day has been consumed by repeat usages of the dishwasher and washing machine. I have to eliminate all evidence that I let Sancho sleep on the bed. Golly, I hope my parents don't find out (wink, wink). By the way, parents, if Sancho does jump on the bed, don't be too harsh. I was the enabler. Here is a series of photos about depicting the world falling to pieces.

I call this one "Reflections of Sancho"

I call this one "Hopes of Sancho"

This one is "Windward Spring, or Septic System Summertime"

This one is called "T-Shirt Sunset"

And this last one is "Holy Crap That Road Looks Slippery But the Surroundings Look Quite Nice"

New Zealand looks poised to claim victory in the Memorial Anthony of Egypt National Most Hermitly Award. Who could possibly challenge them?

ARRRRGH THE WIND! WHY MUST IT HAUNT ME SO?

Well, the weather decided to go absolutely batshit insane again. The Wicked Wind of the East returned in full force, raising the temperature to 42 degrees. It is blowing harder than any wind I have ever experienced out here. It has knocked everything down that used to be standing and moved everything that isn't tied down with steel cables to some other place. The windmill has been so loud all day that it sounds like an 18 wheeler A HALF MILE DOWN THE ROAD. How do I know that the windmill is that audible a half mile down the road? I will tell you later. Skylar is in absolutely terrible condition, and I am worried that he just might fall apart. His weight is way down and he generally has a really unhealthy, pockmarked aspect to him that is a cause for concern. If you need any further confirmation about how hard the wind is blowing, then observe this bird nest.

"Oh, wow, Hermit, did you have to climb a tree for that nest?" NO! I did not have to climb a tree! Know why? The nest got blown out of the tree! It was just resting in the middle of the god damn road! At least it didn't rain. OH WAIT. There was torrential downpours last night. When I woke up this morning I was pretty sure the house was cruising across the Pacific on moderately heavy seas in search of giant squid or something, because the windows were covered in spray. I couldn't even see outside most of the ground floor.

I was resigned to waste my day. Have the heavens ever granted a greater excuse for sloth that when they choose to rain on top of snow? There is absolutely NO reason to go outside. So I didn't. I decided I was going to turn in a sub par blog entry without any pictures, drink Irish whiskey until I couldn't hear the windmill thrumming away inside my mind, maybe watch a Jackie Chan movie, and pack it in. But then, dear readers, there was a knock on the door.

I just about flipped my shit. I was tempted to sprint to the bedroom and grab the 50 cal before I answered the door, but I didn't and you know why not? It wasn't because I wasn't convinced the person on the other side was going to kill me, but because I wanted to answer the door in a timely fashion. I am so conditioned to answer the door promptly I will throw all personal personal safety to the wind. I would let Ted Bundy in before getting the gun so he wouldn't have to wait. Ahhh, the things this hermitage has taught me.

So instead of grabbing some weapons I called out "Who is it?" and a voice replied "Tim Nelson". I thought, oh, great, Tim Nelson, and opened the door. He was already inside before I realized that I have no idea who Tim Nelson is. Good thing that Tim Nelson is a really nice guy, one of my neighbors (about 25 miles away) and that his car was stuck a half mile down the road, where he had been hearing an 18 wheeler despite the fact he knew there was no such thing on the McCarthy road (it was the windmill). So we went to rescue Tim's car. The road, it turns out, is like an ice rink with a swimming pool on top of it. Driving on it was like trying to drive on a submerged iceberg. So we put on the chains, and then we had to go through the whole rigamarole of attaching the winch (see Wenchy Winches if you are interested in a more detailed description of this onerous task), and pulling out Tim's car. It worked, eventually, but the problem was the road was tilted and so slippery that every time I pulled him out, his car would just slide right back off the road while at a standstill. Physics teachers could use the road today to demonstrate a perfectly frictionless surface. I saw Sancho fall down while standing still. I recognize that he is a clumsy dog, but usually he can stand up without falling on his face. Not today. No sirree. I swear to god a kitchen table would lose its legs if you tried to put it on that road. I am starting to wonder if I will make it out of this hermitage, or if I will be forever doomed to falling on my face over and over again on a frictionless surface until the end of time. Tim got turned around and headed to the neighbors to spend the night, having decided that he wasn't going to make it home. I didn't bring a camera along to document the action, so I only have this picture of my hand to prove that Tim does in fact exist, and that tire chains are dirty.

Status quo on the MAoENMHA, although Australia is all of a sudden looking like it wants to play the game. Is it too late? Only time will tell.

