PART II.   Chasing squirrels and chewing turkey jerky

AICHILIK RIVER CAMP, June 9 - June 26
Photos are click-to-enlarge.

June 9
Blue sky, no fog, snow is clearing. Time to fly! The landing strip on the Jago River was still snow covered. Walt dropped me on the Aichilik River. It's three miles south of the coastal plains, in the hills. Bigger hills are to the south. We saw a few small bands of caribou, but no big group. There was one herd of musk oxen slogging through the tundra tussocks. They are beautiful creatures.

June 12
Midnight. The sun is due north, about 20 degrees above the icy Arctic Ocean horizon. There are huge ice slabs, that are called "Aufeis," crashing into the swift Aichilik River not far from my tent-but far enough! A male willow ptarmigan is calling, a bizarre yet beautiful sound. .

Caribou have been moving all over. They came up the Aichilik within the last week. There are tracks and scat everywhere. I've seen a few caribou, but only from a distance. This makes for decent photos to show the scale of this place, but I'll need close-ups to document the caribou properly.

I have food for two weeks. Walt will return then, and I'll fly to a new spot. This area is species rich. There are animals here, but finding them is not easy. The animals have all the space they need to roam, and they do.

I am carrying the following items in my backpack each day: 100 mm macro lens wrapped in a Gore-Tex jacket, 20-35 mm lens wrapped in Gore-Tex pants, extra shirt, 10 rolls of film, lunch, water bottle, gun, emergency locator, circular polarizing filter from Tiffen, radio to talk with Walt, toothbrush, and Tom's (of Maine) peppermint toothpaste. I carry the camera and a 70-200 lens with 1.4 extender attached and use the monopod as a walking stick. Lunch has been turkey jerky (a little nasty sausage- I don't like it, but I need the fat), dried fruit, two slices of great German bread, a Power Bar, and water.

June 14
A beautiful day. I hiked about eight miles and made some decent photos. There were several groups of caribou, about 15 in each. I mainly photographed the hills and wildflowers.

The caribou I've seen are only the females and calves. The calves were all born within the last three weeks, roughly. The females usually move to the coastal plain to calve. There are fewer predators there, and the wide-open terrain is better for spotting hungry bears and wolves. But because the snow stayed so long, I think, the females calved while they were still in the Brooks Range to the south.

The first mosquitoes arrived today. Time to add the mosquito head net to my backpack. A storm is moving into the hills from the south tonight. It's too dark to photograph.

I was thinking today about the terms "wildlife" and "wilderness." I've never been comfortable with those words because they imply chaos or violence. But living out here each day, I feel just the opposite. Life is quite orderly, in a way, and there is not violence. Life just flows. The trouble is, many people have difficulty understanding this. Shoot, I have difficulty with it, too. These days have been disconcerting already. The absence of darkness and the lack of familiar terrain are not easily overcome. I've made my place by putting some order into my daily routine, but this is a quite conscious attempt to add a little "civilization" to this "wilderness."

But the days pass. Somewhere a bear is chasing a caribou right now. A musk ox calf is calling for food from mama. The ice slowly melts into the rivers. Life happens, whether people are there to observe it or not.

Last thought today: When I walk by a group of caribou on the open tundra, they pursue. This reminds me of gazelle in Tanzania who follow the female lions-at a safe distance. I think both of these herd animals are instinctively "thinking" that it's in their best interest to know where their potential trouble is. As long as the caribou can keep an eye on me as I pass, they feel safe. When I lie down and suddenly go out of sight, they freeze. When I get up and continue walking away from them, they follow.

June 15
It's midnight, and I'm happily tired. Hiked at least 10 miles today and shot 10 rolls. I almost like that I have to walk slowly through this terrain. It's all the better to see everything.

The Aichilik is breaking up, but there is still plenty of ice in it. I walked south along its edge and soon found a gap where I could crawl beneath the five-foot-thick ice. Beautiful blue ice melting slowly.

