A Normal Day

Editor’s Note: Though we firmly believe fiction is Stranger Than Truth, we never said there aren’t some pretty badass truths out there—like a day in the life of contributor Tim Dallimore, who lives and works in the Yukon.

I like to eat pop tarts in the morning. A few months ago I decided I was going to go all caveman on everyone’s ass, and part of that meant not ever making myself good meals. Also it included not shaving ever or cutting my hair. Anyway, I woke up and tossed a couple of pop tarts into the toaster. Then I ate a bagel with cream cheese and a bowl of fruit loops. Enough about breakfast. I eat a lot. Mostly garbage. Then me and Tom got into the burb (the Suburban truck). We drove it to the other dudes’ houses and picked them up. We all got coffee and juice from the Gas station. Then I went to Shannon’s house to get my Shan-wich.

We all went to the compound. I got my shit ready in the gear shed. That means I cut a bunch of pieces of wire and sharpened my axe. My axe needs to be sharp enough to skin a bear. I walked back into the office at the compound and got my map. It shows me where the mountains will be during my day. We drove out to the chopper pad, which happens to be pretty far away these days. So there are the five of us, driving down the Yukon highway listening to Rammstien. I usually like to listen to the Batman theme by Danny Elfman to get pumped, but I guess today was a day for Rammstien. Finally we reached the helipad. We had to roll a bunch of Jet “B” fuel out of the truck and get it ready for the chopper if he wanted to fuel up. I spent my time waiting for the chopper saying things in a British accent.

Steve came and got us and we flew into the distance. The horizon changed from flat, to mountainous, to mountain range and eventually, right at my set out, we arrived at the murder horn (Editor’s Note: Tim keeps referring to this and I have no idea what it is, unless they are working on a fictional mountain from The Simpsons). I had to do a hover exit. That means that the chopper doesn’t actually land, we just hover above the ground and I hang off the skid and get out. You can’t jump out of a helicopter—it’s not like the movies. You have to slowly ease your way out, so that the pilot doesn’t spin wildly out of control and kill everyone. I gave the thumbs up and that means the helicopter can take off. Then I bust out my radio and say: “Jolly good landing lads, see you at the end of the day!”

I stared skiing down the hill on my boots because it was so steep. Then I began my day. Tie a ribbon to a tree, move towards my end. When I get to my point, I cut a tree into a 2×2 post. Then I make three more. I wire them all together and put my tags on them. Then I get my ribbon out and move to the next point. It sounds easy, but its pretty rough. Especially when you have to climb up and down the murder horn. I finally ended my day on a north facing slope. I was pretty proud of myself because I was so early, so I chopped up some old man’s beard and build a rager of a fire. I put my chili on the fire and started chopping buck brush so that the chopper could land and pick me up. I sat there for a while and stoked the fire and ate my chili and eventually the chopper came. I took out my big orange chopper flag and they dropped down and picked me up, then we flew back into town. And that describes a typical day in my life.

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