Winter in the Far North Tundra of Alaska is a very serious matter.
My Great-Uncle's diary mentioned that winter in the Far North Tundra arrives in October. After that comes a long winter season, including two months of polar night.
At that time, the entire Far North Region will be plunged into darkness. The ground will be buried under two to three meters of snow. Without enough food to last the winter, the only thing awaiting you is a dead end.
There are two ways to get food for the winter. The first is to buy it and have it airlifted in. The second is to hunt. Reindeer, moose, brown bears, black bears, fish, and even polar bears can all become food.
Buying food was something Feng Mountain definitely couldn't do.
Because he had no money. Although the cost of coming to Alaska was paid for by his Great-Uncle's inheritance, he still had to pay for other things himself, like the shipping fee for Coca-Cola, the cost of new clothes, and so on. By now, his pockets were completely empty. He had even borrowed a considerable amount from the couple, Black Hide and Hu Zi.
Besides, not only were prices high in Alaska, but shipping costs were even higher. The shipping fee for a pound of frozen meat was more than three times the price of the meat itself. If they ran into bad weather, the shipping costs would rise even more.
The supplies his Great-Uncle had left were only enough to last a week. He would have to rely on hunting and be frugal to get by.
Right now, the camp was short on a large amount of winter provisions: meat, salt, rice, sugar, spices, vegetables, fuel, wood...
Some he could get himself, but some he could only buy. Looking at the provisions list, Feng Mountain's head throbbed.
The fish in Gem Lake, in front of the camp, were plentiful, and the lake was within the bounds of the Crown Territory.
The fish he'd caught the past few days were fat and large.
Any one of them weighed four or five pounds. The meat was fresh and tender, tasting much better than some of the freshwater fish back home.
Yesterday, while hunting in the Moonlight Forest, he had found some fir trees. His Great-Uncle's diary said that using fir branches and needles to smoke meat and fish could preserve them for a long time.
So, today, Feng Mountain planned to go into the Moonlight Forest, cut some fir branches, and build a smokehouse to make smoked fish.
He placed a rope, an axe, and a rifle in the sled, then whistled for Coca-Cola.
Coca-Cola happily clambered onto his shoulder.
He pulled the sled and left the camp.
When he reached the edge of the forest, he heard the distinctive clucking of a Thunderbird. Coca-Cola, who had been lying on his shoulder, immediately perked up, stood excitedly, and stared with its big eyes in the direction of the sound.
Eating chicken every meal, no matter how delicious, was bound to get old for Feng Mountain someday.
'Forget it. Let it show off for another couple of days. Today, I'm just cutting down a tree, not hunting chicken!'
Hearing its master say this, Coca-Cola lazily flopped back down on his shoulder.
According to his Great-Uncle's diary, when felling trees for lumber, one should prioritize dead trees. This was because the inside of a dead tree was dry, making it not only good for burning but also a way of protecting the forest. After all, a dead tree was already dead, while a living tree could continue to grow.
He searched all over the dense forest and finally found a suitable dead tree. Its leaves had long since fallen, leaving only bare branches and pale bark. It was leaning crookedly against another tree.
It was a cedar tree, about 30 centimeters in diameter and around twenty meters tall.
The trunk was perfect. Not only could it be used to build the smokehouse, but the other branches could serve as firewood for the winter.
Feng Mountain picked Coca-Cola up by the scruff of its neck. "I'm getting to work. Go play somewhere else, but don't run off too far."
He then carried the axe over to the dead tree and circled it a few times, looking for a place to start chopping.
Felling a tree is a technical skill; you can't just hack away at it blindly.
First, you have to judge the tree's lean and center of gravity to determine the best felling direction. This prevents the tree from falling where it shouldn't, which could cause danger or damage.
Second, the angle and force of your cuts are also crucial. The wrong angle could cause the tree to get stuck or fall in an uncontrolled direction.
Finally, don't fucking fell a tree by yourself.
It's exhausting!
Feng Mountain first tied one end of the rope around the dead trunk. Then, he found a slightly open area and secured the other end of the rope. This was to prevent the tree from falling straight down after being cut and getting tangled in other branches, which would be a huge hassle.
Once he had the direction set, Feng Mountain took off his fur coat, leaving him in just a thin jacket. He spat into his palms, stood on the downwind side, raised his axe, and started hacking away at the base of the dead tree. WHAM! WHAM!
