Alaska National Wildlife Refuge: A Voyage of Discovery

PAIA, Maui, Hawaii, September 3, 2004 (ENS) - When Lance Holter opened his Paia home last fall to touring wildlife photographer Subhankar Banerjee, he had no idea how meeting the photographer from Calcutta would change his life. Banerjee is author of "Seasons of Life and Land: Arctic National Wildlife Refuge," which documents the pristine coastal plain as it exists in the face of oil drilling proposals.

The Alaska National Interest Lands Conservation Act (1980) established the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. In section 1002 of that act, Congress deferred a decision regarding future management of the 1.5 million acre coastal plain - Area 1002 - in recognition of the area’s potentially large oil and gas resources and its importance as wildlife habitat.

President George W. Bush, his administration, and most Republicans say that with modern technology oil and gas can be extracted from Area 1002 without damage to the environment. Conservation groups, many native tribes and most Democrats believe the unique area should remain undeveloped.

Map of Northern Alaska and Northwestern Canada Showing the Locations of the National Petroleum Reserve-Alaska (NPRA), Arctic National Wildlife Refuge (ANWR), 1002 Area, Current Productive Area, and Trans-Alaska Pipeline System (Map courtesy U.S. Energy Dept.)

July 20, 2004: Barter Island

Coming in from Fairbanks on Frontier Airlines, we fly over the Yukon River into the northernmost part of the Rocky Mountains: Alaska’s Brooks Range where nameless snowcapped peaks stretch in all directions. On the Arctic coastal tundra plain, we see river after river flowing north to the Arctic Ocean, and then the small Inupiat village of Kaktovic appears.

About 300 mostly Inupiat natives live in this small Arctic village and eke out an existence from the oil-based economy of the North Slope Prudhoe Bay Oil Fields. The Inupiat are hunter-gatherers, holding fast to their traditions of hunting whale, caribou and fishing in the summer, and fur trapping in the winter.

Kacktovic is a result of the Defense Early Warning System developed during the Cold War. A small hamlet of prefabricated homes is built on permafrost, with dirt roads and a gravel/dirt airplane landing strip connecting the village with the outside world. The major mode of transportation is the four wheel all terrain vehicle (ATV) in which young and old alike roar up and down the 10 streets of the village at all hours of the 24 hour day. It's truly the land of the midnight sun.

Lance Holter traveled for two weeks through the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. (Photos © Scott Heller)

We head down to the Arctic ice to look for polar bear. During whale season in September, people of the village are allowed to take three bowhead whales out of an estimated 10,000 migrating animals. Every part of the whale is utilized by the native population and shared with other villages to the west.

What's left over is taken down to the Barrier Island Gravel Bar nearby, and forms what can only be called the whale graveyard. Great huge bones, 20feet long, lay on the ice and gravel. Whale flukes, seven feet long, look like enormous human hand skeletons.

At any moment a polar bear could appear, drawn by the smell of rotting flesh. We see gigantic footprints of bears from this morning; one bear is spotted about a mile off in the ice pack.

The snowcapped Brooks Range to the south is immersed in the twilight sunset which gleams whitish-blue on the northern ice. This is the end of North America. On the other side of the polar ice, the first landfall is Norway.

Day One - June 21

We are in our little bush plane, soaring above thousands of caribou, passing over Aichilik River. We see hundreds more traveling up the Kongakut Valley. The coastal plain, Area 1002, is a vast tundra nursery for animals, with river after river flowing north into the Arctic Ocean from the Brooks Range.

We turn up the Kongakut Valley, flying between tall peaks with high cliff walls so narrow it feels like our wing tips could touch both sides. Down on the river are musk ox, more caribou and Dall's's sheep. Three rafts are pulled up to the riverbank below us; 10 people are watching about four dozen Dall's's sheep grazing.

Continuing up the valley, the mountains loom larger and even more majestic. Then the 500 foot long gravel airstrip appears and we make a bumpy, noisy landing.

