PART V. Glacial delights and hiking along the Jago

Jago River, July 25 - August 10
Photos are click-to-enlarge.

July 25
Nirvana. That's where I am. I want time to stop. This changed from a lousy day to a great day, and all it took was the pretty hum of Walt's Super Cub approaching the Kongakut.

The weather was beautiful this morning, and I had faith that Walt would show. It's tough to sit by the runway, though. I walked up and down it 12 times, stretched, and watched the gulls chase away the golden eagle. I sat by the water and just watched it.

Thick fog began to roll over the hills from the coast in the afternoon, and I wondered if Walt would be able to make it. It's a beautiful spot, but I felt I had photographed all I could. I walked around, looking for new options to use the macro lens. Nothing inspired me. So I sat by the river again.

I thought of my parents, brothers and sisters, and friends. Good songs came to mind. Credence Clearwater Revival's "Down on the Corner." Aretha Franklin's "Change" when I remembered the line, "And it better be a freezing day in July before I catch you with someone else." Nah, it wasn't such a lousy day after all. I was bored, but I made the best of it.

Just when I was thinking to fire up the stove for dinner, I heard Walt's engine humming. Change! Yes, change is good. And I was right about his scheming. He had dropped off someone on the Turner River earlier and would now charge me a lot less. I'll pay now only from the Kongakut. Saved a few hundred bucks.

The flight was beautiful. The best yet. Evening light. Mountains in every direction. We were at 6,000 to 8,000 feet to clear the hills. I kept the window open to photograph and was happy enough that I didn't feel cold.

As we entered the Jago River valley, I understood why the photographer Michio Hoshino had his ashes scattered here. It's an impressive view. The river is straight for more than 15 miles, with hills rising to more than 6,000 feet on the east side and 9,000 feet to the west. Best of all, the hiking looks great. Walt showed me a spot, I hope, to find Dall sheep rams.

It's 1:30 a.m., and I was hoping the sun would come up enough to shine on the hills at the southern end of the valley. Maybe this happened a month ago, but not now.

Mosquitoes? I had to laugh. This spot is 1,000 feet higher and much less vegetated. Fewer bugs, right? They are the worst yet. Forget logic in the Brooks Range. Before I could get my cup of hot water into the food tent, there was a layer of mosquitoes drowned in steamy water. I don't care. I'll photograph and laugh them off. They lie low after midnight because it's close to freezing. I should run around naked to tease them.

The highlight of the evening was the mail. My parents are beautiful. From my folks in Oregon, I had great oatmeal cookies, sun lotion, and mail. From my folks in Maryland, I had mail and chocolate chip cookies made by…my father! This is a person whose idea of cooking is to toast his bread for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. They're great cookies! I gorged on both kinds as well as on my bi-weekly stash of Italian chocolate from my sister.

July 26
There is a strange quality to the light in this part of Alaska. I've had to readjust my schedule at each campsite because the best light was different at each location. This is all the more strange because these campsites are not so distant from each other. But the length of day, even though it's all still 24 hours of sunlight, is changing. The hills make a big difference, too. This spot is so sunk down in the hills. It's great, and a good contrast to the other sites.

I was happily tromping across the tussocky hillside above the drainage and heading toward a hilltop when I saw movement up the hill. A big male grizzly had been resting. For once, the bear saw me first. He ran up the hill for a better view. He'll be pretty small in the photos, but I got him a bit: eating berries and leaves, rolling over, sitting, shaking the mosquitoes away. He was coughing, and I could hear him clearly. He took a big dump-yes, more photos-and even though I was upwind and not so close, I sure smelled it. How can berries and leaves smell that bad?

This bear had an interesting habit. He knew I was there, but he seemed to forget after about me every five minutes. He ran up the hill, and I sat motionless in the wet tussocks, glad I had applied bug repellent already. He watched me for a couple of minutes. But because I didn't move and he probably didn't feel threatened, he went about his business. I slowly approached him whenever he was positioned so that he couldn't see me moving. I was certainly closer when he got lucky and saw me moving . Then he acted as if he had never seen me, and he ran across the hill for another look.

