How to build a real igloo with powder snow

I've always wanted to build a "real" igloo, but never had the right snow conditions. You ideally want snow that has been solidly packed by wind, to a depth of two feet or so. That depth of wind-packed snow occurs in the arctic, but not too often in Anchorage, Alaska, where I live.

So I decided to see if I could pack the snow well enough, myself.

The short answer - Yes!!

(But it sure is a LOT of work!)

Below are a few pictures of my endeavor.

As usual, just click on the small pics for an expanded view.

Before retiring for the night.

Not having much wind-packed snow here, the first order of business is to pile up the snow and pack it down. I shoveled it into a row, and then stomped up and down the row. Then, I piled on more snow, stomped, & tamped with my shovel.

I tried making mounds of snow, at first, but found it's far more efficient to pack the snow into a long row, so you can cut blocks - ideally - about 3 feet wide by 1.5 feet high by 6 inches thick.

After the packed snow has hardened (after a minimum of one hour) it can be sawed into blocks.

Each of my blocks weighed about 15-20 lbs, on average, I'd guess.

Yes, that's a snow saw. (It's made by Black Diamond - I got it at REI.) The handle is too small, making it very awkward to use. But it works, and is very compact & light weight.

All this snow was light and fluffy to begin with. Try an experiment the next time you encounter light and fluffy snow. Stomp on an area and then come back an hour later. You will find your stomped-on light-and-fluffy snow quite hard.

After building up the first few courses, the blocks for all the remaining courses need to be sawed, carried inside, and neatly arranged within (if one person is doing everything).

If there is more than one person, the person on the outside could cut & carry the blocks, handing them over the wall. That might save a row or two of stockpiling blocks inside.

I tried to carve the sides of the blocks nearly perpendicular to the faces, and before placing them, cut the top off the course below to match.

Stockpiling the interior space with snow blocks.

Interestingly, counter to intuition and to what I've heard, I found the first three or four courses much more difficult than the last. Isn't that bizarre?

I think it's because the first courses just lean, but don't have much to lean on. But blocks in the top courses lean firmly against each other, propping each other up. That's my theory, anyway.

Anyway, the top was the least challenging, technically. My arms got tired working overhead, but the higher up, the more secure was each block. As you go up, the higher blocks tend more to wedge in between their neighbors. Cool, huh?

The cap - and all the blocks for that matter - were placed from the inside. I cut the door from the inside when the whole thing was complete.

There are square floorplans that would perfectly suffice to support a stable arched structure. The problem with those shapes is that there is no intermediate structure which is also stable.

That is, a squared dome can be perfectly stable upon completion, but not until then, so you can't build one without some kind of scaffolding.

In this light, something really incredible about the Inuit's igloo is that they devised a way to build a dome structure which is stable even during construction. I think the dome is the only shape that suffices for that requirement.

Woe is you if you run out of blocks before finishing construction. You will then have to cut your entryway into the unfinished wall (risking collapse) and then cut and shove your remaining blocks through that tiny hole (lotsa work).

After stockpiling all the blocks you need, then you step inside and work from within until complete. You carve the last few blocks close to the shape of the hole above, and then lift them through the hole and lower them into place, carving them into their final shape as you settle them into their spot.

My first igloo, completed.

This was WAY bigger than necessary for one person. About 10-12 feet in outside diameter at the base, and 5.5 feet high.

Two people would have found it very spacious. Three or four could have slept in it, though that would have been a bit cramped.

A more expertly constructed igloo would have retained the heat better, bringing the internal temperature to well above freezing. That causes the interior to melt a bit, which then immediately re-freezes because it's in contact with the snow.

So you end up with a thin layer of ice lining the interior, and cementing all the blocks together. Between this and windblown mortar filling in the crevices from the outside, an igloo supposedly becomes strong enough to climb on (though for all the work it takes to build, I'd rather not give it such a test).

If I'd made mine smaller, or had more people with me (to generate more heat) the interior may have melted. But alas, the interior is not iced up at all, so I think it lacks strength. Also, I think I built the walls with too little curvature at about mid-level. Furthermore, some of my blocks I placed so as to bridge a corner, which led to at least three blocks at level-3 fracturing and settling - almost caving in.

With that combination of factors, I'm not expecting it to last long this winter.

At my level of expertise, this would NOT be a good option for an emergency shelter, because it takes WAY too long. This took me 9.5 hours, total. Most of that time was packing and cutting the snow blocks.