Hermit FAQ II: Revelations

Another beautiful day in hermitdom. I spent most of the afternoon arranging my airfare back to Salt Lake City, my chosen post-hermit location. Though the thought of ending my run as a hermit is a difficult one, I feel that it must be explored. Come with me, and we will delve into the nature of post-hermit, what it means for the post-hermit personally, what connections it my have to archetypal post-hermit characters, what others can expect from a post-hermit, and how awkward a post-hermit can be.  

Because you are so used to relieving yourself whenever the need strikes, do you think you will accidentally pee in public? 
 This is a tough question. I sincerely hope I do not pee in public, but I have started having these nightmares where I walk into the woods a little ways and start peeing, and there is a urinating tree (see the Hermitage Safety Guide and Urinating Trees entry if you are confused) right next to me, and we sort of look over at each other and nod in that way that says "Hey, man, I'm peeing, and its not that weird because you are also peeing" but then I realize that the urinating tree is in fact the checkout clerk in a Mormon grocery store, and they are not nodding in the way that the urinating tree was nodding, but have a horrible look on their face that says "Holy crapola, you crazy platypus, you are peeing on my checkout counter!" So hopefully this isn't one of those "predict the future" type dreams I usually have, because I hear Mormons are not huge fans of public urination. 

How will you reassert yourself publicly as a social human?
 Hmmm, this is something I'm worried about. When Buttons and Lemington came out I felt like talking was significantly harder than it should be. I am socially rusty, and I am going to have to get back into the swing of starting and holding conversations. I am a great conversationalist, I can prattle on for hours about any old thing like wood stove hot tubs, the difference between heating oil and diesel, the nature of urinating trees, how much oil goes in a generator, and Sancho's beard hair. I figure that is plenty of stuff to entertain anybody for hours, so my problem will be starting conversations, not keeping them going. First, I am going to dress to the nines every day. I am gonna wear my Beyonce jacket and my Minotaur hat everywhere I go. People like to talk to beautiful strangers, and I think the machete will really give me an air of mystery that people on the streets will find impossible to resist. At parties, when the jacket and hat might be inappropriate, I think I will bring some firearms, and whenever I'm not getting enough attention, I'll just fire off a little "Hey, talk to me" salute at the ceiling, so people won't forget that I'm around. People like to be inclusive, it's just that sometimes they need a reminder. 

What will Sancho do without you? 

He will be wildly and inconsolably distraught for anywhere between 15 minutes and a couple of hours, and then he will realize there is another dog to play with and exercise himself into a catatonic stupor.  Or maybe he will drink hemlock. Hopefully not. 


Are you seeking a new hermitage? Where?
 I do have my own apartment in SLC, and that counts as hermitage in many places, but does not fit my own strict definition. The problem I have been running into is the difficulty of hermiting and making money at the same time. Even Anthony of Egypt didn't adequately contribute to his 401k before he had to retire from hermiting on account of the horrible carpal tunnel/blindness/gangrene fiasco he went through. I must venture into society, ready to conquer the best job that pays any amount above minimum wage and doesn't require handling feces with my bare hands. Actually, I would probably take minimum wage. And handle feces. College degrees aren't worth much anymore, it turns out.

Are you in the habit of talking to yourself, and if so, will you stop?
I mostly talk to Sancho. We have long conversations about all kinds of important things that can go on for hours. He never says anything, so I guess it is sort of like talking to myself. What will I talk to when I'm not hanging out with Sancho anymore? Oh wait, I know. The answer is humans.


What's the first thing you will eat when you get back to civilization? Either a Cheesy Gordita Crunch from Taco Bell or a Big Mac from McDonald's. Both of those fine eating establishments are represented in Palmer, and I will have to decide once I get there. 

 Can we follow you by blog onto your next adventure?
 Yeah, I guess. I could write up little reports every day: "Wow, turned in ANOTHER job application. Got rejected for the feces handling position at McDonald's again. Maybe it will snow?" Nah, maybe that's a bad idea. The chances of my next adventure being blogworthy are pretty small. 



