The Beginning
Eleven years ago I had found Alaska. I had set out on my
honeymoon with a man I was only just beginning to know. It wasn't much of a
honeymoon. We were on the road every day, from Anchorage to Denali to
Glennallen, Valdez, Seward, Fairbanks, the Arctic Circle, and back. We fought
our first battles and forged our first peace. We became best friends and I
became a traveler.
Stranded in Minneapolis after
missing the last flight to Fairbanks, I drank a lot of beer. The bartenders
were chatty when I said I was going to Alaska. One of them
shared that he wanted to go there too – to look for gold – but had to invest in a state-of-the-art metal detector first. What was I going to Alaska for?
My husband died a little more than a year ago in a motorcycle accident. I was going to take what
physically remained of him – an awful thought still –
to the Gates of the Arctic and the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, where he had tried to hike in 2011, but hadn't been able to go far without a guide. The traveler in me also knew that I had to go a bit further and open my
heart to Alaska. I was reading The Blue Highways as I waited for my plane. William Least Heat-Moon chided, "any traveler who misses the journey misses
about all he's going to get". I thought I should listen to him... he has seen more than me and is a much better writer.
State Fair: Reindeer sausage, anyone? Photo: Urjasi |
Manley Hot Springs
It was a 160-mile ride to Manley Hot Springs, a town with 65
– 70 residents. We hiked in the
White Mountains area on the way, picked wild blueberries and found a dead vole.
Kim, a scientist among us, explained that voles are promiscuous creatures. The
receptors in their brains are not as dense, so they don't feel intensely
"in love". When a male vole meets a female vole, they go, “eh, you’re
cute… but not cute enough for me to stay put”.
Sign before Manley Hot Springs/ Photo: Urjasi |
Manley Hot Springs Slough/Photo: Urjasi |
We reached Manley in the evening. This time of the year, the
summer sun doesn’t go down until late night, and even then, it just bobs along
the horizon as the sky turns pink and gold. After pitching tent near the Slough, we headed for the Roadhouse next
to our campsite. It came with a full bar, food, flush toilet and pay showers.
We downed some local beer, gratefully used the flush toilet, tipped generously
and made friends with the locals, including Tonka, the bartender’s Chihuahua
and Ruby, a miniature pincher with frostbite tipped ears.
“What’s the hardest thing about living here?” we asked
Ruby’s owner.
“The cold.”
In a classic lack of perspective, I was having trouble imagining the cold trumping the darkness and isolation. What does 60 or 70 below zero feel like? The coldest temperature ever recorded in Central Park, New York City was -15 degrees, on February 9, 1934. And in more recent years, on January 24th, 2011, the city experienced a record low of 6 degrees. I had stayed in and watched television. I had explained to April, my pit-lab bundle of joy, it was too cold to go for a long walk. She had agreed.
“The cold.”
In a classic lack of perspective, I was having trouble imagining the cold trumping the darkness and isolation. What does 60 or 70 below zero feel like? The coldest temperature ever recorded in Central Park, New York City was -15 degrees, on February 9, 1934. And in more recent years, on January 24th, 2011, the city experienced a record low of 6 degrees. I had stayed in and watched television. I had explained to April, my pit-lab bundle of joy, it was too cold to go for a long walk. She had agreed.
Manley Roadhouse/Photo: Urjasi |
Pam Redington tells us about fishing and drying chum salmon for dog food / Photo: Urjasi |
In the morning we met Pamela Redington, musher and wife of Joe Redington. Joe Senior is known as the "Father of the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race”. Pam and Joe don’t participate in the Iditarod any more and are training a “small” pack of 30-40 huskies for speed racing. Huskies, we learned, are dogs with a thick undercoat and often mix-bred, far from the AKC definition.
Pamela is a petite woman with graying hair. Her eyes speak
of wisdom and tenacity. I could easily see her racing twenty dogs on a sled in
the middle of a blizzard, and her dogs would obey her. In her little backyard
and greenhouse, Pam grows vegetables. Joe and Pam have a subsistence lifestyle.
They fish, hunt, farm, race sled dogs, make carvings and hats out of ivory and
fur. When she first moved to Manley, she went to Fairbanks once a year to get all her
household supplies.
Sled dog/ Photo: Urjasi |
I come from leftist liberal, feminist politics, not in favor
of guns or sports hunting/fishing. But when I meet Pam, Joe and others like
them, practicing subsistence lifestyle in Alaska, I can see that they hunt,
consume and live much more sustainably and humanely than us. They don’t over
fish because they know their food supply would be wrecked if they do. They
don’t kill senselessly. Hunting, skinning, using all parts of the animal,
storing the meat, is a lot of hard work, and the people who live off this land
don’t mess with their source of subsistence. For these people, climate change
is not a political debate. It's a frightening reality that's poaching their way
of life and wrecking the planet for all of us.
