Em's Hooch

My very first fire.

So I have my own Hooch. When we all got back from our Klondike Adventure, Greg, Adam (our other cameraman who came to camp late and missed out on shooting the Klondike trip), Brandon, and Amber (Brandon’s girlfriend) all moved into the “Buzzard’s Roost”, while John and Beau got their own cabin, leaving me to be by myself. I love my own place, but the Roost has a TV, a shower, a running toilet, a full kitchen, and people who know how to start fires. The Hovel (what I named John and Beau’s hooch) was supposed to be my cabin, but when the boys saw that it had a running toilet, they claimed it and kicked me out. It’s pretty much the only thing that I miss from that hooch because at 3 am, it sucks to crawl out of your warm sleeping bag, find shoes and a jacket half awake in the dark and then walk 500 yards to an outhouse.

The plus side to my hooch is that it’s 100 yards from the Chow Hall, and coffee! I have neighbors that will watch my place (because I don’t have a lock) and make sure that everything is safe, and the best part…I have a sign with my name on the door. Why is this special, important? Most of the old timers, the people that have volunteered to work at camp for more than 2 years, most 15 years, all have signs on their hoochs. They’re given nicknames by other staff members for something they’ve done, usually something stupid, and then a sign appears on their hooch. It’s a sign of endearment.


A foggy evening.

Luckily I wasn’t given a sign for my little bath in the Baltic Sea the first week I was here, nope, it’s just a simple sign that says “Em’s”. When it was put up I wasn’t around, but Paul, made a point to let the boys know that he was tacking it up to my door. Greg and Adam have been to Cripple River for 4 years, Beau 2 years, and John is a newbee like me. None of them have signs, so when they saw mine they were slightly jealous. I wasn’t even around when it went up. I was the moron that strolled by one afternoon and actually looked at my door to say, “wow, I have a sign. Cool”. The Boys just down-casted their eyes and huffed.

Paul later told me he was the one that put it up, explained the importance of having a sign before being at the camp 2 years, how special I was, and then made me go on a treasure hunt to find the person who made me the sign. It turns out it was Diane, one of the old timer’s wife. She felt that if I was stuck working with the boys and living on my own, I deserved a sign. Plus she liked me and wanted to see the boy’s reactions to the sign. Hahaha.


About 10pm on the Cripple River

Over the first few days in my new hooch I kept ending up with presents on my front step or right inside the door. I found a bundle of kindling on the steps, I nearly tripped over a log of wood someone stuck right inside the door, my neighbor gave me his air mattress pump since the boys took mine, and Lisa handed me a blanket when I told her I was freezing at night. Things that have been handed to me: a bandana because a participant felt bad for me when I came back to camp and my face was covered in dirt; an air mattress, since mine deflates every night; a random rock; and a pack of wasabi peanuts since I mentioned at dinner I liked spicy food.

I’ve also received numerous offers for help in the shower (I’ve refused all, no need of a 70-year-old back washer), a few dates to the Friday Night party, and apparently my neighbor has become my pimp, saying it’s $10 for me to screw them – give me $10 and I walk away. Hehe. So far no one’s taken the bait, but I have got free beer. I’m still waiting for someone to give me some of his or her gold…it could happen.


Beach Highway to Camp with prospectors in foreground.

All in all, everyone is really nice. A little crooked, crude humor and rancid jokes from 60-80-year-olds, but it’s all in good fun and I think the old guys like me because I don’t back down, I’m hardly ever offended and I can make them blush just as much as they can attempt to make me blush. I started this trip thinking camp was boring and I would much rather be in the town of Nome, but now it’s the other way around. I can’t walk into the Chow Hall without someone stopping me to chat. I try to get in the food line, somewhat near the front, but it takes me a good 10 minutes to escape all the chatters and by then the line is wrapped around the hall. Oh well, at least people want to talk to me.

Until next time…


Adam, Greg, Me, and John taking a break from shooting.