Overland Journal Winter 2007

Transcription

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Arctic Ocean Expedition
A solo vehicle adventure to land’s end
By Scott Brady
Photography by Scott Brady
and Chris Marzonie
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Journal Entry, March 29th
It is 2:30 a.m. The temperature outside the canvas wall of the roof tent is 50 degrees below zero Fahrenheit.
I retreat deeper into my sleeping bag, drawing my arms across my chest. I’m drifting between restless sleep
and half-awake shivering; the slightest movement sucks frigid drafts around my face and neck, causing me to
cough, lungs rebelling against air cold enough to injure them.
I am startled to alertness by what at first feels like a strong earth tremor, or a furious blast of wind. The
truck and tent are shaking. Finally I realize that Pasquale, in the bag next to me, is shivering violently, interspersed with bouts of deep coughing.
“Pasquale! Are you okay?” I ask. He responds through chattering teeth, “I split out the zipper in my bag,
and I can’t feel my legs.”
Fully awake now, I immediately yell to Chris, sleeping in the other tent mounted on the trailer. “Chris, get
up! We need to get out of here, now!”
The Ends of the Earth
There has always been something about distant places that resonates deeply within the adventurer. A
mountain summit, a coastline, the end of a road—all pull at us, inspiring the commitment and sacrifice
necessary to continue past the horizon, or beyond another false summit. An end is a goal, and in our
case, the end was Tuktoyaktuk, the last vehicle-accessible human outpost in northern Canada, over 230
miles north of the Arctic Circle, clinging to the edge of land and the start of the frozen ocean. The
final stage of our route would take us down the ice road on the Mackenzie River, which each year freezes
solidly enough to support 18-wheelers.
Getting to Tuktoyaktuk was not easy; in fact it took over 3,000 miles and eight days of solid driving
to just reach Whitehorse, in the Yukon Territory. From Prescott, Arizona, we drove north, over Hoover
Dam, through Las Vegas and another 200 miles beyond to our first camp, in Utah. Before sunrise, we
were on I-15 again, and into Salt Lake City, where we had lunch with Paul May of Equipt Outfitters. I
have always enjoyed meeting up with friends and other adventurers along a road trip.
Next was Idaho, and then Jackson, Wyoming, and the Gun Barrel Steak and Game Restaurant,
which served without question the most impressive cuts of buffalo and elk I have enjoyed outside of
my uncle’s Brady-Vekol Ranch. Stuffed and tired, we camped along the Snake River and for the first
time used our arctic bags. We only had the liners left for additional warmth, and still another 40 degrees
of temperature drop to deal with.
One of the highlights of the trip north was a stop at American Expedition Vehicles (AEV), and a
day on the trail with Dave Harriton and their two Icelandic expedition vehicles. The specially prepared
Jeep Commander and 4-door Wrangler were built to support a glacier crossing and kayak expedition.
Our trek took us into the mountains of Missoula and into the deep snow still clinging to their northern
face. The Commander drove much better than it should have, given the 40-inch IROK tires fitted for
maximum flotation on Iceland’s Vatnajokull Glacier. Even at street pressures, the Commander climbed
high into the forest, further aided by the Hemi V8 and the team’s experience in Montana’s deep snow.
Spending the day with AEV was a further boost to our excitement about getting to the Arctic, and it
was impressive to see how much a small team can accomplish with the right talent.
The next day we crossed into Canada, and faced our first real challenge of the trip. It appears that
three guys driving a fully kitted-out truck plastered with commercial decals raises much more suspicion
crossing into Canada than Mexico. After a few moments talking to the border guard, we were asked to
pull over and see the officer upstairs. Next came the waiting, sitting in a small room with a few chairs
and even fewer things to read. Chris, Pasquale, and I looked around at the various framed pictures of
the Queen and highway safety campaign posters, all the while attempting to look as innocent as possible.
The officer asked a few questions, took our passports, and then asked us to sit again. More waiting, and
my imagination was now picturing our failed expedition turned back at the border for violating some
obscure vehicle regulation. From around the corner, the officer first called Chris into his office—alone.
Even though I was concerned, things were, at least, getting interesting. “This guy is checking out our
story,” I commented to Pasquale, and he responded with a half-crooked smile. I normally love crossing
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On the road! After three days at the ISE
show, we had Monday to change out the
fluids and pack the truck. Of course I was
my typical optimistic self about fitting everything in the truck and trailer. Well, we
did fit everything, but could not have added one loaf of bread in the space left over.
The first thing that amazed Chris and me
was how well the truck was running on the
highway, despite weighing over 7,700 lbs.
GCWR. The smooth-riding ATs and the
5.29 gears was the right combination, and
we managed nearly 600 miles before stopping south of Nephi. We had the EeziAwns deployed in a few minutes and I fell
asleep with the sound of I-15 rumbling in
the background.
borders, and I had thought Canada would be all smiles and “eh”s welcoming our visit. No, we were
getting questioned more by the Mounties than I did at a military checkpoint on the Algerian border.
Pasquale was next, passing Chris as they traded seats. Then came my turn, and the officer honed in on
my time in service, asking about which base I was stationed at, was I deployed overseas, etc. Then he
stood up and said, “Welcome to Canada,” and with that we were blazing north to find the first green
beer we could order for Saint Patrick’s Day.