What's the loudest noise you ever heard in hermitude? Probably nothing like the noise of traffic in the big city. What's the worst stink you ever smelled in hermitude? Probably nothing like the mighty stink of the big city. Please address how you plan on coming to terms with these surely jarring assaults on your tender hermit senses and if you plan on using meditation as a tool, or perhaps enlisting the services of a life coach?
Wow, this is one helluva question. I almost feel like it is somebody bragging about how awesome their city is. Well I got news for you, bragging question asker, you are WRONG. The loudest noise I heard? How about the soul crushing rush of blood in my ears? When it's the only thing you can hear, you hear it loud, and it can drive a man crazy! It just grows and swells until the noise is the size of a tsunami of garbage trucks roaring down the valley, and you want to kneel and scream, but you can't escape it, it is part of you, and just when you have had it a minute longer than you can bear, and your feeble little mind has turned to tapioca pudding, an owl will hoot, break the spell, and save what remains of your soul. 
   Have you ever smelled the putrid cloud that comes out of Sancho's beard after he has been gnawing on shit patties? When he exhales, it smells like...a tsunami of garbage trucks rolling down the valley, and then he farts and sticks his nose a little closer, and you want to vomit, partially because you are so disgusted, but mostly because right now vomit would smell so much better than all the odors the dog is giving off, and you contemplate how long it would take to find some hemlock and drink it, but the fart dissipates and Sancho moves away, interested in something else, and your will to survive returns.
   So NO, I won't need a life coach. The real question is: Can the "Big City" handle a post-hermit? Unlikely. But maybe I could look into the life coach thing as a possible career field. Sounds way better than feces handling at McDonald's.


In the Memorial Anthony of Egypt National Most Hermitly Award, New Zealand still has a commanding lead, but South Africa is creeping up on a complacent looking Uganda. Only a few days left people!
 

Existential Hermit Doubts, Snow and Sun

Back to my normal hermit routine today. Sancho is happily pawing his way through the glass door again in honor of something, but it definitely isn't a plea to open the door. I've tried four times already and he just fixes me with his best puppy dog stare and stands very still, hoping that whatever he wants to happen will now magically happen.

The temperature is cold again, about 10 below zero. There has been this strange cold weather snow falling that is super light and thin, and it builds up in really interesting ways. The whole area is back to winter wonderland status. There is a hefty layer of frost built up on all the trees and anything else that has a surface. Here is a wind chime that resides on the back porch.

The day that Buttons and Lemington took off the clouds were very low and very oppressive, but by the end of the day the sun was starting to peek through the mist. 

Yesterday and today have both been almost offensively sunny. The sun is all the way above the mountains to the south, and shining like a demon doused in gasoline. It evokes the craziest emotions in me, things like "hope" and "joy". After all the darkish days I didn't even remember what a nice sunny day looked like.

I have gone for some skis and some snowmachine rides in the hopes of tiring out the dog, but I think that he is getting to be in better shape because what used to work no longer does. Maybe it's just the disappearance of Maggie the Tormentress, because Sancho keeps insisting that the keyboard of my laptop is the very best place in the world to use as a platform for chewing his tennis ball, an activity he was only ever vaguely interested in before her visit.

I am struck by how soon my hermitage must come to a close. I am beginning to be racked by those social doubts that every hermit must face when they return to society. Must I shower every week? Do I have to wear clothing all the time? What do you mean I can't wear a 50 caliber revolver everywhere I go?

What should I do, dear readers? I hope that you will ask me questions about my impending return to civilization so that I can deepen my understanding.

Status Quo on the MAoENMHA. Scoot your roots!

The Visitation Saga Part 3: The Food

Maggie was fun to watch, if not fun for Sancho to experience, and the the adventures were most definitely adventurous, but what really pulled the whole experience together was the food. Both Buttons and Lemington are great cooks, and they used their skills to maximum. It was an occasion for feasting and celebration because, as we all know, Wednesday was the day nearest and dearest to most of our hearts: Australia Day. I have mentioned that Lemington is Australian, and in honor of celebrating Australia Day, I ate some Vegemite. Buttons has called to my attention that in past episodes of Temporary Hermit I made the statement "Vegemite? I'm not touching that shit." It is time to retract that statement and issue an apology, as I found Vegemite to be somewhat decent tasting.

I don't know if the traditional Australia Day feasting is done with fish and chips or shepherd's pie, but it could be either or both, as we had both of those things, and I was generally stuffing my face for three straight days so I don't recall which day is actually Australia Day. This wasn't any half assed fish and chips, either. Homemade beer batter, Alaskan cod, fries made on the spot, homemade tartar sauce. It was epic. This is what the cooking process looked like for the fish and chips dinner, as depicted by a time lapse made by Buttons. It clearly shows me working my butt off while those two loafers sipped booze and waited for the food to show up.

The fish and chips were good. They were, in fact delicious. The sheperd's pie, though, made fish and chips look like toe jam from a catfish farmer. I know what the image of shepherd's pie is. It's something like ground meat stuff cooked with some frozen vegetables underneath some potatoes. Whoopidy frickin doo. But THIS shepherd's pie was made from lamb and duck! The crust was made from scratch, the potatoes had all sort of crazy stuff in them I can't even hope to describe, the vegetables were baked in duck fat, gravy from scratch, and some crazy kind of stock that took all day to boil with a whole bunch of random stuff in it! Observe...