For me, a better option for an emergency shelter would be to pile up snow and then dig out the interior. This kind of structure is called a "Quinzhee". I've built these several times over the years. It only takes a couple hours, but isn't nearly as roomy. Also, they make me more wary of collapse, because the walls being about one foot thick are very heavy. But if the igloo above collapsed on me, I'm quite certain I could have just stood up (growling and yelling).

Another option: dig a snow cave into a big drift. But this requires a big drift, of course.

With all these options, including the igloo, you have to be careful to ensure ventilation. For my igloo, I didn't seal the door all the way, and poked a ventilation hole just above the door, and another one in the roof.

Good night, all. Aren't the stars beautiful?

It was quite a bit warmer inside than outside. Outside was around 20 deg F. Inside was around 25-30 deg F, and of course, no wind. Outside was howling wind.

I kept waking up during the night, wondering if my amateur igloo was going to collapse. Thankfully, it never did. Yay!

At fist, I was only adequately warm, and the first couple hours could not get my feet to warm up. After 2:00 AM, all was toasty. :-)

The walls are thin enough in this igloo that if it collapsed, I think the weight on me would not be at all challenging to crawl out of. What I most worried about was finding, digging out, and getting on my gear before my hands and/or feet got frost-bit or I became hypothermic. I gathered all my gear in one spot for that eventuality, and planned to work quickly to get dressed.

For this experiment, I was only 20 minutes walk from my car, so I knew that all I had to do was get on my boots & gloves, and could leave everything else buried & head home. Then, I'd come back the next day & dig out all my stuff. In a real back-country adventure, of course, that wouldn't be an option, which is why I didn't build my first igloo very far from the road.

The following morning, around 9:00 AM.

All packed up and ready to crawl out into the hurricane.

I had to climb through several drifts back to my car, wishing for snowshoes.

Flattop Mountain Dayhike - 2009/11/05

Hi All,

I'm WAY, WAY, WAY behind on this blog, and will never catch up. Who knows when I'll ever post again, but here's a short hike I went on today.

Click on the photos for an enlarged view.

That fence line marks the East boundary of my one-mile summer jogging loop. I usually do three laps, which with the jaunt from Glen Alps, makes 3.5 miles total, or thereabouts. Sure beats the sidewalk or treadmill, eh?

This is the second saddle. That's the Turnagain Arm of Cook Inlet in center.

Looking down into the second saddle.

Looking South toward the Turnagain Arm of Cook Inlet.

This gully is great fun to glissade down when the snow gets deeper and better packed. There are avalanches here, so you've got to pick your days.

Looking North from just below the summit. If it was a clear day, you'd see Mt. McKinley in the distance.

Looking North again, from just beneath the summit.

Looking South, just cresting Flattop summit on the West side.

This is the "flat top" of Flattop Mountain.

You can see how it got the name.

I love how the blown snow highlights the rocky surface.

Another view of Flattop's "flat top".

I couldn't believe there were moose tracks all the way up on the summit! There's NOTHING to eat up here except snow. It was a gorgeous day. Maybe he came up for the view?

Looking North off Flattop summit. That's Powerline Pass below.

Mt. Ptarmigan and Flaketop in the distance.

This was my favorite shot of the hike.

I love how the sky cooperated to complete the composition.

Photos From my Hike over Labor Day Weekend

I've uploaded a few pictures from my last hike. The hike covered three days, two nights, and about 25 miles. I'll try to tell you more about it later, but here are the pics at least, for now. Seems if I wait until I have time to tell the story of the hike, there may never see another post on this blog.

This path leads up to Powerline Pass, where I usually enter the Chugach mountains. Its about 15 minute's walk from my home. This is actually a shot taken at the end of the hike, when it was partly sunny. When I set off, on Saturday morning, it was socked in, foggy and drizzly.

Sorry for the lousy formatting. Blogger is really ridiculously lame for formatting posts.

I replenished my water from this crystal mountain stream, on my way to climbing over the second pass of the hike.

Here's the valley I camped in the first night. This picture was taken on the second day, however, after hiking most of the way out of the valley. My camp was actually just beneath that peak on the left, and I hiked into the valley by climbing over a pass to the right of the peak.

The abundance of berries is incredible this year. These are what we call "crow berries" up here. The seeds are slightly bitter, but the berry juice makes fantastic jelly.
More crow berries, with lichen. We've got lots of blueberries this year, too. I spent about four hours picking blueberries a couple weeks ago, and got about one gallon. Using about a third of a gallon, I made nine jars of jam. They're all gone.

