The Western Arctic

We set up our cook area on a rocky beach on the side of the tiny, serpentine Nigu River in the Western Arctic, and our tent a hundred yards away on the soft green tundra. The Nigu flows from its headwaters in the Gates of the Arctic National Park into the unfortunately named National Petroleum Reserve of Alaska, the largest block of public ands in our country. We had been dropped by bush plane into a wide and verdant valley, circled by a wide embrace of gentle limestone mountains, and treeless, so that our eyes easily roamed the slopes around us miles distant. Wolves howled, the mournful sound hanging in the Arctic air. Wolves are inherently shy creatures; any proximity to wolves is not only fortuitous, but mystical. The sound alone enthralled us.

This was a place if infinite possibility, of ongoing creation. We explored ridges and valleys, trudging through tundra bogs and ascending dry hillsides. On one such ridgeline ascent, clumsily navigating the challenging terrain, we came face to face with the King of the interior Arctic. A barren-ground grizzly ambled down the hillside just in front of us. We were downwind. He would not know we were there. We stopped in our tracks. We yelled, and clicked our trekking poles over our heads. He stopped. He stood up on his hind legs, huge head tipped back to smell, arms at his sides. And then he turned, and bounded back up and over the mountain with astonishing speed and agility.

After one particularly long day of exploration, we settled in and made a quick meal- Mexican black beans, cheese and salsa in tortillas. We leaned back into our Crazy Creek camp chairs, the peaceful small river flowing quietly, talking and laughing in gratitude for the day’s adventures.

I happened to look up as we ate. As we sat on the beach, just across the twenty-foot wide river sitting on the tundra bank was a silver-white wolf. Her calm wild eyes watched us steadily. We barely breathed, as though our breath might whisk her away. Then, as silently as she had arrived, she stood up and disappeared in the willows. She appeared again on our side of the river, trotting easily on the spongy tundra up the bluff behind us to inspect our tent. And then she was gone. We sat on the beach without moving, not wanting an errant move to somehow displace the magic.  Even if this night was our only experience in this place, it was enough. Even if this night were our last on earth, it was enough.

This place, this faraway and ancient Arctic wilderness, had shown us yet again her splendor and her mystery, revealed so much so unexpectedly, when we were willing to just sit and wait. If only we could all understand how intrinsically important preserving our last great wilderness was, and protect it. If only we could know that this place would always be here. If only we could be assured our children and grandchildren could come to this place, and see these mysteries.

After securing our kitchen on the beach, we headed to the tent under the soft Arctic light of a midnight sky. Snuggling into our sleeping bag that night, nearby howls climbed through the soft night air, shivering along the breezes.

2010 is the 50th Anniversary of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, but the critical coastal plains are still not protected. The National Petroleum Reserve of Alaska, our largest block of public land, though recognized by administrations for the past thirty years for its exceptional environmental sensitivity and temporarily shielded, has no permanent protection.

- Shannon Huffman Polson

www.theultimathule.org, www.aborderlife.com

See more of Shannon’s photos’ here