To break up the drive a bit, and experience some suitable winter adventure sport, we drove to Canmore, Alberta, for an ice climbing lesson. We had booked the day with Sarah, a world-class climber and
one of the Yamnuska Mountain Guides. Excited to escape the cab of the Tacoma, we loaded up our
gear and headed to Cascade Falls, a grade three route just south of town. Once we began trusting the
crampon points the climbs came easy, and Chris and I knocked off several fun routes. With a half-day’s
rest, we climbed back in the truck and drove down the hill to Calgary and a meal with the members of
the Rocky Mountain Cruiser Club—a first-class group of Toyota fans.
From Calgary, it was all about making mileage, and we drove for days with stops only for sleep. Arriving at the start of the Alcan (Alaska-Canadian) Highway—was a major milestone, but only afforded
enough time to take a few pictures and grab a cup of coffee before moving on to Whitehorse.
Whitehorse
After driving for days on the Alcan, each town barely registering as a blip in our day—a stop for
expensive fuel, cheap coffee, a slice of brown bread, and the flirtation of WiFi (travelers note: a sign indicating Wireless Internet is not a guarantee of actually connecting to the internet)—Whitehorse came
as more than a surprise. First, it was much bigger than we expected, and it has great coffee, real WiFi,
and more than a few excellent resources. The downtown area has great character, a decent sushi place,
the Edgewater Hotel, located along the Yukon River, and most important of all, The Kanoe People,
a family-run outfitting company that specializes in expeditions farther north. They also rent personal
locator beacons (PLB), which would be our only means of calling for help once on the ice.
We performed a full inspection on the truck, and rearranged the trailer by putting the lighter sleeping bags and clothing on the bottom, and moving the survival gear and Arctic supplies to the top. We
also topped off both of the truck’s fuel tanks (18-gallon main, 22-gallon auxiliary) and the trailer’s jerry
cans (10 gallons) in preparation for the push to the Dempster. As we would discover, finding fuel, or
more bad coffee, would not be that difficult.
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The Dempster
The Klondike Highway is a well-maintained road, and proved to be not only exceptionally scenic,
but also an easy segment of our journey. This allowed us to subtract nearly a day from our schedule,
as we covered the Klondike’s entire length in only five hours. So, with a camp in Dawson City not
needed, we topped off the fuel tanks a few minutes before the gas station closed, and turned north
on the Dempster Highway, despite warnings from the shopkeeper that weather was moving in and the
Dempster was closed.
We decided to air down the tires on the truck and trailer. This would improve the ride quality on the
uneven route, and also increase our traction on the irregular ice found farther north. Then we started
up the 417-mile-long gravel road, looking for a place to camp.
Camping on the Dempster in winter is not an easy task, mostly because people don’t camp on the
Dempster in winter. All the campgrounds were closed, and deep snow prevented access to any side trail
or rest area. We continued to drive, growing more concerned as the sun began to set, casting a rosecolored glow across the road’s surface, the distant mountains standing in sharp detail against the bent
and broken spruce that created a corridor to the north. We scanned the sides of the road looking for
a trail, even a pull-out that would provide protection from the building wind and 24-hour truck traffic.
Luckily, we found a side road that led into a stand of trees, apparently used by loggers to collect wood
for heating the homes in Dawson City.
We pulled back into the trees and shut off the motor. It would be well below zero that night, and
we would have to trust that our large battery, synthetic drivetrain fluids, and the Toyota’s toughness
would allow it to start in the morning. We deployed the roof tents, climbed inside, and cooked dinner
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Dempster
Journal Entry, March 23rd
Despite the lack of clouds, the sky has
almost no color, a muted shade of lavender punctuated by the near-stick-like
spruce trees, coated in frost, stunted and
packed tightly together. It is so dry that
my eyes itch and my nose stings when taking a long breath.
Animals seen so far: Lynx, Fox, Wolves,
Coyote, Caribou, Moose, Bison, Willow
Ptarmigan, Ravens.
and brewed chai on two stoves perched on a Storm case. Despite the heat from the stoves, we were still
wearing our heavy jackets, the condensation from our breath billowing like smoke from our lungs. The
cold, dry air was already beginning to take its toll.
The idea of camping at well below zero had sounded like fun in Arizona, but in practice the results
were much less glamorous. As soon as the sun set, or with even the lightest breeze, our time spent outside the vehicle or tent was measured in minutes. Being desert dwellers, our skin, our lungs and even
our eyes where ill-equipped for the cold, and our heads would retreat inside the sleeping bags to retain
every ounce of moisture exhaled.
We awoke well before dawn, and with the HID driving lights puncturing the distance we rolled
north. The air was perfectly still, and save for the road we were driving on there was no other sign of
man: no buildings, no aircraft, no other vehicles. For hours, we continued north without encountering another soul; we were completely alone. Well, not completely, as the silence and lack of traffic had
emboldened the fauna on this desolate piste. Pure white ptarmigans erupted from the side of the road
as we passed, completely camouflaged against the snow. A fox crossed directly in front of us, his fur a
deep red, and full, and in a moment he had cleared the snow bank and was off into the brush, leaving
the three of us scrambling for cameras and feeling more than a bit slow.
