Coastline Pilot/LA TIMES

16 July 2004

 

Chasing the Muse

Catharine Cooper

 

 

“Up here!”  Julie, our Artic River Journey’s guide, waves her arms, beckoning us to continue our climb up the steep tundra slope.  Ankles twist and everyone groans as we navigate the uneven ground, slowly making our way toward the top of the ridge. “It’s worth it,” she bellows.

 

She has, in fact, told the truth.  As we crest the ridgeline, the coastal plain of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge (ANWR) spreads out before us. The fragile land mass, a mere 110-mile strip of flat coastline, stands in vast contrast to the craggy mountains and rounded foothills through which we traveled the past 12 days.

 

The Beaufort Sea and its ice fields shimmer in the late afternoon sun.  I feel as if I’m on top of the world, and in essence, I’m quite close.  A quick glance through binoculars reveals icebergs floating in a dark blue sea churned with white caps.   In seven years of hiking, our guide has never experienced this vista of the sea and plain.  It is usually shrouded in fog. 

 

To the east, lies the border of the United States and Canada, in pristine wilderness.  To the west, and thankfully, out of view, the belching oil fields of Prudhoe Bay spew pollutants into the air, sea and land.

 

The land before me is known as “Section 1002”, or “ten-oh-two”, a 1.5 million acre coastal plain within the Artic National Wildlife Refuge.  This is the calving ground of the Porcupine and Central Arctic Caribou herds, the nesting sites of 180 species of birds, wintering den site of Beaufort Sea polar bears, and the year-round home for the Muskoxen. 

 

“American’s Serengeti,” was the description President Jimmy Carter gave to this vast wilderness as he witnessed the vast herds of caribou during their annual migration.  He understood instantly, the inestimable value of this precious resource.  In 1960, Secretary of State, James Seaton, under the Eisenhower Administration, designated 8.9 million acres of this land as the Arctic National Wildlife Range.  The intent was to protect its “unique wildlife, wilderness and recreation values.”  Successive administrations have continually voted to support the overwhelming voice of the American people in protecting this land.

 

This is refuge land.  Roadless wilderness where the only sounds are that of the river, the songbird or the howl of a lone wolf.  The mammals, birds and fish that inhabit this land know it as home.  It is their only home.   To add roads, drilling, pipelines and the commerce that attends oil exploration on this fragile strip of coastline, will irrevocably destroy what only we, their human partners on the planet, can protect.

 

In the distance, a dust cloud rises in the tundra.  Binoculars confirm it is a female and her newly born caribou calf racing toward an ice flow.  Born on the coastal plain, fattened on its nutrient rich tundra flora, the caribou begin the backwards trace of their migratory circle near the end of June.  We had hoped to find ourselves midst the tens of thousands of these elegant creatures as they cross Caribou Pass and the Kungakut River, but have had to settle for distant encounters as the herd lingers in a distant valley.

 

We leave the ridgeline, wandering through bear foraged cotton grass and tracks of a wolf.  A golden plover chases us from her rocky land laid nest, filled with four shimmering brown and beige spotted eggs.  Overhead, a majestic gryfalcon takes wing in search of afternoon sustenance.  Late clouds filter light over the hills, the scent of wildflowers fills the air and the refuge works her magic on my soul.

 

Soft hoof steps interrupt the silence as a young male caribou crests the hill and walks slowly past us.   I am shocked at his proximity and lack of fear of my human presence.  My awe is only surpassed by the appearance, behind him, of a young female.  She stops a mere 15 feet from me and gazes at my form.  She turns her head in a quizzical gesture, as if trying to discern what creature I might be.  I hold my breath, unable to believe that this beautiful animal is as curious of me as I am of her, and to my increasing surprise, she steps closer.  Our eyes connect, and in that time honored frame of knowing, we are, at that moment, of one mind in the universe.   The space between us disappears, and the gazer and the gazed become one.  She nips a bite of cotton grass and proceeds down the hill.

 

Julie descends on the far side of the slope.  I wave my arms, frantically trying to get her attention to the pair of ‘bou’ who are passing below us.  She doesn’t see them, her attention trained, instead, on the moose crossing the river. 

 

The refuge is, in fact, a place untouched by man in all of time.  There is so little wilderness left, so many fronts under attack.  This one stretch of coastline is the last strip in the Alaskan Arctic shore to exist in its purely wilderness state.  If we are wise, if we can harness our avarice and greed, we should have no trouble finding within our hearts the right course of action to protect this land in perpetuity.  

 

Catharine Cooper thrives in wild places.  She can be reached at ccooper@cooperdesign.net.