A Snow Fort Built for Two

by Laurie Wells — December 25, 2006

As a kid, I had been part of a snow-fort construction crew that consisted of my two sisters and me. Armed with aluminum bread pans for block-making, we spent hours toiling away but were never able to build more than a short wall. Hence, my skepticism at the idea that my husband and I would be able to complete an igloo structure that we could actually sleep in.

It all started when Jason became fascinated by an "igloo maker" tool sold at our local outdoor-equipment store. In a brilliant marketing scheme to lure grown-up kids, a rep for the tool had built an igloo from the snow piled in front of the store. Within a week, we owned the tool, which came with a handy how-to video.

Here's how it was supposed to work: the tool consists of a three-sided box to make the snow bricks. The box connects to a pole that is fixed in the ground in what will become the middle of the igloo. The pole length adjusts so that as you build, the higher bricks slowly form into the curved wall and roof of the structure. As the capable guys in the video demonstrate, one person simply shovels the snow into the box while the other packs it down and then gently slides it sideways for the next block. In no time, you can build a sturdy snow hideaway big enough to comfortably spend the night--and enjoy bragging rights that you spent the weekend lounging in the igloo you built with your bare hands.

It all looked so effortless. We soon learned otherwise. In our first attempt, the snow was too icy and we couldn't get it to pack into blocks. As our St. Bernard lazily lounged in a snowdrift, mildly amused at our efforts, we frantically tried to form sand-like snow into a wall. Accusations of sabotage and improper shoveling form flew back and forth, and we bailed in an effort to save our marriage. In our second attempt, we didn't fare much better. As we searched for a spot as glorious as the one in the video, the hours ticked by. When we finally got the project underway, we worked for a few hours and were only able to create a half-wall by the time darkness descended. We wearily conceded defeat, and I was relieved to ski back to the car to avoid hypothermia.

By the time we made our third attempt, I viewed our outing as a good way to get out in the snow, and figured we would be home in time to enjoy a hot bath and a glass of wine while my husband watched the instructional video for the fifteenth time. We skied in to a flat spot in the trees and started packing down the snow for our floor. Somehow I was designated "manual labor" as the snow shoveler, while my husband "designed and managed" construction.

I made endless trips around the igloo, shoveling pounds of snow while he simply packed the blocks and reset the form. I was quickly down to my long-underwear top and ski pants, trying not to let myself get sweaty from the hard work. By midday, my arms and back were screaming for a break, and we shared lunch by passing sandwiches and chips back and forth over the wall--Jason was conveniently stuck in the center of the four-foot-high circular fortress, as he informed me that you can't cut a door in the igloo until the structure is completely built. That left me to continue doing all the snow shoveling.

Fortunately, within another couple of hours, we finished packing the roof, and I toyed with the idea of leaving my husband inside. After a few minutes spent admiring our handiwork, I negotiated a trade: he would cook dinner if I dug out the door and let him out.

Maybe it was the fumes from the propane stove we used to make pasta for dinner, but the rest of the evening seemed surreal. (Despite the constant reassurance that there wasn't actually any danger of asphyxiation, as we had cut a couple of holes in the ceiling to ensure air flow, I wasn't so sure.) While my husband cooked, I played the part of interior decorator by laying down a tarp and sleeping pads and making hooks for hanging gear out of sticks stuck in the walls. Perhaps subconsciously hoping that we would be home for dinner, I had forgotten to pack utensils, so we ate with sticks by the light of a small candle.

Despite sore muscles and cold noses, the whole night was pretty incredible. As the wind howled outside, we enjoyed the warm glow of the candle, shared a bottle of wine, and played cards while listening to German folk songs from a hand-crank shortwave radio. Curled up in my cozy sleeping bag, I drifted off into a hard-work-induced slumber, smiling at the thought that I could tell my sisters that I had finally finished the ultimate snow fort.