Crossing The Gates of Alaska:. Dave Metz
have the time-saving luxury of floating a couple hundred miles on either the Noatak River or the Kobuk River when they are thin and aching for the finish.
I wanted to spend much of my time in the taiga forests south of the Brooks Range crest. I craved those woody areas of the globe. My plan was to start in the village of Kotzebue on the northwest coast of Alaska in late March. I had to start that time of year when the weather was brutally cold so I could ski up the Kobuk River towing a sled. I had to start when the water along the coast was still frozen so I could cross it. Skiing part of the way would seem like a more rounded adventure and a great way to get in better shape before the torturous days of hiking began to beat me down. It would be faster to ski on a major river than it would be to hike across barren woodland, especially with the dogs helping me pull my gear. I could travel critical distance early in the season before the snow melted. To cross all of Alaska on foot in one season, I most likely would have to ski, snowshoe, or dogsled part of it. I didn’t want to float any rivers for a great distance. It seemed like cheating to me, not a pure on-foot adventure like I wanted.
I could have chosen the Noatak River to ski on, but it’s farther north where there are no trees, and where the weather is more severe. And there aren’t any villages along the Noatak once it gets away from the coast. I thought the Kobuk River would be a safer route and contain more forest cover. It would feel more like home to me while I was exploring that far-reaching land.
After the Kobuk River I planned to get more supplies in the village of Ambler, and I would then turn northeast up the Ambler River. I had to reach the headwaters of the Ambler River past all gnarled trees before the river thawed and broke apart in late April. At the headwaters I planned to begin hiking. It would be the point where I could begin traveling light and fast. Well, I hoped so anyway, but no one can ever be totally prepared for the harsh, uneven ground of Alaska.
Next I would hike over Nakmaktuak Pass to the Noatak River and cross it. Then I would head up Midas Creek and continue east on the Nigu River until I joined up with the Killik River. I would walk down the Killik for a few days and turn right onto Easter Creek, following it for several days until I hit the John River. Then I would follow the John into the village of Anaktuvuk Pass, where I was scheduled to meet Julie, my brothers Steve and Mike, my nephew Aaron, and two other friends. Then we would all hike to the village of Wiseman on the Dalton Highway together.
Trekking from Ambler to Anaktuvuk Pass was about 300 miles across some of the remotest country in the state, and the world. I could expect to be alone the entire time. I couldn’t find anything specific about people hiking all the way across that region, just general information about backpacking in Alaska and about the hardcore adventurers who had traversed the entire state. When most people go backpacking or hunting in the Brooks Range, like most of Alaska’s backcountry, they hire a private plane to fly them in and pick them up when they’re done. The distances are just too daunting. But I wasn’t going to do that. I was going to walk in from about as far away as I could get. In the Gates of the Arctic I knew I would be crossing an unknown, blurry void where I didn’t know the terrain. I had to study the maps to find a way through for myself. There were no guide books and no one was going to show me the way.
The Dalton Highway would be the likely end point of my journey, but in the back of my mind I hoped somehow I would make incredible time so I could continue east toward Arctic Village. Then I would proceed to the Canadian border. But that would be an epic feat and I was pretty sure I would be a bag of bones by the time I reached Anaktuvuk Pass. I concentrated on the first half of Alaska, from Kotzebue to the Dalton Highway. I knew that distance would take at least three months.
Three months before my departure, I spent hours a day at Julie’s house studying my maps, searching for the best gear on the Internet and loading food and gear into my boxes out in her garage. I got my journals ready and planned to log my miles as an estimate, following the curves of the river valleys. I had practiced using a GPS (global positioning system that uses satellites to pinpoint your location) unit and a compass before, which I would be bringing, so navigating would be more automatic when I got out there.
The first boxes I had were the largest and contained the most gear. I had to send items that I needed for coping with extreme cold and ice. One of the boxes I would send to Kotzebue had nothing but clothes. I found most of my clothes over a period of about six months. I always thought it was silly to spend a lot of money on clothes. Some high-tech gear is overrated and way overpriced. I found thick wool socks for a dollar a pair from an outdoors store in Portland. I found some expedition-weight bib pants there, too, to wear under my wind pants. I found a pile jacket, with a raised collar (critical for cold weather), from the Goodwill store in Corvallis, and several sweaters from the Salvation Army store in Roseburg for about three dollars apiece. Except for a T-shirt that I would wear in June, none of my clothes were made of cotton. They were either wool or some other synthetic fiber that wouldn’t absorb too much moisture. I bought only a few items brand new specifically for this trip. The rest I scrounged up from friends, borrowed, or bought at secondhand stores. One new item was a four-season tent, and another a pair of ski boots. I knew I needed the best boots I could find to keep my toes from freezing. The toes are always the first part of the body to fail in freezing temperature. They’re small and so far from the vital core of the body. I had to devote extra care to my feet. My boots were heavy-duty backcountry boots, with a thick insulated lining and a hard, outer plastic shell to keep out even the tiniest draft. Where you have to start out each morning from a tent in icy Alaska cold, you can never have boots that are too warm.
My brother Mike gave me two pairs of skis for my trip. One pair would be a backup. They were basically older style telemark skis, with a free heel so I could simulate walking. The skis were wide enough so I could manage the uneven snow surface without losing my balance, but still narrow and lightweight enough so I could make good time. Your ankles tend to bend over sideways on skis that are too thin, so you have to find the right width. On perfect flat snow I could use really narrow skis to make good time, but I would never find ideal conditions where I was going.
I had to be creative with my food since it would take up most of the weight. I packed a lot of lentil beans in bulk and stayed away from too many freeze-dried dinners. They’re ludicrously expensive, plus the packaging material would weigh too much on a trek where each saved ounce was precious. I had to be able to carry a month’s worth of food on my back once I started the hiking part of my journey, and the dogs had to carry about twenty-five pounds each in their packs. The main staple foods I packed were lentil beans, oats, large blocks of cheese, noodles, cocoa, coffee, powdered milk, and piles of snack food. I also packed toilet paper, matches, maps for the next leg of the journey, and mosquito repellent and sunblock on the later sections when the weather warmed up. I also packed toothpaste, dental floss, fishing line for fishing and for sewing up my clothes, and an extra shirt and hiking pants for the later sections.
As much as I stared at maps and prepared, I knew it would never be enough. The land looked immense even on my colorful wall map where instead of using two fingers, I had to use two hands to measure the distance between points. And there weren’t many names of the land features, mainly wide blank spaces of drawn-in creases and folds in the mountains and varying degrees of extravagant color. I would be hiking through regions where no modern human had ever traveled and likely would come across obstacles that I would have to go around to get by, and in the process lose valuable time and energy. And there were going to be the countless miles of indestructible mounds of grass called tussocks to slow me down and frustrate me like nothing else. I knew I would face excruciating loneliness and hours of physical exertion. I planned to take a shotgun with me, but I hoped to avoid violent confrontations with large animals. I would bring it just in case so I could sleep better at night. I worried about moose or wolves attacking my dogs, and of course some of the largest bears on the planet. To prepare for them, I figured I needed to know how to get along with them and stay out of their way. Everywhere else was mine for wandering. My eyes glimmered with joy when I came upon so much wild emptiness on such a small map. I knew the more uncharted space I saw on my wall map, the more there would actually be ahead when I got on the ground. I couldn’t wait.
THE NORTHWEST COAST
March 20, 2007, approximately eighty miles from Kiana
Fierce