Trip to the Arctic Refuge - Part 2

Saturday, June 22

We awake to good weather. Not knowing when our pilot, Dirk will show up, we decide, after breakfast, to practice packing our dry bags. (In case you haven't been on a river trip - a dry bag is just what it sounds like - a bag designed to keep your stuff dry. It's made of a heavy-duty seemless waterproof material and the end is rolled down and secured by straps to keep the water out). I wonder if I have brought too much stuff! It seems like most everyone else can get all of their gear into one dry bag. Well I definitely have more camera gear than anyone else - having packed a 35mm camera with 2 zoom lenses, a 500 mm telephoto, a 2x extender, tripod, video camera and digital still camera. Most of this, though, goes into its own waterproof bag. I also brought 2 self-inflatable sleeping pads since I found that I am pretty sore after sleeping on only one pad. I stack 2 pads (the second being a ¾ size pad - thanks to Jim Edelson of Portland for this suggestion) together and I have nearly the comfort and loft of a mattress. I've also brought plenty of warm clothing and it is bulky - I wonder if that's the problem. Days later I decide that I don't regret having packed ANY of the clothing I brought.

Danny also can't fit everything into one bag so we decide to share my duffel - lining it with heavy compactor trash bags to keep the contents dry. It will be used to carry things like tent poles, rain gear and other things that can get a little wet.

Dirk arrives by about 8:30 and by 9 we have the plane loaded up. I am selected to fly in the first group. Dirk's plane, a De Haviland Beaver, attractively painted with the words "Coyote Air", a drawing of a coyote, and a phone number on the side, can carry a maximum of 5 people and gear, including the pilot. The plane is not manufactured any longer - but there are supposedly a fair number of them in service. Pilots just keep maintaining them, replacing parts as needed. The pilots love these planes and they are evidently great for the back country.

Three of us are jammed into the back seat. Karen sits up front in the co-pilot seat. Nick & Marcia are to wait behind and Dirk will return and pick them up later. I feel lucky to be in the first group. There are headphones and microphones for us to put on so we can communicate - the plane is quite loud when flying and the headphones also block a lot of that out. Then off we go with Nick & Marcia waving from the ground.

Our flight lasts about an hour and a half and is to the eastern portion of the Brooks Range. Most of the flight is over the mountains as we parallel and then cross the continental divide, which runs East/West here. This is probably the most spectacular flight I have ever been on.

The Brooks Range is stunning. Most years, the snow has melted by mid June. However, the same storm that stranded Karen in Kotzebue far to the west, also dumped a lot of snow in these mountains. The Brooks Range is 800 miles long, up to 200 miles wide, and is extremely rugged - it is also considered one of the most remote in the world - certainly it's the most remote in North America. Most of the peaks have not even been named, nor have many valleys likely ever had anyone set foot in them.

There are hundreds of mountains that no one has ever climbed. These mountains have become much more popular to travelers in the past 20 years or so, however the region is so vast and the season so short, and the distance from places a plane can safely land so great, that most of these mountains will remain unexplored by foot for a long time. We are flying over the Eastern Brooks Range, which is characterized by much more rugged peaks than in the west.

The mean winter temperature in these mountains has been estimated at around 25-30 below but in many places it is likely much colder. (There is evidently only one permanent weather station in all of the Brooks Range and it is located outside of the rugged East Range in Anaktuvuk Pass). Mountain passes are subject to strong wind outflows - resulting in severe wind/chill results. This is not a fun place to visit in the winter. The summers are short and cool - the summer season mean temperatures are in the low 40s from June through August, however there can be days where the temperature can get up into the 60s and 70s or more.

Flying in a small plane gives one an intimate and unique view of these amazing mountains. Our speed is slow enough (and the glass in the window thin enough) to permit snapping some spectacular pictures, as if one were standing on top of one super mountain that towered above all the others.

