ANWR: Wilderness at Risk
My Visit to ANWR

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MY VISIT TO ANWR

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This account is taken from a personal newsletter
to friends and family.

I spent 3 weeks in Alaska in the late summer of 2000. It really was the trip of a lifetime, and I look forward to returning there soon.  Most of my time there was spent backpacking through the mountains north of the Arctic Circle, on the Sierra Club’s "High Romanzoff Adventure" trip, but my first experience of the state was my attempt to get to Denali.  After missing the AKRR train (which only goes once a day), I was heartbroken that I would not get to see America’s largest National Park and highest mountain.  At my cab driver’s urging, I inquired inside about catching the train somewhere along the way.  The nice young woman behind the counter at the train station offered to drive me herself to a little whistlestop town called Nenana.  It was about an hour’s drive, and along the way we traded stories and hopes of outdoor adventures past and future.  At Nenana, the AKRR train stopped to pick me up, which prompted other passengers to ask me if I was someone important.  The conductor was charming, and the young high school student who was the tour guide for the trip told us, between announcements of points of interest, what it’s like to live in Fairbanks.  He said it has the broadest temperature range of any place in the world, from about 100 in the summer, to 60 below in the winter.  He nonchalantly told us that his cut-off point for not skiing is 20 below.  In my 24-hour stay in Denali, I went on a wildlife-spotting bus tour, saw a sled dog demonstration, and took a nature hike with one of the park rangers, who apologized for the rain, saying the drizzly weather had been with them for about 7 weeks.  So, no view of the mountain for me, or for many other visitors there this summer.  On my return trip to Fairbanks, I decided my next trip to Alaska would allow me to meet more Alaskans, since all that I met were wonderful people. 

Denali Moose   Romanzoff group
Moose in Denali - They grow 'em big there!
 
Hardy Souls

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But for now, it was off to the wilderness with 10 strangers:  Lewis, Philip, David, Larry, Steve, Blaine, Lenny and Barb, and our fearless leaders, Craig and Bob.  After 2 plane trips, we were in the middle of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge (ANWR), which is an area slightly smaller than the state of Maine, virtually untouched by human development.  Hundreds of miles of mountains and rivers, dwarf birch and willow trees, and somewhere out there, caribou, moose, and grizzly bears.  Having never been in grizzly country before, I’d read up on them: how they behave, when and why (and how -- ick) they attack humans, what to do in an encounter, and so forth.  One rare sunny day, I found myself all alone, in between the fast group and the slower group of the day.  It was just starting to feel like a long time since I’d seen anyone, when I crossed the river for the 20th time that day, turned on the bank to continue, and looked up to see a grizzly bear about 50 yards away, running straight towards me.  Yes, there I was, in grizzly country, with a real grizzly bear and nothing between us.  Somehow, I had the presence of mind to realize that it wasn’t charging me; it was simply running (probably away from the other humans ahead of me), and I had stepped right into its path.  I did what the books said, and walked at an angle away from it, banging my hiking poles on the river rocks to make noise, keeping one eye on it.  Then, she stopped, about 50 yards away now, and stood on her hind legs.  I stopped too, just for a moment, as this beautiful, six and a half foot, cinnamon-colored grizzly bear regarded me, sniffed the wind, dropped down on all fours, and ran in the other direction.  I could swear by the look on her face that she was thinking, "My God!  They’re everywhere!"  I thought I could safely continue if I crossed the riverbed, but I think she had the same idea, because I saw her coming back through the willows.  At this point, I thought it best to retreat back across the river, and hopefully connect with some of the others.  So, I banged my poles together and started singing "Day-O" (that was sort of a theme) and was happy to see Bob and Craig coming up the river.  When we all re-grouped, I found out that some of the others had also seen her, running along the side of the hill looking terrified.  That may sound strange, but the bears in this area are nothing like the human-conditioned bears of our most popular national parks.  It’s very possible that we were the first humans this bear had ever encountered, and there we were, a whole herd of us, brightly colored and about 7 feet tall with our packs on.  We might as well have been Martians to her.  That encounter gave me an adrenaline buzz to last the whole day, but I was never scared as long as she acted just like the books said she would.  Fortunately for me, she’d never read any books on human behavior, and she probably didn’t think for a moment that she could easily kill me.

Most of our wildlife exposure was in the form of things left behind: antlers, bones, tufts of fur, scat, and footprints.  We did see another grizzly, who entertained us for an hour or so as he browsed through the abundant blueberries on a hillside across the river.  Some of the group saw some Dall sheep on a day hike, and we spotted one large porcupine, as well as abundant ground squirrels (known to the grizzlies as "Squirrel McNuggets") and dwarf ptarmigan, as well as a few raptors.

Laura with antler   Snowy river
Antlers are heavy!   A typical day: snow, river, rocks, willows, mountains.

