Chris Cruthers

It’s cold.
Very, very cold.

So cold that when I take off my gloves in the 40-below weather (mainly to adjust my camera settings with it’s frustrating little dials and switches) in mere seconds my hands are completely robbed of any heat. Heat that my body had worked so hard to provide to them steamed away into the night air.

My body is completely covered from head to toe in a multitude of layers. So many in fact, that fellow students and even my own professor didn’t recognize me initially, or even when I talked them. It is only when I remove some of the clothing wrapped around my head that I’m finally recognized.

I’m not the only one that is hard to recognize; I’m like everyone else, completely covered in layers of down feathers and polyester synthetics indistinguishable from man to woman.

I heard reports of fellow student batteries dying as fast as the temperature was dropping. My own camera battery managed to survive that night. But if it hadn’t, I had a fully charged spare stored safely next to the warmth of my body.

My lens on the other hand did freeze—on several occasions.

Anytime I moved between the deep freeze of the outdoors and the snug warmth of the tiny cabins I had problems with my lens. Because of my love of not freezing to death, this was quite often.

Ah the tiny cabins, where everyone milled about at one point or another. This was where a lot of the action was at; in addition the surrounding environment outside was uninhabitable, devoid of detectable life except for the coalition of mentally unwell people that chose to make dog sled racing their profession.

Mushers choose to race in darkness so complete that without the assistance of headlamps the concept of being able to see was laughable. I mean, we’re talking about blackness so rich that the stars stood out like diamonds, a sight I had only previously seen in Hawaii, a place I would have much rather have been that night.

The emphasis of light, or lack there of, is especially distressing to a photographer. Auto focus and the luxuries of modern photographic equipment was made a mute point. Old school focusing was where it was at that night, which was especially difficult considering one had to either fumble vainly with bulky gloves or sacrifice precious body heat in order to get the shot.

To be honest, the limited opportunity for shots and crushing conditions forced a distinguishing creativity to show in every one of the journalism students. Who, to have done such a thing may well be as mentally unwell as the subject they shoot and write about.