For our annual summer river trip we flew into Gates of the Arctic National Park for 8 days on the Upper Noatak River. The Noatak is the nation’s largest unaltered river basin and the entirety of the river is above the Arctic Circle. Designated as a Wild and Scenic River, the Noatak flows 400 miles from the mountains of the Brooks Range to Kotzebue Sound and the Chukchi Sea.
It should be pointed that while much of the river lies within protected wilderness, and wilderness often conveys land free of humans, this area has seen humans for millenniums. Noatak is an Inupiaq word that means “passage to the interior” or “the river from deep within” and the Noatak basin was an important travel corridor for early peoples moving across the Bering Land Bridge and south. Around 5,000 years ago the Paleo-Inuit (peoples who inhabited the Arctic region before the arrival of the modern Inuit and related cultures) began to settle in the region.
Despite this long history of human migrations and settlements most of the the Noatak region appears to be untouched. The Iñupiat communities largely settled closer to the coast although many still practice a subsistence lifestyle and travel through the Noatak basin annually search of food. And so when climbing into Dirk’s floatplane and drifting for hours across Gates of the Arctic National Park one feels as if they are stepping back in time. The view has remained unchanged for millennium – as long as one looks through a narrow viewfinder and the pilot doesn’t stray too far to the mineral camps that lay just out of view to the south or the drilling platforms to the north.
1st Camp – Pingo (“Small Hill”) Lake
We drift from Coldfoot to Pingo Lake in Dirk Nickisch’s cessna with a raft and hundreds of pounds of gear. Drafting behind us is Danielle Tirrell – Dirk’s wife and partner – with my wife (Yvonne) and child (Isabelle), and Isabelle’s friend Trogan. The children pepper Danielle with endless questions. Q: What is the weirdest object you’ve ever stuffed in your plane? A: A cello. Q: What is the weirdest thing ever flown into the Noatak? A: A gecko rolled up in a raft. It ran into the bushes and was never seen again. Q: Can this plane do a barrel roll? (Instant scolding from the parent telling the children to never dare their pilot.)
Across named and unnamed mountains and countless named and unnamed rivers and creeks, dropping down onto the deep blue lake with engine killed and gliding across the water and bumping against the tundra. The other plane lands and Scott and Becky Hauser, their daughter Quetzal and Karen Mannix spill out and we begin to drag the gear out of the plane and pile it into heap. Then Dirk and Danielle are gone and we begin the arduous task of porting gear from lake to river. A mere .6 miles which we walk 15+ times with boat and packs and drybags and tents and bear spray and gun.
We have landed Pingo Lake in the Upper Noatak. “Pingo” is an Inuvialuit word for small dome-shaped hills formed in the permafrost when the pressure of freezing groundwater pushes up a layer of frozen ground. Less than a mile from our camp a pingo bubbles out of the tundra – it’s distinct round shape drawing the eye from all viewpoints. Pingos were crucial landmarks for Inuits – their height serving as a platform for viewing caribou, their prominence serving as a landmark while traveling. We have maps and phones and GPS but the feature becomes locked in our psyche like some distant link to an ancestral past and Isabelle, age 11, paints it from memory while sitting in the tent.
We have 8 days and we only plan to float 50 miles down river. “There are two ways to explore the Noatak,” Dirk had told me on our flight in. “In a canoe with 100 lbs of food and paddling as fast you can for the coast; or lazily drifting the upper river and exploring the ridge-lines above camp.” We chose the latter and after a good nights sleep we pack small day packs and set out around the shore of Pingo lake aiming for the ridge due north of camp.
Looking upriver the ridge above Pingo Lake.
A miles of tussock hopping puts us on a gentle slope and the hiking gets easy. We work our way through a band of willow and are soon at the base of a ridge with a short section of scree that we scramble through to gain the tundra slopes above. Below us the valley is deep green, the river turquoise and the sky a deep blue. We can barely make out our camp – 2 miles away – the yellow and blue tents tiny specks in the distance.
The ridge climbs steeply and we ascend 2000′ in 2 miles. As we get higher the ridge narrows and we work around a rock band and tiptoe across a sheep trail towards a plateau which lies just above us. As we approach I get a premonition and ask that the children stop talking and quietly approach the rocky outcrop that is at the top of the ridge. We get on our hands and knees and crawl up the last 15′ until we can peek over the edge. We scan the hillside and spy something brown and moving.