Of all the animals this far north, the one I wanted to see the most—even more than a polar bear—
was a wolf, to have the chance to lay eyes on one of the planet’s most cunning and accomplished carnivores. My chance would come.
The Dempster can best be described as purity of purpose, a narrow thread of a gravel roadbed built
several feet above the permafrost and tundra, and heading as straight as possible to its goal: Inuvik and
the rich oil fields above the Arctic Circle. Fortunately, the scenery is nothing less than breathtaking, and
every kilometer yields a new vista, a change in flora, or a scurry of fauna. For 735 kilometers, its length is
only interrupted once, by the fuel stop at Eagle Plains.
Eagle Plains is also where they often close the road north, because of frequent storms and whiteout conditions. Don’t expect a town there, as Eagle Plains is only a small collection of metal buildings,
their sole purpose to service passing vehicles. A gas station (run by the lady in the bar), a repair shop,
and a motel with cafeteria, all with a heavy 70s feel. The place just felt odd, and not only because the first
item for sale on their billboard was “ICE.” The lady in the bar confidentially informed Pasquale that the
mountains to the west were not real, only a figment of our imagination. Fearing that another few minutes
in Eagle Plains would really have us seeing things, we jumped in the truck and continued north, passing
through the open gate with no warning of things to come.
As we would find out later, the gates should have been closed hours before our arrival. The road
crew monitoring the winds and white-out just a few hundred kilometers north simply forgot. So our solo
white Toyota slipped past Eagle Plains and north to the Arctic Circle, our second major milestone of the
trip. The wind was already building, and we pulled masks over our faces and big gloves onto our hands.
We could barely see the sign welcoming our arrival at N66° 33’, as the truck rocked from the gusts. I think
we spent less than five minutes there, our eyes tearing from the biting wind, no longer able to see through
the viewfinder, the howling blasts stealing our words of celebration, our concern building.
The Tacoma wouldn’t move, despite the throttle Chris was applying. The engine revved against an
unknown obstacle, then suddenly let loose with a wild crack, truck and trailer lurching forward. Certain
something had failed; I jumped from the truck and went to investigate. Had my most trustworthy of
vehicles let us down in a rising storm? Crawling around on the frozen surface I saw nothing out of place,
and I even double-checked the CV axles, certain they were the culprit. The wind grew more wild and
fierce, and sent me retreating to the cab, filling it with blowing snow. “Go ahead and drive again, Chris,” I
said, between wiping my running nose and tearing eyes. Again, a violent crack as he pulled away, and with
it a revelation: The tires, warm from the previous hours driving, had frozen to the surface. Relieved—at
least somewhat—we continued north, deeper into the storm.
We should have stopped, since there were several pullouts along the way, and visibility had dropped
to just a few feet, the wind carrying a sheet of white nearly horizontally across our field of view. We had
heard rumors of these storms lasting for days and actually turning over trucks. Instead we switched
drivers quickly and I continued north, our progress measured 10 feet at a time, the distance between the
snow plow poles that lined our side of the road. Inching forward, a pole would come into view and we
would move toward it, pass it, and then see nothing for a few moments before the next pole would break
the whiteout. For 20 miles this continued as we snaked along the twisting ridgeline that slowly dropped
toward Fort McPherson. At last the visibility began to increase, along with it our speed and confidence.
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Mush! Well... at least that is what we
thought we were supposed to yell. But it
turns out that "mush" isn't really the
thing to shout and "go doggies!" works
just fine. Give a light press on the braking pad and say "Chee" to turn right
and "Chaa" to turn left. Judi Falsnes
of Arctic Chalet has some very fine dog
sledding teams and they hauled us around
this arctic wonderland for the ride of our
lives. We were lucky enough to sled with
a cross-breed of Alaskan malamute and
Siberian husky. They are pure white and
I would consider them to be the "Land
Cruiser" of sled dogs. They aren't the
fastest, but they will just keep running
forever.
In the distance we saw a parked truck, its yellow lights flashing, clearly waiting for us. A young, smiling Inuit man was sitting in the truck, his cheeks full and lightly frost-nipped. We slowed to a stop alongside and were greeted with a “Hello,” and, “You guys okay?” followed by, “You know, you guys were the
last to make it through Eagle Plains before they closed the road, eh?” All we could get in was a “Yeah,”
before his eyes lit up and he said, “There are wolves here, just up on the hill, protecting a fresh caribou
kill. I watched them take it.” With that, my eyes lit up too, and I was clamoring to get out of the truck
with my camera. With emphasis, he added, “There were four of them during the kill. I can only see two
now.” Not really a warning against checking them out, but a friendly comment, most likely needed for our
survival. We were way down the food chain here, and surrounded by elements and animals that could kill
in a moment. The man was patient with us, incredibly kind in sharing information on what he had seen,
and pointing to where the wolves were, his eyes trained to the terrain.
And there they were, resting at the top of a ridgeline, their heads, eyes, and ears trained in our direction, but certainly not showing much concern. Actually, more of a taunting look, it seemed to me. Seeing
them on the ridge, only a hundred yards away, was a powerful experience. I was humbled to be in their
presence.
The road worker followed us the last few miles to the northern gate and let us through and on our
way to Inuvik, locking the gate behind. It would remain locked for the next two days. We had been lucky.