You can imagine what this has done to a poor hermitly soul used to canned vegetarian chile and an occasional plate of couscous and lentils to spice things up. I feel like a Bushman who just got handed a Coke bottle, only to have it taken away again. The horrible fickleness of the universe is almost too much to bear. The really great news is that I don't have to bear it yet, because they made two pies and left me a whole one, so I am still eating duck and lamb tastiness. In addition we had Lemington (Lemington's namesake), an Australian cake that is pretty much normal cake with fruit and whip cream, always a positive. Am I convincing you that these meals were good? I feel like I need to be grasping someone by the shoulders and shaking them furiously to make them understand how good the food was. It has also revolutionized my ideas about what hospitality should be. Traditionally, guests come over, the hosts cook, clean, and entertain. On this occasion, however, Buttons and Lemington came over, brought the food, cooked the food, cleaned the kitchen, and washed the dishes. Perfect! It was like I got attacked by a catering service intent on making me fatter. Its the best!

Your humble hermit has just investigated how much time is left to hermitize, and the answer is very little. This means that the race for the Memorial Anthony of Egypt National Most Hermitly Award is on its last legs. I predict ending my hermitage on the 2nd of February, maybe the 3rd. I will therefore declare the winner of the Memorial Anthony of Egypt National Most Hermitly Award on the 3rd. New Zealand is still ahead, but there is time for a challenge! Rise up, mighty nations, and hermit like never before!

The Visitation Saga Part 2: The Adventures

Since Buttons and Lemington took time off work and chose to spend it schlepping themselves all the way out here, we had to do something fun. No wood chopping, stick hauling, snow shoveling or dirt raking for them. So we decided at some point that we would fill the hot tub and heat it up, a task we never quite managed to finish (although Buttons did decide he would take a dip anyway at 85 degrees. It didn't last very long). Even though our dreams of hot tubbing never came to fruition, we managed to get some solid adventuring done.

The first day we went up the Crystalline Hills trail, the same one Stump and I explored when she was out here. Here is Lemington enjoying her time next to the frozen waterfall.

We started a little late and the day was a bit gray, but Buttons got some pictures from the top anyways. Here is the view of the valley.

If it seems to you that I am rushing the description of our activities on the first day, then you are right. The second day was way cooler. We decided that Kennicott would be our goal, and that we would take it by storm with style and flair. Kennicott, for those of you out of the loop, is an abandoned copper mine. Finished around 1910, it operated until about 1940 before being shut down. It was then abandoned and left to rot, which it has in some places, but most of the buildings are still standing. It is 4 1/2 miles from McCarthy, maybe about 5 miles from the footbridge. By the time we got going in the morning, it was too late to ski that far, so we loaded up the snowmachine and a sled onto a trailer and drove on out.

I have been to Kennicott many times, but never in the winter. It is in the national park, so in the summertime there are all sorts of people saying silly things like "Hey, man, this is an abandoned mine. You can't run around in here" or "The floors are rotten. If you stand on them they will fall apart, and you will get eaten by goblins". But the park is pretty much a nonfunctioning entity in the winter, and a completely nonfunctioning one in Kennicott. It was open season for exploration. First up was the power building. It took some supreme ninja skillz to get in, but it had concrete floors, and concrete doesn't rot, so I felt pretty good. Buttons once again steps to the front of the class for show and tell.

The outside:

The inside:

The ground floor:

After conquering the power building we moved outside and had tea and scones. I'm not kidding either. Lemington is from Australia (she has been living in a world of eternal summer for years!), and even though she had never been on a snowmachine before this day, she intuitively grasped what the expedition needed to maximize both style and flair: it was afternoon tea, and she was oh so right. After our tea break we moved to the hospital, which is situated right next to National Creek, a cantankerous little water source that chooses to flood sometimes. This means that the hospital is almost completely full of river rocks, and walking down the hallway is like being inside that hallway in Willy Wonka's candy factory that gets smaller and smaller the further you go. There is a photo of this phenomenon that's a little out of focus, but whatever. Take us away, Buttons...

The hospital does not have concrete floors. In this photo you see a plank angled downwards. It is serving as the replacement for the top half of the staircase, which has completely fallen down. I took this to mean, "Whoa, maybe the second floor is sketchy. I'm going outside." Buttons, on the other hand, thought "Hey, wow! Some swell guy put a plank here for me to walk up!" He said the second floor was scary.