A large grizzly bear munching on grass on the other side of the plateau we’ve just reached. We’re a group of 8 out in open, downwind and more than a 1/4 mile away so we’re unconcerned – but we remain quiet and partially hidden. The bear either ignores us, or doesn’t realize we’re there. Either scenario is fine by me.
To be safe we opt to descend by dropping to the other side of the ridge out of sight of the bear and working our way to the west so we can traverse the ridge in entirety. We traverse the ridge for a mile, work around a small tarn and begin descending the rocky west ridge. I’m fairly certain it will go without us getting cliffed out – but I’ve been wrong before and I don’t relish the day I’m wrong when I’m with my child.
Pingo Lake. The portage to the river follows the spit of land lookers right of the (center left) oxbow to a sandbar at the next bend downstream. Roughly a 1/2 mile walk on a decent trail.
The ridge narrows and at one point we need to backtrack to avoid downclimbing steep rock. A short exposed traverse, an easy 10′ chimney puts us on mellow terrain once again and working our way to the valley floor. A Gyrfalcon, the largest falcon in the world, alights on the tundra just below us – her ghostly speckled plumage in stark contrast with the rich green below. We sit quietly until she floats away. Then down and across the wet tussock and thick willow to camp.
We cook, eat dinner and rig the boats. The Arctic sun floats high on the horizon and we eventually start getting ready to turn in. Isabelle heads to the bathroom – a hole dug in the willows not far from our tents. She’s gone for just a minute when suddenly Becky starts yelling. A curious grizzly bear is walking up the sand bar towards our camp. He – we assume it’s a he since there are no cubs and young bruins are notorious for causing trouble – appears to have no fear and continues to approach. Becky, our firearms expert, grabs the shotgun, Scott and I grab bear spray while Yvonne runs to the bathroom to grab Isabelle. We slowly approach yelling “hey bear” and hold our arms above our heads to look big. The bear take a few more steps then sniffs the air and decides against coming closer. He turns and wades into the river, swims across, climbs up on the hillside on the other side of camp and fades into the brush.
Yvonne and Isabelle emerge from the woods just as the bear disappears. We talk up to where she just was and notice that the bear had been raking his claws through the hole. Either he left moments before Isabelle arrived, or her approach scared him away. It is way too close for comfort.
You have eaten many berries, You have caught many fish, You have frightened many people, Your ancestors and your comrades have broken many.
2nd Camp – Karumnulima (“Broken Arrow”) Creek
The next morning we break down camp and launch the boats. The river is gentle and we drift downriver with little effort or concern. The ridge we traversed slowly fades into the distance and is replaced by another ridge and another. We drift scanning the shoreline for wildlife. There are no trees, but thick stands of willow crowd the shoreline and spill into the water as the bank erodes.
We float for 5 miles and cover 12 miles before pulling off on a nice sandbar just below Karumnulima Creek. According to a 1956 USGS survey, Karumnulima is an Iñupiat name referring to broken arrow. If you were to to trek 12 miles up Karumnulima Creek you would reach a divide that drops down to the Nigu River which flows north and eventually joins the Colville River. In 2008 National Park Service archeologists were hiking in the upper Nigu valley when they discovered an Eskimo hunting bow and a stone arrowhead. The bow, estimated to be around 500 years year, is believed to have been used by the Nunamiut – an inland group of Iñupiaq Eskimos who were nomadic hunters that relied on the spring and fall migrations of the caribou. It’s a seemingly random connection, yet one has to wonder if the name came from hunters walking past a broken bow for generations.
The sandbar is wide and high and adjacent to tundra that would allow us to move to higher ground if there river were to rise. There are wolf and bear tracks in the mud downstream from where we pitch our tents and just above camp the slope angle increases which allows us to reach dry easy hiking terrain with minimal effort.
The next morning we once again set off for a hike. We ascend the slopes just above camp aiming for a ridge adjacent to Karumnulima creek. The ridge is broad and easy hiking and we reach the plateau at 4000′ in less than 2 hours. There are caribou antlers in the tundra near the top of the ridge and in the distance we spy sheep working their way across steep scree slopes. We scramble to the top of a point and can see for miles up and down river and south across the river at the snow-capped Mount Oyukak. Oyukak means glacier or snow cap that covers the top of the mountain. The glacier glistens white in the distance, but it barely caps the summit and will probably be gone in my lifetime.