This happened a third time a while later for a different reason. He heard the shutter release and did not like that. At first, he ran away. But then he came right toward me. I had been sitting all this time. I let him approach more. But when he was close enough for my pleasure, I stood up: "Hey, bear. Get going." Most bears zoom away at that. Not this one. He stared at me and kept coming, slowly. Yes, my heart was pounding. No, I don't remember if I took more photos. But now I know he was just investigating. I must have looked pretty strange to him with my mosquito head net, and his eyes aren't the best. Soon, all I saw was a big bear behind running east and away from me.

I went up the hill for a view of the Jago Valley and was rewarded: I found quiviat: musk oxen hair. The sun was still too high. I hiked and sat up on the hilltop all evening. The photos were only mediocre, even when the sun was lowest. The valley is more impressive from below, on the river, than from above. But it was a great day.

July 29
At 7:30 a.m., I sensed the calm silence following the storm. I peeked out the tent, and the valley was beautiful. A frosting of snow, sun rising over the hills, and a chance for blue sky. I started photographing then and didn't stop until 9 p.m.

July 31
Three glaciers loom large across the Jago. They are so close, relatively, and I couldn't resist. They all sit beneath their respective peaks, each about 9,000 feet. Since the river is at only 2,000 feet, these glaciers are an impressive sight. The hike looked easy enough on my topographical map. But, I got in a little over my head.

The day started well enough. Perfect weather: a balmy high 50s, a heavy southerly wind to keep the mosquitoes working, and occasional sunshine. I ate a little extra granola for breakfast and packed my gear.

Fording the Jago was easier than I expected. I packed the camera gear in the waterproof Pelican case, which I normally use to protect the food. I wore my neoprene diving booties to cross the river. I took off my pants to keep them dry and had my backpack loose in case I fell. (Hikers sometimes drown when crossing rivers because they are stuck to their heavy, water-logged packs.) I suppose I was a sight myself: naked, carrying a big suitcase and a backpack across a mean little river. But what do I care? Only the arctic ground squirrels are watching, and it was all quite practical.

Foolishly, though, I had left the gun in camp because I didn't want it wet if I fell. So what did I see as soon as I began hiking on the other side? A mother grizzly with two young cubs. She was heading south into the wind to keep the mosquitoes off her, I suppose. She stayed far enough away that she didn't seem upset. Good.

A few steps later, I saw caribou. Two loners were moseying along the riverbed. One crossed to the east side and passed right by my tents. I photographed both the caribou and bears, but they were all too far away.

I started walking up the creek toward the glaciers and made fairly good time. But this was not walking so much as rock hopping. Boulder hopping, actually. Rocks the size of cars and buses lay strewn about like a child's marbles, and these seemed endless. I've never seen so much rock in my life.

I doubt my parents would have approved of this. But here I was, hopping as best I could from one rock to another, for miles. A couple rocks that were about three feet in diameter moved when I landed on them. The probability that one of these would snap my leg like a twig was too high. I kept going. I became stubborn, I admit. I also slowed down and moved carefully. I got to that runner's high stage of warm body and blurred mind. That's no good when every step is tricky.

I eventually stopped when I realized I was pushing my luck too far. I reached a point where I could at least see one of the glaciers clearly. I photographed from there and rested in a thick bed of lichen, which covered granite boulders. Two Power Bars and a half-gallon of water later-that is, about four minutes-I headed back. The mosquitoes were swarming me, and I don't like to rest or eat midday. It was already about 6 p.m.

Coming back was even worse: shadows on the rocks, a mosquito cloud over me, the head net to confuse my sight of the rocks, and a blurry brain are a bad combination. But I wanted photographs of that different terrain because it's an important component of this area. I got them, and I got back in one piece. The hike was only nine miles with a 3,000-foot gain in elevation. But the terrain made it feel twice that length. It was all the more memorable, though. It was a good day.

August 2
This was a "listen to your body" day. The weather was relatively perfect, and I was ready for a good hike. But after 20 minutes of walking, I got the message. I felt exhausted. I know I'm not sick, just tired.

I headed back to camp and made a good day of it. I washed clothes on my washing rock in the river. I dunked my head in the water for the second time this summer, and my hairs were happy for it. I cleaned out the tents, burned trash, wrote letters, read, sat, and didn't think much. A fine day. I also ate a lot: sausage, the granola with a lot of fat, lots of bread and water.

Okay, I did think a little today. I thought about the impression this whole project will likely have on some people. I suspect some will think I'm quite a misanthrope to play in here all summer. But I don't feel like that at all. I feel lucky to experience this area for a longer period than most folks can. The few who even get here, that is. As such, I am in a unique position to share my experiences with others through the photographs and stories. The chance to give a slide show would be fun, I've decided. At least The Wilderness Society folks in D.C. might be interested. I'll pursue that this fall.

