Tyler and I decided to try our luck at a spring caribou hunt. The hunt is on the Dalton Highway, known in Alaska as the Haul Road because it's mostly used by truckers, hauling supplies from Fairbanks to the oil rigs in Deadhorse. It's also known on TV as the Ice Road, driven by in famous Ice Road Truckers. Apparently, the road is so dangerous and dicey to drive they made a reality TV show about it. It's a 396 mile narrow 2-lane gravel road that's windy, hilly, and has the scariest looking mountain pass I've ever seen. There's one place to get gas along the way, and no other services. Bring on the adventure!
Most Haul road hunters go in the fall when you can get trophy animals, which for us would mean no moose hunt! We picked the spring, when there's less hunters and potentially more snow. We thought we were ready for anything.....
Then we got royally stuck. On our first night. At 12:30 am. This is the story: We leave Seward at about 7:30 pm, the Jeep's loaded, and we're excited. Tyler drives long past dark, until we see the glimmer of the Northern Lights on the horizon. "The lights!" I say. "This MUST be a good sign! Let's pull over for the night and enjoy them!" Unknowingly, I've jinxed the trip.
We pull into the Nancy Lake campground, about 300 miles south of Fairbanks and 100 miles north of Anchorage. Here's our thought process: We have a 4X4 jeep with chains, two spare tires, and a highly qualified automobile operator. The road to the campground's open with absolutely no warning signs. We can see tracks on the road and we can see the ground under the trees, so the snow can't be too deep for the Jeep. Little did we know, the tracks weren't car tracks, the temp was 33 degrees and had made the snow all slushy, and there's over two feet of snow on the road. We make it two blocks into the campground when SHUNK! the Jeep is stuck. Tyler digs and digs, we put the chains on, but they keep slipping off. It feels hopeless in the dark, so we pitch the tent on the road and sleep for a couple hours.
The situation isn't any better by the light of day. Tyler spends about 6 hours trying to dig us out, I find dead wood to put under the tires for traction, and the chains end up snapping our brake line. By 9am, we realize we're in a hopeless situation and need to call for help. We make a few phone calls, and finally find someone willing to plow the road and pull us out. The big dozer machine comes, powered by a grizzly chain-smoking old man, and even after he plows the road, we still can't dig down to find the road. We slap on a tow strap, Grizzly-Plow-Man pops out of the ditch we've made, and we're ready to continue on our adventure! We haven't even made it to the dangerous part of the road yet!
There's only that one issue...since we snapped the brake line, we can't really travel on the Haul road with just an emergency brake. We call literally every auto parts store between Anchorage and Fairbanks, but there isn't a part to be had in the entire state. We decide to buck it up, drive to Fairbanks, and wait it out. So, Tyler drives 300 miles with nothing but the e-brake, and I keep him alert and awake with my sparkling personality.
On our way to Fairbanks, we pass a little log cabin on the side of the road with a crazy-looking sign out front that says "Wytchwood", a bunch of flashing LED lights in the window, and a bright "Open" sign. Of course, we have to stop. I've found that most people in Alaska don't really live in a 'middle' ground: either you don't drink at all, or you're a raging alcoholic; either a Palin-following republican, or a liberal, socialist-leaning democrat; either a devout Christian, or a nature-worshipping pagan. Each town seems to have its own little pagan store where you can buy crystals and get problem-solving advise, except for Seward. Wytchwood is no different. She had potions and magic teas galore. We chat with her about the bad luck we've hit on our trip, and she gives us a little vial full of a good-luck oil that we're supposed to put on our windows and doors for the duration of the trip. We figure at this point, anything's worth a shot! I try to look as 'witchy' as possible when I put it on the car....as pictured above.
We get the brake line overnighted, but when you live in Alaska, that doesn't necessarily mean one night. We end up having about two and a half days to kill around Fairbanks, just waiting..... so we read stories to each other in the tent (pictured above)
We practice our archery skills, in full camo of course. Although it's the end of April and around 40 degrees in Fairbanks, once we get to the hunting grounds it could very well be below 0 degrees, so we practice with all our layers on. I have the puffiest down jacket available on the market, which makes it look like I'm a flat-chested, large-stomached abominable snow man when I'm all geared up.