Inuvik
Pushing farther north, we arrived in Inuvik a full day early, which allowed us some time to thaw out
in a cabin and prepare for the final push to land’s end. We had reservations at the Arctic Chalet, which
had several excellent cabins with, incredibly, mostly functional WiFi, and about 30 fluffy malamutes.
With a day to spare, we booked a dog sled ride with Judi and her malamute/husky teams. I have a big
soft spot for dogs in general, but especially the Arctic breeds (we own a 132-pound Malamute named
Yukon), so going on the dog sled route was pure and absolute fun. My cheeks were hurting more from
smiling than the cold, and we laughed, fell over, and got dragged behind the teams for over two hours.
What a thrill. There is just something about working with dogs; the activity strikes deep within our nature, supported by 10,000 years of symbiotic partnership with man’s best friend.
Judi and Olav were also a huge help with our planning for the trek farther north, and she called in a
favor for us, arranging a day with a polar bear hunter named Joe in Tuktoyaktuk. Things were shaping
up nicely, and the next morning we would be within sight of our goal.
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The Mackenzie River
We almost failed—well in reality, I almost failed to reach the Arctic Ocean, as the night before our
departure I was lying in a pool of sweat, shivering on the bathroom floor of our little cabin. The poison
worked swiftly through my body; whatever toxin I had ingested from the food earlier that day was making quick work of me, stealing my strength and clouding my mind. I was shaking so badly that the floor
of the cabin began to creak, and with it grew Chris’s and Pasquale’s concern for my safety. They spoke
quietly about when to take me to the hospital, despite my urgings to the contrary. I was in violent intestinal distress and had a building fever—and I was the only member of the team with medical training.
I called for Chris to bring me a blanket and pillow, since even though I was sweating profusely I was
losing too much body heat, the cold bathroom floor soaking away my strength with each minute, and I
could not throw up despite the effort to rid my stomach of the offending bug. Still on the floor, my head
in a fog of thoughts, my imagination swimming with the possibility of failure, I slowly faded, slipping
into a deep sleep. And my most trusted companions never left my side, checking on me throughout the
night.
During the night my body fought back, and I awoke feeling considerably better, although still a little
peaked and mentally fogged. Despite this, we knew it was the day to drive north, and we had an appointment with an Inuit hunter, an opportunity not to be missed.
Pulling out onto the ice road—the frozen surface of the Mackenzie River—was a bit anticlimactic.
As with most things, the anticipation and imagination of the unknown is much more dramatic than reality. There was even a stop sign at the river’s edge and a road marker indicating maximum weight the ice
could carry—over 20 times the weight of our little Toyota. The early spring ice was stable and, most imOverland Journal Winter 2007
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The cold creeps in quickly on the frozen
sea, with no land to break the wind’s
path, not a tree within a dozen miles for
shelter. It is –23°F and the sun is setting against the expanse of frozen ocean
beyond our view, the crumpled surface
reflecting the sun’s auburn hue across fissures of ice cracked from the pressures of
the ebbing sea.
Despite our discomforts, we are humbled
by the fact that Joe, our Inuit guide,
maintains a hunting igloo 30 miles farther
into the Arctic Ocean, where he insulates
himself with twin caribou hides laid skin
to skin and covered with a 4X down
blanket. We spent the day in
Tuktoyaktuk with Joe and his family,
sharing in their stories, myths, and a
meal, the silence broken by their son
Larsen playing Folsom Prison Blues with
his hair greased back and wearing a white
button-down shirt.
portantly, thick. Driving on the ice road was in fact easier than driving on the Dempster: it was flat, and
the turns were wide and easy. Our confidence grew and so did our speed. Land’s end was approaching.
The Mackenzie River begins to split into a wide delta as it nears the Arctic Ocean, and the land loses
much of its elevation, becoming nearly flat and difficult to distinguish from the level of the ice. Calling
it a river doesn’t quite do the Mackenzie justice, as it is monstrous, the longest river in Canada and when
combined with its headstreams the second-longest river in all of North America at 4,241 kilometers
(2,635 miles) in length. The delta untethered us from the proximity of land, and all that lay before us
was ice, delta, and Arctic Ocean frozen together in an unbroken layer out to the sheer point, the place
where polar bears stalk the fractured and broken ice, the point where the sea is too deep and too violent
to form a solid layer of ice. We were less than 1,500 miles from the North Pole.
Standing on a Frozen Ocean
Tuktoyaktuk is filled with history and adventure. People die all the time up here, when a whiteout
causes them to get lost, or their snowmobile breaks through the ice, or a polar bear catches them unaware. These are tough people, committed to their heritage, yet more than a bit influenced by those
living far to the south. TVs crackle with bad reruns, and the Internet has reached their homes, teaching
them as much about who they are and where they came from as anything in their own legends, and
exposing them to new concepts of commerce. Joe, our host, spent the first few minutes of our visit enthusing about the antique tea set he had bought off eBay. Meanwhile Joe’s son Larsen strummed Johnny
Cash songs on an Epiphone guitar, also from eBay. We were all impressed by this family, who have great
commitment to their heritage yet are not afraid to embrace new opportunities or ideas. Larsen was a
skillful guitar player, and we could see his dad was proud.
Joe left the table for a moment, and returned with a few heavy packages wrapped in newspaper.
