This country's hard on people. You can't stop what's coming.

[TOGIE]

"So you're big toes will probably go numb from this. Probably be that way till Christmas. Probably."

That's not actually how he said it, but that's how my brain likes to replay it. I thought about it, my teeth rattling from the potholes and the stiff suspension of an unladen U-Haul box truck now hundreds of miles from any legitimate civilization. Odd, I thought. I could see that happening. Probably doesn't happen to everyone, right?

Right?

I already knew that it pays well to listen to what he says, a wildly more experienced hunter than me, and he's done this hunt before, more than once.

More astonishing to me than the invite from @Bluffgruff to join in on a North Slope Caribou adventure was my wife agreeing to a 2 week absence of mine come late August. Solo parenting two toddler boys for two weeks is quite honestly a task of far greater weight than what lay before me. I still don't know how I got this green light, I honestly didn't even have to try for it. Some things you don't question.

One thing I was certain of that I really didn't need anyone to tell me, is that this wasn't going to be easy. But that's kinda the point, isn't it?

Setting eyes on this country for the first time really makes you feel small. It's hard to comprehend how vast it really is. The notion of setting off towards the horizon is as irresistible as it is daunting.

 

[Deez Nutz]

Been waiting for this one.

 

[TOGIE]

North Slope Caribou brings with it many challenges. Not least of which is logistics. It's hard to overstate how lucky one is to get to do this with someone who has ironed out many of those metaphorical bumps.

We met up for gear prep, we met up to talk logistics, and the day came where we set early alarms for a carpool to DIA. I snuck into dark rooms to kiss children goodbye, made a coffee, loaded the truck, and slipped out the door.

I made sure I booked a window seat. Right side. I knew there were gonna be views. I was bummed after we took off from Seattle, a nice thick cloud deck seemed to show no end. I snoozed a little. I slept terribly last night, as I often do on the eve of any big trip. Every now and then I would lift the window shade to see if there were things to see.

Eventually the clouds began to break and the Coast Mountains of British Columbia revealed their grandeur. This was the entrance sign to the great north I was hoping for. A stark visual that you were entering a new world.

I was nervous. It had little to do with where I was going and everything to do with what I was leaving. I had never been away from the kids this long. They change fast at this age. I love being a dad and I feel like I'm constantly getting the wind knocked out of me when I notice how fast time is flying. Big trips feel selfish and wrong. While I know that's not true, it's forever hard to fully believe.

It'll just take settling in to the tasks ahead to allow my mind to be properly focused. I start getting eager to get there.

 

[noharleyyet]

And so it begins, love this time of year and admire Togie's excellent writings.

 

[TOGIE]

My eyes remained glued to the airplane window for the rest of the flight. It's hurting my neck but I can't stop.

As the descent into Fairbanks progresses my brain begins to pivot back to what needs to get done and, upon landing, there is much to get done.

The time change gains us two badly needed hours to pick up our transportation and make the rounds between grocery stores, home improvement stores, and outdoor stores for the troves of gear and food needed for nearly two weeks. But the time change is also double edged, we realize we've been awake for nearly 16 hours on barely any sleep and it's not even dinner time yet, and we are still gonna push north tonight.

I was cognizant of the likely very comical looking nature of our very sleep deprived looping back forth through the grocery store, looking for items we forgot to grab, getting distracted by items we wanted, and forgetting to get the items we forgot to grab in the process. I felt like a ghost. But I had my Mt. Dew in the cart, what else could I possibly need?

Finally, U-Haul loaded, we grabbed a final hot bite at a brew pub before setting off north. The adventure was truly beginning.

We didn't go far, just far enough to find a place to pull off and sleep. I'm reminded of the midwest and south on the roads out here. Off the roads is an immediate wall of seemingly impassable forest. Very different forest, to be sure.

Exhausted, we do little but set up our sleeping gear and settle in. Rain starts pattering the roof in short order. Pushing 22 hours awake at this point. We fall asleep easily.

 

[Song Dog 2224]

Tuning in

 

[Nick87]

Hunttalk is getting good again. Bout time.

 

[TOGIE]

I understood it in my brain before this trip that simply getting to the North Slope is a mini expedition in and of itself. However cliche that might be, it's fairly true. It is a long haul with few places to stop for help should things go awry. And the opportunities for things to go awry are real.

We managed to get on the road the following morning earlier than I'm sure either of us expected. We are both very open about our inability to, or perhaps inability to care about, getting up in a timely manner when hunting.

It was still drizzling. Not unexpected.



Living in Colorado you kinda develop bad habits with rain gear. Many times I just don't even put in my pack when I set about. I quite frankly don't even know how it performs at this point because I just simply never use it.

I bought several brand new things for this trip, heavier duty rain gear being one of them. Frankly, I wasn't exactly feeling excited about how clear it was becoming that the new gear would be very much getting used.

We were hoping to grab some coffee and a to go breakfast at one of the last opportunities to do so for some time. We pulled up and it wasn't going to be open for 40 or so minutes. We can't wait around for that.

More compelling evidence that getting up early is, in fact, stupid. So we press on, uncaffeinated.

And just like that, the Dalton Highway, we are on. We will push for Yukon Camp, where caffeine and a late breakfast awaits.

 

[TOGIE]

I was genuinely excited to just see all the things there are to see. The landscape, the haul road itself, the haul road trucks, the pipeline.

There is nothing uninteresting about this drive.

Watching the pipeline periodically dive underground to bypass a mountainside and re-emerge some miles later adds significant scale to the mind when thinking about the shear complexity and magnitude of the undertaking the TAPS project was.

