Chuffy said:
I feel like a delicate little mimsy ladyboy.
I might strip naked and roll on the frosty grass later to try and recover some semblance of manhood.
Grrrrrrrrrr.
Funny you should mention it. Later, after we had disarmed Lydia and finished the rum, we all cleared a path through the snow, down to the sauna -- a converted tin trailer (caravan).
We chopped some wood and fired up the stove in the sauna, then used the axe to chop some steps through the ice, into the pool in the creek (which never gave me beaver fever) We put a kerosene lantern at the edge, so we could see where to dive. It was real pretty, lighting up the blue ice and green foaming water.
Once we were suitably heated and all glowing pink, we dashed from the sauna and dived into the glacial creek. That makes the manliest man shriek like a girl. The "womenfolk," especially those who had experienced chilbirth, screamed somewhat less loudly than the "menfolk". They did, however, have to be careful they didn't scrape their, erm, protuberant bits on the sharp, sandy creek bed. Not a pleasant sensation (or sight), when it happened.
One also had to be careful, not to get swept away, under the ice. That would be a nasty thing to happen.
On edit: If you need photographic evidence (or are just naughty -- nudity warning!)
here it is. This photo was taken the spring before we moved the sauna down right onto the creek bank, so we could dive right out of the "door", into the icy creek.
But back to wild game. Another treat, especially in spring, was a tasty bear barbecue. Bear is very rich, but otherwise like pork. Though not directly related to the porcine family, the ursine beasties share their diseases, such as
trichinosis.
After one night around the bonfire, gorging on Ursus americanus, one of our "tribe" became concerned that she had carved off and consumed a chunk that was a bit too rare. That occasioned a long trek out of the mountains to get the appropriate, er, tests.
Oh, and bikes. I did try a bit of riding, but my cotton tubulars weren't ideal on the mountain tracks, so my bike spent most of those days hanging from a spike on the front of my cabin.