To Build a Fire

"He was quick in the things of life, but only the things, and not in his thoughts and feelings."

The day was cold and grey, when the man turned from the main Yukon trail and climbed the high dirt hill, where a less-travelled path led east through the forest. It was nine o'clock. There was no sun, though there was not a cloud in the sky. Yet, there was a gloom that made the day dark. This fact did not worry the man. He was used to no sun. It had been days since he had seen the sun, and he knew a few more days must pass before seeing it again.

The earth of the Yukon lay a kilometre wide under a metre of snow. It was pure white. North and south, as far as his eye could see, it was unbroken white. Except a dark hairline from around the tree-covered land to the south. This dark hairline was the trail - the main trail - that led south eight hundred kilometres to the Chilcoot Pass.

But all this - the long, long hair-line trail, the sunless sky, the terrible cold and the strangeness of it all - did not affect the man. It was not because it was very familiar. He was a newcomer in the land and this was his first winter.

The trouble with him was that he lacked imagination. He was quick and alert in the things of life. Fifty degrees below zero meant that the cold could hurt and gloves, woollen hats, warm boots and thick socks must all be used. Fifty degrees below zero was to him precisely fifty degrees below zero. Anything more never entered his head.

As he turned to go, he spat. There was a sharp crack that shocked him. He spat again. And again, in the air, before it could fall to the snow, the spit made the same noise. It was definitely colder than fifty below - how much colder he did not know. But the temperature did not matter. He was going to Henderson Creek, where the boys were already.

He would be in camp by six o'clock; a bit after dark, but the boys would be there, a fire would be lit, and a hot supper would be ready. As for lunch, it was under his shirt in a handkerchief. It was the only way to stop the bread from freezing. He smiled as he thought of those biscuits, each cut open and full of meat.

He walked in the big trees. The trail was almost invisible. New snow had fallen and he was glad he was travelling light. In fact, he carried nothing except the food in the handkerchief. He was surprised, however, at the cold. He had a large beard, but the hair on his face did not protect his cheeks and nose that were open to the icy air.

There was a dog with the man, a big husky, without any visible difference from a wolf. The animal understood the terrible cold. It knew that it was no time to travel. Its instinct told it that its life was in the man's hands. In reality, it was not just colder than fifty below zero; it was colder than sixty below, than seventy below. It was seventy-five below. Since freezing point is thirty-two above zero, it meant that there were one hundred and seven degrees of ice. The dog did not know anything about thermometers. But the animal had its instinct. It did not want to get moving. But finally it started walking at the man's feet. And that made it question every movement of the man as if expecting him to go into camp and build a fire. The dog had learnt about fire and it wanted fire now, or at least to dig under the snow and keep its warmth away from the air.

The frozen moisture of the dog's breathing had stayed on its fur in a fine powder of ice. The man's red beard and moustache were also icy. But he did not mind the frozen beard.

He walked straight in the woods, crossing to a small, frozen stream. This was Henderson Creek, and he knew he was ten kilometres from the forks. He looked at his watch. It was ten o'clock. He was making six kilometres an hour, and he calculated that he would arrive at the forks at half-past twelve. He decided to celebrate by eating his lunch there.

The dog marched again at his feet, as the man moved along the frozen river. The old trail was visible, but thirty centimetres of snow covered the footprints of the last walkers. In a month no man had come up or down that river. The man held on. He was not very keen on thinking and he had nothing to think about except that he would eat lunch at the forks and that at six o'clock he would be in camp with the boys. There was nobody to talk to anyway.

Once in a while he thought that he had never been so cold. As he walked along he warmed his cheeks and nose with his gloved hand. The moment he stopped, his cheeks and the end of his nose went numb.

Although the man's mind was empty, he was aware of the snow and he noticed changes in the river and he was always careful where he put his feet. Once, coming around a bend, he was surprised that just where he had been walking, he noticed water under the ice - a great danger. He went back several steps along the trail. He had thought the river was frozen to the bottom - but there were springs that came out from the hillsides and ran along under the snow. He knew their danger. They hid water under the snow that might be ten centimetres deep or a hundred! Sometimes ice just a centimetre thick covered them and that, in turn, was covered by the snow.

That was why he had felt panic. He had felt the movement under his feet and heard the crack of a snow-hidden covering of ice. And to get his feet wet in such a temperature meant danger. At least it meant delay, because he would be forced to stop and build a fire, and bare his feet while he dried his socks and boots. He stood and studied the river and decided that the water came from the right. He considered a while, warming his nose and cheeks, then moved to the left, stepping carefully and testing the ice before each step. When he was away from the danger, he moved on at his six-kilometre an hour rate.