We set up camp and begin to reconnoiter, just as a violent thunderstorm descends. The raging deluge thrashes everything in camp, breaking my tent and drenching all our gear. Just as quickly, the sun comes out, so I hang my gear on every available bush. When everything is dry, I tie it down again.

There’s no wind now, and the mosquitoes are out. Once again the sky turns dark and forbidding. Robert Thompson, our Inupiat friend and host says, “It looks like the end of the world.”

We start hearing distant rumbling, and suddenly a roar fills our ears. Half inch to one inch hail slams down on us. My tent, the mountains, the river disappears in the bouncing hail. Holding the tent tightly with one hand to keep it from blowing away, I grab the video camera and film this unbelievable scene. The hail smacks my knuckles and they bleed where they are hit. The hail makes the river boil, sending water three feet into the air. I can’t see past 50 feet, and hailstones pile up into six inch drifts against the side of the tent. On some willow trees nearby, every leaf is stripped by the cutting hail. Three of our coffee cups are broken beyond use. Everything is wet again.

Then, out of nowhere, a plane comes in for a landing. How could this pilot could fly through this weather?! The pilot tells us there was zero visibility and his passenger, a seasoned guide from Denali, tells us it’s the most amazing adventure he’s ever experienced. Both he and the pilot are former Marines, and that’s the only reason they even attempted a landing this dangerous.

Day Two - June 22: sunny

We floated nine and a half miles by Global Positioning System (GPS); there’s no telling accurate distance by river miles because of all the meandering. The water is really turbulent from all the hail and thunderstorms, very different from the crystal clear aquamarine river we saw when we flew over yesterday.

More thunderstorms this afternoon; magnificent mountain vistas. Cliffs on both sides offer jagged peaks into the sky. We’re beginning to see Dall's's sheep in bunches of three to five, along with a few single ewes with lambs and yearling rams. We made a nice camp today, facing north, looking out at cliffs, with a tall un-named peak in the background. There is a big valley to the east.

Our raft is leaking, but we’ll try again tonight to get it working. I found a big caribou skull with a full set of antlers, which probably made some grizzly very happy. There are no raptors, but I saw a few mergansers and even sea gulls up here 80 miles from the Arctic Ocean.

Day Three - June 23: warm and sunny

Ice along the river melts, and a traveller enjoys a drink of fresh water. (Photos © Scott Heller)

There are plenty of rocks and boulders throughout the rest of this narrow canyon. I recognize this place from when we flew over; it’s where I imagined the wings of our bush plane touched the sides. The narrow canyon eventually opens up into a wide valley, with the British Range to the east and north.

Warm winds are coming in from the south carrying very dense smoke, which must be from a big interior fire as a result of the thunderstorms. We found out later that the smoke was coming from enormous interior fires which have burned over two million acres of Alaska.

I saw a huge Dall's sheep, a ram, walk to within 100 yards of camp this morning. Caribou are beginning to appear. Later, we take a walk up the big valley to the east and find hundreds of caribou trails converging from all directions. All the tracks seem to be caribou, all headed north towards the coastal plane.

Scott and I walk up to what’s left of a snowfield and gather about 80 pounds of ice for our two coolers. Beautiful vistas, craggy spires, even bigger peaks in the distance and other peaks after those as far as you can see. Mosquitoes are getting bad. I can’t believe it’s after midnight right now; it seems like six in the evening.

Day Four - June 24: warm, sunny

Mosquitoes not so bad this morning. The mountains are becoming less visible due to the interior fires. I can smell the smoke. The winds changed today, now coming from the north, off the Arctic Ocean.

We traveled 15 GPS miles, with the wind against our rafts. Nice mellow water, clear and aquamarine blue. About seven miles into the float, I see a wolf looking at us from the top of a bluff. It’s a white wolf, moving through the brush. It stops and spends some time looking our way, then moves silently down the draw and up into the foothills. I watch through my binoculars as it stops, sits, lies down, scratches its ear, watches us and something else up the valley at the same time. Finally, it leaves to wander over a hill.

