Ocean Sail Issue 27 – Monday, August 21, 2000

 

Location: Somewhere is Alaska.

Northward we went. From Denali and the rain and snow, we headed north. North through Fairbanks again, and diner with Eric and Mishelle Nace. We were heeding the call of the Artic Ocean, the oil fields of the North Slope and Prudhoe Bay. This was a sojourner for the Hummer. We would follow the provider of Hummer motivation, the essences, the elixir of Hummer life  – the Alaskan Oil Pipeline – otherwise known as the Hummer Fuel Hose.  The Alaskan Oil Pipeline starts its life on the North Slope of Alaska and heads south across the Brooks range and down into Fairbanks, across Delta and ending in Valdez. We had already made a pilgrimage to the Alaskan Oil Pipeline Terminal where they fill up huge tankers in Valdez. Now we were following it north to the source.

All Alaskan highways have names. We would be driving the Elliot and the Dalton Highways – more then 400 miles one way of rough packed dirt roads from the end of the hardtop on the Elliot to end of the Dalton in Prudhoe bay. The Dalton road, otherwise known as the haul road for the Alaskan Oil Pipeline was just an access road for the pipe line construction and a supply road for the drilling operations on the North Slope. Until the early 90’s it was a restricted road but the whole length has been opened for public access.

The road and the pipeline are like inseparable brothers as they make their way north. And as you drive north views of the pipeline become more and more frequent until the landscape looks lost without the pipeline running along one side or the other. Because the pipeline does not care how steep the mountains are, it follows a more direct path then the road does. The road is continuingly wandering from being close to the pipeline to being hundreds of yards it weaves it way up and down mountains and through stream and river beds. But never is the pipeline very far, and after awhile it becomes your best friend and constant companion on the drive north and then south.

From of Fairbanks the road heads north through tall timber of spruce and birch and winds through several minor passes and rivers until it meets with the Yukon River. The Yukon River is to Alaska and Canada’s Yukon Territory as the Mississippi river it so America’s heartland. It’s a huge river, over 3000 miles long and was for the longest time the highway of the north. The Yukon is bridged in only one place: the Dalton Highway. We crossed the river along side the pipeline. From the Yukon River northward the pipeline and highway cross the Artic Circle or Latitude 66 degrees 33 minutes. This is the southern extreme where on summer solstice the sun does not set. Well in theory anyway, if the earth were perfectly round and there were no mountains.

Permafrost dominates the landscape and stunts the white and black spruce into sad shadows of their lowland brethren. In these permafrost areas the pipeline is above ground to prevent the heat of the flowing oil from melting the permafrost. On each of the H shaped pipe line supports there are heat sinks with passive cycle refrigeration that look like a television aerials.

From the Arctic Circle we reach Coldfoot, a small settlement whose only purpose is a fuel, restaurant and small airstrip. Fueled up we are prepared for the remaining 250 miles to Prudhoe Bay. The road is following the Ashik River valley and pass through the Brooks Range. It is the first river we have seen for many weeks that is not powered blue from glacial rock flower, but running clean and clear. We follow the river and pipeline for 100 miles till we work into the headland of the river valley and pass the last spruce tree on pipeline route. There is a sign on side of the road and in front of the tree stating this and asking that no one cut it down. From this point north only small birch and shrubs are found.

Climbing the Ashik Pass we come across a dozen Dall sheep within a stone’s throw of the road. Recent snows have forced the sheep down and after weeks of seeing the small white dots on the mountainside we are unexpectedly surprised to see them so close up. Ashik pass is the demarcation point for the North Slope. From this point on, the granite landscape to the south gives way to the sloping plains of tundra and low rolling hills. This is the land of the Caribou, Artic Fox, and the Wolf. The landscape opens up and you can see 30 or 40 miles from the tops of the low hill. Looking north you imagine you can see the Artic Sea, but you know it still a hundred fifty miles away.

We camp near Galbreath Lake. It is just 100 miles short of Prudhoe Bay. It’s nestled on a large shallow valley sounded by low laying mountains on the south, east and west capped with fragments of fresh snow.  The whole day the sky was clear and blue and the scenery has been spectacular. Just a few minutes short of 11 pm the sun dips below the horizon, but even in the middle night there is still twilight. The air is getting colder and tonight promises to be a cold one. As we head to bed high cirrus clouds are moving in from the west.

Morning is damp with a high overcast of clouds. Despite the cloud cover the air temperature has come up from a low of 38 degrees to 50 by the time we leave our roof top perch at 8am. Prudhoe Bay is still a hundred miles north and we continue our journey. Gradually as we head north the road has been getting rougher and narrower with more frequent potholes, but in the large, it is well maintained and an easy drive for the Hummer. Mostly we speed along at 50 to 60 mph and pass every vehicle that comes into sight. Our speed is down for these last 100 miles, but we are still making better time then most.

At noon we roll into Prudhoe Bay or Deadhorse as it also know. It is what you would expect from a settlement that’s only purpose is to house, supply and maintain the North Slope oil filed workers. There are sprinkling of metal frame building set around a small lake. In the distance you can see more metal frame buildings to the north and every thing look purposeful. There is no concession to beauty and the stark tundra landscape hides nothing and adds nothing to the scene.

We contemplate an oil field or Artic Ocean tour since these area are closed to public access, but we chafe at the price and the thought of a captive experience. The local and probably only store has one or two of almost anything and everything: from magazines books, mukluks, food, liquor, camping supplies and novelty sex toys.  After fueling up the Hummer our short hour at the top of the world ends as we head back south.

