40-Mile Fun

The nights were cool and clear and our humble home had everdang sep a heppy tar swang. 

Our pleasant camp site. The Arctic Oven tucked into a nice
patch of spruce.

Recently my friend Greg invited me to come along for a caribou hunting trip. He hoped to complement his freezer full of moose meat with some tasty caribou. After considering a rather complex and slightly dangerous attempt at caribou on the North Slope, he ended up settling on making a go at the 40-Mile herd that is often found along the Steese Highway, at a spot about 100 miles from Fairbanks. I was happy to have the chance to get of doors, see some beautiful country, and get my heart rate up. We were able to do all three. 

We did not go light. The sled I borrowed to haul stuff with weighed about 20 pounds empty. The wonderful Arctic Oven tent and stove weight about 30 pounds. If we wanted to transport all of our stuff, the heart rate was elevated.

Two people camping in the winter requires all sorts of stuff.

We loaded up and headed down a valley that drained into Birch Creek searching for caribou and a campsite. We saw plenty of tracks and trails created by caribou along the way. Greg found a suitable campsite along a smaller drainage that had evidence of caribou. We definitely knew where the caribou had been previously.

We set up camp, chopped some wood, and Greg glassed the hills looking for animals to shoot. The Arctic Oven is a wonderful place to spend -20 nights. It has a windproof outer fly that is buried in the snow and an inner layer that allows water molecules to pass through. In the morning the inner part of the tent was completely dry. Also it has a small wood stove and chimney. Nicest and warmest tent I'll ever sleep in. It was likely near -20 or so at night but I was never uncomfortably cold. The idea that it weighed 30 pounds or so was only not fun for however long it took us to ski in and out of where we set up camp. The rest of the time, the 30 pound tent was awesome.

The next morning, Greg thought we ought to try to go up the small drainage that we were camped on and see if we could get above tree line.

We were heading toward the white part a ways away. 

I ended up getting my butt kicked. I had brought along heavy, wide skis that could stay up on top of snow and climb hills quite well. But going long distances on flat ground was not comfortable for the feet so I was wearing a different pair of skis that were better for flats and hoping that snowshoes could keep me from sinking into the waist deep snow. That approach didn't work. Greg's wide skis allowed him to mostly stay on the surface of the snow but I could not. We ended up struggling upwards through the trees, alders, and deep snow for about an hour and making it about half way between the floor of the valley and above tree line. Then we turned around. My bad.

Admitting defeat and skiing back down the drainage
towards camp. Nice day though.

We returned to camp, started a fire in the stove, cooked up some very good beans and rice for lunch, and warmed up the feet.

The next plan was to stay on the snowmachine trails that we had followed along the main valley and head towards Birch Creek, about 4.5 miles away. We headed out towing two sleds, eventually dropping both along the trail as we tired.

The moon looked neat.

We saw footprints, defecation, and micturition from caribou on the snowmachine trail we were traveling on. There were trails on the hillsides where caribou had climbed in and out of the valley. There was even a spot where eight or nine caribou had bedded down for a while along the trail. But no caribou. We came to where Birch Creek runs into the creek we were following, paused to take in the pleasant views, and started back.

Looking down the valley toward Birch Creek. 

Looking back up the valley towards the trail head.

No caribou. Crud. Well, we definitely had a nice day of skiing. We decided that tomorrow would be the last day. We would briefly take a look around in the morning, pack up, and try to be back to the trail head by 3 or 4 and head home. We were hungry so we ate a lot of food. Sodium soup, mashed potatoes, and chocolate. Also, before we took off on the trip, Julia helped put together some wonderful smash-proof, hand-held, fist-sized, hyphen-requiring balls of food called bierocks. We had three varieties: pizza, apple, and ham and egg. We ate these happily throughout the trip. The breakfast bierocks in the morning were quite a treat. My wife is wonderful. 

The next morning we toured down the valley again, but saw no caribou. 

Greg looking for animals to shoot.

We packed up the camp, hitched ourselves to sleds, endured/enjoyed the unpleasant part of packing heavy, packed up the truck and headed home. 

In general, we saw nothing. We didn't even run across a moose. Oh, well. It was a very successful caribou camp. Heart rate elevated, good conversation, no significant injuries, and a whole lot of soaking up sunlight with a good friend.