Western Brooks Range. On July 27 Gene Warren, my wife Sharon, and I made the first ascent of Mount Oyukak (7310 feet), a broad dome overlooking the Noatak River, twenty miles northwest of Igikpak. The mountain’s name refers to the curious icecap (which groaned crankily under our footsteps) that covers the summit. The tiring hike took 14 hours out of a camp on Lake Omelaktavik. Gene, well into his sixth decade, ploughed on to the summit with all the pertinacity of a Denali sourdough.
We savor the view and then descend, opting to drop straight down an eroded gully that will dump us right above the tents. Halfway down Karen pulls her binoculars out to glass for wildlife and then walks off before realizing her mistake. She doesn’t realize her error until we’re back at camp. Dirk, on the flight out, christens the gully “Binocular Ridge”. I joke that a grizzly will find them, learn to use them for hunting and gain an evolutionary foothold that will tip the balance of life.
At camp we cook and sit on the banks of the river in the perfect weather. A small fire is built on the shore of the river and I stay up till midnight to marvel at the sun bouncing off the horizon and climbing again.
3rd Camp – Komakak (“Outgoing Trail”) Ridge
The next morning we pack up camp again and prepare to float. The day starts off clear but within a couple of hours clouds roll in and the temperature drops. The river remains slow and easy and we cover 15 miles in 4 1/2 hours. As we approach our campsite for the night Becky spies a wolf on a hillside just above the boats and we pull off, tie off the boats and scramble above the riverside willow so we can glass the hillside. A lone wolf jogs slowly up a ridge above us, turning occasionally to make sure we’re not following. We watch for a while until it crests the ridge and disappears.
We return to the boats and ferry across the river to a sandbar with easy access to a ridge south of camp that we’d like to hike. The sandbar is an island and little lower than we’re normally comfortable with – but high pressure has moved in and there is little chance of rain so decide the risk is low. Camp is set, the boats are tied off and we eat and turn in early.
A lazy morning with pancakes and bacon then we pack up to go hiking. We aim for the gentle ridge due south of camp. To get there we first ford the small channel behind camp. It ends up being thigh deep. The dads carry their daughters across to avoid getting wet. Isabelle is tall but mostly skin and bones so she’s not too heavy. Quetzal is tall with broad shoulders and she appears to be solid muscle. Scott carries her and then complains about his back for the rest of the day.
The first mile is flat and boggy and the mosquitoes swarm instantly so we don bug shirts and headnets. The breeze dies, the bright Arctic sun beats down and we sweat profusely while working our way towards the ridge. Once on the ridge the mosquitoes stay thick but the breeze never materializes. We work our way uphill slowly until finally the mosquitoes ease off and we can remove headnets and bug-shirts.
Looking down at the Noatak Valley from low on the ridge. Our camp is on the right (upstream) side of the large meander center left.
Same view as above but zoomed in to show the meander and camp (look for tiny specks of blue).
The ridge ends at an point with a huge overhang that juts over the valley below us. We lie on our bellies and peer over the edge and then continue up. We traverse a field of Arctic grasses and the mosquitoes return and with them the bug shirts and headnets. We keep climbing making it up to 5000′ and the mosquitoes swarm without pause. A stop on a rocky outcrop and stare at the ridge that continues on for several miles.
Below us is Komakak Creek – which means “Outgoing trail”. If you continued south for 40 miles you would reach the the proposed Ambler road, a 211-mile road intended to facilitate development of at least four large-scale miles and potentially hundreds of smaller mines. It would cross 11 major river systems and thousands of smaller rivers, streams, and wetlands. The proposed mine was approved in the first Trump administration and halted during the Biden administration. On his first day in office, Trump ordered that the Biden administration’s decision on the road be thrown out and replaced with a pro-development decision, however the permitting remains in limbo and the future of the project is unknown.