On the way up we noticed a great number of pickup truck and campers with camouflaged hunters coming out from them. Caribou season is in full swing and there are an estimated 20,000 animals making the migration from the North Slope across Ashik pass into the Brooks Range. Within 5 miles of the road only bow hunting is allowed. In the 150 miles of driving up the north slope we did not see any wildlife except a dozen musk ox that were laying in the tundra just 100 yards from the road. This is one of the last remaining wild musk ox herds in North America – it was surprising to see them so close to the road.

In the next 100 miles we see many hunters, some are headed out in the tundra with bows in hand, others are perched on there pickup with spotting scopes looking for Caribou in the distance. We keep expecting to see a large heard heading across the landscape, but it never happens. The land is open that you can easily see for 10 miles. It’s an artic version of Kansas, only instead of wheat fields you have low growing tundra of brush. Some is dark green, other light green, still others a dark red with small pots and ponds of water every where. It’s an awesome sight with rolling hills covered in mottled shades of green spanning the whole field of vision. A vision that stretches for hundreds of square miles in all directions.

When we are within 30 miles of where we camped the prior night we spot our first herd of Caribou. Well actually it just two bucks traveling together. When we first see them they are in the shadow of an elevated section of the pipeline. It amazing, these caribou stand well over 8 feet tall with their antlers, but the pipeline still looms large above them. For the first time it the pipeline scale has had human scale. I brake in a semi-panic stop manner and test the Hummer ABS brakes. We play Yellowstone tourist and hop out armed with only cameras. To our astonishment the bucks head towards us, and cross the road just 10 yards behind. Torn between wanting to take a picture of these fine beast and teaching them that they can not trust humans or their vehicles is a fine line to draw. But in the end they trot off as if we did not exist. Within a few miles we are repeating the same vehicle maneuver for a lone bull moose, however, he is bit more wary, though seemly unconcerned as well.

Except for bears we are getting better wildlife sighting on this wilderness highway then we had in Denali. Sheep, Moose, and Caribou – what could be next. Just as we both spoke that thought the Hummer crested a rise and a flash of wings and red was on the right side of the road. Another panic stop, and a golden eagle rises off and leaves a shaken and dazed but alive Red Artic fox standing just 10 feet from the road. We back up to him and he still stands there wide-eyed and trembling from the mortal fight with the eagle. When I brake to stop a stride the fox the brake pedal is really soft and I notice a streak of fluid on the road in front of me. But the fox is coming out of his daze and has picked up a dead ground squirrel and starts to bury it.  We come out of the Hummer, but this does not spook the fox. He looks dead at us and seems to say, “Now what do you want?” He has another dead squirrel and heads a little way in the bush to bury it as well. Looking back at the Hummer I notice steam coming up from under the midsection, my focus changes from the fox which is trotting out of sight to what in the hell is wrong with the Hummer.

Looking under the truck I can see a light liquid dripping down from the exhaust manifold, and it steams off from the exhaust heat. I haven’t yet put the soft break peddle and the leak together because it seems like a really odd place to have a brake line leak. My first thought is yet another coolant leak like the one we had two weeks ago. The road is narrow here and we are probably only minutes from being crushed by a one of the haul truck that service the Prudhoe Oil fields. Heading down the road we find a short service road that we can pull off, but stopping the Hummer requires a lot of soft peddle.

One really nice things about the Hummer is the 16 inches of ground clearance – it is an unexpected plus when you have drag you body under the frame to see what is leaking. This time is the left rear brake line rubbing against a heat shield on the exhaust manifold. With the aid of a thermarest camping mattress and a sheet of plastic to pad my body from the cold ground I spend the next 30 minutes “fixing” the  brake line. The fix amounts to flattening the end of the line and doubling it over itself like a tube of toothpaste. I clamp the doubled end with a small locking vice grip and use wire straps and duck tape to hold it to the underbody rock guards. It still leaks a little bit under full peddle pressure and we only have 3 brakes, but it will get us the next 300 miles to Fairbanks where a real repair can be made. Just as I finish the repair a Highway Patrol pulls up and after a bit of lore, conversation and advice he tells that he will follow us in to Fairbanks. He is on the way home too.

Back on the road at slightly less then usual Hummer speeds the patrol follows for the next hundred miles into Coldfoot, where he gets flagged down by a hiker hitchhiking down the road. In the rear view mirror I can see him pull a fast U turn and head back north, no doubt on more important mission. The Hummer limps the next 250 miles into a campground just 30 miles from Fairbanks.  In the last 300 miles I have only used he brakes only half a dozen times, relying heavily on engine breaking and good speed management. Is unremarkable trip except for the low coolant light that occasionally comes on, but the brake has my attention so not much thought it put to that.

The next morning we roll in to Fairbanks, find a coffee shop and start making phone calls. First to the dealer in Washington, then to Hummer customer service, and finally to a local GM dealer. I explain our problem and the service manager agrees to have look. When we get there it turns out that at least half the crew worked on Humvees at the local army base and everyone is nostalgic about Hummers. He promises to fix the brake line somehow even they have to go down the army base and steal a brake line from the depot. It seems like a happy diversion from the normal repair jobs for them. Once again we impose upon Eric and his home. After showers, and tapping into the Internet and lunch the dealer has the Hummer up and running at 5pm. By 7pm we are on our way gain – this time headed toward the Top-Of-World-Highway, Chicken Alaska, Yukon and Dawson City where the gold rush started.

Kim and Kim from the Artic North.