I easily finish up my first roll of film that I had started in Arctic Village. The ride is surprisingly calm - no buffeting by winds or sudden gains and losses of elevation. It seems amazing to me that Dirk nonchalantly takes the plane through and over mountain passes while chatting with Karen in the front seat, while we in the back wonder if the plane will clear the next ridge! Actually, I didn't feel the least bit worried about the flight. We also feel lucky to have the good weather. Then again, the pilots won't fly in bad weather - if it's bad, you just wait until it clears out.

The Kongakut River flows from the continental divide north to the Arctic Ocean, a distance of at least 100 river miles. There is no good landing spot at or near its headwaters, so the plane follows the river for perhaps its first 15-20 miles. We fly over some rather large aufeis. These are ice flows that form in the fall when, as the river starts to freeze, it overflows its banks. The overflow then freezes and that tends to persist well into the summer after the river itself has thawed. We see some big chunks of ice calve off and fall into the river just as we pass overhead.

Finally we reach a gravel bar alongside the river near a tributary called Drain Creek. This is my first experience in a small plane landing on a strip of gravel in the middle of a river in the wilderness and it is amazing what these pilots can do. The landing is unexpectedly smooth - the plane bounces a couple of times, kicks up a small temporary gravel storm, and then rolls to a stop about 50 ft from the end of the gravel bar, alongside the river.

We unload gear and off goes Dirk. These pilots have a short working season and are very busy in the summer, so they land, unload with no dilly dallying, and are quickly off to their next job.

There is another group already camping here - it turns out to be Chilkat Guides from Haines, AK. This is a big coincidence since I return to Alaska in late August with Janiene to travel down the Tatshenshini River with this company. I go introduce myself and they are also amazed. It turns out this is their first visit to the Kongakut River.

By now it is about 10 or 10:30 am and we need to wait for Nick & Marcia to be flown in. This valley is incredibly beautiful. Jagged, sculpted peaks and rock formations abound, and a great variety of wildflowers are already in bloom.

I notice that many have such tiny flowers - their life cycles are so short and they seem so fragile.

There is a cool breeze blowing - it is not too cold, but seems to be keeping the mosquitoes at bay. Yes, there are a few, but not enough to be a problem. I have brought along a small electronic gadget - about the size of a wrist watch, that is supposed to repel 2000 species of mosquitoes, by emitting 2 sounds: one is the sound of the dragonfly - a natural enemy, the other is the sound of the male mosquito - another kind of enemy if you are a female mosquito. Remember, it's only the female that bites. (I'm still talking about mosquitoes). I brought this thing along as a science experiment - would Alaska's notorious mosquitoes be repelled by this new age device? I don't have much chance to find out - about a half hour after I put it on my wrist - it falls off and breaks when it hits the ground. Another great product with lousy packaging. During the time I did have it on, I don't think it does much good though. I'm willing to bet that Alaska's mosquitoes are not included in the 2000 species it is supposed to work with.

I see an eagle soaring overhead and try taking a picture, but it is quite far away. The eagle is riding the thermals, circling higher and higher.

By 2 pm we start to get worried. Nick & Marcia should have been here by now. We wonder if there was some bad weather behind us that suddenly came in. The weather in the mountains, as with most mountains, can be unpredictable. In the Brooks Range it can be even more problematic - there are few good places to land even a small plane. The pilots who fly up here are a close knit group - they talk with each other frequently by radio phone and are regularly comparing notes on the weather, wind speed, etc. Usually, any one pilot knows where the others are at any given time. It's a great security system for an unpredictable environment.

By 4 pm we start thinking of making contingency plans. The stove and the rafts are coming with Nick & Marcia so we can't go anywhere, and we also can't heat up any food or water. There is plenty to eat however so if they get delayed, we just have to wait until they get here and live on cold food (how many days of trail mix and power bars can we stand?)

Finally at around 6 pm we hear a plane and it's them. Dirk had 6 other jobs to do before going back to pick them up - however he had neglected to tell Karen or anyone else. He had flown as far as Kaktovik and back and forth between several locations before heading back to Arctic Village. Nick & Marcia of course had no idea what was going on either - they were starting to get pretty worried about us. While waiting they had walked back into Arctic Village and happened to run into Ken Madsen's wife, who, with their teenage son, was en route to meet Ken at Demarcation Bay - not far from the end of the Kongakut River where our trip would end. Ken, if you recall from the introduction, was one of the reasons I was here - it was his slide show in Portland the year before that got me interested in the Refuge initially. Once again - small world in the vast Arctic.

