Ned's Pipeline Trek Page

Eighty days and nights have passed since my dog Jane and I walked away from the fence at the trans-Alaska pipeline Marine Terminal in Valdez. My feet and Jane's paws have carried us north of the Yukon River, into country that changes with every day's advance of 8 or 10 miles.

We've seen and heard a lot of animals on this side of the Yukon River. Just after Jane and I crossed the half-mile long, wooden plank-surfaced bridge over the Yukon, we met up with a few black bears.

Our meeting occurred at the end of a long hiking day. Jane and I had just walked across the long ramp of the bridge at about 11 p.m. and we dropped down a rocky bank on the Yukon's north shore to meet the river. Jane gulped the brown water; I took off my boots, soaked my feet and thought of my summers as a park ranger on the big river near Eagle. After rinsing the silt off my feet, I called Jane and we regained the pipeline's path. We walked past a BLM campground to a spot where the pipe climbs a hill out of the Yukon valley.

There, in the dense mosquitoes that thrived in the cool of midnight, I saw a fresh pile of bear scat in the level area under the pipeline where I wanted to pitch the tent. After a few minutes of exhausted agonizing, the mosquitoes on Jane's face inspired me to set up the tent, bear poop be darned.

I unzipped a crack in the tent screen and urged Jane through, brushing mosquitoes off as she slipped in. With the protection of a bug jacket and head net, I stayed outside to brush my teeth and to hang my food.

At what was perhaps 1 a.m., I popped my toothbrush in my mouth. I didn't brush, though, because I suddenly heard what sounded like a few bowling balls crashing through the woods.

From within the tent, Jane also heard the big animals in the forest. She barked in her most threatening tone. The noises in the woods changed. I now heard the sound of claws on a tree.

Movement in a nearby spruce tree made me look to the source of the noise---two tiny bear cubs were silhouetted against rosy clouds of subarctic twilight as the bears climbed a tall spruce tree. My first thought of how incredibly cute they were was quickly shoved aside by the realization that they weren't alone. Mama bear was out there and she had no doubt urged her twins up the tree at the unexpected noise of a dog.

With my toothbrush still in my mouth, I saw the mother black bear. She was also in the tree, struggling to keep her grip while showing displeasure with a noise like a hand saw cutting a 2-by-4. The strange sound and the sure promise of a sleepless night, inspired me to break camp. I released the still barking Jane from her shell of nylon taffeta, deflated the tent and walked back to the Yukon River, occasionally glancing back.

There, I repitched the tent alongside others in the BLM campground, happy for the company. Once inside my tent, protected from the hundreds of humming mosquitoes, I kissed Jane on the head and promised my favorite bear dog she could sleep in the next morning. She groaned approval. At 3 a.m., we finally fell asleep.

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