Further down the river we come upon three dozen Dall's sheep, ewes and lambs. I spend an hour filming them with my videocamera. At one point I hear a lamb bleating, far over on one side of the valley; it comes running to its mother, who’s calling on the other side, and immediately begins nursing.

I see five bald eagles this afternoon, and watch Arctic terns for the first time, arriving back from their 12,000 mile journey from the Antarctic, to nest on the coastal plain. All the birds come to the coastal plain to nest. As the Gwich’in Native people here say, this area is “The sacred place where life begins.”

We made it to Caribou Pass today. We are the only humans in this fabulous place. When we flew over this area earlier, there were 10 rafts with people trying to observe the big Porcupine caribou herd migration of 130,000 animals, all of which come through this pass. They’re named after the Porcupine River, where they come from. On the way down the river, we kept pace with a caribou running alongside the raft.

At our new camp I caught a 30 inch Arctic char. It was a tiring day and the tent needs me asleep inside it.

Day Five - June 25: cold, foggy

Awakened at five a.m. Robert is already awake and has a fire going. I caught a 12 inch grayling, which we eat for breakfast. Growth is so slow in the Arctic that a fish this size could be 25 years old.

While drinking our coffee, we watch mergansers hunt for minnows in the still water along the mouth of the creek. Last night Scott saw a wolf pass by 50 yards from him, high in the rocks above. He said they met eye to eye, and it made him just a little uncomfortable to be that close.

I also caught another char; we fileted it, and are drying it on a willow bush nearby. I move up the creek and find a place where I watch many caribou cross over the pass on their way to the coastal plain. This is the end of the Porcupine caribou’s 800 mile migration to the Arctic tundra. They’ll spend a month on the plain and then head back to Canada and the Porcupine River, where the Gwich’in Indian Nation stewards 1.8 million acres.

Caribou prances across a field of wildflowers in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge (Photo © Scott Heller)

I move down into the creek, taking a chance that a grizzly won’t be surprised to find me, but wanting to get closer views of the migrating caribou. I don’t have to wait long, as caribou after caribou come directly at me, 20 to 30 feet away, running relentlessly in a furious pace, with their calves struggling to barely keep up. The animals are relentlessly hassled by flies and mosquitoes. Whenever they stop, they’re snorting and shaking their bodies to get rid of the persistent and maddening pests.

I observe a gyrfalcon fluttering and diving to my right, like the eye of God piercing the sky, vaulting itself pell-mell to the tundra to get food for its fledglings, safe in the rocky ledges nearby.

The Arctic day ends with a red sun breaking through the fog drifting in from the Beaufort Sea. Red shimmering sunlight reflects off the river, as if the water is on fire.

Just then, two caribou cows, each with a calf, swim the burning red river and are silhouetted in the fiery sunset. Reaching the other side of the river, they all simultaneously shake off the water off in a shower spray of glowing droplets. Dry again, they head off determinedly towards the coastal plain and the fog-shrouded foothills to the west.

Day Six - June 26: foggy, windy, drizzling rain

Sleeping next to the creek and the river is like hearing a continuous soft lullaby, a murmured prayer. It’s difficult to emerge into wakefulness for any length of time, especially as it never gets dark, and without a watch you could never know what time it was. It’s easier to be lulled back into dreams and slumber and a warm sleeping bag. It is a nasty wet and cold day out there.

Its 5:00 p.m. and has been raining all day. I finally get bored and wander down to the Caribou Pass gravel bar landing strip. Yesterday, five backpackers were dropped off enroute to a 25 mile backpack trip from Caribou pass over to the Turner River, ending at Demarcation Bay along the Beaufort Sea.

I had seen a grizzly bear about a mile away chase a caribou, and then watched the migrating caribou change their route. Thinking that the bear was on a kill, I want to warn the hikers to beware that the head of the creek might be bear territory. I come upon the five miserably wet enthusiasts, each with the common goal of being lucky enough to witness the incredible sight of the 130,000 migrating Porcupine caribou.

The group is composed of an attorney from San Diego, two women from New York and the communications director of the National Resources Defense Council in Washington, DC. They offer me oatmeal and dried fruit mush, and we sit down over a hot cup of tea.