The way back was a little eventful, as Maggie the Tormentress got tired and had to be held in the sled by Buttons. Sancho made it the whole way by himself, but I thought he looked pretty exhausted. My dad has since informed me that he took Sancho on a 30 mile ATV chase last summer, so maybe Sancho was just faking it.

Tomorrow I will return with the final segment of The Visitation Saga, starring Lemington and Buttons. I close with a picture of the mill building.

The Visitation Saga Part 1: Sancho's Tormentress

Oh man, today my visitors (named Buttons and Lemington, I have decided at this very moment) packed their bags and went back to wherever it is that everyone lives, and with it they took my vacation. I can hear the indignant cries of "Vacation from what, you freeloading ragamuffin", but I'll have you know that entertaining the entirety of Uganda, New Zealand and South Africa can really wear on your nerves after a couple years (or weeks, if you want to split hairs). I can't just produce these golden sentences woven with such perfection forever without a break every once in a while.

Speaking of golden perfection, here is a bag of gold mined by Anthony of Egypt himself. It is believed to be the oldest bag of gold in existence. It will be yet another small piece in the puzzle of prizes given to the winner of the Memorial Anthony of Egypt National Most Hermitly Award.

Are you winning? Let's find out.

New Zealand- 46
Uganda- 37
South Africa- 23

I have to say that while New Zealand looks to be comfortably coasting in the lead, South Africa has really turned on the afterburners and put in the best performance by any country this week. Well done!

Now it is time to tell the tale of the visitors. Not the humans, though, I'll tell you about them later. These last few days have been unsettling ones for the other permanent Temporary Hermit, our very own Sancho, and this is his story.

Here we observe the one and only Maggie, who arrived with the visitors. My, what a beautiful dog! I can hear the gears whizzing in your faraway minds, dear readers, and they are thinking things like "Ahh a long haired lady to light the fires in Sancho's cold hard heart" or "A friend and confidant for Sancho to turn to in his darkest hours". But you are wrong. What Sancho actually got was a dominatrix intent on taking everything he loves and holds dear, claiming it as hers, and then preventing him from getting anywhere near it. Maggie has a really great temperament with humans. She is affectionate, calm, and gentle. With dogs, however, she is exactly the opposite. When I would pet or play with Sancho she would barge her way in between us, and then if she felt she wasn't getting the proper percentage of attention or tennis ball chewing time (100%, obviously), she would remedy the situation by politely demonstrating to Sancho that she was willing to fight to the death. The same thing would happen if there was a place he liked on the floor, a stick he was interested in a chewing, or (God forbid!) he should try and play with her. This was very confusing for Sancho, who is something of a social butterfly. Despite the fact Maggie could walk between Sancho's legs without bumping her head against his stomach, she managed to turn him into a hopelessly hysterical mass of dog-flavored Jello.

Now, though, his tormentress has returned from whence she came and he is lying on his favorite floor spot with the tennis ball nearby, available whenever he feels like it. (Editors Note: Maggie should not be confused with the Singaporean all-female thrash metal band Tormentress, who have historically been quite kind to Sancho.)

Buttons is good at photo-makin', so I stole the the photos he made. Here is one. I will return another day to regale you with human based adventures.

Visitors! I Take a Vacation

Hello, dear readers. I am pleased to announce that I have visitors, and that they are going to make me fish and chips for dinner, and that they made me chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast. While blogging might be considered a social event for a hermit, it is not a social event for normal people, so I am going to take a small vacation from blogging. In two days I will rise again to document the thrilling and suspenseful moments that define my times in the wilderness.

The Wicked Wind of the East

The horrible warm wind coming in from Canada that so plagued my life in the early days of hermitage has returned, and it is blow/melting all the wind off the trees, and I am losing hope. The temperature got above freezing, and it was cloudy all day. Obviously, they don't have weather forecasts for where I am, but the do for Chitina, 35 miles west, and McCarthy, 25 miles east. It was 10 degrees in Chitina all day and 5 degrees in McCarthy. What is going on here? It appears that my father has found the ONLY piece of land in the entirety of interior Alaska that can't stay below 32 degrees in the wintertime. I have spent most of the day running around yelling incoherently at the trees and trying to hit the wind with a sledgehammer. Skylar started moaning about melting away into nothingness, so I started screeching obscenities at him every couple minutes to keep him quiet. The overall damage isn't bad, it only got above freezing for an hour or so, and we are safely back down in the safe zone right now, but the snow which had been laid out smooth and clean like fresh tin foil is now all pocked and disfigured by all the crap getting blown off the trees.

