Trip to the Arctic Refuge - Part 3

Sunday June 23rd (continued)

Dirk arrives twice by mid-day, delivering 6 more people to join us. Bill & Mary Ann Gough and their teenage daughter Jennifer from Asheville, NC , plus Lawson LeGate of Salt Lake City, UT. Bill is a physician. (So we've now got 2 doctors on this trip). Lawson is a regional representative for the Sierra Club. Dirk then flies down to Caribou Pass on the lower Kongakut and picks up 2 more guides: Abigail Poulsby and Julie Munger, who had stayed in the Refuge after completing a trip the previous week.

Abby and Julie tell us that the weather the week before was a real challenge. It evidently snowed heavily and was cold and windy. This is hard to believe - today is a balmy day with temperatures probably in the high 50s.

The mosquitoes are really noticeable today and I put on my headnet for the first time. It is awkward and difficult to see through so I eventually take it off and use the citronella repellant I brought. Most mosquito repellants use a compound called DEET, which I'd rather not put on my skin (it contains known carcinogens and also has been known to melt plastic and other materials). I'd rather not think about what it does to cell structures. The citronella seems to be effective, but needs to be re-applied nearly every half hour it seems.

After lunch, everything is packed up, and the three guides inflate the other 2 boats and load them up. These rafts are relatively small, probably no more than about 10 to 12 feet in length. All of the gear is tied down in the middle with a small amount of room for 2 people to sit at each end.

I am in a boat with Karen, Danny, and Lawson. It is soon clear that we have the strongest crew, as we often need to wait for the others to catch up. Since I am somewhat hearing-impaired, I sit in the back, next to Karen, so I can hear her commands "Easy Forward", "Back Paddle", "Left Turn", "Right Turn", "Stop" or "Relax", and the occasional but all important "Hard Forward, HARD FORWARD, HARD, HARD !!"

The river is swift and carries us along, however we still have a lot of work to do to keep the raft properly oriented and in the best part of the current. We are paddling most of the time.

Since I am in the back on the left side, I am often called upon to back paddle, which helps to reorient the boat slightly to the left without everyone else having to work together on a left turn. This is a pretty relaxing stroke actually since one simply extends the paddle behind the body, digs into the water, and uses the whole body to pivot the blade of the paddle forward. Proper forward paddling, is mostly a function of extending the paddle forward, blade perpendicular to the water surface, then exercising a downward thrust into the water and using the shoulder and upper back muscles to draw the paddle in towards one's body. Since I had learned paddling as a child when I had done a fair amount of canoeing - these movements seemed very familiar, almost instinctive, even after all these years.

When we started out, the air was very hazy and we all smelled smoke. The wind was blowing hard from the south and we're told that the smoke most likely originated from forest fires hundreds of miles from us. The strong winds were blowing the smoke up over the continental divide and down into the valleys. The south wind assists our paddling, since we are headed north, however the haze is a disappointment.

We pass a very scenic valley where Chilkat Guides are camped - we wave to them and continue on.

We stop for a break by a grove of Cottonwood trees - Karen tells us that this is the largest stand of Cottonwoods, the only tree that grows in this region, this far north. We will see some scattered trees farther on, but they will be very few and far between. We beach the rafts on a gravel bar in the middle of the river. While there, the wind shifts dramatically from south to north, and the haze disappears.

The sky is now completely clear and the view of the river in all directions is dazzling - a great opportunity for photographs.

When we push off to continue down the river we now have a headwind. Paddling becomes laborious and it is also much colder. After a few miles of this we decide to pull out onto a gravel bar, somewhat short of our proposed destination for the day, and set up camp. We have travelled about 10 miles today.

Danny and I watch the progress of a lone Dall sheep across the river from us, up fairly high on sheer cliffs. We are obviously in its territory and we seem to be the object of a lot of curiosity on its part. At one point, the sheep comes all the way down to the river's edge, then runs quickly back up to high protected ground. The poor lighting in the shadows of these sheer cliffs is too dark for photography, however the two of us are thoroughly fascinated. Using binoculars, we each watch the sheep for at least an hour. Sheep make climbing seem so effortless. This one nonchalantly walks up what appears to be nearly 90 degree inclines (stepping on small rock outcroppings along the way), without really watching its footing. The sheep seems to automatically know just where to walk - probably a result of spending most of its life right here in this particular valley.