In the course of the next two hours he found several similar dangers. Usually the snow above the hidden water looked different, clearly showing the danger. Once again, however, he nearly fell in and he made the dog go in front. The dog did not want to go. It stayed back until the man pushed it forward, and then it went quickly across the white, unbroken snow. Suddenly it fell through the ice, falling to one side, before finding more solid ground. It had wet its feet and legs, and almost immediately the water on them turned to ice. The dog made quick efforts to lick the ice off its legs, then dropped in the snow and began to bite out the ice that had come between the toes. This was instinct. To allow the ice to remain would mean sore feet. The man knew this and he removed the glove from his right hand and helped pull away the ice. He did not leave his fingers in the cold more than a minute and was amazed how fast they became numb. It certainly was cold. He pulled on the glove quickly and hit the hand across his chest.

At twelve o'clock the day was at its brightest. Yet the sun was too far south on its winter journey to come over the horizon. At half-past twelve exactly, he arrived at the forks of the river. He was pleased at the speed he had made. If he kept it up, he would certainly be with the boys by six. He unbuttoned his jacket and shirt and took out his lunch with his bare hands. The action took no more than fifteen seconds, yet in that brief moment he felt the numbness of his fingers. He did not put the gloves back on, but, instead, hit his fingers a dozen times against his leg. Then he sat down on a snow-covered log to eat. He no longer felt the pain that should follow the hitting of his fingers against his leg and he was worried - no feeling? He had had no chance to take a bite of biscuit. He hit the fingers repeatedly and put the glove back on, taking off the other glove to eat with. He tried to take a mouthful but the ice around his mouth and beard prevented this. He had forgotten to build a fire and warm up. He laughed at his stupidity and, as he laughed, he noticed the pain in his toes when he sat down was already passing away. He wondered whether the toes were warm or numb. He moved them inside the boots and decided they were numb.

He pulled the glove on hurriedly and stood up. He was a bit frightened. He walked up and down until the pain returned to his feet - happy to feel anything. It certainly was cold, was what he thought. That old man from Sulphur Creek had spoken the truth when he told him how cold it sometimes got. And he had laughed at him at the time! There was no mistake about it, it was cold. He walked up and down, stamping his feet and waving his arms until comforted by the returning warmth. Then he got out matches and made a fire. He got his firewood. Working carefully from a small beginning, he soon had a fire and melted the ice on his face and, in the warmth, he ate his bread. The dog was happy with the fire, close enough for warmth and far enough away not to be burnt.

When the man had finished, he filled his pipe and took his time over a smoke. Then he pulled on his gloves, pulled down his hat, and started up the river trail to the left fork. The dog was disappointed and pushed back towards the fire. The man did not know cold. But the dog knew; all its ancestors knew too. And it knew that it was not good to walk in such terrible cold. On the other hand, there was no connection between the dog and the man. So the dog made no effort to communicate the danger to the man. It was not worried about the welfare of the man; it was for its own sake that it wanted the warmth of the fire. But the man spoke to the dog to move and the dog walked at the man's feet.

There did not seem to be so many water springs on the left fork and for half an hour the man saw no signs of any. And then it happened. At a place where there were no signs, where the soft, unbroken snow seemed solid beneath, the man broke through. It was not deep. He wet himself halfway to the knees before he got to firm ground.

He was angry, and cursed his bad luck aloud. He had hoped to get into camp with the boys at six o'clock, and this would delay him an hour, because he had to build a fire and dry out his boots and socks. He found dry firewood - sticks and twigs, but also larger branches. He threw down several large pieces on top of the snow. This will be the base for the fire and prevent the flame becoming wet in the snow. The flame burnt and putting it on the base, he fed the fire with dry grass and with the tiniest twigs.

He worked slowly and carefully, aware of his danger. Slowly, as the flame grew stronger, he increased the size of the twigs. He pulled twigs out from the bushes and fed them directly to the flame. He knew he must not fail. When it is seventy-five below zero, a man must build a fire - if his feet are wet. If his feet are dry, and he fails, he can run along the trail for a while and make the blood rush to his freezing feet. But blood in wet and freezing feet cannot be warmed by running when it is seventy-five below. No matter how fast he runs, the wet feet will freeze.

The man knew all this. The old man at Sulphur Creek had told him about it the previous fall and now he was grateful for the advice. Already all feeling had gone out of his feet. To build the fire he had to remove his gloves and the fingers had quickly gone numb. His pace of six kilometres an hour had kept his heart pushing blood to his body. But the moment he stopped, the blood had slowed. His arms and legs were the first to feel the loss. His wet feet froze the fastest, and his fingers numbed as well, though they had not yet begun to freeze. Nose and cheeks were already freezing, while his skin all over his body cooled as it lost its blood.