Their guide, Andy Keller, of Equinox Expeditions, is working on a master’s degree on the history of the Arctic Refuge and the economic value of wilderness. He shares with me that numerous surveys find that despite most people never being able to venture North into the refuge area, 71 percent of Americans do NOT want Area 1002, the coastal plain of the Arctic Refuge, exploited for oil. They would rather have it remain as a pristine wilderness area.

Andy told how a polar bear came into their camp last year at Demarcation Bay. After circling the camp for 24 hours, the bear came in, swatting tents and causing chaos. The backpackers had duct-taped knive to wooden sticks, made torches, and beat cooking pots to keep the bear at the edge of their camp; he finally retreated.

Andy didn’t believe in carrying guns last year; but this time around, as they left to trek into the tundra, they each had bear spray, and Andy had a rifle.

Day Seven - June 27: Caribou Pass

Awakened to a sunny and beautiful day. The river is clear. Scott notices a herd of thousands of caribou bunched up in a circle across the valley in the foothills. Putting up the spotting scope, Robert yells, “There’s a grizzly after the caribou!”

Through the scope and binoculars we can make out the grizzly splitting the herd and running back and forth trying to run down one of his hundreds of choices. Eventually they run up over a snow bank and out of view.

We float for five hours today toward the Arctic Ocean, passing eight foot high shelves of ice fields, aufeis. Caribou are all along the way, in the river bottom, on both sides of the river, trying to escape the flies and mosquitoes.

We see many species of waterfowl - scooters, harlequins, mergansers, loons and more eagles. I see my first rough-legged hawk and hear the “mew…mew,” its distinctive warning cry.

A grizzly bear crosses the river near a bend, at the same time Dick and Scott approach it. For a moment, it’s a stand off. Eventually the startled bear crosses the river, about 30 yards away from their raft. Robert and I watch as it flashes across the river and bounds onto the bank, running as fast as it can make it out of there. In 10 minutes it’s almost two miles away, still running through the tundra.

Our camping spot is within view of the Beaufort Sea. An Arctic fox looks up from the bank and hightails it out of there. We set up camp, and the three others take off for a hike at 1:00 a.m. The sky is entirely lit up. I’m exhausted and, having cooled off by jumping into the freezing cold river, feel ready for a long relaxing rest.

Day Eight - June 28: coastal plain

Wonderful warm sunny day; no wind. I spend four hours observing a nest with a rough-legged hawk sitting on its eggs. I hear the distinctive “mew, mew” as the mate, in a tree nearby, cries at anything passing through - caribou, fox, eagle or human. The hawk on the nest remains perfectly still the entire time.

I return to camp for the best breakfast of sausage, eggs and fried potatoes. Scott comes back with a huge musk ox skull, probably killed by a grizzly. Robert thinks it’s from the original musk oxen brought in from Canada in the sixties, in what was an attempt to re-establish the species. One large grizzly bear in the area was known to have taken a liking to musk ox and made a career out of killing the huge beasts. I later found a smaller set of female horns nearby.

We explore the craggy peaks in the area and I return to camp, as the wind has changed to a freezing cold wind out of the north, from the Arctic ice pack.

Day Nine - June 29: coastal plain

A view of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge 1002 area coastal plain. (Photo courtesy USGS)

Undecidedly, he moves back and forth, sits down, scratches his ear and head, stares in my direction for some time, and then heads back the way he came.

I’m becoming agitated by the mosquitoes and notice that Dick has no problems with any, as he brought along deet/pyrethrum treated shirts. While we are covered in clouds of the pests, not even one single mosquito bothers him; remarkable!

Mosquitoes are the prime reason for all the birdlife; the pesky insects nourish all the young broods. Some birds even gather their long bills full of larvae and carry them back to the nest, depositing great gobs of insect larvae to nourish the next generations. I’m like the caribou and want to run away from them, but the only way to escape is to sit in the smoke or hide in my tent.