Other than the disastrous weather developments today was pretty smooth sailing. I did a bunch of cleaning up around the place. Sancho and I did escape for a ski into the valley to the south, but the day was dreary and gray, and I couldn't get the energy going. I just shuffled along without conviction for several miles and called it a day. Sancho found the majority of a rabbit carcass, so he didn't mind one bit. I didn't even take any pictures because there was no light. Everything was the same color. Blech. In order to raise morale, I have decided to add some pictures of Sancho at his finest: when he is frolicking with a large stick.

Let it Snow!

Another snowy day in Hermitsville. The temperature has continued its upward trend, and we were sitting at 13 degrees for much of the day. These are the kinds of days that are really ideal out here. I went for a ski with the dog and I almost couldn't find the trail in places on account of the new snow, so I had to follow Sancho's lead. His services as guide dog are reliable, but not very efficient. He knows where to go, but he isn't very interested in a straight line approach. I found myself doing huge S-curves over and back across the trail whenever I tried to follow him.

Despite the snow the sun peeped out on several occasions, which was really great. Here is a picture of that event.

I thought I had the ultimate Sancho Exhaustion Scheme (SES). My previous SES was to just go skiing, which didn't work, and then I used the snowmachine, which is effective but not really all that great to do everyday. My new SES is to go for a short ski and then spend two hours plowing the road. Sancho gets bored and goes somewhere else. After the first fifteen minutes I won't see him until I get home, and then he is docile as can be. Or so I thought. He has been trying to paw a hole in the glass door for the past half hour, but every time I go to let him out, he just looks up at me, as if to say "Gotcha, sucker". Pawing at the door is his general coping strategy for everything. If he is hungry, he paws the door, if he is bored, he paws the door, if he is thirsty, tired, needs to pee, hyper, hot or cold, he paws the door. Only a few of these problems actually require going outside, so I am always left to wonder what His Majesty might need. Here is a picture of his royal highness while he leads the charge through the woods.

Now I go to rest and refuel before the endless task of plowing that I seem to be stuck with. Going back for a third pass tomorrow. I end with another picture of sunshowers...

Hermit FAQ

We got more snow last night! Hooray! The temperature is up to a sweltering 6 degrees. This means, unfortunately, that I had to start plowing the road all over again. You do get to see what animals have been walking around recently. I saw these tracks out on the ski. I think they are moose tracks, but I'm not sure.

 Yesterday I asked for questions. And now they will be answered:

What does a hermit wear for pajamas?
Our photographers have captured a hermit sleeping.

It appears it is a variation on The Lounger, but more passed out on the floor. The outfit has been accessorized with a bottle of 50 year old Remy Martin, a couple of shotguns to ward off outsiders, and a bloodthirsty wolfhound named Kujo.

How far off the ground must you be for your pee to freeze in midair?
This question sounded as much like a challenge as a quest for knowledge. At today's temperature, the answer is "higher than the roof". I am considering what it would take to lower the windmill and raise it again with me attached to the top, but I think it is more than a simple hermit could manage. 

Are you more afraid of serial killers or wolves and moose in the dark?
I am equally afraid of both. I am really most scared of serial killing wolves and moose that rove around in huge gangs dressed in leather on top of Harley Davidsons. I guess I would hear them coming, though.

Why the hell are you out there ALL ALONE?????
Well, nobody would come with me. And how many hermits spend their time hanging out with their friends? None. Anthony of Egypt would be rolling in his grave if hermits started hanging out with people. But someone should come visit. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy...

What force--dog or nature or gumption--wakes you up, and is it consistent, or do you sleep til 12 on, say, an overcast day? 
Steam power. I am in fact a steam engine, which is why I was never good at agility sports. I usually get up around 11, which isn't half bad by family standards. The dog is actually amazing at sleeping in. Until he gets his first whiff of the outdoors he is mellow, but then it's all downhill until bedtime. 

What is a Mother Board? Should I be AFRAID of the much-talked-about-but-never-quite-seen-in-its-entirety Mother Board?
I'm not sure. I believe you are referring to the executive board that controls the Mothership, mentioned several episodes ago. They are mostly a bunch of fuddy-duddies, so no, I don't think you need to be afraid of them. I think they mostly decide where they will be cruising to observe the most elevated specimens of humanity, like hermits in Alaska. They did decide to throw in a round-trip ticket for two to the Homeworld as part of the prize pool of the Memorial Anthony of Egypt National Most Hermitly Award, so they have to be alright.

How many things do you kill every day? 