But he was safe. Toes and nose and cheeks would only be touched by the ice because the fire was beginning to burn with force. He was adding twigs the size of his finger. In another minute he would be able to add branches the size of his wrist, and then he could remove his wet boots and socks, and, while they dried, he could keep his feet warm by the fire, warming them at first, of course, with snow. The fire was a success. He was safe. He remembered the advice of the old man at Sulphur Creek, and smiled. He had been very serious, saying no man must travel alone in the Klondike after fifty below. Well, here he was; he had had the accident; he was alone; and he had saved himself. All a man had to do was to keep his head, and he was alright. Any man who was a man could travel alone. But it was surprising how quickly his cheeks and nose were freezing. And he had not thought his fingers could be frozen in so short a time. But frozen they were because he could hardly make them move even to pick up a twig. When he touched a twig, he had to look and see whether or not he was holding it.

There was the fire, promising life with every dancing flame. He started to take off his boots. They were covered with ice; the thick socks were frozen halfway to the knees. He needed to cut the strings on his boots. But before he could, it happened. It was his fault or, rather, his mistake. He should not have built the fire under the tree. He should have built it in the open. Now the tree under which he built the fire broke under the weight of snow on its branches. No wind had blown for weeks, and each branch was fully loaded. It grew like an avalanche and it dropped its full load without warning on the man and the fire, and the fire was out!

The man was shocked. It was as though he had just seen his own death. For a moment he sat and stared at the spot where the fire had been. Then he grew very calm. Perhaps the old man at Sulphur Creek was right. If he had only had a friend, he would have been in no danger now. He could have built the fire. Even if he succeeded on his own, he would lose some toes. His feet must be badly frozen by now, and there would be some time before the second fire was ready.

These were his thoughts, but he did not sit and think about them. He made a new base for a fire, this time in the open, where no tree could put it out. Next he gathered dry grasses and tiny twigs from the river. He could not hold his fingers together to pull them, but he was able to get them by the handful. He worked carefully and managed an armful of larger branches to be used later when the fire gained strength. And all the time the dog sat and watched him, a certain need in its eyes, for it looked on him as the giver of the fire and the fire was not coming.

When the branches were ready, the man reached in his pocket for a second match. He knew the match was there although he could not feel it with his fingers. But despite all his efforts, he could not hold it. And all the time, in his mind, was the knowledge that each passing moment his feet were freezing. This thought put him in a panic, but he fought against it and tried to remain calm. He pulled on his gloves with his teeth, and waved his arms, hitting his hands with all his effort against his sides. And all the while the dog sat in the snow, its tail around its front feet, its ears forward, as it watched the man. And the man, as he hit and waved with his arms, felt jealous of the dog's fur.

After a time he was aware of some feeling in his fingers. The feeling grew stronger, becoming a painful ache, but the man shouted with happiness. He took the glove from his right hand and held the match. His fingers were quickly going numb again. All the matches fell in the snow. He tried to pick one up but failed. The dead fingers could neither touch nor feel. He was very careful. He drove from his mind the thought of his freezing feet and nose and cheeks, focusing his whole attention on the matches. He watched, as he could not feel anymore, and when he saw his fingers on each side of the bunch, he closed them - that is, he tried to close them. He pulled off the glove on the right hand and beat it against his knee to try to bring the blood back again. Then, with both gloved hands, he caught up the matches, along with a lot of snow, into his lap. Yet he was no better off.

After some handling, he managed to get the matches between his hands. In this way, he brought them to his mouth. The ice cracked around his beard when he opened his mouth. He pulled his lower jaw in, pushed his upper lip out of the way, and bit at the matches with his teeth to separate a single match from the box. He managed to get one, which he dropped on his lap. Then he thought of a way of picking the match up. He picked it up in his teeth and scratched it on his leg to light it. Twenty times he scratched before it lit. But as he held it between his teeth the burning wood went up his nostrils and into his lungs, making him cough. The match fell into the snow and went out.

Suddenly he took hold of all the matches between his hands. Then he scratched them along his leg. They burst into flame, seventy matches at once! There was no wind to blow them out. He kept his head to one side to escape the fumes, and held the blaze to the twigs. As he was holding it, he became aware of feeling in his hand. His skin was burning. He could smell it. The feeling became pain that grew to agony. And still he focused, holding the flame of the matches to the wood that would not light, because his own burning hands were in the way.

At last, when he could stand no more, he pulled his hands apart. The burning matches fell into the snow but the wood was alight. He began laying dry grass and the tiniest twigs on the flame. It meant life, and it must not die. Then a large piece of wood fell on the little fire. He tried to move it with his fingers, but he only disturbed the centre, the burning grass and tiny twigs separating. Each twig gave a puff of smoke and went out. As he looked defeated around him, his eyes looked upon the dog, sitting across from him in the snow, making restless movements, slightly lifting one foot and then the other, moving its weight back and forth on them worriedly.

