My footprints on Kashevaroff Mountain:
especially not having to worry about the bears now deep in hibernation. Frequent sunny days made the island into an airport giftshop postcard -- too good to be true.
Bluebird sky day view of Women's Bay:
Salonie Creek at sunrise:
It's not that it wasn't beautiful, because it truly was, but anything too good to be true comes with a catch.
Reflection of mountains in Felton Creek in Middle Bay:
Lake Rose Tead in Pasagshak:
The hitch with this Winter Camelot was spending three-quarters of the day in the dark. I had conveniently forgotten what it was like to spend the majority of the day in darkness, wondering what was going on outside. More importantly, I had forgotten that there is something about the lack of sunlight that makes me hungry. Ravenous, even. I have no idea why. Maybe I have a hibernating instinct or deep down I worry that I might be stranded in the backcountry and need to live off my own fat for several months. When I see sea lions or seals out in the bay with their thick layer of blubber I feel admiration with a side twinge of jealousy. And a little peckish. Beware the fat-laden baked good that comes into my view.
Kodiak, with about six hours of daylight around the solstice, isn't even that bad compared to places like Fairbanks which is located at a latitude that teases one with glimpses of the sun (I watched the sun rise and set over the course of two hours while sitting in a hotel room in Fairbanks in December. That was depressing.). One day in Fairbanks I went to an antique store with my mom. The store had a plate of cheese, salami, and veggies set out which I hovered over while trying to feign interest in a blackened pitcher that appeared to have lived over a campfire for the last century. Eventually, I finished most of the plate, proud that I had exercised enough restraint to leave a couple cherry tomatoes and carrots for another customer. I was still hungry, however, and decided to venture further afield in hopes that I might stumble upon another plate of goodies lying about.
My search was fruitless. There was nothing else ready to eat in the store and someone had taken the cherry tomatoes and carrots by the time I circled back to the known food source. I caught myself considering the merits of gnawing the leather on a pair of old snowshoes hung on the wall. I forced myself to look away and my gaze fell on a cookbook: Cooking Alaskan. Since I was already hungry, I decided perusing a cookbook wasn't going to make me any more famished.
I opened to a page at random and was instantly delighted with what I saw. The cookbook was pure gold. Aside from the mundane recipes for Roast Moose Heart with Cranberry Stuffing, Fried Beaver Tail, or Caribou Agutuk (caribou tallow, seal or whale oil, ground caribou meat and broth all whipped into a fluff with a few berries for good measure. Allegedly sweet.), there is both big game like Polar Bear Braised Steaks with Onions and the dubious, smaller game Chicken-Fried Muskrat. Perhaps some Lynx Stew is in order? Let's not forget the ocean. Four-Day Spiced Walrus sounds rather spicy, but definitely preferable to Boiled Walrus Skin or Whale Oil Sugar Cookies. Perhaps you like living on the edge and feel like illegally consuming something endangered. How about the delightful Sea Lion Meatballs and Spaghetti? If you prefer to stay out of jail, it might be possible to console yourself with Seal Liver and Wheat Germ Saute or perhaps Seal Brains au Gratin. Don't tell me you aren't tempted.
My favorite so far involves our feathered friends: Duck in the Mud. The recipe assumes that one has shot a duck in the morning before having breakfast. I, personally, would have to eat breakfast first, but whatever. Here are the directions: "While you are having breakfast, build up a good campfire in a hollow. Your duck or goose is eviscerated, so wipe it inside and out with a cloth. Rub the inside thoroughly with salt and a little pepper. Stuff cavity with an apple, an onion or both. Fold the feathers to cover all openings and plaster the whole thing with a coat of clay mud (sand or loam will not do) about an inch thick. Place the bird in the bottom of your fire among the ashes and cover it well with wood. Go hunting all day, and when you return for dinner, be prepared for the best duck or goose you ever tasted. Dig it out of the ashes (it should still be hot) and break off the clay. The feathers come with it." Genius. Pure genius. And there are no dishes to clean!
There was no question. It was clear I couldn't live without the cookbook so I bought it as a Christmas gift to myself.
I pored over the enticing pages all the way back to Kodiak. With no muskox or black bear in the freezer, I would be unable to whip up anything in the 300 pages set aside for animals roaming in one's backyard or found mangled on the road. The section devoted to baked goods with sourdough as a main ingredient soon had my full attention, however. Cooking with a batter descended directly from a partially fermented substance that may or may not have included potatoes, flour, and assorted malt beverages thrown together over a century ago is not for everyone. Personally, I love sourdough pancakes and waffles, but had never considered including sourdough starter in baked goods. In my mind that would be an unholy sweet and savory mix like chocolate covered bacon. Excellent separate, yes, but together, well, that's not exactly a taste sensation a person wants lingering on their tongue. I was intrigued. Especially because these would be fat-laden baked goods made with lard. My palms got sweaty just thinking about the possibilities.
I started off with something simple: Sourdough Squash Bars. With no canned squash on hand due to a terrible summer for the greenhouse, I used the allowed alternate ingredient of canned pumpkin. So basically the Sourdough Squash Bars became Sourdough Pumpkin Bars. But what bars they were! Not too sweet and satisfyingly moist, they tasted faintly of sourdough in a pleasant way. Not at all like chocolate covered bacon. I made three batches.
As winter progressed, sourdough bars led to sourdough cookies and sourdough cookies led to sourdough cakes. By now I was confident enough to improvise and in a flash of inspiration I added a bit of peppermint to a sourdough chocolate cake recipe. It was superb (and 2 1/2 inches high in the cake pan!). I'm fully convinced sourdough is the way forward for baked goods.
Cooking Alaskan has become my favorite cookbook ever -- the ultimate antithesis of all the low-fat and vegetarian cookbooks clogging bookstore shelves. Although the baked goods section is well thumbed, the game section sits patiently while I look outside at the snow,
Cope and Erskine mountains just before sunrise:
View from Salonie Creek flats at sunrise:
waiting for hunting season or for someone to bring me some seal brains, whichever comes first.