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The weather and terrain were very challenging.  We had plenty of rain, some snow, temperatures as low as 17F, and our feet were constantly wet from traversing the criss-crossing rivers that were our "path."  We followed game trails where we could, mostly the "caribou highway" created by the large porcupine caribou herd, estimated as high as 200,000 strong.  They had moved on to their wintering grounds to the west, but their presence was so tangible in all that was left behind, it was easy to imagine them roaming across the tundra.  Although wet (sometimes icy) river rocks were tough to navigate with 60 pounds on our backs, our greatest challenge was the tussocks-and-bog terrain.  Describe by one Sierra Club writer as "fields of bowling ball-size mounds of vegetation popping out of boot-sucking mire," it was the toughest terrain I ever hope to challenge, and I ended up exhausting my supply of duct tape to support my hyperextended Achilles tendon.  Fortunately, I was with a great group of rugged folks who were able to take it all in stride, and I am the better person for it.  Thanks to everyone who made it such a great trip.

Panorama

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We covered about 8 miles each day for 10 days, with 3 days off.  Those days off were my salvation.  My body demanded rest for all of one day, but packless day hikes on the other 2 days were wonderful opportunities to explore the mountains that surrounded us.  The variety of geology in that area is amazing; some mountains look like they could be in Arizona, others in Wyoming, others in the Alps.  It was great to look down into the valley and see the tiny dots of our "tent village," and then to look for familiar peaks in the direction we’d come from, and realize how far we had come.  One day, thinking I was just going up a quick little hill, I took almost nothing with me.  But I caught up with some of the others and ended up having one of my favorite days of the trip.  They shared their snacks & water with me as we followed a snow-frosted ridgeline, looking down into a cloud-filled valley and out to a misty green horizon which was the northern coast of Alaska.  David was brave enough to let me join him on a snow-covered extension of the ridge; from where we stood, it was hard to tell how deep that snow was.  We were rewarded with incredible views and pristine, sparkling snow fields, plus one summit that was basically a huge pile of big, sharp rocks.  Our descent took us through another patch of grizzly heaven - a blueberry-covered hillside - and along a sparkling cascade that looked inviting if the air and water weren’t both so cold.

Purple Mountains Majesty   Laura w/ full pack
Endless rivers & mountains   Tired & wet, but happy

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Our last days were "trip-makers."  The last day of hiking included a slog up a tussock-covered pass, with the reward of a descent along a crystal-clear river cascading down a fall of pastel-colored granite.  Strangely, the surrounding mountains were not granite, so I would call it a glacial erratic fall.  It was like hiking over giant, misshapen Easter eggs, and looming in front of us was one of the highest mountains we encountered, at about 8,000 feet.  When the snow started to gently fall, it was the icing on the cake.  When we woke the next morning, the day we were supposed to fly out, it was still snowing, there were about 3 inches on the ground, and the valley was completely socked in with clouds.  How would our pilot ever get through to pick us up?  Lewis, who is a recreational pilot, said, "You’d have to be crazy to fly in this."  Well, thank God for crazy Alaskan bush pilots!  After we spent a few hours of waiting and making jokes about cannibalism, that little Cessna dropped out of the clouds like descending angel.  Amazingly, our pilot was able to shuttle us all out of the wilderness to Arctic Village, and Wright Air sent a second, unscheduled shuttle plane to get us all back to Fairbanks in time for a shower and dinner in town.  Did I mention I got a great impression of Alaskans? 

As we flew over the mountains out of the Arctic Refuge, I hoped that I was not among the last to see this great wilderness it in its natural state.  If you have heard of ANWR before this, chances are it was in reference to proposed oil drilling in the northern coastal plain, the calving grounds of the porcupine caribou herd and the only protected Arctic coastline in the U.S.  Given the tendencies of our president-elect, the outlook is not good.  Please consider writing to your congress in opposition to any oil exploration in ANWR. 

Laura by the river
A heavy backpack makes a handy ottoman
Prior to the trip, I thought that 2 weeks of camping and backpacking would make me want to throw out all my material comforts and live in a teepee, but that didn’t happen.  The transformation was more subtle.  On one of those days in the wilderness, I woke up to find my boots and socks had frozen overnight.  Not wanting to squander my clean, dry socks on what would surely be another wet day of hiking, I bent the ice crystals out of my socks and wrestled my feet into my petrified boots, thinking, "Whose idea was this?  What was she thinking?  And where is she now?"  But turning back was not an option, personally or practically.  I realized then, in a very tangible way, something that I have always known on a philosophical level:  I can do just about anything I set my mind to.  When I’d decided to do the trip, I’d done very little backpacking, even less winter camping, and I’d never spent an extended period of time in such a remote place.  Once I’d made the commitment, I set to preparing myself with physical training, research about the region, and a hefty investment in reliable gear.  And once the plane had left us on that riverbed on day one, there was nothing to do but proceed, accepting whatever challenges lay ahead.  The challenges were certainly substantial, but the rewards were priceless. I know I'll return to this time and place often as I pursue my personal and professional goals in the years to come.