It further helps one realize how immense the Prudhoe Bay oil field reserves were upon discovery - that a project of such scale, complexity, and cost with massive maintenance needs in some of the worlds harshest conditions was just a no brainer to throw down the money for.

 

[TOGIE]

I had already heard and read about some of the food available to Haul Road travelers.

Burgers and breakfast food at Yukon Camp, ordered and served up by genuinely smiling faces that simultaneously have zero nonsense hiding in them. A buffet, bottomless coffee, and a bar in Coldfoot that brings true bodily warmth to weary adventurers and Haul Road truckers alike.

All of these things were part of the experience I wanted to have and indulge I would, unashamedly. Whether it is earned or not at this point, I could not care less.

You drop into Yukon Camp directly after crossing the Yukon River itself. Flowing around 100,000 to 110,000 cfs at this point is yet another sign and realization - as if there weren't enough of those already - that we ain't in Kansas anymore.



We park and hurry inside for caffeine and calories. I'm a little bummed as I would always rather eat a burger for breakfast than typical breakfast food, but it is not yet 11 am and it is breakfast only. There is no reason to complain though. It is oh so good.

I briefly wonder why we would bother hunting. This is a pretty good trip so far, why muck it all up with deliberate mental and physical pain?

 

[TOGIE]

But muck up all the good fun with hunting we would. We had a spot we wanted to check out before the North Slope fully took control of the trip and that would actually be our next stop.

And it was mostly gonna be just that, a spot to check out, there was no serious expectation of killing caribou. Some spots on the map just pique too much curiosity to ignore.

Just a quick 12 mile jaunt in is all. Stay a night, see what we see, or really don't see, and in all likelihood back out and move on to the main event.

Bring enough food for two nights in case the unexpected happens.

When we finally got to the parking spot, we spent some time organizing and saddled up. I was nervous again. Though, this time it actually was because of where I was going. I was finally in Alaska, tying my boots, putting a heavy backpack on with a gun strapped to it, and looking off away from the road. It was so sudden, like here we are, it's happening. It was a good nervousness in a way, as if to say, "Holy shit, I'm actually doing this. Wait, really, I'm actually here, doing this."


It was kind of a sudden release of tension that had been building up in me this summer. In a way that kinda mentally tangles you up for a moment, as I stood there, geared up, appearing ready to go.

Pretty much up until those wheels left contact with the runway at DIA, it didn't feel to me that this trip was actually happening. Summer was immensely stressful with childcare issues, busy jobs, little family vacations, and family get togethers. The culmination of normal life stress hit a mental breaking point for me with the sudden childcare issues that fell upon us with barely a month and a half before the trip. It had me ready to pull the plug. I could see the stress in my wife and I was acutely aware of the stress in myself.

I confessed to her one day that this trip shouldn't be happening, I can't go in good conscience anymore. When I leave we will not have a childcare system, my wife will still be full time employed, and she could, but really shouldn't, just disappear for two weeks from work to figure out how to keep this ship afloat when I leave. She looked at me and said with kind of a comical seriousness, "You know not once has it crossed my mind that this trip isn't happening. It's happening. This will all work out just fine. I honestly think you're more stressed about it than I am."

We would finally get a new nanny lined up and the pressure release valve was found. But she wouldn't start until Sep 1st. Nonetheless, things were lining back up.

All said, I really was in a bit of disbelief as I stood there in my boots, rain gear at the top of my pack for quick retrieval, gun strapped on, trekking poles ready, looking off away from the road, and about to hit "record track" on the GPS.

Pretty exhilarating. Let's properly muck up this road trip with some hunting.

 

[Irrelevant]

I briefly wonder why we would bother hunting. This is a pretty good trip so far, why muck it all up with deliberate mental and physical pain?

I say that more and more every year

 

[TOGIE]

As we climbed we could see the clouds. It wasn't what we wanted to be seeing. Before long the light rain began and the world was socked in.

While our visibility was getting whittled down to hundreds of yards, we still found what you want to see.



We press on. We can't see, but we press on. We are here, we are doing this, even if we can't see now, we only need to see for a little bit make some determinations about whether or not we should bother being here.



It didn't seem we were going to be getting those opportunities though. We cross from the archery corridor into the rifle corridor. While we can't see anything, this was yet another little profound moment in my brain. Now we're REALLY here.

We push on for another 6 miles or so to a predetermined location. It is wildly disorienting in this weather. It's getting late and we are searching for a spot for the tent. It's been raining for hours and despite the fact that darkness comes slowly, it's actually starting to get dark.

It takes a while, but we finally find a spot for the tent. We are cold and damp, it is windy and it is raining. We manage to get the tent set up and we hurry to get some dinner and tea made.



We sit out in the open in our rain gear in the wind to make dinner, there is really no other option. We are both uninterested in the effort and time necessary to put up the tarp and with grizzlies in the area we keep the dinner making a little separated from the tent.

I'm honestly just shivering, hungry, and exhausted. That was no small hike and I know at this point the only real option to warm up is to get in that sleeping bag. I'm antsy for bed, antsy for sleep.

I'm getting an instant heavy dose of the kind of intense mental toll Alaskan weather can take on a hunter. I'm not even remotely having a bad time, but it's shocking how quickly everything just becomes, well, miserable.

We snarf down dehy, drink some tea, and get straight in our sleeping bags. We looked at a garmin forecast download, messaged some folks to see if they could get some forecast details, and none of it looked good. We could wait a couple days and catch some sunshine for a day or two in here, but given the low odds of even finding what we're looking for to begin with, it was decided - we'll pull stakes first thing and glass on our way out if there any windows.

It rained all night. I slept surprisingly well.

Peaking out the tent in the morning revealed more of the same.



The North Slope awaits.