Day Ten - June 30: coastal plain

As we leave our last camp until we reach Icy Reef and the Arctic Ocean, I see them - or I should say I smell them. I say to Robert, “Do you smell diesel oil burning?” He replies “Smells like caribou.”

Ten minutes later, I see in the distance what looks like a shimmering mirage of tan and grey a long way off, extending for several miles. I am witnessing is the miracle of thousands and thousands of migrating caribou, headed east back to Canada. This is what everyone dreams of when they come north to the Refuge - the chance to see what it probably looked like to Lewis and Clark on the Western plains - miles and miles of teaming caribou.

Robert and I alert Dick and Scott, and we cautiously creep closer with the rafts, eventually beaching them and getting out. We slowly move on foot toward the huge moving mass of groaning, grunting, bleating and huffing life, with our arsenal of cameras.

I see huge, magnificent bull caribou with antlers six feet or more sprouting from their heads. I only hope I can capture some of this on film. I’m suffering from shaky nervousness, yet so happy to know that I have a tripod; I’m wondering if the telephoto lens will be powerful enough.

Cows and calves are running, moving purposefully in their mission to return to their home along the Porcupine River, hundreds and thousands of animals stretched out for a mile or more, all moving with one mind. This experience is one of many “wows!” we have been fortunate enough to share. All I can say is glory be to the Creator who made this magnificence.

Day Eleven - July 1, coastal plain - Beaufort Sea /Arctic Ocean

A very, very long day; 10 hours of rafting to the Icy Reef. We end up pulling our 14 foot rafts through six miles of river shallows to the delta, where we actually dragged them over the delta mud, in five inches or less of water.

Where the Kongakut River reaches the end, at its confluence with the Beaufort Sea, we find a giant field of ice with huge slabs falling off into the river beside us, making loud cracking sounds. This aufeis borders the river for miles, and as we float along, the silence is interspersed with the crashing of ice slabs; a parcticular foreboding sinks in. Especially now, as a fog drifts in, hiding what’s ahead of us downstream. The sun pokes in and out, and then we are completely engulfed by fog and all sense of distance disappears.

Now the river depth is one to three inches and we send out scouts to keep on the channel through the mud bars. At times all four of us are dragging one raft continuously north, then backtracking to where we left the remaining raft before, dragging it to where we left the first one. Eventually we’re trekking by compass in the blackness.

Finally, Robert heads out, using the GPS, to try and locate the narrow barrier Island we will camp on until the weather clears and a plane returns to pick us up. He’s gone for half an hour Then we hear, from out of the north, Robert’s gunshot, signaling that he’s found the sand spit. I signal back with the rifle; a half hour later, Robert emerges from the fog, telling us it’s only a little less than a mile farther.

We are all soaking wet and freezing cold, but happy and relieved to know that soon we’ll be dry and out of this extreme weather.

Day Twelve - July 2: Icy Reef, cold

We make it to the Barrier Island and upend the rafts for wind protection, on a 75 yard wide sand and gravel strand stretching for miles along the coastal plain. We make coffee with our remaining fuel and finish off two big cans of chili.

I look out and see an Arctic fox headed our way. It finally sees us and does a 360 reverse turn, and stepping into high gear, it runs back the way it came.

We finally drift off to sleep; I’m too tired to pitch my tent, instead choosing the ground and a tarp under the upended rafts.

Hours later, we awake to a cold, overcast morning. There’s a blasting wind; it’s cold, freezing. We’re on a bleak, featureless gravel strip on the edge of the most northern part of the continent. At any moment I expect a hungry polar bear to wander in off the ice pack, looking to see what’s appeared in its territory.

However, after wandering for hours, lost in a claustrophobic and hopeless fog with less than 50 foot visibility, this camp is a wonderful respite.

Robert makes contact with the bush pilot, using the satellite phone. I’m grateful that Dick has brought along his solar power strip, which replenished Robert’s satellite phone battery way back at the last sunny campsite we had two days ago.

Day Thirteen - July 3: Icy Reef - Barrier Island

We spend a grueling night on this windswept gravel bar. Winds through the night gust up to 60 miles an hour. All night long!

