“Build what?” Nate wondered, more confused at this point than worried.
“A snow hut,” she told him nonchalantly. “Uh, Natives call them quinzhees.”
Ah, yes. Nate remembered reading something about them once on a survivalist website, but in all his years of prepping, he had never actually bothered to make one.
“Couple years ago, Uncle Roger and I made one on a winter hunting trip in the Adirondacks. Takes a while to get started, but you’ll see it’s well worth it in the end.”
After dismounting, they tied the horses to a nearby tree and marked out a circular section in the snow about twenty feet in diameter. Afterward, they began piling snow into the center. Nate went into his go-bag and produced a small tactical survival shovel he’d purchased online. The compact size made the work feel even more backbreaking than it was, but it certainly increased the speed. Within the span of an hour, they had created a pile eight feet tall.
After they were done, Nate and Dakota stood, admiring their handiwork.
“Now we let it sit for at least two hours.”
She was right. It would take time for the snow particles to rebind into an ultra-hard dome. But once the two hours had passed, Nate and his spade would get to work once more, carving out the inside in order to create a living space.
Dakota’s arms were folded over her chest. “If we make the entrance right, it should block the wind and provide a really comfortable shelter.”
“In the meantime,” Nate said, “I’ll gather some wood for a fire.”
Less than twenty feet away, a fallen birch tree sat at a forty-five-degree angle, a fortuitous discovery since birch made great firewood. Likewise, the paper-like quality of the tree’s bark made for terrific kindling. For this task, he employed a small hatchet, another online purchase. After scanning the area around him for threats—the wolf was still around here somewhere—and finding none, Nate got to work, collecting what he could.
Meanwhile, back at camp, Dakota was busy clearing out a section for the firepit. Once she was done, she layered it with evergreen branches. This would keep the wood dry and also make it easier to light. She then collected another, larger bundle and set it aside for later use inside the snow hut.
The insulating quality of the forest reduced the gale from the highway to a cool, gentle breeze. Nate marveled at how quiet it was here, maybe even serene, a sense tainted whenever the sharp end of his hatchet dug into the birch tree. Already he had set aside a generous portion of kindling and was working on adding a few larger pieces. He had camped out in summer long enough to know how much wood a fire could consume in a single session. Taking a moment to glance over at Dakota’s firepit, he appreciated how she had dug down into the snow to create a sitting area. This would not only reduce visibility to any passersby on the highway, digging the hole would also prevent the campfire from collapsing as the snow melted from the heat.
Returning his attention to the fallen tree, Nate raised the hatchet and brought it down into the groove he’d recently created. It should have been the coup de grâce. Except, instead of hearing a satisfying thunk, all he got was a discordant clang, followed by a plop. He stared down in disbelief at the bladeless hatchet handle. The metal end had fallen off, landing at his feet in a clump of deep snow.
He heard giggling from the camp site and a muffled sound as Dakota clapped her gloved mittens together. “Bravo!”
He held up the handle and waved it around proudly. “Would you believe I paid a hundred bucks for this thing? Twelve hundred reviews on Amazon with four point seven stars out of five.”
Dakota laughed even harder, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink.
He returned to the dead tree and brought the bottom of his fist down on the splintered end. It snapped off at once and fell into his pile. Afterward, he fished the hatchet blade out of the snow and reattached it.
With camp ready and the horses fed, they set about lighting the fire. Both he and Dakota rummaged in their respective bags for the necessary gear. Seconds later, Nate emerged with a flint fire starter. The device was divided into two parts. The first consisted of a three-inch rod of magnesium and flint. Next to that was the striker. The process was simple enough. You began by shaving off magnesium and setting it on a uniform surface. Then you ran the striker along the flint, directing the sparks at the shavings. Once the shavings caught, you could then begin adding your kindling, going from the smallest pieces on up. Given that humans had discovered the art of making fire tens, if not hundreds of thousands of years ago, you could hand the kit to a young child and they’d have the details figured out in no time.
“Or we could use this,” Dakota said, flashing the lighter she had just removed from her bag.
Nate waved his hand. “Okay, smartypants. Be my guest.”
She lit the birch bark with the lighter and the flames began to spread at once, the wood positioned above it crackling and popping. The waves of heat dancing along his frozen cheeks felt amazing.
“I needed a knife earlier to cut the evergreen branches,” Dakota began.
“There was one in my bag,” he told her.
She held it up. “Yeah, I found it. Hope you don’t mind. You were so concentrated on showing that fallen tree who’s boss, I felt bad disturbing you.”
“That’s fine. My go-bag doesn’t contain any secrets.”
Dakota nodded. “Yeah, I noticed. It also doesn’t contain anything all that useful.”
Nate straightened. “What do you mean?”
She was trying hard to hide the smile on her face. “I’m just saying you’ve got a lot of gadgets that look great but aren’t all they’re chalked up to be.”
“You mean the hatchet?” It was back in one piece and he held it up as if to prove the point.
“Yes, but more than that. For instance, there’s the tactical flashlight that’s supposed to be waterproof, but isn’t. A compass that doesn’t work. The knife that has the name of that survival guy on TV. In and of itself, a celebrity-endorsed product might not be the end of the world, but after cutting a few saplings, I can already see the blade is starting to dull.”
Nate threw his head back and bellowed laughter. “Okay, enough. I get your point.”
“If there was one thing my uncle Roger taught me, it’s that most of the kits sold online are junk made in China. In the nine months we spent together, I don’t ever remember seeing him with any shiny, high-tech gear. He was a big believer in the KISS philosophy.”
“Keep it simple, stupid,” Nate said, agreeing. She was a smart little bugger, or at the very least observant. “It’s funny. You collect all this stuff hoping you’re never going to need to use it. But it makes you feel good. Makes you feel safe, like you’re ready for the worst possible scenario. The truth is I’m starting to think that none of us are ever truly ready for a disaster of this magnitude.” I learned my lesson the hard way with the hatchet.” He plucked up the tactical spade. “Let’s hope this holds out until after we finish the quinzhees.”
After placing a fresh log on the fire, they tested the hardness of the shelter. Nate clambered up the side and stood on the dome, marveling at the structure’s ability to carry his entire weight. Satisfied, they began to dig their way inside, Nate with the spade, Dakota behind him pulling out the icy snow and tossing it aside. Once a sizable sleeping space had been carved out, Dakota went in with the evergreen saplings she had cut down and made a decently insulated sleeping platform. It might not be the Ritz Carlton, but compared with the prospect of sleeping outside, it didn’t feel far off.