August 3
The warmest day of the summer. With not a cloud in the sky, it was 75 degrees, out of the wind. The mosquitoes are fierce, frantic even. Do they sense their imminent peril? I fear I'll be gone before they will, but I've learned to live with them.

I headed south today and found a surprisingly interesting valley. The rock formations were bizarre. I played in the hills all afternoon. Dall sheep have been in there, but not too recently. The tracks were old. I'll go back to a higher part of that valley soon.

There was one sheep, though. Lying on the tundra was a fully intact ram's skull, about 10 years old, with a beautiful full curl of horns. The face was chewed up somewhat. Many critters crave the calcium, a rare mineral here. The skull was picked clean, but it still smelled, heavily. Did he die this spring? I found no other body parts.

Fall is coming quickly. The colors should be strong by next week. The equisetum is already turning yellow brown, and the cranberry leaves are deep red.

August 8
There were few clouds, but the sky was dark all day. Smoke. That must be a healthy fire south of the Brooks Range. This does not bode well for my father's supposed arrival tomorrow.

The morning was all haze and north wind. I read my journal entries since June 27 to clean up the hieroglyphic handwriting and correct other mistakes. By early afternoon, I was ready to hike and photograph.

What did I see after less than three miles? Yep. At least 12 musk oxen with two males, a few females, and calves. Approaching them closely would be foolish. The bulls are beginning to battle for the fall rut. The females have babies to protect. They could all see me from such a distance. Still, I did my best to get close. I followed a little hill line to stay less conspicuous and got within a few hundred yards of them.

It was a memorable day. I watched them for a few hours. They grazed and slept, and they didn't move from their position at all. Eventually, the sky was too dark for photographing. I headed back for dinner.

The smoky sky, hazy orange sun, and strong winds made the valley feel ominous. It was fun in a way, but I want my father to get in here. We are supposed to move to the Hulahula River valley. Can we? I doubt it. But knowing all too well that surmising in the Arctic Refuge is a waste of time, I'll wait to see what tomorrow brings.

The days are getting shorter, and rapidly, I realized this week that there is not enough light to read past 11:45 p.m.

August 9
I want my Pop. Three months with no bed or shower is not a hardship. After months of looking forward to this day, not seeing my father is a true hardship. I am angry and miserable.

The smoke had cleared by late morning, and the clouds to the north didn't look so bad. I packed all the gear and put it by the landing strip. All day, I waited. Nothing. I called on the radio. Nothing. This ugly déjà vu was even worse because now it involved my father.

There was nothing I could do but relax. With no dinners remaining-I wasn't hungry, anyway-I ate a bag of granola and crawled into the tent, in the dark fog. I took two Advil to knock me out, and I read until they did.

I'm only in the mood to write now because it's 8 the next morning with a big blue sky. My father has only one week here. I want him to see all this. I want to hike with him and talk and just chill. He deserves this experience.

I took good musk oxen photos yesterday, if I didn't screw up the exposure. I knew Walt wouldn't be here until early afternoon. I left all the gear at the landing strip and went south. They were a mile closer to camp, and I was very lucky.

Before I was close enough for them to recognize me, they all took an eating break and lay down. That was perfect. The only vegetation was the willow bushes they were eating. The two bulls were sitting in just the right position that they couldn't see me coming. I stayed as low as possible and moved to a one-foot hill with a willow bush only 20 meters from the group. Dumb? Yeah. But life is for the living-until they're gored.

I had a great show for the next hour. They sensed that something was there, but they went about their business. The dominant male pushed the subordinate male away from the females. One good groan and a few steps toward him was all it took. The calves ate by their moms. They approached me almost one by one to inspect, about 15 meters away.

Then life turned ugly. The sub-male was grumpy and apparently wanted to vent this on me. He moved around me so that I was between him and the rest of the group. No good. He was only 15 meters away, rubbing his scent gland rapidly, and looking right at me. Really no good. I slowly stood up and walked away. He galloped in the other direction, and the others followed for a short distance. It was not easy to consider spot metering and exposure compensation while that grumpy bull was bellowing at me. I did my best.

Right now, I don't care. I want my Pop.