 Millions, but then I revive them.

What do you eat?

Potatoes. I do not revive them.

Who is winning in the race for the Memorial Anthony of Egypt National Most Hermitly Award right now?

New Zealand. The heavyweight slugfest between international hermiting superpowers Uganda and New Zealand continues. Uganda was in the lead yesterday, but New Zealand hit the afterburners to take the lead. South Africa, where you at?

 

Wenchy Winches

I never thought fashion would prove to be so popular. It also appears that Uganda is by far the most fashionable foreign country, as they extended their lead over New Zealand and South Africa in the Memorial Anthony of Egypt National Most Hermitly Award.

I woke up this morning to 2-3 inches of new snow and the warmest temperature we've had in weeks: 0 degrees. What is 2-3 inches of snow good for? Well, not much except the opportunity to plow the road. So I decided to plow the road. I was feeling good, plowing is quite a pleasurable experience when it isn't too cold, and I was making great progress. The whole process usually takes a couple hours, and may require more than one pass to get it really good. I was chugging along the sides of the road trying to push back the berm when the outside wheels suddenly got bogged down and sucked the whole operation just far enough off the road that I was stuck. Bummer. I spent quite a while trying all different directions, speeds and attitudes, but I only succeeded in digging the damn tractor deeper.

So then it was time for the classic cabin maneuver of pulling one machine out of trouble with another machine you have lying around somewhere. Usually, this time tested cabin activity is carried out with more than one person, but Sancho didn't look ready to drive the tractor, so I thought I would use the winch on the truck, probably the easiest thing to handle by oneself.

Ha, silly me. I was thinking of the winch I used to have on my truck. It was a great little guy mounted on the front with a brushguard, and you just plugged in the controller and pulled the truck towards something or pulled something towards the truck. Easy. My father has chosen to outfit his truck with a detachable winch that requires at least 27 steps to operate, all of them somehow designed to create maximum frustration and discomfort.

First, you must get an extension for the tow hitch at the front of the truck, attach that with a rusty pin that must be salvaged from some other hitch in the bed, then get the winch itself. The winch is stored at the very back of the bed where it is hardest to get to, wedged underneath some overhanging crap. Then you must carry the winch around to the front and attach it, but it is attached with a pin that locks, so you must use the key on the same keyring as the truck, meaning you have to turn off the truck, unlock the damn thing, yadda yadda yadda. Things keep happening like this until it is an hour later, and you just have the winch on, and every fiber of your being wants to murder everything in cold blood. It is a ridiculous process and I hate it. Finally, it was all good and I winched out the damn tractor but even then the stupid thing almost couldn't free itself. I had to rock it back and forth for a couple minutes before it could finally get itself free. Arrrgh. I am going straight for the whiskey tonight. I had to drive the tractor back home and then walk back to the truck, which I left running. As scary as it might be walking in the dark out here, it is MUCH worse having to walk towards some lights. For some reason, even though I was the one who left the truck there, it was terrifying to see the headlights through the trees.

Free at last!

The time has come, dear readers, to ask for some audience participation. I, noble hermit, decided it would be fun to answer questions posed by the unenlightened masses (thanks Diana). So you should ask me questions by email or by leaving them in the comments part of this post. Big points for questions with comedic value!

The Fashion Issue

It's snowing! Hooray!!! To be honest, its more of an ice misting, but snow nonetheless. Unfortunately, for even the tiny quantity of snow that will be left by this storm, there had to be cloud cover all day. For all intents and purposes, the sun never came up. That fickle bastard of a celestial body has left us alone once again. So I took Sancho on another grand snowmachine chase because it has headlights and we had a lovely old time. I did spend an unusual amount of time indoors, though, because the lack of light sucked whatever might pass as my spirit of adventure right out of me. Maybe it will snow enough tonight that I can bust out Princess Tinky and plow the road. Boy, that would turn things into Wild Wednesday!

I receive many questions about hermit life, and by that I think somebody once asked me about something once, so that must mean that you are all dying to know about hermit fashion. In order to help you all out, I have made a Hermit Fashion Issue. We will begin proceedings with -


The Lounger -
   This is what your average hermit might wear on a weekday while translating scrolls from Greek to Latin, having a religious experience, nurturing their bitterness towards humanity or just swilling booze and lighting random stuff on fire. Here our photographer has caught this hermit in a candid shot while he contemplates the consciousness of man.

The hat hair is a required part of this getup. Anybody showing up differently would be forced to laugh themselves out of their own party, and then they wouldn't able to hang out with themselves at their own party they threw for one person.