He slid the contents of the packages onto a piece of cardboard: a few fish and a huge chunk of red
and white flesh, rolled into a log. If supplies or money run short for a family, this is what they eat, the
menu of their ancestors, caught and prepared in essentially the same way. The fish was herring, caught
in big nets and then smoked over a fire and frozen. Joe cut off several small chunks for us, salting them
heavily to help mask the intense flavor. My stomach still reeling from the night before, I took a small
bite. Next was the muktuk, an Inupiaq word for raw whale flesh and blubber. Joe cut small slivers of the
creamy white fat for us to try. It was chewy and nearly tasteless.
While we sampled, Joe gorged, as if the traditional sources of protein before him had struck a deep,
primal chord. He used a big knife to cut mouthfuls of meat, pouring on the salt and stuffing them into
his mouth. He stopped talking altogether and finished off the herring before coming back to his more
modern self. Looking a bit conscious of the amount of food he had just eaten, he said, “I have eaten
enough fat in my life that would have killed five white men.” No doubt he had. With that, he was up,
and moved outside to show us his polar bear mitts, skins, and hunting equipment. He was planning a
traditional hunt, with only dogs and spears. He wants to tilt the odds back toward the bear.
As the day came to a close, we took a tour of the community ice house, a food storage tunnel dug 40
feet below the surface, deep in the permafrost, used to store emergency staples, and food for dogs. At
the top of the entrance shaft, Joe tied a tattered hemp rope around my waist; the rope must have been as
old as the tunnels, dug a half-century before. He called it their “Eskimo climbing rope,” and the frayed
ends and multiple knots provided no sense of security for the climb down the ancient ladder. It creaked
with each step, and my shoes slid about on rungs coated with a veneer of frozen blood and fat. Soon,
Chris and I were at the bottom, no worse for wear and walking about with the aid of our headlamps.
Small, crooked doors concealed the contents beyond the narrow corridors. My head bumped the ceiling
and my shoulders rubbed the walls, the permafrost twisting in shapes and colors. It was like walking
through the center of a huge bowl of rocky road ice cream. The walls had been frozen through since
the last ice age. It must have taken immense effort to create this life-saving storage.
After the ice house, we spent a few more minutes talking with Joe, asking him a few questions about
his life in the Arctic. One comment was of note. I asked Joe if he had seen any effects of global warming. He smirked a bit, and said, “You mean, other than all the scientists that started coming up here?”
Then, “Well, I am looking forward to global warming. Have you seen where we live? The thought of it
getting warmer up here sounds pretty good to me.” Certainly a different and understandable perspective.
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Arctic Trip
Route
Cartography by Andrew Long (longcreative.com)
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There is no way I can possibly describe
everything that has happened since we left
Tuktoyaktuk. I have been humbled and
awed by what I have seen and experienced.
Some of the highlights: We successfully
navigated a very remote route between
the Mackenzie ice road and the town
of Ft. MacPherson. Along this route,
we stopped at a great little place called
Aklavik. That was the last outpost we
would see before Ft. MacPherson 120
miles later with only the Peel River to
guide us. We encountered no one along the
way. We watched Caribou battling in the
snow. That evening, I saw the Northern
Lights for the very first time. We ended up
camping along the Dempster about half
way between Eagle Plains and mile 0.
The temperature dipped very low, at least
-23°F which is where our digital gauge
seems to bottom out. It was likely -47°F
based on numbers from other people. We
are in Whitehorse this morning and are
headed out for the Cassiar Highway.
We have a long way to go on our journey
south.
Aklavik and the Peel River
After visiting Tuk, and spending nearly an hour watching the sun set across the Arctic Ocean, we
returned south for one more night at the Arctic Chalet in Inuvik. With our return visit came good fortune in the form of an email . . . from the resident of the cabin next to ours. Marcel had looked up the
Expeditions West website and found my email address, and sent us a note.
“Hey!
I'm in the other side of the cabin at Arctic Chalet. I assume you'll be going to Tuk, but I wanted to suggest another
‘road less traveled’ once you take care of that. The ice road to Tuk branches off a bit north of Inuvik, the branch leading
to Aklavik (which means Grizzly Bear Place). Past Aklavik there is a new road north by northwest leading to a gravel
source in the Richardson Mountains. I discovered it on a drive to Aklavik a month ago, but ran out of time, so couldn't
drive it. Just thought I'd let you know. Most people around here don't even know yet that it exists! Also, I heard recently
that there has been an ice road from Aklavik to Ft. MacPherson, so you won't have to backtrack so much.
Marcel (next door)”
Our schedule allowed for an extra day as safety margin, and now we had been granted an opportunity for some very remote exploration. We quickly packed up the truck and drove back out onto the ice
road, but this time our first objective was Aklavik, which is accessed from a narrow ice route that splits
from the main Mackenzie ice road and turns west.
The town of Aklavik is a gem, and sees little tourism—which is unfortunate, as the people who live
there are considerably more friendly toward travelers than the main stops. They also had a new store
with readily available fuel and food, including fresh (if understandably expensive) vegetables. Two of
the locals took particular interest in us, and regaled us with the history of their town, the legend of the
famous “Mad Trapper,” and the ice performance of their big Ford diesel. After we declined their invitation for an ice drag race, they wished us well with big smiles and firm handshakes.
