Into the Tundra: Part Three

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.

 

 

Into the Tundra: Part Two

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.