Ned's Pipeline Trek Page

My friend John Arntz hiked with me from the Yukon River to Coldfoot, then a few hours ago, he hitched a ride from a trucker with the help of Jane's fame. I imagine he must be near my red Dodge right about now. It sits waiting for him on the north bank of the Yukon River.

John's ability to see neat things made him a great hiking companion. I say this even after sharing a tent with the man and his socks for two weeks. He was the one who pointed out the dramatic landscape change from spruce forest to the wide-open world of dwarf birch, blueberries, and granite tors at Finger Mountain.

"We're in the Arctic," he said. He was right. Oh, we were still about 30 miles short of the Arctic Circle, but we both felt the change. We had walked from Interior Alaska into a different world.

The rewards of this new land are apparent with every turn of the trans-Alaska pipeline: the broad, treeless plain of Kanuti River flats, where a mammoth wouldn't look out of place; a rock outcropping with a 360-degree view that we knew other humans must also have used as a dinner lookout 1,000 years ago; the firm flesh of an arctic grayling taken with a dry fly on a clear, cold stream; the northern sun and breeze wicking the skin after a dip in the Koyukuk River.

Crossing the Arctic Circle was rather anticlimactic; it was the wettest day of the trip so far. I knew where the imaginary line was supposed to be because a pipeline access road intersected the pipeline pad there. At the time of our crossing, rain was soaking us and mosquitoes were so thick their wingbeats were practically drying us off. Before the day ended, I had worn every piece of clothing I was carrying.

Lately, hypothermia has not been a problem. I never imagined it could be so warm this far north. Yesterday, it registered 80 degrees on my little zipper thermometer. I can't keep my chocolate solid. Jane would prefer it a bit cooler, too. She lags behind with a pink ladle tongue in the heat, then perks up at night. The 10 p.m. sun, even though it hangs low in the sky, is still powerful up here, forcing me to wear sunglasses or at least a baseball cap. After fearing wet and cold arctic weather during the steps preceding these, I'm happy for the heat. Like RVs on the Dalton Highway, heat is just a visitor to these parts; cold lives here.

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