The rest of the day we canoed on the slough, hoping to spot
moose. Instead, we saw a sign on an outhouse "Sarah Palin for
Governor". Day three closed with another gourmet meal – baked salmon,
pasta and fresh green salad from Pam’s garden – followed by dips in the hot
springs. We had it booked for the entire evening. No Jameson for me tonight. Our stock of beer, however, had started
dwindling.
The Haul Road
Tanana River/ Photo: Urjasi |
Steve and Jeff skipped stones as we took photos. The past and the present played hide and seek as we turned on to the
Dalton Highway, driving towards the Arctic Circle.
The Haul Road and Minto Flats/ Photo: Urjasi |
Yukon River Camp/Photo: Urjasi |
The Yukon/ Photo: Urjasi |
I met a fisherman/musher on the banks of the Yukon, loading
his retired pack of sled dogs on a truck. We talked about Alaska, dog sledding
and climate change. He was thankful that the people in the lower 40-s keep lobbying “to save Alaska from the Alaskans”. The Alaskans in the
cities don’t care about Alaska, he said. The turnover rate in the cities, where majority of the population is concentrated, is
five years on an average. Politics ensuing from there serves the rich, not the land and animals of
Alaska, and certainly not the people who practice subsistence lifestyle.
Driving past the Yukon River Camp, we finally reached the
Arctic Circle. Jeff busted out his saxophone to mark the crossing. Before we go
any further, let me answer the two most frequently asked questions – it
wasn’t cold in the Arctic Circle, and no, there were no penguins. Summer
temperatures in the Arctic can rise up to 80-s or even 90-s. The “arctic
circle” marks one of the five major circles of latitude and it’s the
southern most latitude in the Northern Hemisphere. The area that lies north of
the circle is known as the Arctic, the land of the midnight sun.
In the Brooks Range
For the next two nights, we set up our tents at Marion Creek
Campground, overlooking the stoic Brooks Range. Steve whipped up memorable
meals and Jeff played his saxophone from the top of the van. I learned I was
good with rum, had fun with tequila, and spun on Jameson.
Tundra hike/ Photo: Urjasi |
Marion Creek in the morning/ Photo: Urjasi |
Log cabin in Wiseman/ Photo: Urjasi |
Jack Reakoff in front of Boreal Lodge/Photo: Urjasi |
Jack Reakoff is a subsistence trapper, hunter, and gardener. Handsome and clean-shaven, perhaps in his fifties, he speaks in a steady, calm voice and has still eyes. I didn’t have trouble imagining him killing his first bear at twelve. If you chance upon a bear, Jack says, hold your ground, establish dominance, as you would with a dog. “But if a bear was hunting me, I would stand no chance” he admits.
Jack was raised in Wiseman and has maintained a subsistence
lifestyle supplemented by talking to tourists, and commercial fishing. He has
solar panels and Internet in his cabin and uses the generator sparingly. He
grows vegetables in his “yard”. The growing season here is short, but furious.
We couldn’t believe the size of the lettuce we got from Jack’s garden.
Jack taking samples from spawned salmon. Photo: Urjasi |
We asked Jack about his thoughts on Shell’s plans of digging
for oil in the Arctic. He believes it would be far too costly and unmanageable
to dig and transport more oil from the Arctic – "there is talk of lowering the
maintenance cost of the Pipeline.” I shuddered hearing this. In recent years,
there have been concerns
about corrosion in the pipeline, a viable threat to wildlife and
people alike.
The town of Wiseman is where early wilderness advocate Bob
Marshall spent a little more than a year in 1930, and wrote a book called
“Arctic Village”, giving the most delightful, vivid description of life in the north of
Koyukuk River. In his book, Marshall observed that the “Koyukukers” were the
happiest people he had met; over 90 percent of them had above average
intelligence and the percentage of Koyukukers in the “very superior
intelligence class” was four times greater than among normal Americans.
Mountains from the sky/Photo: Judy Kuczenski |
The village of Anaktuvuk/ Photo: Urjasi |
When Bob Marshall got to this point, where the Boreal Mountain and Frigid Crags flank the North Fork of the Koyukuk River, he named it the “Gates of the Arctic” and remarked, "No sight or sound or smell or feeling even remotely hinted of men or their creations. It seemed as if time had dropped away a million years and we were back in a primordial world."
Anaktuvuk, "Avoid Conflict"/ Photo: Urjasi |
Sunset from top of the van/ Photo: Urjasi |
The sky went up in flames of red and pink that night as the
midnight sun bobbed along the horizon.
Beyond the Northernmost tree
We filled up on drinking water and gathered firewood on
the way to Galbraith Lake. We passed the “northernmost tree” before going
through the spectacular Atigun Pass. Someone had actually tried to axe down the
northernmost tree – spruce, I think – and it was dying! But Steve pointed to a
baby tree growing merely a few feet away from the “northernmost tree” sign. “The
light of God is shining down on those trees,” drawled Sue from the back of the
van.
Atigun pass/ Photo: Judy Kuczenski |
Golbraith Lake in the North Slope was our last
camp for this trip. It sits off the haul road, and to its east lies
the Gates of the Arctic National Park (GAAR) and to its west, the Arctic
National Wildlife Refuge (ANWR). This was the pinnacle of our trip. I've been walking in Sanjay’s footsteps.
