Today is drop in day for this year’s Brooks Range excursion. After driving 3,000 miles from Colorado to Alaska and sifting through gear in a dillapidated AirBNB in Fairbanks, spending hours in line getting Alaska plates so our car is legal and what seemed like endless packing, here we are. The journey up here could be a story unto itself, but as I write in this journal in our shelter, I want to focus on the here and now.

We dropped our car off at our Josh’s girlfriend’s place and took a thrilling cab ride to the airport with a woman who I suspect might have been at least two sheets to the wind. Fortunately we made it to the terminal and kept the wheels on the road. The airport was packed with folks flying into the villages, mostly natives who visited Fairbanks to supply up, boxes and boxes of food from Walmart scattered about the terminal. Our flight to Arctic Village was just us and one other person, an older Gwich’in woman named Maria, who asked us about our plans and told us smoke from the smell of our fires will keep the bears away. She asked us to hold up a jacket, shielding her from view of the pilot as she pee’d into a plastic bag in the aisle right before landing. Needless to say, it’s another world up here.

We met Kirk and spent an hour plus siphoning water out of the gas storage tank that had formed as a result of condensation this past winter. Flying the bush plane into the Brooks Range is probably the most dangerous part of these trips, but Kirk’s attention to detail is worth the money we pay him to get here. Elaine gave me a quick haircut on the Arctic Village airport tarmac – the last thing I want is a tangled mess – and soon we were in the bouncy air.

I tend to get plane sick on these bush flights, but this year I took Dramamine which essentially eliminated any motion sickness. Good thing too: despite light air the clouds were hanging low over the mountains, so we had do a number of false starts up a valley, climb to what looked like a break in the clouds, only to have it shut down. Kirk would then do a 180° swoop, skirting the sides of the grey mountains, before attempting the crossing again. We eventually found a way through, but I’m sure without the Dramamine I would have been keeled over with my mouth in a vomit bag. Thanks to the drug, it was actually quite a fun flight, certainly my most enjoyable bush flight in the past three years.

Kirk landed on the tundra strip and quickly departed as the weather was moving in. And just like that, we’re giving up control again. We started hiking, and despite the excitement of being in the Brooks I was super sleepy, as Dramamine also induces drowsiness. We decided to make it a short day and set up camp early on a nice bit of tundra. It was a chilly evening with a cold west wind, but we opted for a wood burn under the banks of a small creek bed. Starting the fire took forever and getting it hot took even longer as the twigs here were covered in aufeis all winter and were still wet. As a result, dinner was a long affair, but we’re thoroughly covered in smoke smell, which according to the native woman should keep the bears away. I suspect she would know, and her advice is sound.

Lots of wildlife sightings from the plane and the ground, a herd of 40 caribou and a number of grizzly bears with cubs in tow. Come to think of it, one of those grizzly families was bouncing over the pass directly towards where we’re camped tonight. We’ll sleep with one ear open tonight. A cold wind is buffeting our shelter and it smells like snow is coming. It’s good to be back in the land of silence and wild.