We spot some Dall sheep who have appeared on a hillside - they are too far away to photograph however.

We set up camp now, since Chilkat Guides & Company have packed up and moved on down the river. The plan is to spend the night, and then tomorrow meet up with a second contingent of people on our trip- known as Group 2.

Group 2 is made up of 2 more river guides and 4 other participants. Karen had combined the two groups into one trip, however, Group 2 had a start date of June 23rd. Since we were originally going to the Hulahula River, Dirk, our pilot, would inform them about our change in plans. Such is the nature of logistical changes in the wilderness - you just have to trust that messages you leave get to whom they are intended without incident. In this case there was little risk, since Dirk was the one who would fly them in anyway.

After dinner, we decide to inflate one of the boats and cross the river to try some hiking on the other side. This also gives us an opportunity to check our paddling skills. It turns out that everyone is a natural. I had been on several one day paddle trips before, and I had done a lot of canoeing as a child, so it seems 2nd nature to me. I believe that my parents still have a wooden paddle of mine in storage. Everyone else does equally well, and Karen is able to dispense with the paddling lesson she usually starts her trips with.

The current is quite swift and powerful, but with great enthusiasm we power the raft quickly across the river to the other shore. We then hike up into the hills, through fields of wildflowers and incredible views upriver. Danny has an altimeter built into his watch so, when we climb up a knoll, we learn we are at an elevation of 2600' for a quick 500' gain from the 2100' he measured at river level.

This is our first experience hiking in the tundra. There are no trees at this latitude, except for shrub sized willows and an occasional small stand of cottonwoods. These only grow in select protected locations out of the wind and near sufficient moisture. There are no hiking trails in a true wilderness like this - you just walk wherever and up whatever, across open space carpeted with wildflowers at this time of the year. The result: unobstructed vistas from every location. You simply climb if you want your perspective to incorporate a wider view.

Walking on the tundra is like walking on lumpy spongy foam rubber. Hiking is much different than walking on a hard dirt trail - the ground is moist and gives in response to your weight. It is a lush but fragile environment - it can take many, possibly hundreds of years for what is known as the "active layer" (the layer that plants and their roots occupy) above the permafrost to fully mature.

It is even more difficult to hike in the tundra while lugging around lots of camera equipment, which fills my day pack - with the tripod tied on the back. The others give me a hard time about it and want to know if there is any kind of camera gadget that I DIDN'T bring. I do pay for it - soon I am convinced I can personally feel each one foot increase in elevation we experience.

We spot our first caribou on this hike - they are up river a mile or two from where our camp is. We need binoculars to see them - and we only see about 10 caribou.

We then cross over a hill to where we can get a better view of a side creek - which is really a raging torrent that meets the Kongakut somewhat below our camp. We notice a massive mountain slide remnant upstream - the slide must have occurred eons ago since the stream has cut a canyon through it. Our plan is to hike down to the stream, but we come to an impassible cliff and have to turn back. Such is the nature of hiking in the Refuge - you never know where you are going to end up and what decisions you will have to make - you just wing it as you go along.

We have to retrace our steps up a fairly steep grade - we go up a rocky talus slope and then notice that many of the rocks are actually coral fossils! There are hundreds of them! Most have a beehive-like honeycomb pattern, but they are clearly coral. Many millions of years ago, this region enjoyed a subtropical climate and much was under water.

We make our way back to the rafts and paddle back across the river. It is now about 11:30 pm, somewhat overcast and the sun has dipped behind some hills, but even so, the sky is bright. I finally fall asleep at about 2 am and sleep for about 4 hours.

Sunday June 23rd

I soon find I am usually the last one to sleep and the first or second to awake in the morning. This morning is no exception as I am up by 6 am. This wilderness seems to supercharge my spirit, and my body reacts accordingly. I am in absolute awe of the surroundings and can't wait to see what will happen next.

