Tundra and more



the North Slope



Our days were spent walking, driving and glassing for animals.  We spoke to other hunters who were camped like ourselves, more or less waiting for the animals to migrate across the Sagavanirktok River.  We heard stories from previous years, with herds so great that vehicles were unable to move on the highway.  The Sag is a beautiful blue glacial river with numerous braids flowing to the Arctic Ocean.  We fished for Dolly Varden and Grayling while we waited for the caribou to flock to us.  The gravel river bottom made walking more pleasant than trudging across the tundra tussocks.  Each morning we walked from our camp to get river water and looked to the hills across the river and saw numerous animals at the top, miles from our reach.  Bucky would get excited when they would start to wander downhill only to turn and walk back to the top and over the back.  We heard different dates about when the caribou would likely be arriving and where they would try to cross the Sag.  We waited hopeful and ready.  It all had a primitive feel as if we were not at all in charge but rather at the whim of the caribou.  One hunter, Jeff, lived out of his truck, never setting a camp.  He planned to stay a month waiting for it to happen.  We saw him several times and then saw him heading North on the Dalton evidently feeling it would not be happening where we were.  We remained hopeful.  Perhaps we should have followed Jeff, but we were enjoying our camp and hated to pickup and move.  We envied those hunters with rafts and boats enabling access to cross the river and hunt the Eastern hills where we were seeing most of the caribou when glassing.  Not to say that we were seeing nothing near, because we did have several very exciting encounters with caribou.  Bucky always felt confident that we would be successful.


surprised by pipeline worker



August 21st found us driving North to Deadhorse.  We needed gas and a few provisions.  Following the Sag most of the way, led us deeper into tundra and finally onto the Arctic Coastal Plain, home to waterfowl and animals found nowhere else.


Fall colors





We ate and added the last blueberries of the season to our oatmeal.

The town of Deadhorse/Prudhoe Bay is like no other.  It is purely industrial and all business.  All buildings appear to be temporary and mobile, placed on skids and tracks.  Large signs clearly state that forklifts have the right of way while signage is scarce when looking for necessities such as gas and groceries.  When we approached workers for directions, they were quick to help.  The grocery had lots to offer, but not much food.  I suppose most of the workers eat in cafeterias.  We did obtain a previously frozen loaf of white bread, but when we asked for peanut butter, we were told that it wasn't for sale.  However, the woman who was waiting on us went to the back room and came back with a super large jar of Jiff which she said the company gave to them.  We were thrilled.  Stepping up to the counter to checkout, we stood in line behind a young man who had ridden his motorcycle to Deadhorse, such a dusty dirty ride.  He was buying a cigar.  Go figure, cigars, but no peanut butter!  The cigar was going to a man who had ridden his bicycle from Florida to Deadhorse.  And we thought we were tough!

Deadhorse

Even Deadhorse has espresso.

                                                                           Deadhorse
We didn't take the tour enabling tourists to enter the secure drilling area and actually touch the Arctic Ocean.  Ours was a quick turn around and back to the task of locating the elusive caribou.  We marvelled at the hunting antics of the Arctic Ground Squirrel and the hovering winged motion of the Longtailed Jaegar.  Snowy Owls abounded as did multitudes of ducks and geese.

musk ox

tundra swans

Not what we want.

Several more days of hunting convinced us that we could not wait the caribou out and without an airplane or a raft, the animals were safe. 



glassing for animals



Looking across the Sag.

The bugs!

Driving South back to Fairbanks, the highway took on a different look.  The colors had become more red with the nights of heavy frost.  It's interesting how things can look different when approaching from the opposite direction.  At times I felt as if we hadn't seen certain areas before.  I convinced Bucky that since we didn't have meat to worry about rushing home to process, we could take the 160 mile detour down the Elliot Highway to its end at the small town of Manley Hot Springs.  This town has a population of 81 and is said to be a "pocket" of pioneer Alaska.  It was homesteaded in the early 1900's and was inhabited by miners.  Today Manley is a quiet settlement with hunting and fishing helping to sustain its residents.  We had heard a lot about the hot springs, called baths and I was ready to jump in!  Our understanding was that we should stop at the Manley Roadhouse to get information on whether the baths would be open and to have one of their famous cinnamon rolls while there.  We took the advise and we weren't disappointed.  I was directed to a phone in the back near the laundry and posted on the wall was Gladys Dart's number.  The baths are owned by Gladys who gererously opens them to the public by appointment.  We were told at the roadhouse that we would have an hour in the bath and could simply hook the door behind us and strip down and jump in.  It sounded all too wonderful!  When we arrived at the greenhouse in which the baths are located, it appeared as if the baths were in use.  I had left a message on Gladys's phone and had asked her to call the roadhouse.  I took a chance and walked to the greenhouse door and tried it.  It opened so I called in, hello.  A soft voice answered saying, "someone is in the bath".  I explained my purpose to which the kind voice said that she would be out shortly and that we could have the bath for the next hour. Hooray!  Shortly, out of the greenhouse came a short, kind, sparkly eyed woman who intoduced herself as Gladys Dart.  We were delighted to meet this Manley pioneer who had moved to this very spot over 50 years ago.  She stated, "this is what a 87 year old woman looks like after a bath".  Pretty darn good was all I could think.  Gladys gardens within the greenhouse and had just harvested her grapes.  We delighted in her tropical plants and she said that when it is -30 in January, the soil within the greenhouse stays in the sixties.  This part of Alaska is one of the coldest and loved by dogmushers for this reason.  Gladys spoke of having no desire to leave during the fridged winter.  After soaking, I could see why she loves it.  Our soak was just the perfect end to 10 days of accumulated dust.  Such a jewel in the wilderness is hard to come by.

Each tub has a different temperature, hot, hotter, hottest, scalding.