Tyler tries to call in a Great Horned Owl hooting around our campsite. The owl doesn't like it and gets scared away.
We collect a bunch of dead wood and build fires. We roast some amazing dogs wrapped in fire-toasted tortillas.
We go to Creamer's Field, known as the birder's paradise of Fairbanks. We're a little too early for the good bird migrations, but we see hundreds of canadian geese and white-fronted geese, which I haven't seen since last year. The geese are a lot of fun to watch. It's a constant avian soap-opera, with goose couples getting harrassed by goose bachelors, with a vocal showing scene being made every time.
We make friends with a squirrel. He weezles away with all our pitas.
And finally, our part comes! We're able to hit the road again, complete with a working break system. Now we can conquer the Haul Road! We pass this truck during a long sunset on the road. We have to pull over and slow down every time a truck's coming the opposite direction because the road's so narrow.
Some views from the road....
We had bright blue sky the entire trip, including this photo, but I think it was so bright blue and the snow was so bright white, the camera couldn't quite get the image right. This is a good image of what the gravel road was like....for hundreds of miles.
Then comes Atigun Pass! Steep, steep, steep. I can't imagine trying to drive a multi-ton truck down this road. It's not long, it's only at 4,000 ft, but try feeling comfortable with this road when there's a semi coming the other direction, it's a steep cliff off the other side, and if you wreck the closest help is hours and hours away...yikes!
This is the view of the bottom of the pass. Can you see the big twist in the road at the end?
These arctic ground squirrels are everywhere on the other side of the pass. They sleep for most of the day, but when they're awake, they constantly look like little arctic prairie dogs, yelling at everything on the horizon.
We get just past the Brookes Range and see our first group of caribou. Tyler tries to stalk them (since they're on the open tundra, we figure one body is better than two). They're the little dots on the horizon in this picture. He gets to about 80 yards before they spook, and there's no running after a caribou.
He goes after this ptarmigan on his way back and gets it. After seeing what it's like to shoot and kill a little bird with a bow and arrow, though, I didn't support the idea of going after more....
We keep driving, and the Jeep keeps getting dirtier!
This is as far north as we get, about 100 miles south of Deadhorse. The temp is -1F, we aren't seeing any more animal sign, we can't go more than 30 mph, and the jeep is getting covered in ice mud from the road. We keep having to stop, kick the frozen doors open, then use the hatchet to pound it off the wheels. It just didn't seem worth the effort to get to Deadhorse, a town full of greasy, gross men, oil, and nothing else this time of year.
We get back to the edge of the Brooke's range, and the animals come back! Ptarmigan are everywhere. We wake up to their noises every morning; think troll meets chicken.
We see our next group of caribou at about 10:30pm that night. They're on top of a ridge on the outskirts of the mountains, so we decide to try a stalk. We went slow, pretending to be mountain goats. It didn't quite work, and they split at about 100 yards. With our bows, a 50 yard shot is about as long as we can take.
I find this little Rock Ptarmigan at the top of the ridge, basking in the last rays of the sunset. He stares at me like this for about 20 minutes while we wait to make our final push on the caribou.
Some ptarmigan prints highlighted by the sunset.
The view from the top of the ridge. This is where the Brooke's range meets the open tundra. You can see Alaska's oil pipeline following the road. We spend the next few days hiking to the tops of ridges following the caribou, seeing the same breathtaking views, and never quite getting close enough to those caribou! The weather holds, and we both go a little crazy from the endless intense bright light. Even though it's April, that far north it's only dark for a couple hours each night. With all the snow and sky, there's nothing but intense brightness everywhere, without even a tree to rest your eyes on.
After a couple days, we start the drive south. Tyler shoots these three porcupines with his bow just before the pass!
We head up and over the pass again
And at the bottom, one last flock of ptarmigan swarm around the Jeep. This little guy ran straight to the Jeep when we stopped, but by the time the camera comes out, he's running in the other direction.
We stop one more time at the border of the Arctic Circle, and hit our first rain of the trip just as we get back to Anchorage. A beautiful trip!