Every so often, he would pause to check if there were any problems with his cuts.
As a notch gradually appeared at the base of the tree, the trunk, unable to bear its own weight, began to make faint, crisp cracking sounds. CRACKLE...
'It's about to fall!'
Feng Mountain quickly called for Coca-Cola to get clear. He put down his axe and ran to where the rope was secured. He untied it from its anchor point, then braced himself against another tree trunk for leverage and pulled with all his might.
SNAP!
With a final tug, the dead tree fell just as Feng Mountain had planned, crashing into the open space. Dry branches shattered and flew everywhere.
Feng Mountain picked up his axe, walked over to the fallen tree, and cleared off the boughs. Then, using a handsaw, he cut the trunk into several sections and loaded them onto the sled.
Luckily, he'd built up a good physique over his years of "pedaling the sewing machine." That, combined with his recent hunting and the Soul Power his Witch Ring had collected to strengthen his body, made it possible. Otherwise, an ordinary person wouldn't have been able to lift a log weighing over a hundred pounds.
He didn't waste the remaining branches either. He tied them up with willow withes and stuffed them into the sled.
Next was the trip back.
Fortunately, the forest floor was covered in snow and a thick layer of fallen leaves, so the sled could just barely be dragged across it.
Even with the temperature at three or four degrees, Feng Mountain was shirtless, dragging the sled, which weighed several hundred pounds, back to the camp step by step.
After unloading the wood, Feng Mountain immediately returned to the forest without stopping to collect the rest of the lumber.
Back and forth he went, making four trips in total to haul the entire dead tree back to the camp.
Those four trips left Feng Mountain completely exhausted. He sat in a chair for a long time before he finally recovered.
Looking at the wood scattered in the clearing, Feng Mountain shook his head and gave a bitter smile. 'Living here isn't as wonderful as I imagined.'
He got up, picked up his axe, and walked into the woodshed at the back of the bus. This shed was his Great-Uncle's workshop, and it was filled with all sorts of tools, some of which Feng Mountain didn't even recognize.
He found a hammer, iron nails, and wire, then returned to the pile of wood in the clearing.
The smokehouse didn't need to be too big, nor did it require any special skills. It could even be a bit drafty. According to Feng Mountain's design, making it about the size of a refrigerator would be enough.
First, he dug a shallow pit in the clearing. He used the handsaw to cut the dead logs into uniform lengths. Without even bothering to trim the bark, he stacked them layer by layer, securing them with iron nails and wire. It was like stacking building blocks to form a square frame.
MEOW!
Coca-Cola thought its master was building it a cat house.
With its tail held high, it happily scurried inside.
"What are you getting into? Get out of there!" Feng Mountain grabbed Coca-Cola by the scruff and tossed it out.
The smokehouse gradually began to take shape. Although its crooked form wasn't pretty, its strength was that it was sturdy and solid.
Feng Mountain dug up some mud and carefully plugged the gaps between the logs.
Next, it was time to test his handiwork.
"Coca-Cola, want to go fishing?" Feng Mountain put on his fur coat, went back to the workshop, and found the fishing rod his Great-Uncle had left behind.
Coca-Cola, who had been sulking on top of the woodshed, immediately jumped onto Feng Mountain's shoulder upon hearing they were going fishing.
"You lazy bum. You won't even take a single extra step," Feng Mountain muttered. He grabbed the fishing rod and headed out of the camp toward Gem Lake.
He followed the shore of Gem Lake to find an open spot and took out the bait he had prepared earlier. The bait was the liver from the Thunderbird he'd hunted yesterday. The temperature in the Tundra region was low enough that it wouldn't spoil overnight.
He cut off a piece of the liver with a small knife, hooked it onto the fishhook, raised the rod, and cast it out.
As for technique, none was needed.
Gem Lake was frighteningly full of fish. You could get a bite the moment the hook hit the water.
A few seconds after the bait hit the water, the fishing line went taut. It began to move rapidly through the water, making a WHIZZING sound as it cut through the surface.
MEOW! MEOW!
Coca-Cola leaped to the ground, its eyes fixed on the brown fin that had broken the surface of the water, and let out an urgent cry.
Feng Mountain gripped the fishing rod with both hands.
"What's the rush? Can't you see I'm playing the fish?"
...