That night the wind blows hard against the tent and I find it difficult to fall asleep until 2:30 or 3. I wake up about an hour later and am quite cold for the first time. I put on another layer of long underwear, a wool cap and gloves and curl up in the sleeping bag, this time sleeping until about 9 am.

Monday, June 24th

Breakfast is delicious as Karen prepares multi-grain pancakes. Preparing food in the wilderness, or I should say, preparing REALLY TASTY food in the wilderness might be considered an art form. Perhaps we should see international competitions held in remote areas of the world, with acclaimed outdoor chefs competing for the attention of the likes of Alice Waters or New York Times critic William Grimes. Meals have to be planned and packed well in advance yet often involve improvising on the spot. (There is no corner store for that last minute rush for the forgotten ingredient.) One is limited to ingredients that, after the first few days, won't spoil. One has to plan to serve enough food without knowing the varying appetites different people have. Any group of 12 people, particularly those drawn from different backgrounds and geographical locations, are bound to have different tastes. And most people will get tired of oatmeal every day - there needs to be some diversity.

The kitchen area is also well designed. The rafts are carried in from shore, then upended and mounted and secured on edge to act as a wind-break. If necessary, a tarp is then stretched from the top edge of the rafts and secured with rope to some willows or rocks. Inside of this area a small folding table is set up, and we serve ourselves as food is moved from the stove to the table. Food buckets are used as stools, and we have a complete dining room!

My challenge, when searching for a guide, was to find someone who understood that being vegetarian meant more than eating lettuce for the first few days, and then subsisting on desiccated rice and beans for the remainder. I am fortunate that Karen, a vegan, plans all of her meals with this in mind, and then provides meat and dairy for those people who want to add it back into the mix. All of the meals are delicious, and it is enlightening to learn how many kinds of food can be prepared using only a couple of small white gas stoves.

After breakfast, we decide to hike up into the hills above our camp. The way is fairly steep, as we ascend up a series of inclines that permits us to gain about a thousand feet of elevation over a relatively short distance. We walk up through fields that are ablaze with multicolored wildflowers and often stop as Karen points out and explains the name of each. This is a strenuous hike, and my legs feel it even more than our earlier hikes. (I am still hauling camera equipment on my back), yet I push myself to keep taking the next step.

I take a number of photographs of wildflowers on this hike - they are really gorgeous.

We stop for lunch at a rock outcropping that caps the main hill we've been climbing. We are treated with a breathtaking, nearly 360 degree vista, which includes excellent views of the river canyon extending to the north as well as looks at the jagged, snow draped peaks of the Eastern Brooks Range to the west and east.

On the way down, we find an old pair of antlers that are embedded in the tundra. Actually, the tundra has grown over the antlers. Since plants on the tundra grow so slowly, we estimate that the antlers have been here, undisturbed, for at least 40 or 50 years, possibly even longer. The middle of the antlers is covered by a thick spongy layer of tundra active layer within which many wildflowers and grasses are thriving. The character of the tundra covering the antlers appears no different than that surrounding it. It's incredible to realize that we might be the first people to have stumbled across these antlers - the landscape is so vast that the chances of another party hiking this exact route are slim.

We pass the opening of a wonderful side canyon and valley on the way down. A creek winds its way down the canyon and the base of its valley is thick with willows. This is excellent grizzly bear habitat. We decide to try hiking down to the creek with the plan of following it out to the Kongakut River, however we find the way impassible so we have to turn around and retrace steps up a very steep grade. We then head back to camp, only about a half mile downriver from where we started climbing. We cross a gravel bar by the river and see fresh bear tracks in the wet sand - they had to have been made in the past several hours. We also see a lot of caribou tracks.

There is still a strong north wind blowing. We hope for a change before long so that we can continue downstream in the boats the next day.

Tuesday, June 25th.

We got our wish. We awake to an amazing day - not a cloud in the sky and it is very warm - hot actually. I dispense with long underwear for the first time. We are ready to go on the river by 11. There is no wind and we start to see mosquitoes, so it is good we will be on the river where there is a slight breeze.