As I continued south, I saw about 15 Dall sheep. There were no adult males in the group. But the calves were cute. An arctic ground squirrel barked suddenly, and the whole group looked down at the squirrel. Think I got a good shot of that.

The caribou's agility as they stride, almost flow, across such difficult tussock terrain is amazing. Even from miles away, I can watch them buzz across a hillside in a fraction of the time it would take me. True, I am a much slower walker than the caribou, but they are adapted only to this place. They wouldn't do too well in the Mojave. I can set up a tent, use a stove, and survive pretty well here. But I can also put on goggles and snorkle all day in a lovely Samoan coral reef. Caribou can't. But it would be quite a sight: goggled caribou. People have adapted to all environments. Most critters sure can't do that. I'd like to be able to move over the tundra like caribou, but I'd much rather be me: free to swim in Samoa, climb rainforest trees, and eat a whole large Shakespeare's pizza.

Rained last night. Sunny and cool today. I'm drinking five liters of water a day.

June 16
I met the nicest arctic ground squirrel today. I was walking up the Aichilik when I saw this little furball. I think it was a female with no pups. Every male barks like mad, incessantly. But she sat there happily watching me. I sat down and took some photos. When she went underground to dig a little, I scooted closer. I got within eight meters of her.

I walked to the coastal plain today but didn't see much. Cold, walking. But the clouds tonight are pretty. The ice is crashing into the Aichilik. All I hear is that and the water flowing.

It's odd: The songs that come to me as I walk are a function of my pace, I think. Today was "Jingle Bell Rock." It's not such a bad song to have in your head.

June 17
The fog was still heavy this morning, and then rain came pretty strong. I decided to relax for the day, my 33rd birthday. Turned out great, too. The sun came out briefly. A husband and wife from Switzerland dropped in to stretch their legs. They were flying through the Brooks Range for a couple of weeks. They gave me fruit from a Geneva grocery store. The kiwi had a label: "GeoFruta." I wonder where Swiss kiwi originate.

I photographed a group of caribou as they crossed a hill nearby. A tiny spider has made a web on the tarp line of the back door.

June 19
How to hike across tundra: Pretend you are a giant. You are walking across a distant planet whose surface is full of squishy volcanoes, which to you, being a giant, are knee-high at most. Now take long, steady strides and, one step after the next, place your foot between two volcanoes. You'll have to be careful, because there is often not quite enough room in that wet, squishy space to accommodate your monster-sized feet. And the space is at a different angle each step. You must be prepared to plant your heel and then pivot your foot 90 degrees in either direction as you move your weight forward. Doing this at a steady, smooth pace makes for some comical stances. You might be pigeon-toed at one moment and walking like Charlie Chaplin the next. But with no onlookers beside caribou and other arctic critters, who cares?

As you may have surmised by now, this mode of transportation requires you to look down. Every step. You are a big, busted ankle just waiting to happen. And you can't hobble to a doctor. Trouble is, most everything you are hoping to see is up, not down. Like the lone tundra swan that silently flies directly overhead-happened today-while you're walking so intently, or the snowy owl just sitting directly in front of you whom you see only as she flies up 10 meters in front of you. Yep, that happened, too.

However, it was a fine day in one regard. The fog was up to 1,500 feet when I started out this morning. Camp is at 1,000 feet, remember. I went a few miles south along the river. There was a group of 40 caribou way up on a hill. I reasoned that I could sneak up to them unseen through the fog. I avoided the wet areas so my boots wouldn't make the loud sucking noise. I let my nose run so the caribou wouldn't hear me sniffle. I climbed and climbed, and what did I find at the top after 40 sweaty minutes? Nothing. I plopped down to remove a couple of layers when, close by, a few caribou heads popped above the hill's horizon. Caribou in the mist. They all circled, Kodak 100 was at the ready, me probably wasting film. I listened to them grumble, the males grunting, the calves bleating. Soon, but three rolls of film later, they were gone. But it was fun.

