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26.08.2007: Update - Park Patrol Trip
This is an account of a week-long patrol I participated in with two work colleagues. I left my camera behind on the first day at a cabin we stopped in for lunch and so do not have any photos of this trip. I hope these snippets of writing will serve to describe my experience. The figures of two laden ATVs tumbled along the tundra in a foggy mist, and I found myself astride one of them, behind the wheel, wondering yet again what it is that lures me repeatedly out into such miserable conditions. Within three hours we were off known trails and onto GPS-lead routes across 30 kilometers of wild tundra countryside. It rained and sprayed with a cold wind and the route was wrought with nerve-wracking cracks and crevices that rocked me so much at one point I was thrown entirely off of my bike, landing flat on my butt in the firm but strangely soft tussoks. I got back on and drove some more. I could barely make out the ATV in front of me when it got more than 100 meters away. We were drenched and cold and smiling our faces off, for these would be six days of adventure well away from the grind of the office. We were humble and appreciated the chance to be there, the three of us in the middle of the Canadian arctic tundra. What a thrill. The plan: Drive with ATVs days 1 and 6, respectively to and from the park boundary. Spend two days hiking into the park along the Hornaday River canyon, and two days hiking back out. Reality: Our destination by ATV was stopped about 10 kilometers short by a failed attempt to follow a watershed down to Rummy Creek. Try as we may, we could not pass the steep terrain and another route would have to be found at another time on another trip. We had travelled 11 hours that day in the rain and wind and were ready for bed, myself in particular. We would continue the next day on foot. It would be half-way through day 3 before we even reached the boundary.
* * * I busied myself with the task of drying my feet after having crossed George Creek, the second creek crossing that day by foot. Craig suddenly stood erect and pointed up the valley. A very large female grizzly bear was coming down a ridge 200 meters away with a small, furry cub bounding along beside her. They were a sight to behold, but we didn't want to behold it for too long. We shouted until the bear heard us and stopped to see what all the racket was about. She paused and stood up on her hind legs to get a better view. The hulk of her body, filled out now that fall was on its way and preparing for a long winter of hibernation, was very impressive. She seemed indifferent and continued on her decent. We waited and watched, hoping she would cross the creek without further ado. A breeze with our scent must have reached her, as mid-stride she swung around and began to race back up the ridge, her bouncing cub struggling to catch up with Mom's sudden change of direction. We were pleased with the sighting, but also relieved. We didn't see another bear. Three days of rain, mist and fog. Three days of cold, steady north winds and shifting from the heat of hiking to chills from standing still more than 10 minutes. The tundra rolled out of view in the mist flat in front of us, to the sides of us, behind us. Our three little figures were as lost in the mist, struggling to see any sign of the river canyon we were following, walking high in the flats along beside it. In the afternoon of the third day we finally crossed the national park boundary, but only spent 20 minutes hiking into the park before stopping for lunch. We huddled on the scant lee-side of a terrace sloping down into the river canyon, with precious little protection from the biting wind. Before us the river drove back into a canyon with sheer rock cliffs painted and layered in various shades. The fog had by then cleared enough to graciously grant us the view and the mist served to lend a sense of awe to this thoroughly magical setting. All of our work and toil with this our farthest point, we were satisfied and despite the weather, looking forward to the next three days to return home.
* * * I always feel a sense of peace when gazing across the vast landscape found in this corner of the world. It envelops me but instead of feeling lost I feel deeply rooted in it. It is as all natural places in this world, connected. It is the breadth of the praries, the variety of the mountain peak vistas, the muted silence and secret diversity of the desert. It is none of these things - it is the tundra. The Melville Hills are an example of the tundra hills ecoregion, part of which is represented in Tuktut Nogait National Park. This is not flat, featureless land. It is rich in plant and animal life, and fascinating in its rolling, endlessly feature-filled landscape. Every turn and rise holds a surprise behind it. On a clear day one's eyes are ever fascinated by the folds, curious as to what lies next. And this was a clear day, indeed. The blue sky finally broke through sometime in the afternoon of the fourth day, and our hearts were so grateful. Enjoy as we may have tried the mist and fog, there is no likeness to the sun breaking through, dousing the land and the soul. I marveled at all I had missed on the sightless journey in. We watched a Golden Eagle soar across a small valley and the features of hills and watersheds for kilometers. A small group of seven caribou grazed their way down a distant hillside plain, and a single bull caribou carried itself across our path. We could even see the ocean for the better part of our journey home. People from outside of Paulatuk who find themselves here always ask me about how they can get into the park. When they learn that there is very little opportunity for them to visit Tuktut Nogait NP with their budget, available time and experience level they end up leaving town never having set foot beyond the two dirt roads. They are mislead by the southern reality of national parks, their role and representation in southern landscapes and wilderness as islands of unique treasures amid urban sprawl, roads and farmland, and consequently miss out on the lion's share of what the north has to offer. We spent six days of travel, six days of wonder and raw wilderness and breathtaking views and experiences, and only TWO HOURS were spent in the national park. There is an awful lot out there to enjoy and appreciate without ever going near the park.
* * * We rolled into Paulatuk at noon, rubbing our eyes at what seemed to suddenly become a bustling town after our week of wilderness. Locals waved hello and asked how the trip was, asked if we saw caribou. I cannot answer why on this particular trip I felt mildly shocked with re-entry into town life. The idea would seem preposterous considering that Paulatuk is one of the most remote communities in the world, with only a modest 300 people calling it home, but so it was. Within two hours we bade our Inuvik colleague adieu as he hopped the Friday flight back home. I'm left with yet another wonderful trip behind me, another priviledged journey on this land. I am thankful every day for all the experiences my life brings me. -Delia |