Seeing the dog put a wild idea into his head. He remembered the story of the man, caught in a blizzard, who had killed a cow and crawled inside the body, and so was saved. He would kill the dog and put his hands in the warm body until the numbness went out of them. Then he could build another fire. He spoke to the dog, calling it to him; but in his voice was the sound of fear. It scared the animal, who had never heard the man speak in this way before. Something was wrong and it sensed danger - somewhere, somehow. At the sound of the man's voice, it moved more around, lifting its legs and feet more rapidly; and it would not come to the man. The man got on his hands and knees and crawled towards the dog. This unusual position again made the dog cautious, and the animal backed away.

The man sat up in the snow for a moment and tried to remain calm. Then he pulled on his gloves with his teeth and got on his feet. He looked down in order to make sure that he was really standing up, because the lack of feeling in his feet left him uncertain. When he spoke, the sound of violence was in his voice and the dog came to him. As it came within touching distance, the man lost his control. His arms sprang out to the dog and he was very surprised when he discovered that his hands could not hold it, that there was no feeling in the fingers. He had forgotten for the moment that they were frozen and that they were freezing more and more. All this happened quickly, and before the animal could get away, he pulled its body to him with his arms. He sat down in the snow, and held the dog, while it struggled to get away.

But it was all he could do, hold its body in his arms and sit there. He knew that he could not kill the dog. There was no way to do it. With his frozen hands he could not hold his knife to harm the animal. He let it go, and it ran away, its tail between its legs. It stopped ten metres away looking back him curiously, with its ears forward.

The man looked down at his hands in order to find them. It seemed curious that he should have to use his eyes to find out where his hands were. Fear of death came. This fear quickly became real as he realised that it was no longer only freezing fingers and toes, or losing his hands and feet, but that it was life or death, with the chances against him. This threw him into a panic and he turned and ran up the frozen river. The dog joined in behind and kept up with him. He ran blindly, with fear like he had never known in his life.

Slowly he began to see things again - the leafless trees, the sky. The running made him feel better. Maybe, if he ran on, his feet would warm up; and, anyway, if he ran far enough, he would reach camp and the boys. Without doubt he would lose some fingers and toes and some of his face; but the boys would take care of him, and save the rest of him when he got there. And at the same time there was another thought in his mind that said he would never get to the camp and the boys; that it was too far away, that the freezing had gone too far and that he would soon be dead. This thought he kept in the background and refused to consider. Sometimes it pushed itself forward and demanded to be heard, but he tried to think of other things.

It seemed odd that he could run at all with feet so frozen. But his plans of running until he reached camp and the boys had one problem with it; he lacked the strength. Several times he fell. When he tried to get up, he failed. He must sit and rest, he decided, and next time he would just walk and keep on going. As he sat, he noticed that he was feeling quite warm and comfortable. It even seemed that warmth had come to his chest. And yet, when he touched his nose or cheeks, there was no feeling. The thought of freezing to death made him run again.

And all the time the dog ran with him. When he fell down a second time, it moved its tail over its feet and sat in front of him, curiously eager. The warmth and security of the animal angered him, and he cursed it. He was losing his battle with the cold. The thought of it drove him on, but he ran no more than thirty metres, when he fell over again. It was his last panic. When he had got his breath and control, he sat up and thought about meeting his death with calmness. He had made a fool of himself, running around like a chicken with its head cut off. Well, he was bound to freeze anyway and he might as well accept it. With this new peace of mind came the first sleepiness. A good idea, he thought, to sleep till death. It was like taking a pain killer. Freezing was not as bad as people thought. There were lots of worse ways to die.

He pictured the boys finding his body next day. Suddenly he found himself with them, coming along the trail and looking for himself. And, still with them, he came along the trail and found himself lying in the snow. He did not belong with himself any more, because even then he was out of himself, standing with the boys and looking at himself in the snow. When he got back to the States he could tell his family what real cold was.

"You were right, you were right," the man mumbled to the old man at Sulphur Creek.

Then the man dozed off into what seemed to him the most comfortable sleep he had ever known. The dog sat facing him and waiting. The brief day was changing to a long, slow twilight. There were no signs of a fire to be made and the dog had never known a man to sit like that in the snow and make no fire. As the evening arrived, it needed fire and with a great lifting of its feet, it tried to wake the man. He remained silent. Later the dog went closer to the man and caught the smell of death. It waited a little longer under the stars that danced and shone brightly in the cold sky. Then it turned and walked up the trail to the camp it knew, where there would be providers of food and fire.