To drive the Peel River was a rare opportunity, as this route is not maintained by the government and
its condition is only confirmed through local knowledge. The 120-mile, twisting, narrow, and remote
river is cleared to the width of one vehicle every few years, in support of the big native festivals held in
the area. It allows for a much shorter route from Fort McPherson to Aklavik, and we would be among
the first outside visitors to drive its length and document its challenges.
The narrow Peel was significantly different than the Mackenzie. The snow had collected in deep
bands across the cleared route, and in several locations the ice had shifted and fractured, leaving a tall
shelf to climb. It was perfect, and for over 100 miles we did not encounter another vehicle, not even
a tire track, as we wound our way south. Absolute silence and the sense of remoteness reigned as the
three overlanders from Arizona proceeded over-water to a distant goal. We were completely dependent
on our truck; it was our only lifeline.
The Aurora
Our arrival in Fort MacPherson signaled the end of the ice roads, and in our minds the end of the
adventure. From that point, we would only have the long trek back south, retracing over 4,000 miles of
winter road conditions to home. However, the Arctic still held a surprise.
As we headed south on the Dempster, my only regret was that we had not seen the Aurora Borealis.
It was late, and the cab was quiet, the silence lightly broken by whatever music played from the iPod. I
was driving, and just inside my peripheral vision I caught a glimpse of green. I slowed down and looked
over my shoulder to the north—and stared, my eyes transfixed on the most amazing display of light
and color I have ever witnessed. It was like the combination of 20 years of grand finales dancing across
the horizon. It was the Aurora, and we came to a stop in the middle of the road and stepped out of the
truck to watch in silent wonder. The Arctic had bid us the most magnificent of farewells.
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4. Fluids: Use 0W30-grade synthetic engine oil,
and lighter synthetic gear grades as well. We
used a Wolverine 50-watt oil pan heater to run
off 12V and a 250-watt unit for shore power. The
transmission was fitted with a 125-watt unit.
wolverineheater.com
5. Lighting: Winter brings long nights, and for
periods in December and January the Arctic is
cast into nearly complete darkness. We used IPF
HID lighting to extend driving hours and ensure
sufficient visible distance to eliminate animal
strikes. We combined two HID lights on the bumper with four halogen spot beams on the roof.
Requirements
The Arctic is a volatile region. Travelers can expect intense temperature variations, white-out
conditions, frequently closed roads, and poor
infrastructure. Obtaining spare parts and having
them installed can take days or weeks. Repairs in
the field can be deadly. So, as a traveler, proper
preparation of the vehicle and team can mean the
difference between enjoying the Northern Lights
and coming home minus a few toes.
Vehicle Preparation
38
Proper vehicle choice, preparation, and inspection is absolutely essential to a successful Arctic
trip, especial as a solo vehicle. Accounts of other
trips to this region are littered with dead batteries,
cooling system failures, doors frozen shut, and
seized engines. Here is our top ten “must-do” list
for a long-distance Arctic adventure.
1. Reliability: Vehicle reliability is vital, so proper
service is paramount. Start with a high-quality
vehicle, designed for operation in harsh climates and over long distances of rough roads.
Research the cold-weather testing performed
by the manufacturer of your vehicle. All Toyota
trucks are tested to –60°F; other manufacturers
typically employ much less stringent standards.
2. Batteries: Install two, large-capacity batteries
and keep them isolated when the motor is not
running. We installed a group-31 and group-24
AGM Lifeline battery in the truck with a heavyduty relay. Even at –40°F, the truck always started
immediately, and we had a spare that could jump
or assist the main if needed.
3. Low-glass-rated tires: Make sure that the
tires fitted to the vehicle have a glass rating (the
point at which rubber becomes a solid and can
fracture) below your predicted operating range.
The BF Goodrich All-Terrains we had fitted are
good to at least –60°F. Use an all-terrain tread
design with siping for good performance on ice
and wet roads.
6. Chains: In winter, a trip to the Arctic from the
continental U.S. will require thousands of miles
of road driving. Many areas require chains to negotiate mountain grades, and it is a good idea to
have them regardless. Quick installation is also
critical at sub-zero temperatures. We used the
new Thule tire chains for fast set-up and good
traction performance on ice and snow. konig.it
7. In-cab air temperature: Keep the truck cabin
cool, to prevent large swings in temperatures as
you enter and exit the vehicle. This also helps
reduce condensation on camera lenses. Overall,
it is safer and more efficient to wear extra layers while driving, just in case a quick exit is required.
8. Water temperature gauge: The gauge provided by the vehicle manufacturer is not sufficient to monitor coolant temperature. In the Arctic, it is essential to ensure that the engine gets
warm enough to promote efficient combustion
and proper operation. We used a Scan Gauge
II to monitor the engine and transmission status.
scangauge.com (OBDII vehicles only)
9. Spare parts: Talk with other owners of your
model vehicle and determine the parts most
likely to fail at your mileage (plus 20 percent) and
either replace the components or carry spares.
A spare alternator, all belts and hoses, fuel filter,
critical fuses and relays, and known failure components should comprise a minimum spares kit.
Know how to change them all in the field using
the tools you carry in the vehicle. At –20°F, there
is little time for troubleshooting. Consider bringing a tent heater and tarp to make a temporary
work-space shelter.
