October 2018 – Travel・Surf・Yoga

Into the Tunda: Part Four

October 31, 2018 Leigh Leigh, Travel

The following is an account of day four of our trip to the arctic circle. If you missed day three, you can catch up in quick fashion with a recap found here.

It was a chilly night in the tent. We had a little propane lantern going before bed, and that helped to heat the area, and of course my bag was cozy, but the morning air was not. I was happy I had splurged for a sleep sack, which boasted an extra 25 degrees of protection. I don’t know about 25, but it was soft and well worth the extra layer to keep in body heat.

My penguin socks also came in handy as a secondary foot layer.

The provisions from the outfitter included a two-burner stove and a kettle; the latter we had filled with lake water the night before, and had it ready in the vestibule. Edgar broke up the thin layer of ice that had formed overnight, and got coffee going, since one of us is not such a morning person (cough, cough, me, cough cough) and he kindly served it to me in my sleeping bag so I could warm up before I got up.

Once we were properly caffeinated, we greeted the morning at first light. We couldn’t get over the beauty of our camp site. The water was blue and clear, and clean enough to drink. I’ve never been camping anywhere where we just took our water bottles down to the edge of the lake and scooped up a bunch to drink, but that’s what we did all week with no arguments from our digestive systems. (Special thanks to my friend who gave me a life water tube to use just in case – I did try it out just so I’ll be ready if it’s needed on the next trip!)

My stomach wakes up slowly, but Edgar woke up starving and decided to have a Mountain House spaghetti for breakfast. We didn’t know what to expect from the ready-to-eat packs, but we found them surprisingly tasty. We poured a couple of cups of hot water right in the pouch, let it sit, and in no time it was ready to eat.

The guys who stayed at the camp prior to our arrival had killed several of their caribou after spotting them right from camp, so our binoculars were never far away, and we glassed in between making coffee, and packing gear. It wasn’t uncommon for one of us to be making a sandwich, and the other to take a quick climb up the hill to see what we could see.

We decided to head to a small hill not too far away and put our binoculars to work. The caribou seemed to be coming from the south and heading north into a valley. We made some pb&j sandwiches, filled up our water bottles and layered up for the day. We also packed meat bags, knives, a bone saw, and other items we’d need if we were successful in our hunt.

Once we found a comfy spot, we leaned against our packs and looked over the tundra, up on the hill, around the rocks and back to the tundra again. At first my eyes deceived me. Everything that dotted the landscape looked like a caribou. I’d stare at a dark speck with a shiny side, slide off it and then move back over. Did it move? No. Rock. We did this for an hour or two, snacking on mini snickers, but eventually the sun warmed us so nicely that we found ourselves dozing here and there. We woke up a while later to see a cow and calf crossing the tundra. They moved pretty leisurely for a long time, before suddenly trotting away.

A while later we saw another cow and calf hanging out by the river… which was easily a mile from us but still in our view. We walked up the river bed for a closer look, and to get a better understanding of the best way to travel. Prior to our trip, the one warning we got more than other wasn’t about low temperatures or grizzlies, but about the challenge of walking on the tundra. The land is boggy; it sits on permafrost. Trees can’t root down through it, so we saw grass and small shrubbery on top and some sort of plant that looks like a head of broccoli, called a tussock. Sometimes when we’d step, we’d get grass. Sometimes our boots would sink under mucky water, and sometimes we’d land on a bouncy tussock. The river bed was mostly gravel, and much more inviting, and we traveled it whenever it was going in our general direction, even if we had to wind around a bit.

Just down river, no bulls were in sight, so we had to be content with enjoying the scenery, which was easy enough to do. It was so quiet that at one point I heard a noise and couldn’t figure out what it was. Eventually I placed it. It was the rustle of a bird’s wings as it flew above me.

At dusk we headed back to camp to build a fire and enjoy a warm meal of beef stroganoff. We made a plan to move into the valley the next day, where the animals all seemed to be headed.

In part five, our patience pays off along with our waders and pack out bag, and we hit our record for number of miles traveled across the tundra in one day.

Rides Around: Long Live the Jeep

October 24, 2018 Guest Travel

Here at TSY we love to showcase your adventures, and the vehicles that drive them. Check out this guest post featuring a vehicle that may not hit the road, but still provides a valuable service.