We don’t spend long on our outcrop. The mosquitoes continue to swarm and the child are hangry. We turn and begin descending towards our camp. Stumbling down the grassy slopes I look back at the ridge behind me. 40 miles is nothing. With children and hundred of pounds of gear we have paddled 30 and hiked 25 miles. With a light pack I could be over the pass and down the outgoing trail in a couple days. These valleys have been crossed by humans for over 10,000 years and remain the same, but the probability of drastic change increases each day
4th Camp – Lake Matcharak
We pack up the next morning. We need to float 14 miles and then portage the rafts and gear from the river to Lake Matcharak for our pickup the following day. We’re unsure what portaging will entail so we try to depart early – but the 24 hour sun has changed our sense of time and we’ve moved to an 11am-11pm schedule instead of something resembling a standard work day.
High clouds hover above us and the float is mellow but chilly. We stop a couple times to dance around on gravel bars to get the blood flowing and return warmth to the extremities and then pile back in the boat and continue downriver.
At the mouth of the Ipnelivik (“sheep raising place”) River.
4 hours later we pull out on a bank so we can scope the takeout. The last thing we want to do is float past the take out and turn our trip into an epic. Scott and I thrash through the willow and tussock to confirm we’re at Lake Matcharak and we find a decent muddy pull out where we can pull the rafts ashore.
Yvonne approaching the Matcharak takeout.
A short ferry down river, a tight landing and then the work begins: we haul the gear ashore, break down the frames and then carry the rafts – still inflated – across the tussock to the lake shore. The lake is a 1/4 mile away but the route is all tussock with several small streams and puddles we need to wade through. Every step conjures a thick black swarm of hungry mosquitoes. The portage takes an exhausting 4 hours during which we walk a total of 5 miles back and forth while hauling gear. Eventually we get all the boat gear to the lake, and all camping gear to a small patch of tundra on a hill that overlooks the river. We then collapse exhausted in the cook tent which is the only safe refuge away from the swarming mass of bugs.
It’s our last night. There’s no breeze and the bugs never go away so we stay inside the cook tent eating and drinking until the Arctic sun touches the horizon at midnight and starts climbing again. Where we are camped the valley has doubled in size from less than 2 miles wide to 5 miles. 20 miles downstream the river changes from a tight channel to a meandering labyrinth of channels and ox-bows and the valley grows to 20 miles in width. The river twists and turns for another 350 miles to Kotzebue Sound. We crawl in our tent and fall asleep to the patter of mosquitoes bouncing against the tent fabric.
Morning brings a light rain but a quick text to the pilots confirms are still flying. We pack up our tents and haul them to the lake shore where we sit on bags with the water splashing against our boots. A short walk away is an exposed bluff similar to the bluff where archeologist uncovered a large collection of stone tools and faunal remains. I walk over with my fishing road and half-heartedly toss a spinner into the cold blue water while looking up at the bluff. Two prehistoric hunting camps have been discovered in this vicinity: one group was a small band of people that camped here nearly 4000 years ago, and the other group is estimated to have stayed here roughly 7000 years ago. To place that in a historic timeline: Humans were camped on the shores of this lake before the invention of the wheel.
The human mind cannot comprehend that timespan. Our focus remain fixated on the now – the 10 minutes it will take me to navigate and wade back to our gear should the pilot show up earlier than expected. The immediate past and the near future; the price of eggs and the cheap batteries that would come from the mines to our south.
A buzz in the distance and soon Dirk and Danielle are shooting over the bank just above our heads. They land their planes and we load and take off. I ride with Dirk with most of the gear and he buzzes close to the ridges we hiked. Then up and over a pass and dropping down to the Alatna River. He flies downriver and then banks sharply pointing at a camp in the distance were workers are surveying and mapping out a route for the road. He flies down the valley his fingers tracing a line of where the road will go. The imaginary line is a deep green carpet of taiga interspersed with hundreds of lakes and streams. It is the same as it has always been. For now.
Acknowledgments
Thanks to Scott & Becky Hauser for inviting us on this trip and for helping with the planning. Scott is a veteran Arctic traveler and full of knowledge about everything from birding to bear fences. Just don’t neglect to bring a whisk when he asks for one. And thanks to Karen Manix for joining us and helping keep the children in check. And a big thanks to Dirk Nickisch and Danielle Tirrell at Coyote Air for the transport and support. Flying with them is a pleasure and an honor. And finally thanks to my daughter for allowing me to post her watercolors.
Map showing our hikes, camps and float. July 7-15, 2024.