After breakfast, I ford a stream and go over a small hill to look for a good place for a potty break. Now normally I would not describe potty breaks in an account like this. This is just not done. You just never read travelogues that include potty break details. But this one is worth mentioning:

I had just reached the crest of a small hill (my destination was a dip in the terrain just below it) when a band of about 15 caribou travelling from the opposite direction reach the top of the hill at nearly the same moment. They stop as soon as they spot me, probably no more than 15-20 feet away. I also freeze. After a couple of minutes, they decide that I am not a threat and continue filing past me. The others back at camp at this point notice both me and the caribou and I see everyone run to get their binoculars. Needless to say, my original plans are put on hold.

I am also furious - here I am a few feet from caribou and I don't have my camera! I vow that from then on, I will always take my camera with me, everywhere, and thus coin Bob's School of Wilderness Photography Rule #1 - "Always take your camera on potty breaks."

I continue to watch the caribou for another 15 minutes. There are actually 2 groups. One group of 14 includes 10 large males and 4 yearlings. The other group of 15 are all full grown.

Caribou have one of the longest and most interesting migratory patterns of any large animal in the world. Each year, they travel a distance of 700 miles or more through an area that encompasses over 100,000 square miles. The caribou we are seeing belong to the Porcupine caribou herd, the world's largest international herd. These caribou winter well south of the Brooks Range, usually in Canada, and migrate to the arctic coastal plain in the Refuge to give birth each summer. After mating, the males and females travel two distinct paths to the coast. The males come over the continental divide and down river valleys like the Kongakut and that's what we are seeing. The females generally travel a route up through the Yukon and then west through the foothills into the coastal plain. This migration has been occurring, uninterrupted, for thousands of years. The Gwich'in people, who have lived in the region for at least 20,000 years, and regard the coastal plain's birthing grounds as sacred, still depend on the Porcupine herd for both food and clothing.

There are currently about 7,000 Gwich'in people living in or near 14 villages scattered throughout the Porcupine herd's range in Alaska and the Yukon. The tribe once numbered about 150,000 but like many native groups, was decimated by war and disease. The Porcupine herd numbers have slowly been declining, due to climate change and other causes. The number is now believed to be about 130,000 or less - down from about 150,000 a few years ago

The Canadian government has protected their portion of range of the caribou by creating Ivvavik and Vuntut national parks. However as we know, the US government has not protected perhaps the most critical portion of their habitat - the 1.5 million acre coastal plain where the calves are born. It is generally assumed that oil development on the coastal plain would severely impact, if not destroy the herd.

After I return to camp, we all notice a large number of caribou grazing on the other side of the river, downstream from where we had hiked the night before. We decide to cross the river again in the raft and carefully make our way up towards the hill they are on. We decide to climb a small hill and hide behind a bluff where we can still see them. After a while, they start coming our way - we keep very still while this happens.

Oblivious to our presence, they passed right below and above us.

We can see them really tearing into the willows - pulling off the leaves and eating them.

We are close enough to really watch their behavior and it is fascinating. They scratch themselves with their huge antlers, which they can gingerly maneuver into place to scratch the bottom of a foot, or the hind quarters. Using the video camera, I film at close range while we watch for perhaps a half hour to an hour.

Then they all move out to a gravel bar near the river and we see them, one by one, swim across the current. What an incredible show! Just as they are leaving the area, the plane carrying Group 2 arrives, so I film it coming in to land on the other side of the river. We then head back to greet them.

It is already really clear to me why people have referred to the Arctic Refuge as America's Serengeti. Today's experience provides a great example. Here, one is witness to wildlife on a scale not seen in the continental United States since the early 1800s. What it must have been like to see the buffalo range unobstructed across the great plains! - or to see enormous herds of antelope gathered en masse. The Arctic Refuge protects a complete and dynamic ecosystem unlike any other on the planet. Its remoteness has saved it until now, however this has also nearly been its undoing, lying so distant from the lives of those of us who can help keep it intact.

Continue to Part 3