Today's weather: high 30s, wind five to 10 mph, light rain: perfect hypothermia weather. My toes are warm only from 2.5 hours after I get into my sleeping bag until I hop out in the morning.

June 20
I have patience, but only for a while. Today, however, it paid off.

I headed up a drainage to the west. There were no animals for several miles. I sat on the top of a slate hill to stretch after a while. I was thinking whether I should keep walking, wait there, or turn back. It was in the 30s, windy, and no sun.

Then I saw a couple of caribou peek over the next ridge top to the west. They were a mile away but heading toward me. They can easily detect danger from that distance. I lay down on the rocks and waited. I propped the camera on the backpack and watched them approach. They just kept pouring over the hill.

Eventually, they came down the hill, crossed a stream, and walked up the next hill. As they walked, munching grass and calling to one another, I was lying there on the hill above them, fully in their view. But because I barely moved, none of the 200 or so caribou noticed me. The group was composed solely of females and calves.

After they passed, I prepared to follow. They still had not noticed me. But then another group came over the same pass. I went through the whole process again. By the time that group of a couple of hundred passed, my hands were shivering as I loaded film. I had not been able to put back on the two other shirts I had been wearing. That commotion would have ruined my quiet position. I jumped up, tossed on the clothes, inhaled my bread, turkey jerky, and Power Bar lunch, and followed them. They headed near camp, and the day ended well.

I collected some hair discarded by the caribou. They are shedding their winter coat. These hairs are hollow and provide good enough insulation to keep them going in some miserable conditions.

The sun peeked out tonight after an absence of four days. At least there was no rain or mosquitoes today.

June 21
Look out your front door before you leave in the morning. You might be surprised by unannounced guests, like a few hundred caribou.

There is a tarp over my tent to keep the ultraviolet sun rays from degrading this good tent. The tarp comes down pretty low, and I must crawl out backwards to exit the tent. When I did so this morning, I stretched, turned around, and there were hundreds of caribou. I slowly crawled back in the tent. They were already spooked, though, and left soon. When I got out to look around, I saw several thousand caribou along the hills by the river. They were all females and calves.

I photographed them all day from my food tent, up on a little bluff near my sleeping tent.

The highlight was watching them cross the river. Moms calling to their babies, lost babies calling for mom. There was one mother who stood in the gravel for hours calling for her calf, which probably drowned.

On the hill beyond the river, little calves were running like mad up and down the hill, just playing, What a feeling: They were born a couple weeks ago. They can stand within 20 minutes of birth and run within an hour. Now, they were zooming around in big circles, jumping and bucking.

I hiked down the river this evening and found one female with an injured calf. I took some photos, but I spared them the trauma of approaching too closely. The calf could barely walk, and I could have caught it.

I estimate there were 3,000 caribou in this valley today. They've all headed east. All the other caribou that have passed through went west. Logic? Pattern? No, that's caribou.

I saw wolf tracks a few days ago, south on the Aichilik. Think I'll go take a look tomorrow.

Happy summer! No clouds today. Still cold, 40s, and very windy. But a fine day. I learned that you can burn your fingernails. Be careful with those camping stoves.

June 22
I got photos of calves following their moms across the water. It's amazing to watch a cow, separated from her calf while fording the river, smell each calf as it reaches the other side. One sniff and the mom "knows" if that's her baby. If it's not, the female jumps away and chases off the calf if it follows. I photographed one such sequence.

I also photographed a calf as it was swept down river a little. Not so far, but the mom was panicked. She followed the calf from the riverbank, calling to the calf. The cute little red fur ball eventually made it across to mom and safety.

Throughout the day, a big, hungry male grizzly chased a lifetime of dinners up and down the hill. No luck. I got some photos, but he was too far away even for a 1000 mm lens (500 mm with a 2.0 converter.) At one point, he crossed the river and sat right next to my food tent. Glad I've kept the place clean. He walked away hungry.

