We arose on our third morning on the Noatak River to find a fully overcast sky.  Well, not fully overcast.  There was an opening to the far west, showing a gap between the horizon and our new ceiling.  It was raining up river and to the south, but holding away from us fortunately.  The cloud pattern stayed just about the same all day, and when we arrived at our gravel bear across from Lake Matcharak to set camp for the night, the gap had widened just a little bit.  I kept watching and waiting, expecting the sun to dip down below the clouds and give us some spectacular evening light.  When it came to a point where I thought I may have been wrong, the warm shafts of light started to streak out from behind a nearby ridge, painted selected areas with spotlights of color.  What turned out to be a gray, colorlless day for most of the sunlight hours ended with a spectacular show, including a blood red sunset and golden light caressing streaks of rain coming down in isolated squalls and creating dramatic spotlights on the landscape.

There is a strange thing that happens to me when I am backcountry traveling. I find myself, every night, having to answer to the call of nature somewhere between 2:00 a.m. and 4:00 a.m. This does not happen when I have the luxury of a bathroom just outside my bedroom, where there is carpet to walk on and a heater keeping the air about 65 degrees. My ranger companion suggests it is because we do not drink enough fluids throughout the day of paddling or hiking, and we make up for it by drinking a lot at night. That may be true. But, unlike prior trips where I have dreaded that nighttime chore, it has become a welcome part of my nightly routine here on the Noatak. That is because, without fail, the aurora borealis, or northern lights, have been out every single night of the trip. They have not been exceedingly vivid displays, so it has taken me a couple of days to get the exposure right. But they have been out, and it has been a treat to see them and photograph them when I can. I have watched them for no more than about twenty minutes or so before they fade too much to warrant staying out in the chill when a sleeping bag awaits.

It just keeps getting better and better.  The weather, the calm river, the sometimes bizarre yet beautiful landscapes, all falling together to provide for me an almost infinite palate for creating great photos.  While I am shooting this trip almost exclusively digital, I do have my Hassleblad along with to capture some of the truly spectacular scenes, like this one.  Unfortunately, after I have set up and captured this shot, but before I can get out my Hassleblad, another bear comes into camp and we have to deal with him.  By the time we are sure he is gone and not coming back, the breeze has kicked up and I have lost my reflection.

Okay, so the title for this post is an homage to Stephen Colbert who, whenever he lists his top five threats facing America, places BEARS! among those five threats.  If only he had spent a summer in Anchorage, being subject to the fear mongering of the Anchorage Daily News after a wave of bear maulings and near attacks – three maulings and at least three near-misses – in the Anchorage area.  Rather than take the opportunity to actually educate the public about bears, bear behavior and how to be vigilant around bears, the local paper has instead only fueled the fire of those calling for the extermination of all bears.  This climate of fear, coupled with a mauling of a backcountry traveler in the northeastern side of the park only a week before I arrive, has put me a little on edge when before I have never had any concerns about bears.  Add to that the fact that the only fatal mauling withing Gates of the Arctic was on the river I am now traveling.  Oh yeah, and I decided to bring along for my reading pleasure the book, “The Blue Bear” by Lynn Schooler.  It is a story about the author’s relationship with famous Japanese photographer, Michio Hoshino, who was mauled to death by a brown bear while camping in Kamchatka to photograph bears.  So, it was only fitting that we have five bear encounters in a period of two days, including two juveniles who attempted to wander into our camp on two consecutive days.  This bear was photographed just downriver from the Igning River drainage after we had finished a trail lunch.  I had to hand hold my 500mm because my ranger companion wanted to get back on the river before the bear noticed us.

Increasingly I find the landscape of the arctic along the Noatak River to be rather strange, at least not what I have been used to living in Alaska for nine years now.  While the phrase, “We’re not in Kansas anymore” comes to mind, it is not quite accurate since I have never been to Kansas … but you get my point.  The sand bars, the low shrubs, the seemingly barren landscape, all seem so out of place.  I know that is not barren, though, as it is full of water and teeming with wildlife.  We set camp near Anorat Creek after a rather leisurely day on the river.

One of the primary functions for a backcountry ranger in Gates of the Arctic is to monitor the impacts of usage on the park.  There are certain areas designated as BRIM sites (Brooks Range Impact) which have been identified from previous years of observations by other rangers or users.  These are areas that have frequent usage and traffic, and as a result, show obvious signs such as portage trails, tent pads, and even fire rings.  So we take a break from paddling to examine Pingo Lake, so named after the several pingos in the surrounding landscape.  Pingo Lake has some BRIM sites because it is a popular dropping off point when other lakes or sloughs further up the river, such as Twelve Mile, are too shallow for float planes to land.  Or, at least, too shallow for less experienced pilots to land.

It is only our first full day on the river when I have a big “oops” moment.  We are still lucky with the weather, calm or no breeze, clear skies with scattered clouds, and gorgeous sunlight.  Even in late morning, the photo opportunities are great for landscapes as we paddle our way down the river.  With the sun directly behind us, the means that all of the landscapes to the side are in the perfect position for effectively using a polarizing filter.  I take a break from paddling and attach my Moose’s warming polarizing filter and start snapping away.  It is right after I take this picture that I catch a blur of movement from the front of my lens and hear a “sploink” noise in the water.  I look down and catch a glimpse of my filter floating to the bottom of the river, about six feet below.  It is too deep and too cold to get out and go after the filter, but we make several attempts at going upriver and floating back down to locate the filter.  My hope is to scoop it up with my paddle.  Unfortunately, the dark filter is simply impossible to locate and I am forced to spend the rest of my trip without it.  I find myself taking several photos over the next week, muttering to myself, “This would be perfect for a polarizer.”

Even though it is early September, I am in the arctic, and I am uncertain as to how early the sunrise is.  I know it will be well earlier than what it was in Anchorage, but I failed to check the sunrise information for this latitude and longitude from the U.S. Naval Observatory before heading out.  So, I find sunrise like hitting a target with a shotgun.  I set my alarm for five, but it is still too dark so I reset for six.  The light is better, but still not quite.  I reset the alarm for seven o’clock and, despite no light hitting the ridges near my location, I know the sun is up and it is time to get going.  There is a frost on the ground and a chill in the air, but I watch and wait as the early light starts to work its way into the higher points along the valley.  The perfectly calm air provides for a splendid reflection on the Noatak River.

After portaging three loads from Twelve Mile slough, Ben, a backcountry ranger, and I decide to get at least a couple of miles on the river before making camp.  It is about 5:30 when we get on the water, paddling along in our inflated Grabner canoe.  We find a nice enough gravel bar a few miles down and set camp in sight of the Portage drainage.  Our location gives us a glimpse of Mount Igikpak, the highest mountain in the park at 8510 feet.

It is a little over a year later than my first backcountry trip out to Gates of the Arctic National Park & Preserve, and I find myself heading out again into the backcountry.  This time, I am able to see the fall colors that I had hoped to see last year for my trip on the Alatna River.  The aspen and birch are just about at peak, and everything else from the willows in the drainages to the blueberry and bearberry bushes are screaming vivid colors of gold and red from the alpine slopes and draws.  We take a beaver out from Bettles with Bettles Air, with Curt at the wheel.  It takes about an hour to get to the drop off at Twelve Mile slough.