10. Code reader: For OBDI and II vehicles, a
code reader can be a trip saver. In Whitehorse
my truck displayed a check engine light, which
proved to be nothing but a loose gas cap. Being
able to diagnose issues quickly and bring in the
right parts is a real time saver. scangauge.com
Personal Equipment
As three guys from the Southwest, we learned
a lot about personal equipment, and some of it
the hard way. The expensive North Face equipment did not work as advertised, but the less
expensive Columbia Titanium gear exceeded our
expectations. This was particularly true of the
manufacturers’ comfort rating. Our –20°F-rated
North Face boots left our toes frozen at –10°,
while Pasquale stayed comfortable in the same
conditions in a pair of identically rated Columbia
boots (and he was even more stationary). Here is
what worked:
1. Layers: You’ve heard it before, but layering is
essential. We used Minus 33 brand wool base
layers and then a series of Columbia layers, including fleece and wool. Avoid cotton.
2. Protecting your skin: Products such as Mustela with beeswax work well. The dry conditions
require constant evaluation of skin and eye condition. Those with contacts will suffer the most.
3. Protecting your lungs: I did not use a balaclava for most of the trip, and my lungs suffered
severely as a result. It took several weeks before I
could take a full breath pain-free. Use a balaclava
to rebreathe warm, moist air.
4. Survival bag: Prepare for the worst event (like
the vehicle falling through the ice) with a bugout bag filled with survival essentials, including
a personal locator beacon (PLB), dry clothes,
emergency water, food, shelter, and a compact
down sleeping bag. Each of us had a bag handy
in the cab.
5. Good boots: One of the products that failed
to perform was our expensive boots. Research
the performance of the brands you are interested in, beyond the manufacturers’ claims. We
found that different boots with the same rating
performed differently. I also recommend a good
pair of down-filled booties, which will make a big
difference for sleeping. We used 700-down-filled
booties with rubber soles for camping.
6. Quality sleeping bag and liner: One of our
two Alps Mountaineering –20°F bags split out a
zipper, and both Chris and Pasquale experienced
severe cold spots. I had better success with my
traditional Coleman canvas –0°F bag and a 15°
fleece liner. If specifying for this trip again, we
would use bags with much lower ratings and
higher-quality construction.
7. Organization: Keep the cab and storage areas
organized and easy to access. At these distances
and temperatures, efficiency is key to morale and
comfort.
TRIP PLANNING
Whitehorse to the Arctic Ocean,
northern Canada
8. Canon cameras: For four weeks, 4,000 images, and 28 hours of HDV footage, we had no
failures in the camera equipment. Chris and I
used Canon 20D prosumer bodies with Canon
L lenses (24-105mm and 70-200mm). Pasquale
used XLH1 and XHG1 high-definition video cameras with PortaBrace covers.
9. Good food and liquids: Stick with high-quality foods and lots of warm liquids (avoid restaurants). We used a Jetboil (see stove test, this issue) to simplify preparing tea and coffee. Healthy
snacks kept the drivers nourished and prevented
big swings in blood sugar.
10. Good tent: We used Eezi-Awn roof tents for
the entire trip, and although they were not designed for Arctic conditions, they never failed
us, and always provided a comfortable place
to sleep. The canvas walls also fractionally improved insulation, along with the standard thick
mattresses.
Seasons
Driving to Tuktoyaktuk can only be done while
the ice roads are open, which means late winter
to early spring. Ice is usually at its thickest and
most stable in early spring (March timeframe).
Expect temperatures to be as low as –60°F and
as high as +15°F along the Dempster and Mackenzie routes. Summer is typically beautiful in that
area, yet still cool. Overall, precipitation above
the Arctic Circle is minimal, and restricted to late
summer months.
Waypoints/Route
Braeburn Lodge (Klondike Hwy Mile 55)
Approximate coordinates: N61° 28’ 51.74”, W135°
46’ 44.07”
Famous for their enormous cinnamon buns, and
also a stop on the Yukon Quest dog sled race,
Braeburn Lodge is a welcome sight for hungry
travelers.
Klondike River Lodge (Dempster Hwy Mile 0)
At the intersection of the Klondike and Dempster
highways (Mile 301 of the Klondike), this is the
sub-Arctic equivalent of a desert oasis for the
Whitehorse-to-Inuvik traveler. For fuel, food, and
water this is a priority stop. From here, it is 456
miles to Inuvik.
Eagle Plains
(Dempster Hwy Mile 229, population: 8)
There is a hotel, restaurant and phone (867-9932453) as well as a tire repair shop and fuel station. Diesel fuel and propane available. Electrical
hook-ups, dump station and camping (check
ahead of time depending on season). This is
where the road is often closed to north-bound
traffic due to common weather issues (including
white-outs in our case).
Fort McPherson
(Dempster Hwy Mile 342, population: 952)
Small town with a few services, located where
the Dempster Highway crosses the Peel River
(ice bridge or ferry crossing). Dene Indian crafts,
artwork, and guide services may be available depending on the hours and season. Home of the
famous Fort MacPherson Tent & Canvas Company.
Mackenzie River Crossing
(Dempster Hwy Mile 378)
Ice bridge or ferry crossing depending on season. Townsite of Tsiigehtchic, a small Gwichya
Gwich’in community is located here. Location of
the confluence of the Mackenzie and Arctic Red
Rivers.