Someone gave me this great old Jeep to drive the quarter-mile back and forth from my house to the back of my property, the Sangamon River. It was mid summer when the Marty, the local tow truck driver, dropped the friendly beast in my driveway. I was given a quick tutorial on four-wheel drive and was left alone to figure it out on my own.

I prefer to walk during the summer; the Jeep did many weeks of waiting. I did drive it to carry equipment if I was fishing. We worked out some incidentals together. A couple of flat tires and a broken rear brake line were repaired. The decision was made to leave the rusted frame alone for now as it was never going to be a “on the road” vehicle.

As the days got shorter the Jeep was driven more. Daylight after work became less and less each day but by driving, there was still an hour with enough light to rock hunt and find those allusive Indian beads (fossilized crinoid stem). Winter is clambering its way across the north west, and it won’t be long and miss J will be loaded with firewood to warm the house, soul, and body. Long live the Jeep! A short trip but rugged “rides around “.

The Rig: 1993 Jeep 4×4

The Location: Springfield, IL

The Driver: a Dedicated Rock Hunter

The Special Circumstance: Nightly river outings

-Kate Riley

Into the Tundra: Part Three

October 17, 2018 Leigh Leigh, Travel

The following is an account of day three of our trip to the arctic circle. If you missed day two, you can catch up in quick fashion with a recap found here.

The wind died down on Saturday morning, and we got the text we were hoping to see. “Can you be ready in 15?” Ten minutes later we were anxiously waiting for the van to take us back to the staging area. We got our bags organized and in the van, and enjoyed a few laughs as the guys from Wisconsin seemed to be forgetting everything in their rush to get into the field… including a rifle! We also noticed they were well under the weight limit, and we heard one of them regretfully admit, “I didn’t really bring any cold weather gear.” I glanced down at my bag of coats, hats, gloves and wool long johns and felt a little bad for him. It’s Alaska, friends. It might be late summer, but it still gets cold.

We needed our waders for the boarding process, since the float planes were tied up close to shore, but still required a few steps in the water. I got to sit up front next to the pilot, while Edgar took the chair right behind me. Taking off on the water is unreal. The plane glided for a while while we got up speed, and then lifted effortlessly into the Alaskan sky. It was a bumpy ride for some of the 150 miles north to our camp site. While my stomach lurched and dropped, our pilot was completely unbothered. I glanced over and caught him sending a smiley face emoji to someone. Edgar and I locked eyes and I knew we were thinking the same thing. If your bush pilot is confident enough to text while he’s flying you out, he’s either unhinged, or there’s nothing to worry about. We settled on the latter.

We saw caribou, and so much water. It’s crazy how many rivers and lakes we saw from the air. We knew we were being dropped off by a lake, so every time I saw a big one I was thinking… maybe we land here… or here… this one looks nice. Finally the pilot spotted what he’d been after, and we landed smooth as silk on a good-sized lake. A bunch of guys were gathered in camp chairs on the beach, and they greeted us warmly. They wasted no time in sharing the layout of the camp, where they saw animals, which direction the caribou were going, and which meals they enjoyed the most from the Mountain House packs. They also had a stack of leftover firewood, which was much appreciated. There were six of them, so they’d had three tents, and left one standing and ready for us to move in. Only half of them could fit in the plane, so the other three stayed back with us for a few more hours. It took 90 minutes each way to ferry us back and forth from the staging area.

Fish and Game officials have serious rules about NOT hunting the day you fly. But there is no law against getting the lay of the land, so once our new friends had departed we spent the next five hours of daylight getting to know the valley. We saw a few caribou, including one rather large bull we nicknamed Mr. Wide. He had really tall uppers, but no bez. We watched him for a good while, and slowly got closer, until he’d had enough of us and headed back toward the canyon.

The visual judging of distance is deceiving. These caribou were close to camp, but still about 200 yards away. With our binoculars we could see for miles, so it felt like everything was so close, but the actual distance and the mushy give of the tundra made crossing the valley more time-consuming than it appeared.

The daytime temperature was comfortable – in my wool base layer, lined overalls and fleece I was plenty warm, but when the sun went down the temperature really dropped. We got a fire going and each enjoyed a warm Mountain House meal before burrowing into our sleeping bags. I admit it took some time for me to fall asleep that first night. I heard soft, unidentifiable noises, that for no reason whatsoever I suspected might be a grizzly bear. Once I was certain it was just the wind, I pulled my hat low and my sleeping bag high and drifted off.