The top is by Kirkland Signature - "Alpaca Dream Shirt" $2,999
Bottoms by Calvin Klein- "Calfhugger Terminator Wonder Pants" $999
Socks by Dior- Sewn with scraps from the Shroud of Turin $Priceless


The Explorer-
Here we see our beloved hermit in traditional outdoor garb. He chooses not to fight nature, but become part of endless flow of life and death embodied by the stainless steel refrigerator in the background. The pose suggests a traditional outlook, but with a streak of hermitly maverickness that screams "I will rock you like a hurricane".

Coat by Beyonce, made from the hopes and dreams of inner city children- $6000
Pants by Fabio, made of Unicorn skin- $4995
Boots from Harrods, originally worn by Lord Nelson at Waterloo- $15999
Hat made from the fur of the Minotaur- $15
Pistol by Smith and Wesson. Size large. $First born child.


The Explorer (Snowmachine Edition)-
Here we see the hermit displaying the traditional outerware of the snowmachining sect of hermits. It is very similar to the more ancient clothing worn by The Explorer, but features additional accessories like night vision goggles and a machete. For those looking to go all out, chainsaws are always a good choice to complement this outfit.

Machete by Boar the Fighter (Salamandastron series), forged from the pieces of a fallen star with the spirits of every great warrior. $4.99
Goggles by Chanel- $699

That is pretty much all a hermit wears. All the time. That covers just about every situation, I think.

In the race for the Memorial Anthony of Egypt National Most Hermitly Award Uganda has shown some staying power! They have retaken the lead from a powerhouse New Zealand! Is there any hope for other countries or is this turning into a two horse race? The hopes for a third contender lie squarely on the shoulders of South Africa. A version of every outfit featured here has been added to the prize pool for the winner of the Memorial Anthony of Egypt National Most Hermitly Award.

The Hermitage Safety Guide and Urinating Trees

Another cold day today. 20 below seems to be the temperature of choice for this part of the woods. I was slothful this morning. I had no interest in doing anything at all, and I managed to make Sancho buy into this philosophy for the day. Until the afternoon, that is, but I always knew it was a battle I could never win. So I went skiing. I am trying a new strategy where I get Sancho tremendously hyped before we go out so he will sprint hither and yon through the forest foaming at the mouth until he exhausts himself, regardless of how far I am skiing. He went sprinting hither and yon, but he came back with a frozen pile of poo he found somewhere and started gnawing on it in front of me. Right now I'm thinking the results are mixed at best.

I made the very interesting discovery that I am currently living in the only urinating forest known to man. Observe...

"Sancho probably just peed there" you say. LIES. While he does feel the need to cover just about everything in the forest with his scent, he is not responsible for this. Every tree is like this, too. Do you know how quiet it is here? Very quiet. At night, I think I can hear the faint sound of the trees unzipping in the distance. They are peeing, I tell you!

In the barrels of fan mail I receive from New Zealand and Uganda, I frequently get asked questions about the problems of hermitage and the obstacles that must be overcome. They ask about the short days, the cold weather, the isolation, the lack of fresh vegetables, and of course the difficulties associated with a wood stove hot tub. I'm here to tell you that hermitage has its problems, and everything above is included on the list, but all of it pales in comparison to the one real problem I have out here: serial killers.

The isolation is the real issue here, because the nearest neighbors are at least seven or eight miles away, so even a semi-coherent serial killer would have you at their mercy should they choose to practice there nefarious habits at this cabin. Pencil into the equation the fact that there have been mass murders here before, (in 1983 a computer programmer from California went crazy and tried to kill everyone in McCarthy. He eventually ended up killing six people) and you can maybe understand my concern.

So I have spent significant time considering my options in the event I have a visitor intent upon committing some serial killings, and I am more prepared than that kid in Home Alone. First, all the windows can be covered by metal shutters which I roll down every night, seen in this horrible picture.

And then I lock all the doors, sweep every room in the house before going to bed, and sleep with an anti-tank missile on the bedside table while cradling a plethora of small arms. I also make Sancho sleep in the room, ready to sound the alarm. So to any potential Ugandan hit men planning an attack out there, be warned. I am prepared. The same routine applies when I am showering. I have never seen Psycho, and I never will because I would never take a shower again (I know I have my father's sympathy on this). Just the description of the movie provided by friends is enough to make me seriously consider showering with a butcher knife.

Speaking of Uganda, they continue to fall behind New Zealand in the Memorial Anthony of Egypt National Most Hermitly Award. Here is a photograph taken by Andy Warhol of that noble hermitly soul. It will be included as part of the prize package.