The Arctic

The tent heaved and shook with its sides puffing in and out like the red cheeks of an angry child. I sat with my chair pressed against a corner tent pole in an effort to keep it from snapping. Unable to support both rear poles, I watched as the north wind shaped the opposing pole into a waning crescent moon. I recalled an image often used to depict wind, a bald full faced man with huge puffed cheeks and from his puckered lips came long lines curled at their ends depicting the strength of the wind. I felt his presence. Our dog, Pika, usually afraid of sudden, loud snaps and cracks, lay peacefully on the Hudson Bay blanket which also covered my feet.

We’d spent the past weeks with our daughter, Carlisle, her husband Luke, Luke’s parents, Rick and Laurel and a multitude of hunters, guides and packers on Chandalar Lake. Here, in the Brooks Mountains, Tyrrell’s Trails offers bear, sheep, moose and caribou hunts. This remote lodge is about 60 miles by plane from the nearest town of Coldfoot, AK. 

On August 10, Bucky and I left Fairbanks, driving 250 miles north. He deftly maneuvered our pickup around axle breaking potholes while through the windshield the landscape slowly changed from trees to tundra. We crossed the mighty Yukon River and stopped briefly to acknowledge our passage above the Arctic Circle before arriving in Coldfoot 6 hours later.

The Trans-Alaska pipeline snaked beside us on its 800 mile journey south from Prudhoe Bay to the port of Valdez.

The Dalton Highway, commonly known as the haul road, is aptly named. We met big trucks carrying even larger trucks on their backs, trucks pulling trailers stacked with drilling supplies, trucks pulling housing for North Slope workers and any number of trucks loaded with machinery and supplies needed in the oil fields of Prudhoe Bay. Smoke from local wildfires combined with road dust creating a pervasive haze.

We had hoped to be at the lodge before dark, but high winds made it impossible. So, we set up our tent, ate some Ramen and despite the lack of sleeping pads, we slept comfortably.

The following day was perfect for flying! Luke and his father, Rick, quickly loaded our gear into their airplanes and we were off!

In the weeks that followed, Bucky and I became familiar with lodge life. I had only attended summer camp once as a child for a short two weeks and neither of us had ever worked or lived at a lodge. We watched what others were doing and what jobs seemed to be done daily. 

However, it didn't take long for us to recognize the ringing of the meal bell!! 

We gradually assumed roles that fit our skills and personalities. Bucky naturally used his carpentry skills. Some of his projects were trimming windows and doors in Luke and Lisle’s cabin, building them a handrail and applying braces for stability beneath the cabin. He also created a handrail for entering the lodge shower house and built shelving on which Luke’s Mom could display her gorgeous fur products.

Bucky also built the pantry cupboard in the corner.

                Other than the logs, everything seen in this picture was brought here by airplane. 

I took my lead from Carlisle. She showed me what was needed when preparing the wall tents for new hunters and how to quickly clean the client’s cabin and the shower house. I soon learned where necessary items were located. Would I find it in the tin shed, the back room of the lodge, the cold hole (a hole in the ground containing a steel drum used for refrigeration) or should I just ask Rick or Laurel? Lisle was very patient in my training. I knew my strength wasn’t in the kitchen, but I learned which cupboards and drawers held needed utensils. Washing dishes and placing clean dishes back in the appropriate cupboard came naturally! I also successfully made salmon chowder and meat loaf for 10! I pulled lettuce out of the cold hole, cut kale and dug fresh carrots from Lisle's garden for dinner salads. Laurel, made cooking for our core group of 8-10 look easy and could shift gears and cook for 20 plus hunters, guides and packers when needed.

I'm pretty sure my culinary skills will never match hers!

          Looking from the shower house up to the lodge.

Our first few days were beautiful and we walked the beach. The lake water eventually rose to a height that flooded the lakeshore and made walking my favorite loop impossible. It also made securing, fueling and launching the floatplane difficult. 

The floatplane ramps needed repositioning so Pika hitched a ride!

A rare tundra gnome!

Blueberry picking was an everyday occurrence. Laurel would use them in muffins, chia pudding and pancakes. One calm day, Luke took Laurel and me by boat across the lake to pick. I couldn’t help but feel we were the elders being assisted by the young brave. It was drizzling but the tundra had begun to change colors. The dwarf birch were now a brilliant orange and the red vegetation of the tundra was accented by white reindeer moss. We asked Luke to drive the boat by large chunks of dirty foam floating on the lake’s surface like mini icebergs. There was much foam floating between driftwood logs at the mouth of the river and we speculated why this was. An occasional duck flew by as if bidding farewell to its Arctic summer home. That evening, Luke made a delicious blueberry pie from the berries we had gathered. His mother taught him well!

                                     Luke and Lisle's outhouse view!

            Rainbows occurred so often, I began referring to the area as rainbow valley.  

           Yes, there are bears and wolves near camp. However, this is Pika's footprint within the bear’s.

         Looking past the tin shed toward the client’s cabin, skinning tents and the lodge.

Although I didn’t do the cutting, I enjoyed vacuum sealing the sheep, caribou and moose meat.

                                                                  Lodge dining

The tent continued to sigh and heave emitting an occasional high scream when air was forced through the vestibule zipper. Pika raised her head as the zippered door opened revealing Lisle and Bucky. They told of the many caribou bulls they had seen and how, despite strategic planning, they never came within range. I told of Pika and my walk to the creek for water and how patient she was when I stopped to pick plump blueberries growing mere inches from the earth, the epitome of low bush. I told of the animals we had seen and how Pika saw them first, but never barked. I was sure they would walk by the rocky ridge where Bucky sat, but we never heard a shot. 

 

                                                      Fast running creek water.

                                                                   Caribou on the ridge.

Lots of sheds to gnaw on!

Most days it rained and then it snowed. During the wind event, Carlisle took her tent down, eliminating the worry of it blowing away and we slept in a family bed, Bucky and my head against Lisle’s feet and Pika curled among our limbs. It made for warm slumber.

When the shot occurred, I never heard it! Lisle let us know and Pika and I joined her in walking back to Bucky. The bull had kindly given its life near camp which made Lisle’s pack quite easy.

                                                   Just a speck on a vast landscape!

Although our time away from the lodge wasn’t long, we returned feeling like we’d been gone for weeks. Our lodge family greeted us with heartfelt hugs and I realized, without intending, we’d become one large family. 

A lodge guest's tee pee.

The lights came out on the night before we left Chandalar as if announcing the end of summer!