Inuvik
(Dempster Hwy Mile 456, population: 3,667)
Small town located on the banks of the Mackenzie River. This is a hub of activity in the region and
has all major services including food, fuel and
lodging year-round. This is as far north as you
can drive, except in the winter season when the
frozen river becomes certified for vehicular use.
Visit the Arctic Chalet for comfortable accommodations year-round. Be sure to inquire about their
dog-sledding adventures. arcticchalet.com
American Expedition Vehicles: Custom expedition vehicles prepared by overland enthusiasts in
Missoula, MT. aev-conversions.com
Adventure Trailers: For providing Chaser #1,
which made a solo vehicle expedition possible.
adventuretrailers.com
Thór Jónsson of Viking Offroad: Thór also was
a key supporter of our expedition, providing detailed logistics support on Arctic travel.
vikingoffroad.com
A big thanks to all those who helped along the
way, including Jeff McLaird, Matt Svoboda (from
Jeep), Steve in Calgary, Peter Hartl and Jim in
Whitehorse. Without your hospitality and support,
this trip would have been much less enjoyable.
And our Arctic sponsors: Mobil1, Adventure
Trailers, American Racing Wheels, ARB USA, BF
Goodrich Tires, Deaver Springs, Donahoe Racing, EarthRoamer, Equipt Expedition Outfitters
(Eezi-Awn), Extreme Outback Products, Sirius
Radio, Thule, and Viking Off-Road.
39
Tuktoyaktuk, or “Tuk”
(93 miles north of Inuvik, population: 943)
Approximate coordinates: N69° 26’ 34.00”, W133°
01’ 52.00”
A small Inuvialuit community on the shores of the
Arctic Ocean. Approach by vehicle must be made
during the winter, driving on ice beginning on the
Mackenzie River at Inuvik, to one of the largest
river deltas in north America, ending with a drive
along the surface of the Arctic Ocean close to the
shoreline. Tuk is famous for its pingos, large hills
of frozen ground being forced upward by subterranean water pressure, some of which are around
1,000 years old.
Resources and Special
Thanks
Kanoe People: A wealth of local knowledge and
support in Whitehorse. Personal locator beacons
available for rent. kanoepeople.com
Arctic Chalet: Dog sledding and WiFi, along with
clean, comfortable cabins. arcticchalet.com
Gun Barrel Steak and Game House: Buffalo
Prime Rib. gunbarrel.com
Vehicle File
2004 Toyota Tacoma SR5 Double-cab TRD
Adventure Trailers Chaser #1
Owner: Scott Brady
Lund Challenger toolbox housing
auxiliary battery, electricals, and
ExtremeAire 4cfm/150 psi air
compressor
Morphic Industries alloy lightbar
with IPF 900XS spot lamps
Overland Hardware security
hasps with stainless locks
ARB Safari snorkel
ARB bumper with IPF
900XS HID lamps
40
Warn M8000 winch with
Viking Offroad synthetic line
and Delrin roller fairlead
Demello Offroad heavy-duty skid plate
Front differential fitted with ARB air locker
and 5.29 axle gearing
Donahoe Racing 2.5” coilover shocks
with extreme weather plating
295/75/R16 BF Goodrich All-Terrain TA/KO
tires with low-glass compound
16x8 American Racing
Chamber alloy wheels
Demello Offroad bolt-on rock sliders
Toyota OEM electric locking rear
differential with 5.29 axle gearing
Hi-Lift Extreme Jack
Total Vision Products
rearview camera
Hella Matador adjustable
work-lamps
Demello Offroad rear bumper
with swing-out tire carrier and
quarter-panel protection
22-gallon auxiliary fuel tank
Deaver 11-pack leaf springs with
Donahoe Racing reservoir shocks and
Downey HD shackles
Custom shovel and axe carrier
(2) Eezi-Awn Series 3 1200
roof-top tents mounted on
truck and trailer
Thule rack system
Matching tires and wheels
Independent suspension with airbags
and adjustable dampers
Nosebox with Lifeline battery, brake system, and fuel cans
Thule No-Problem tire chains
Mobil1 Fluids
Mobil1 was the
title sponsor of our
expedition, and for
good reason, since
the temperatures
encountered in
the Arctic required
the absolute finest
fluids. Prior to the
expedition, our team worked with Mobil1 product
engineers to evaluate grade range requirements and
any special considerations, such as being able to
cold-start at –60°F.
Synthetic fluids in general provide several advantages over traditional oils, and Mobil1’s SuperSyn
further extends the protection range over traditional
and even other synthetic oils. The long life of the
Mobil1 filter and fluids permitted us to drive the
entire 9,000-mile expedition on a single oil change.
Testing after the trip indicated that the oil had not
fallen below any specification levels.
During the trip, the fluids worked as predicted, and
allowed several cold starts at below –30°F, and one
at below –40°F, without any noticeable valvetrain
clatter or difficulty in starting.
For the trip, we used the following:
Engine: Mobil1 0W30 synthetic with Mobil1 extended-performance oil filter
Differentials: Mobil1 75W90 synthetic
Automatic Transmission: Mobil1 synthetic ATF
41

Overland Journal Winter 2007

Transcription

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