Past the Atigun Pass, where we had stopped to watch Dall
sheep on the ridges, the Pipeline was once again our faithful companion for the
rest of the journey. As we got nearer, I recognized that somewhere along this
road, Sanjay had stopped, and tried to hike in. He had described the road, with
the pipeline running next to it, and the vast tundra around it. He had been to
Golbraith Lake. I looked around and realized that this was not only my destination, but also my Alaska –
with or without him. That night, I stayed up very late and got very drunk,
watching the fire burn down.
Steve and I discussed where to scatter the ashes. It didn’t
really matter anymore, whether we hiked east or west. We decided to hike west if it was sunny, or east if it was wet. I knew that I would know
the place when I saw it, and Steve seemed to know where to take me. Sometimes, you just know...
View from Midnight Dome/Photo: Judy Kuczenski |
On the ridge of Midnight Dome/Photo: Urjasi |
By then, I had forgotten my hangover. I was sure that the weather would hold that day, and that I would take whatever remains physically of my best friend, partner, anchor ("husband" just doesn't cut it) to wherever he was supposed to go.
That place turned out to be on a ridge line of Midnight Dome, in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, facing the rivers, creeks and a glacier. We hiked about 7 miles, experienced an elevation gain of close to 2000 ft, and scrambled up rocks in all fours to get to this point. And there, inexplicably, I didn’t feel alone.
Land’s End… Deadhorse
I am struggling to describe Deadhorse. Steve and Julie agreed that it was something like “Mad Max,” except in a place with dirt roads flanked by tundra and monster trucks.
Most photographed spot in Deadhorse/Photo: Urjasi |
Our hotel, Deadhorse/ Photo: Urjasi |
Deadhorse was an eye sore and a rude reminder of what the
“Outside” looked like. After more than a week in the Alaskan wilderness, I had
lost track of the “Outside.” Time and dates had blurred, cell phones were meant
for taking pictures and emails were forgotten.
Watching the tundra from behind the trucks/Photo: Urjasi |
After breakfast, we piled on to a “secure” van for a tour of Deadhorse and the Arctic Ocean. You cannot access the Arctic Ocean from here without security clearance. We saw a caribou on our way. The brave (or stupid) ones among us – that includes me – took a dip in the Arctic and ran back to shore as fast as we could.
Deadhorse, AK/ Photo: Urjasi |
And, just like that, a spell was broken, a trip was over.
Goodbye march/ Photo: Urjasi |
Afterword
During much of this trip, I was walking in Sanjay’s
footsteps. Please check out his photographs from his travels in Alaska: http://seenonfilm.net/albums/alaska/album/index.html.
He took a film camera and an extra lens and came back with these.
I booked the trip, Gateway to the Arctic, through REI and I would recommend it to anyone who wants to explore Alaska but doesn't know where to start. Also, unless you know the area, it's quite difficult to hike off trails in the arctic. Phones and GPS don't work there, so having a guide who knows these mountains helps.
I booked the trip, Gateway to the Arctic, through REI and I would recommend it to anyone who wants to explore Alaska but doesn't know where to start. Also, unless you know the area, it's quite difficult to hike off trails in the arctic. Phones and GPS don't work there, so having a guide who knows these mountains helps.
I went to Alaska fearing pain, but found joy. And because I let myself feel the joy surrounding me, and immerse myself in the journey, even as grief walked along with me, I found my Alaska again. This is the
Alaska I would some day return to, for myself.
I don’t know what happens after we die. I am reminded of my
favorite chapter from "Arctic Village" as I write this, "An Evening at the Roadhouse." There, in 1930, the wise men of Wiseman had deliberated about death, after-life, racism,
capitalism, income inequality, censorship and more. All I really know is that I
have this life, right now, and a choice about living it with joy or misery.
The grief is a given, and there is no "closure" to be had. I'll always love him and miss him, but I choose joy and wish that Sanjay gets another chance to hike these mountains.
I want to give a shout out to the incredible group of
people I traveled with. We were strangers and none of us had expected to find
so much joy and camaraderie in each other’s company. We also had unusually good weather. I would have done what I had sought to do even without good weather and good company... but I couldn’t have sent
him off amidst joy, and I may not have found my Alaska. For that, I thank my
fellow travelers and guides.
A last word, about the environment: Climate change is the
one issue that will affect us all, incrementally, or drastically, regardless of
where we are and who we are. Some population theorists would even say that it
would be nature’s way of culling the burgeoning human population. But I won’t
go there. Instead, I will share the knowledge I gather during my travels, and point
you to small and big things that we can do for the environment.
Consider donating to or taking some actions organized by the Alaska Wilderness League. Here’s one that I signed on to, asking Congress to designate the Arctic Refuge’s coastal plain as wilderness and off-drilling http://www.alaskawild.org/our-issues/arctic-national-wildlife-refuge-campaign/.
Thanks for reading… and happy trails!