The Kongakut, July 9 - July 24
Photos are click-to-enlarge.

July 9
The fox den felt promising for the evening, and I headed there before dinner. But Walt flew in as I was walking to the den. He wanted to move me today because he's going to Fairbanks tomorrow.

Camp came down quickly, and I was soon flying over the tundra, which is now much greener. This move was only 15 miles south.

The Kongakut River is one of the larger rivers in the refuge. The water is high now after the recent rains. The mosquitoes are thick, but it could be worse. It's much warmer here, too. My sponge bath in the tent tonight was not the usual torture, and my feet are already warm! Many nights they don't warm up for several hours. Frustrating.

Camp is made, and I was lucky again to have clear weather. Breaking down and setting up camp in the rain is no fun. I have been lucky.

It's midnight. I'm happily tired and ready for a walk tomorrow. What will I find? Let's see.

July 10
I had a slight fear this morning, and I couldn't explain it, at first. But I realized it was a fear of the unknown. I had grown accustomed to the open plains by the coast, and this place felt different.

I think it's this fear of the unknown that worries many, and entices others to travel. We don't know what we'll see over the next hill. It's both scary and exciting. I suspect many people would feel more of the former in this setting for this length of time. But what is really frightening here? Nothing. Fear of the grizzlies comes from ignorance. All you need is respect and caution. You need those qualities daily here. Not just for the bears, but for the whole place. Beyond that, it's peaceful. So, in peace, I walked.

July 12
My legs were in a hiking mood. I headed north along the river, and the first big hill was too good to ignore. The mosquitoes followed me up, and we had a great view. One little valley more to cross, and there was the Arctic Ocean, still covered in ice. I could see the Turner River as it fed into the sea at my old campsite. An immature golden eagle flew by, and I luckily had the right lens on to photograph. It was past 6 p.m. by the time I started heading back. The gray and rainy sky had changed to blue, and the verdant hillsides were pretty.

The mosquitoes are thicker today. There are about a thousand around me as I walk. I had to use my cotton gloves because the mosquitoes found a chink in my armor: the very tips of my fingers and the skin along the sides of each fingernail. I have to sway the camera as I reload film. If I stop moving, they'll get inside the camera body.

I arrived back at camp in time to see a red fox with a fat lemming in its jaw, and he headed north along the river. I photographed this as best I could, but he was in dense willow bushes the entire time. We played hide and seek. I was able to follow him for a while, but I lost him too soon. The light was perfect, too.

July 15
Just down from that hill in the next valley, a grizzly was near the creek. He was a good-sized bear for the Brooks Range. I'd say 400 to 500 pounds. I photographed him, but he was far away. He dropped into the creek bed, which is now in full bloom with alder and willow. I moved to a position where I figured I'd have a good shot from a relatively safe distance if he came out there.

He came out a little closer than I expected, but I was still comfortable. I had the Colt .45 out just in case. He still hadn't seen me, and I was downwind from him. He was coming right at me, and I got a few photos. Then I learned a good lesson.

I moved the camera just a little to change the metering. When I looked up, all I saw was a big grizzly's behind. Maybe the light's reflection caught his attention. He ran half a mile back across the river. I would have let him approach a little more before I stood up. I know I moved the camera no more than half an inch. Oh well.

I kept walking in the same direction. The grizzly watched me from the other side of the creek, but he was a mile away. The tussocks there were very thick, and I quickly saw a better return route.

There is a good hill nearby, and I knew I would have more fun walking along its broken slate ridge than on those tussocks. I climbed it and had a great view as the sun began to set. The hill is only 2,700 feet, but I could see plenty. I spooked a golden eagle, too.

Camp realities: I've become much better at dispatching mosquitoes as I enter the food tent. It used to be that about 25 came in with me before I could zip the tent shut. Now, it's about 10.

Dinner this evening: Appetizers were dried prunes, peanuts, turkey jerky, sausage, and one piece of bread; sweet and sour pork for the entrée; raisins and melted chocolate for desert. Good that I like all that stuff. The eats here are fine. Thanks, sister! (John's sister, Jennifer, bought and shipped much of the food to John from Eugene, Oregon)

--------------------

Here's John's Food List for the summer:

Breakfast

60 pounds granola
3 pounds Milkman powdered milk
3 pounds of my best trail mix: crunchy peanut butter, honey, and powdered milk
100 each multi vitamins and vitamin C
24 instant oatmeal packs
12 pounds cocoa


Lunch

10 pounds raisins
60 Power bars
40 Balance bars
24 NutriGrain bars
36 loaves of dry, German bread
60 pounds dried fruit (blueberries, strawberries, peaches, apples, prunes, pears, bananas)

Dinner

65 freeze-dried dinners from Mountain House, Alpine Aire, etc. (My favorites are sweet and sour pork, chicken enchiladas, and turkey tetrazzini.)
12 pounds summer sausage
50 ramen noodles that I never ate
6 pounds turkey jerkey
10 pounds peanuts
1 gallon dried spaghetti sauce
50 pounds dried vegetables (peas, carrots, broccoli, green beans, and onions)
3 pounds onion soup mix
17 pounds couscous
10 pounds mashed instant potatoes
13 pounds instant black and pinto beans
10 pounds tabouli mix
5 pounds instant brown rice
1 gallon dried applesauce
10 pounds chocolate

--------------------

July 20
I went into the valley where I met the grizzly last week. The males have large territories, which encompass those of several females. He was probably long gone, but there's no harm in looking. Well, there's no harm in looking carefully.