On day four we established a morning coffee routine, had an unconventional camp breakfast, and devised a strategy for crossing the tundra.

When Does a Journey Begin?

October 13, 2018 Leigh Leigh, Travel

When does a journey begin? The answer might seem obvious – maybe you feel like it begins when you get on the plane, or pack the car, or even make the reservations. But we might argue it begins much earlier… before you even make a list, or hit “enter” on that first internet search.

Since our journey into the arctic circle (part three is coming soon), we’ve been thinking about our next adventure… and watching videos of other travels into the wilderness. One that caught our eye was posted by a guy named Justin Gibbins and you can find it here. His assertion in telling the story of his moose hunt in Alaska, is that the journey began when he was talking with his friend about trips he always wanted to take. They always thought of the moose hunt as one they would do “eventually” but hadn’t even gotten to the first mark in the actual planning. But in this particular conversation, something turned. They began to ask themselves: why haven’t we done this yet?

That’s the moment. They committed. That one-second click between “I’ve always wanted to do that” and “I’m going” — that’s when the journey really begins. That’s when you can first picture yourself on the beach, the lake, in the mountains, or across the globe in a coffee shop surrounded by people speaking a language that’s foreign to your ears. No tickets have been purchased, and no budgets made. But the decision is there. The journey has begun.

Into the Tundra: Part Two

October 7, 2018 Leigh Leigh, Travel

The following is an account of day two of our trip to the arctic circle. If you missed day one, you can catch up in quick fashion with a recap found here.

On Friday we got packed up not-so-bright and early for the 6a flight into Kotzebue. The journey took about 90 minutes, and most of the passengers had one common denominator: camouflage. Nearly everyone on the flight looked like they were prepared to rough it in the elements for a few days, and hoped to fill their freezer in the process.

It makes sense. Kotzebue is a small town, and is considered the gateway to the artic. It’s also an island, so getting goods in or out is tricky. (That might explain why a bag Cheetos at the local market sold for a cool $7.) Once we landed at the small airport, it wasn’t too hard to find the two young men with the name of our outfitter embroidered on their jackets. Kaleb and TJ helped us load up into a van to take us over to the staging area. A few other hunters shared the ride, and a couple more were already at the base camp. There was a team of two from California, one bearded quiet guy, and one clean-shaved and chatty fellow. Another pair of guys were traveling from Wisconsin and said they had hunted together for 30 years. A third duo were also longtime hunting buddies from somewhere in the lower 48.

We all got busy breaking our big bags down into smaller bags, per the instructions of the outfitter. The bush planes are small, so the pilots prefer many small bags that they can tuck into limited cargo spaces, versus just a couple larger and more cumbersome bags. We had quite a few items when we broke everything out, and were a little nervous about how the weight would add up once they put everything on the scale. As it turned out, my bathroom scale had set us up for success. We were both at about 71 pounds, one pound over the limit, but the outfitter let us slide.

The plan was for us to get into the field that morning, but the wind was up and we decided to grab breakfast while we waited it out. It was fun to chat with the other hunters and hear their stories about “that one time” when their buddy shot a big moose, or how one guy had the perfect spot for his trophy bull, until he put it on the wall and couldn’t open his back door without hitting the tines. We all had a delicious breakfast (Edgar raved about the chicken fried steak) and a few good belly laughs before heading back to the staging area to see if it was safe to fly.

The weather was beautiful in town, but reports were that the wind was still howling en route to our camp, so it was decided we’d wait a day and get into the field on Saturday. We resigned ourselves to the delay, and wandered around the town. Hunting, fishing, four-wheeling and sled dog mushing are clearly the big pastimes in Kotzebue. We also saw quite a few broken down vehicles and equipment in yards. Living in a place that remote, and for some of the year, that cold and snowy, must make it hard to get those items removed, and people probably make use of whatever parts they can.

We had a nice dinner with a view, and pondered about the journey ahead. Would we see caribou? Would we see bears? Was it really that tough to walk on the tundra? What kind of camping area would they select for us, and would our gear stand the test when the Alaskan wind and rain blew into the valley?

We couldn’t wait to get out into the wilderness and see what the arctic circle had in store.