June 23
A light rain began. The blind was still set up in the river drainage. I hadn't put the rainfly (the waterproof cover of the tent) on it yesterday, and I didn't want it wet. So I rolled out of my bag to a cold, gray, drizzly morning.

I quickly took down and packed the tent, and as I walked back to camp, I saw movement on the hills. A grizzly was chasing the latest group of caribou up a hill. I set up the long lens in the food tent and watched, but they were too far away for decent photos. As I scanned the hillside, I saw two wolves. One gray, one black, they were just playing. This deemed investigation.

I got the 70-200, doubler, and monopod and headed up the hill. I didn't see the wolves, but I followed the grizzly as she (?) chased the caribou up and over. I kept going and questioned the wisdom of this. I had also grabbed the gun, but I don't want to shoot an animal. I am deeply bothered when I hear someone-usually a man-say, "The bear came too close, and I had to shoot it." Why was the guy there at all? Yes, situations vary. But here, I was the instigator.

Singing Christmas carols to warn off the bear and pondering these ideas, I saw the bear's behind as she rounded the rocky peak of the hill. I climbed the scree slope right there rather than follow her. I moved pretty fast.

By the time I reached the very peak-five minutes but a long climb-I had a dilemma: Do I really want to push this? I moved slowly and very quietly. I leaned over the edge, and there was a grizzly, sitting less than eight meters below me. I could have spit on her. She didn't see me. She was quite small. I took a few photos. But I couldn't see her head during most of these. That danged camera was so loud suddenly, and she jumped the first few times I shot. So I left her alone and headed back down the rocks.

On my way, I saw the wolves. They were moving up the hill. Right toward me. I moved closer, stayed smart, and got some great photos. Beautiful. They saw me eventually after they heard the shutter release. They checked me out a little and moved on. When they were out of sight, I followed up the hill. As I went, I suddenly saw male caribou antlers just over the hill only 20 meters away. They couldn't see me yet, four of them, but I followed their antlers. The lead male smelled me, though. Drat. They are so attuned! I got a couple of shots of them after they ran away. I stood up and followed.

Now I was standing in the open on the hill. The wolves were heading down the hill, the caribou across it. And right above me, still on the same rocky outcrop, the bear watched the whole show. All before breakfast!

June 24
A funny event occurred last night. I put down my book at 1 a.m. to make some photos of the sun and mountains. As I crawled out of the tent, I saw a different grizzly. This looked like the one who had been chasing caribou all day. I watched him approach across the riverbed.

A group of rafters had pulled in at 6 p.m. to stay the night. They had draped a tarp over an upturned raft to form a windbreak and roof. They were out hiking when the bear arrived.

I watched the grizzly play with the tarp. He was perplexed. He poked at it and ran when it rustled in the wind. Then he headed toward me. He didn't see or smell me. I took some photos. But when he was close enough, about 50 meters, I stood up and told him to scram. I had the gun, pepper spray, and camera in hand. He stood up to see me and ran up the hill. He stood again, and I kept yelling. Luckily, he ran way up the hill and started digging into a ground squirrel's hole. He was a small grizzly. Just two years old, I'd guess, and about 350 pounds. These bears have nothing more to eat than ground squirrels and the occasional lame caribou or other animal.

June 25
I washed a few shirts this afternoon and hung them on dwarf willow bushes to dry.

The hills have become much greener in the last two days. The willow, low bush blueberry, and grasses are popping up quickly.

This greatly slows the movement of the caribou. With plenty to eat, there's no need to move as much. I watched one male across the river tonight. He moved about10 feet an hour. There are a few hundred along the Aichilik just south of here. They've been eating there all day. This is quite different from the last several days. The caribou moved steadily, probably five miles per day, eating as they went.

June 26
I photographed the sea gulls nesting in the rocky braids of the river. They are awfully protective of their eggs. I didn't bother them much, and I didn't even get near their nests. They don't make nests anyway. Their eggs resemble the shape and color of the rocks in the gravel bars. They just lay them on the rocks and incubate them there. This makes an easy meal for foxes and other gulls.