Self-portrait.
Sunday night, I camped on that knoll on the mountainside, above the lake.Dusk.
Dawn, looking out the tent flap at 6:00 AM.

Morning.

Back into Powerline Pass. Almost home. For my sore feet. Aaaahhhhh.

The blogger software that comes with blogger.com is hugely frustrating, klunky, and buggy. It won't let me upload more than five photos at a time, and I can't format or place them in any manageable way. Even text is likewise unmanageable. Sometimes I have to insert hyphens between paragraphs to keep them all from running together, and other times I have to delete truckloads of line-feeds that get mysteriously inserted between paragraphs. Is there some other blogging software anyone would recommend I try?

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Jacob: Thank you for your very insightful & helpful comments. I plan to respond.
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Best regards,

tn

Hiking Solo in Alaska - Risk Analysis

Well, I really ought to get my last hike blogged. I've got several beautiful photos to show. But the most dramatic event of the hike was that I was awakened by a curious visitor outside my tent the first night at 3:30 AM, snuffing, snorting, and pawing around. Needless to say, I was totally freaked out. More about that when I get around to blogging that hike.

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In the meantime, however, as you may well imagine, I've been thinking an awful lot about bears. Mainly, I've been thinking about the risk of getting killed by one while hiking solo in the Alaska wilderness. Aside from the embarrassment of being described in the papers as foolhardy (as if I should mind - being dead and all - but still...) I don't much like the idea of becoming trail mix for a bear family.

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So, being an engineer, I couldn't help but ask myself what the statistical risks are, of getting kilt by one of those critters while traipsing through the wilderness.

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Joe Anders has compiled a list of known outdoor fatalities in Alaska. His website is a wonderful resource for Alaska hikers.

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Here are the results of my analysis of Joe's list.

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If you are going to die outdoors in Alaska, the statistical cause will be:

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38% - Falling

24% - Drowning

11% - Exposure

9% - Avalanche

8% - Bear

8% - Other

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So, bear attack would be the 5th on the list of risks. In fact, you're about 13 times more likely to die of some other cause. All of those other causes being so eminently avoidable makes me feel pretty certain I won't succumb to them. And statistically, bear attack is even less likely than all the other causes I feel certain I'll avoid. Well, that all seems vaguely reassuring. But these are relative risk comparisons. What are the absolute risks?

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From Joe's list, I calculate the risk of dieing by a bear attack on any given day-hike in Alaska to be about 1 in 360,000. To put this in perspective, you would have to hike every single day for ten average lifetimes (700 years) to incur more than 50% risk of dieing by bear attack. (However, there's a 100% chance your feet would hurt un-bear-ably by then. Sorry.) I estimate the risk of dieing in a car accident for the average American on any given day is about 1 in 2,000,000. So, yes, hiking in Alaska is more dangerous than driving in America, but statistically, driving - and hiking - is very, exceedingly, safe. Still, when you are awakened in the darkness hearing one just outside the tent...

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I started to describe the assumptions and math that went into my analysis, but then decided this would be boring to almost everyone. However, I'll go ahead and post it if I'm wrong and there's enough interest after all.

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Best regards,

tn

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ps: The photo shows where I camped the night I had an uninvited visitor.

Why?

I wanted the gold, and I got it -
Came out with a fortune last fall, -
Yet somehow life's not what I thought it,
And somehow the gold isn't all.

No! There's the land. (Have you seen it?)
It's the cussedest land that I know,
From the big, dizzy mountains that screen it.
To the deep, deathlike valleys below.
Some say God was tired when He made it;
Some say it's a fine land to shun;
Maybe; but there's some as would trade it
For no land on earth - and I'm one.

(Excerpt from "The Spell of the Yukon", by Robert Service)

Whenever I have the privilege of standing spell-bound in the vast alone, this passage echos through my thoughts, and I find myself wishing I were a poet so I could capture the experience so eloquently as Robert Service. I took this picture yesterday. See what I mean? (I think if you left-click on the thumbnail, you'll get an enlarged view.)

They say the best thing about living in Anchorage is you're only 45 minutes from Alaska. The Chugach Mountains rake the sky just behind my house. I hike back there when time and circumstances allow. Never often enough. Almost always, alone.

Alas, I'm no poet. But I do take a camera with me. I'll pass on a few of my experiences, thoughts, and photos to you here from my solo treks out the back yard.

best regards,
tn