Waiting for the bush pilot on Barrier Island (Photo © Scott Heller)

We spent the entire next day bundled up in our bags. Giant chunks of Arctic ice pack are drifting into the sand bar with huge, crashing waves from the Beaufort Sea pounding the barrier island.

The fog breaks and we see across the delta to the aufeis and the area that we had we dragged our rafts across. The Brooks Range is in the distance. Still bundled up, we await the bush plane, wondering to ourselves how on earth it can land in this weather. We hear the plane on its way to Demarcation Bay to pick up the backpackers I’d met earlier - one , two, three, four trips we hear.

We had expected our plane at 9:00 AM, it’s now early afternoon. The winds blowing in from Canada have piled up ice pack eighty feet deep along the gravel spit; there are fresh, deep blue chunks of polar ice and lots of dirtier coastal ice. The temperature is growing colder and colder. We’re exhausted, out of fuel, no hot tea, only c-rations and crackers.

Finally we reach the bush pilot on the radio, and hear the good news - he thinks he can land, and is on his way. It’s 5:00 p.m. An hour later, we watch as he approaches the sand bar, flies over twice, turns around, makes an attempt at landing, pulls up, makes another run, and lands on the gravel. Wow, what a pilot! It’s absolutely amazing what these people can do.

We all run to the plane, throw everything we can into the cockpit, and Dick and I jump in for the return flight back to the village of Kactovick. As we begin to take off, the plane gets stuck in soft gravel, and momentarily everything is on hold again.

But we manage to get the plane unstuck, and we take off for keeps.

Day Fourteen - July 4: the Waldo Hotel - Kacktovic

We are greeted at Kacktovic airport by the Waldo Hotel pickup truck and assorted ATVs.

The Waldo Hotel, a collection of connected prefab mobile home buildings, is owned by the legendary bush pilot Walt Audi. An interesting and eclectic group of personalities gather here during the short summer fall season, using the airport to fly in and out to the various rivers and mountains of the Refuge.

When we land, there are probably 20 people waiting to get flown into the wilderness, hoping for a break in the weather and for people like ourselves to be brought in. As in our case, with little food or fuel left, it’s sometimes imperative to get people back to shelter before flying others out. Many have to make their plane connections, as in our case, we have to get back to Maui tomorrow on the only flight out.

The first thing I do is order the incredible Waldo Bacon Cheeseburger, "known throughout the north slope," as the menu says, with everything on it, and hot coffee. Then I start to look around and strike up conversations.

Kacktovic is a non-alcoholic village, so no one in the restaurant is disorderly. The first friend I meet is an oil geologist who has walked all over the Brooks Range, back and forth from Barter Island to Arctic Village, a distance on foot of hundreds of miles through the wilderness.

This gentleman is unique for an oil geologist, in that he thinks oil drilling in Area 1002 is a useless undertaking. He believes the recent U.S. Geological Survey study proving that there is less than a one in 20 chance of finding the 17 billion barrels of oil that Alaska Senator Ted Stevens and Alaska Governor Frank Murkowski claim is up there.

Best "guestiments," he thinks, are five to seven billion barrels at best. “The idea that the U.S. will ever be self-sufficient in oil production is erroneous, and we’d better get used to the idea we will always be dependent on the international oil supply for as long as we rely on oil,” he said. This geologist recommended that we explore and immediately implement the idea of renewable resources.

Munching on our bacon and cheese Waldo Burger, sipping hot coffee and calming down from two nights at Icy Reef, we spin tales of our great adventures, and listen to others tell their tales of grizzly encounters, great hikes, close calls, experiences of glorious peace and spiritual awakenings in the Brooks Range of Alaska. We share plans for our next adventures into the Refuge.

Exchanging addresses and giving our thanks to all involved, we leave this Arctic place better people, and pray that it remains whole and never changes unless nature deems it so.

{Maui realtor Lance Holter, who is currently running for Maui County Council, is a former Peace Corps volunteer.}