Today I am in Julie's boat. Julie is the self-described "paddle-nazi". With 22 years experience as a river guide and a winner of numerous paddling competitions, she is a stickler for form and process. She starts the day with a paddle lesson, convinced she's seen too much slacking the previous day we were on the river. Julie's approach is much different than Karen's laid back style. Karen didn't care if we paddled in unison - Julie insists on it. I never have done well with authority figures, so I needle Julie about it.

Our first stop is at a large outcropping of aufeis, the ice that is first formed in the fall when the river starts to freeze and then overflows its banks. Evidently there isn't as much ice here as during past years in late June, but there is enough to walk on and photograph. I videotape Jennifer holding ice crystals she has scooped out and is holding in her hands to show that it is really ice, not snow.

We continue on, paddling by more aufeis, some of which are about 5 or 6 feet in height and overhanging the river banks. The terrain gradually becomes more desert-like, with side canyons that appear similar to some I've seen in the American Southwest. The landscape is very striking with strange and varied rock formations. We see a lot of caribou from the river today. Some are on the banks alongside the river, others are in the water. Several times we see them walk and swim across the river.

We paddle all day to take advantage of the good weather. There is one large series of rapids on the Kongakut River and we had originally planned to run them the following day. Karen decides its best to do them while the weather is warm and clear.

We pull out to survey the rapids. We all walk alongside them on the riverbank to see how much water there is and how it is moving. These are Class 3 rapids and don't really look that menacing. Generally, river rapids are rated by associating them with one of five classes, with Class 1 being very mild rapids and Class 5 being extreme, capable of causing great injury or death. Class 3 rapids usually get one's attention. There are no Class 4 or 5 rapids on the Kongakut.

These rapids are really in two groups, separated by some calm water, which together are about a mile in length. With expert steering by our guides, we are able to negotiate the first one without incident. While waiting to descend through the 2nd group, we notice a band of caribou gathering on a gravel bar just below where our boats are, on the right side of the river. The caribou have a dilemma - their path along the river has come to an end, and the hill to the right is very steep with some thick willows blocking the way. If they don't go back the way they came, which will take them up towards our boats, they will have to cross the river. Up to this point, we have certainly seen caribou cross the river, but the current here is strong - even in the "calm" section these are still rapids! The caribou are not in a hurry to make their move.

A few caribou try making the steep trek up the side of the hill. One gets his antlers tangled in the willows, causing him to lose his balance, and he finally retreats back down the hill. A couple of them make it past the tough section, and are able to continue up and over the hill that blocks this part of their journey. The others seem to watch and are not too interested in following.

Finally, one brave male with very large antlers goes for it! We see him plow into the river and swim across. At times all we can see is his head bobbing in the water. The others soon follow and it is an incredible sight as perhaps 10 or 15 caribou swim across these rapids! All make it safely, however it brings to mind accounts I have read from Gwich'in writings about the caribou that sometimes don't make it. A fair number, particularly young or weak ones, do drown each year in places like this.

My feet get wet several times today for the first time - this occurs while getting in and out of the boat in water that is deeper than it appears. We all wear heavy duty rubber boots, the kind they sell in fisherman supply stores, however we wear the type that are no more than 16 inches in height. The much-longer "waders" or "hip boots" can actually be dangerous on an arctic river trip - if you fall in the water, they fill quickly and the water weight can make it difficult to get up. The water temperature is quite cold - with average temperatures in the high 30s, so you don't want to fall in the water - hypothermia can occur quickly.

I wear one or two pairs of heavy wool socks. I also have some neoprene socks that tend to repel moisture and work quite well. Yet, when a lot of water gets inside the boot, it is hard for anything to stay dry. At one point on the river today, when we stop to wait for another raft that is far behind, I take my boots and socks off, wring out the socks, and let them dry in the sun. The air temperature is warm enough for this to work and although they are not completely dry when I put them back on, there is a great improvement.

While in the boat, I also wear heavy duty vulcanized rain pants which keep my butt dry from splashing water. I learn the hard way that the proper way to wear the pants is to permit the leg to go over the outside of the boot. Originally I had mine tucked into the boot. When the pants are on the outside, and you step into the water, the water pressure forms a seal between the pants and the top of the boot, preventing water from spilling in.

A full day of paddling really gives me a workout and I expect to be quite sore the next day - we are on the river until 6 pm.