The weather was cold and all clouds again, but it warmed up to about 50 by late afternoon. The sun even peeked out briefly. In case anyone is wondering, the mosquitoes are doing fine. They lay low during the cool days, and now they're back with a vengeance.

A snowy owl warned me that I was approaching her nest. I have little interest in experiencing a big snowy owl clawing my head, and I gave her a wide berth.

I just spent the last five minutes teasing a mosquito. I put one finger by the tent's mosquito net. One critter senses there is a meal nearby and pokes her proboscis through the net. My finger is right there, but she can't reach it. I can feel the stinger penetrate my skin, and then I pull back. Anything for a little camp fun at midnight, I suppose.

July 21
I feel sorry for the washing machine that will get my clothes in a few weeks. It will back up from all the mosquito parts. But life keeps happening.

There is a quote that goes something like, "You can't leave your footprints on the sand of time if you're sitting on your butt. And who wants to leave butt prints on the sands of time?" It's a mushy notion, but I see some good in it: live fully.

So despite the perfect hypothermia weather, I headed out late this morning. The clouds were only 200 feet above the river, but I felt like a hike. Or so I thought. I went just a mile south along the river and had a revelation: I felt tired! Plain pooped. I sat by a ground squirrels' den for a while, listening to them bark at me, watching the gulls swoop low across the tundra, listening to the river, and laughing quietly as mosquito hordes tried to solve my head net riddle.

The sighting for the day was a big pile of grizzly scat. It was pretty fresh, probably from yesterday evening. There was nothing interesting in it, though: all foliage. An old wolf scat nearby was nothing but ground squirrel hairs.

July 21
Today's hiking song was "Ding dong the witch is dead." Why? I woke at 5 a.m. to an eerie silence, and I knew life in the Brooks Range had changed: snow! There wasn't much, and the rain came later.

There was one great moment on the return hike. It dawned on me that I had not taken any photos of the caribou migratory route. This place is called Caribou Pass, and I was standing right on it. The caribou, in some years, move across the river, up a hill, and down into the next valley, which leads out to the coastal plain a few miles away. They are moving east all this time, and the Canadian border is just 10 miles from here.

I crossed the little trails made by the caribou. There were 33 trails crossing one another over a low spot in the hill only 20 meters across. This was the heart of Caribou Pass. I was looking for a good position to photograph both the trails and the river. Suddenly, as I looked through the viewfinder, here came one caribou up the trail! He was a mighty lost young male. He approached me for a look, stepped off the trail, trotted around me, and disappeared over the hill as he rejoined the trail. In the 60 seconds I took to get over to follow him, he was already down the hill. Following him would be like me running to chase a speeding car. But what luck to see him right there! He must be the last caribou of the year to move through here. I've seen only one other in the nearly two weeks I've been here.

July 22
Should oil companies drill here? No. Ninety percent of the northern border of Alaska is already available for drilling. The coastline of the Arctic Refuge is the only untouched area remaining. History will judge us as fools if we degrade this unique area for oil. We don't need the oil that badly.

Do we need wilderness? Many say that is a strong argument to oppose drilling. I feel it is not humanity's right to view this place solely in terms of our needs. I don't want to protect this place just so people can come in here to hike or raft or photograph. I want to know that such a place still exists. No more. Who are we to alter it?

Walt should come tomorrow, in theory. The Kongakut has been tough but good. I'll enjoy talking to a person rather than the grizzly and arctic ground squirrels. I didn't see a person for almost two weeks. Among others lessons learned here, I am no misanthrope. I'll be a little more gregarious when I'm back in my regular world. These hills are making me stronger not only in my legs, but, more important, in my heart.

July 24
There is a temporal anomaly in the Arctic called Walt. On three occasions, he has said he would move me to the next location on a certain date. When that day arrived, Walt did not.

I'm happy to give him the benefit of the doubt, though. He may have arranged another flight for tomorrow that he can couple with mine, and this would save me good money. Even though I only need to move from point A to point B, Walt normally charges for his entire flight time round trip from Kaktovik. But if another person flies near here, he starts the mileage for my flight from that location. I hope this is his scheme.

The frustration is that I have no way to contact him. The only possibility was a satellite phone, and I didn't feel like paying the $4,000 for one. My radio can contact Walt if he's flying within 25 miles of here, but that's all. Regular cell phones don't work from here because there's not a receiving tower within range.

Not knowing if he'd show in an hour or a day, I couldn't go on a good hike. So I went on several little ones in the hills again. I looked for the red fox den again, to no avail. I watched the clouds move, the gulls chase each other. I trimmed my beard with my Swiss Army knife scissors. At least the weather was perfect.