For the Birds

A day in the Arctic: wake up, stumble into the kitchen and grab some sort of breakfast. Pump myself up with enough coffee to wake an elephant. Then it's wader time. I grimace as I pull on my boots over my blisters, knowing I'll be feeling those later. I double check that I'm carrying the three precious items: GPS, radio, and binoculars. Pack a lunch and it's go time.

Where me and 11 other people live.

Tundra walking is in a category all its own. The elevation is absolutely nil--the words "ridge" and "hill" can only be used in quotation marks here. But the ground is so soggy and mucky, it's comparable to walking on a sandy beach all day long. The mud sucks your feet down, and if you pause to glass a bird for a few seconds, you might just find yourself stuck in place.

It's too late for this goose, who is tragically stuck to the ground.

It's a treasure hunt, and you never know what you'll find when you step off the road into the tundra. A caribou carcass, a fox den, a tiny adorable shorebird nest, a shotgun, maybe a random porn DVD. You never know.

Yes, that is a pinky finger.

But what we are really here for is the ducks. Specifically the eider ducks. I came here to Barrow knowing very little about them, but over the last three weeks I have fallen in love.

Love.

I have been swept off my feet by these animals. It has been a lot of fun hanging out with my crew--playing card games, bombing around the beach on ATVs, polar plunging into the Arctic and otherwise enjoying ourselves. But it's all for these guys, and we wouldn't be here without them.

And they are so worth it.


From the top of the world,

Ellen Marie

Head'em up, move'em out!

Things don't always go as planned. Since I seem to be some kind of watery magnet, and fall into every body of water within range, I ought to know this.

Despite that, most of my adventures seem to go pretty well, but sometimes I do have to admit failure. Caving Round Three was one of these examples--or should I say, it was a dark and stormy night.

It was, in fact, a dark and stormy night. I was driving through heavy rain in the dark to find a remote campsite on the shores of the romantically named Bean Lake. My usual partner in adventures, the slightly older and considerably wiser Ben, accompanied me . We planned to get an early start in finding Bean Hole cave in the morning.

As soon as we turned off the main highway, the road turned into a mud slick. We couldn't see where we were going, but it felt like the middle of nowhere.

Middle of nowhere: check. (Photo by Ben)

Due to our lack of road map/good directions, we were not entirely sure where we were going. I slowed to a creep at a narrow wooden bridge that spanned fifty feet above the Dearborn River. "Are cars even supposed to go over this?" I demanded.

Apparently, yes. At the campground there were no designated sites, only a grassy field, so it was pick-your-own-cow-patty. The wind was blowing so hard, Ben and I took turns lying spread-eagled on the tent floor to keep it from flying away.

Sexy Bean Lake

The rain, darkness, and solitude of the campground convinced us we were starring in somebody's horror movie. And tomorrow, we planned to lower ourselves into a giant hole in the ground, completely at the mercy of mythical cave creatures.

We slept to the melodic sounds of cows being disemboweled all night long. Surprisingly, I didn't see their corpses piled up everywhere in the morning. El chupacabra must have hidden the bodies.

I had nothing to fear from cave creatures, though--we were not destined to find the cave, this time. It wasn't for lack of trying.

Nope, no cave here. (Photo by Ben)

 We hiked up and down enormous ridges and climbed carefully around rocky spires. We gained beautiful views and even better amplification of cows bellowing, but no cave.

And we found this!

We descended from the ridge disappointed. On our way out we checked in with some local ranchers, who pointed out the real location of the cave. We were on the right track, but had chosen a near impossible approach. Our time was running out, and we lacked permission to cross some private property, so we called it quits.

Neither of us liked quitting. And I have to say, Bean Hole Cave is going to nettle me until I return. But Ben and I agreed that you could do worse than hike around some beautiful country with a good companion. Not so bad at all.

Ben the Rock Ninja

And I got my last taste of mountains and some rugged elevation gain. Tomorrow is my last day in Montana before I head up to the Arctic. Internet access might be a little fishy there, if you'll excuse the pun, but I'll update the blog with adventures if I can. I'm a little nervous but a lot excited--who needs nice weather when there's Arctic winds to be had?? So bring it on.

Wherever you find yourself, enjoy the summertime. . . and adventure on!