We camp in a beautiful spot that looks upriver at the peaks of the Brooks Range and down a valley looking east towards mountains in the Yukon. We are only about 10 miles from the Canadian border and we are certain that at least one of the mountains we see is over the border. Dinner is exceptional this evening - Mexican food with rice, beans, guacamole, salsa, peppers, tomatoes, different cheeses, and more. It is also Abby's birthday, so the other 2 guides have put up balloons and "happy birthday" banners around the food area. These are attached to two of the rafts on end that form the windward wall of the kitchen area. Karen then prepars an apple "cake" to which we add Peppermint Schnapps. Yummy!

With the clear weather I am hopeful for some good midnight landscape lighting for photographs, but the sun goes behind a hill by that hour, so I go to bed about 12:30. Once again, I'm the last one.

Wednesday, June 26th.

I am the first one up. At 6 am there is no wind and IT IS HOT, particularly in the tent. There are no mosquitoes which is a surprise considering the temperature - so all feels wonderful! I decide to take full advantage of this and wash up by going down to the river with one of the kitchen pots, fill it with water and dump it over my head. I then soap up and give myself a much needed shampoo. Thank goodness for some warm air! I am also glad to discover I am not sore from paddling the day before.

At about 7 am, Ken thinks he sees a bear coming towards the camp and yells to me. Only a couple of us are up by this hour. I get my camera and look at it through the telephoto lens. It is a big animal, but somehow doesn't seem like a bear. It's legs are too thin. As it moves closer I finally realize that I'm looking at a musk ox heading straight towards us!

Musk oxen are extremely rare and are a fascinating living relic of the Pleistocene ice ages. There might be 800 or so throughout the entire 25 million acre Arctic Refuge so the chances of seeing one are not very great. In the 19th century they were hunted to extinction in Alaska. They were reintroduced to Alaska from Greenland in the 1930s.

Musk oxen are the only large animals that stay active on the north slope of the Brooks Range in winter (polar bears are hibernating), and their specially adapted coats can keep them warm in -60 degree temperatures. The coat really consists of two parts. Long course outer hairs, called "guard hairs" are very shaggy, reach almost to the ground and are effective in shedding rain or snow. An inner coat is soft and dense and is called "qiviut". Qiviut is the warmest, lightest wool in the world. These two coats together very effectively protect the musk ox from the severe cold temperatures and winds of the arctic winters.

The musk ox continues on a course straight for our camp. I suddenly realize that I have very slow Kodachrome 25 film in my camera. This is just about the worst film for taking wildlife photographs, particularly when the light is not very bright. The camera is telling me that my exposure will be much too slow. I realize there is no time to change film and I run for the video camera.

I film the musk ox as he saunters into our camp. He seems quite at ease, completely unperturbed that we are snapping pictures and watching his every move. At one point he is perhaps 15 or 20 feet away. He stops, grunts, then grabs a willow bush, shakes it violently while eating some leaves from it, then trudges on. He acts like it was a kick to put on a show for us.

I put down the video camera and try to see if the still camera will let me take any pictures. I snap away, with what I think are some incredible close up images. However, as the musk ox moves on into a thicket of willows, I notice that I have mistakenly reset the camera to an improper setting and that none of the still pictures will come out. Thus I arrive at Bob's Wildlife Photography Rule #2 - never panic during a key wildlife photo-op and always check your camera settings regularly during a shoot!

Luckily the video works, which is where the above still image is from.

Click on the small image below to see a short MPEG video clip:

Karen and I both run through the willows, vainly trying to catch up with him, but we never see him again.

Several people in our group miss this incredible opportunity because of the hour. Sleep is something there is plenty of time for at home, but not here - "you snooze you lose in the Arctic Refuge"

Karen and Lawson decide to spend the day scaling a huge ridge called "Whale Mountain". Several others do some light hiking with Julie and Abby. Danny and I opt for spending the day watching caribou.

We notice that there are several well-worn caribou trails cut into the hills just south of our camp, and all day we watch one group of caribou after another come down off the hills, cross a tributary from the valley to our east, and continue on north along the Kongakut. We walk to several places along their route and then keep very still, watching them cross at close range.

The thermometer on my day pack says 75 degrees - it feels like summer at home and here we are near the northern edge of the continent, at 69 and a third degrees latitude !

Continue to Part 4