Up early the next morning (Tuesday, August 10th) I extricated myself first from my sleeping bag and then from our tent to explore. The sun, which rose at 6:00 a.m., was still behind distant mountains that are the farthest west extension of the Brooks Range. I was indeed excited to see that the sky was mostly blue, with only a few clouds. That did bode well for our only full day at Cape Krusenstern…or so we hoped. I felt very free walking alone in the sand along the shore, listening to the crashing of the waves onto the beach, being careful to move away from water washing ashore, and watching gulls and terns flying overhead, challenging me to capture their flight with my camera as they zipped around above me performing acrobatics in the winds overhead.
As I walked back across the beach grass, the distinct honking of geese drew my attention upward to the puffy clouds above the lagoon, where the geese were flying in a classic “V”-shaped formation heading south. It was a reminder that winter comes early to this part of Alaska.
Around 7:15 a.m., the sun appeared above the low mountains to the east, casting its glow into the lagoon beside our tents. Exploring the area adjacent to the lagoon, a single savannah sparrow played hide and seek as its hopped around branches and in and out of a wooden platform of what appeared to be an abandoned hunting shelter.
Before returning to our tent, the sight of an exquisite yellow Arctic poppy stopped me in my tracks. Upon closer examination, it revealed four overlapping, lemon-yellow petals surrounding a star-shaped, fuzzy stigma rising up from a pale green center. In contrast to the perfectly-shaped stigma, the thread-like filaments topped with golden, pollen-filled anthers, were lying willy nilly around the stigma. It was immediately obvious how this flower had evolved over time to the attract the attention of nearby pollinators!
It was a bit of a lazy morning, which was made more exciting when Matt spotted a grizzly in the distance foraging for food on a hillside. Perched on camp chairs in the sand several feet below the top of the adjacent grassy-topped bench and a hundred yards from our tents, we enjoyed a hearty breakfast as we anticipated exploring beyond our camp. While the sun was warm on our faces, the seemingly constant wind was chilly, so another layer of clothing was order. It was almost Noon when we headed out for our hike.
Walking first along the ocean shore to the north, we stopped at a freshwater stream to refill our water bottles. Nearby there were small groups of seaside ragwort, yellow buttercups, and wispy, pure-white strands of Alaska cotton. As we turned inland toward the first set of rolling hills to the east, we immediately encountered a wet, hummocky area. This meant we had to pay careful attention to where we placed each foot. The best option was stepping on top of the hummocks. Walking between them risked stepping into water, which in places was deep enough to swallow one or both hiking boots. This would likely result in an unwelcome beginning of the day’s hike; namely, wet boots, water-soaked and squishy socks, plus cold feet.
As soon as we gained more elevation, we left the hummocks behind and the walking surface was excellent. As had been the case with the tors in Bering Land Bridge National Preserve, the landscape here was both unique and beautiful. Hiking to the top of one of the low mountains, we were rewarded with views of the surrounding area, including the Chukchi Sea to the west and a series of lakes and lagoons to the north. Except in low-lying areas where willows and other vegetation obscured the underlying ground, the rest of the landscape, as far as our eyes could see, was comprised of sparsely vegetated, rolling limestone hills, and low mountains that revealed the swirling patterns of ancient sand dunes.
While taking a break atop the first low mountain, I spotted something glinting in the sun along the coast to the north. A quick check with binoculars revealed, of all things, an ore ship sitting offshore many miles away. A further look inland revealed buildings associated with the port of the Red Dog Mine, the largest zinc mine in the world. Twenty miles of the mine’s haul road crosses Cape Krusenstern a few miles south of the monument’s northern boundary. While we were truly alone and isolated in our part of Cape Krusenstern, it was a bit disheartening to see that “civilization” proved to be just up the coast.
Nonetheless, after putting away the binoculars, it was easy to again focus our attention on the surrounding landscapes as one ancient limestone ridge after another beckoned us. After walking down, across, and up rock-strewn surfaces, which were nearly devoid of vegetation, we enjoyed lunch along with a birds-eye view of the surrounding area. After our meal, the warmth of the sun proved too tempting for even me to resist. It was time to nap or simply contemplate, while lying in a prone position, the puffy white clouds overhead that contrasted with the deep blue sky. Time had slowed down and life was good.
Eventually, it was time for this luxury in the delicious sunshine to come to an end; members of our group began to stir. We were satisfied, for now, with our exploration of the surrounding hills and low mountains. We were still over a mile from camp and even though it wouldn’t be dark for another six hours, the winds were picking up and it was time to add another layer. The hike back would take us down the mountain and across more hummocks to the beach.
After gathering our gear and checking to make sure nothing was left behind, before departing, we paused to take in, one more time, the sweeping view of the landscape as it stretched out seemingly forever before us. In the distance, our tents, were just tiny specks along the shore of the lagoon. We were now surprised to see that the small inlet connecting the lagoon to the ocean was in fact in the center, rather than on the southern edge of what was a rather large body of water.
Across the narrow spit of land behind our tents, the Chukchi Sea extended out to the horizon as far as our eyes could see, with Siberia several hundred miles away. As we turned to the north, the sun accentuated the white of the tops of the limestone hills, which was in stark contrast to the surrounding green of the vegetation.
With the sky still a deep blue and accented by beautiful cumulus clouds and extra layers to protect us from the chilly wind, we began our gradual and relaxed descent to our camp. Spreading out to minimize the potential impact of our footsteps, we each picked our own path across the rocks that were interspersed with tundra.
I made it my personal mission to step, only if there was no other option, on the delicate, but actually quite resilient, tundra vegetation. I had to admire its tenacity growing among the rocks in such a harsh environment and didn’t want to take the chance that I might crush any plants with my weight. There were still a few hardy flowers to be seen as well the bright orange and red leaves of bearberry plants, which were changing into their fall colors. The most curious sighting was a blob of yellow, spongy-like material with foam seemingly coming from a hole in the center. We could only speculate on what fungus or unearthly creature this might be. The rocks themselves were host to a variety of lichens including the impressive and showy orange elegant sunburst.
At the base of the hill, we once again entered the land of the hummocks. This time, while carefully making our way through the area, we stopped to pick cloudberries, some of which were bright orange and some of which were bright yellow. No matter the color, they were all perfectly ripe, plump, and delicious! I was surprised to later learn that they are a member of the rose family.
Arriving back on the beach in the late afternoon, we had plenty of time to continue exploring at our own pace as we hiked the rest of the way back to camp. It was easy to find interesting things to photograph including a lone, white seagull feather wedged in the top of a driftwood log; the tangled roots of a weather-worn tree that had washed ashore from a place far south of the Arctic Circle; more last-of-the-season sea mayweed (a member of the aster family) flowers; and Isabel stretched out on a bed of low-lying beach vegetation.
Before dinner, with more free time on our hands, John, Isabel, and I migrated back to the beach, where the ocean beckoned. Isabel bravely waded into the cold water of the Chukchi Sea, confirming that yes, the water temperature is a bit colder than off the coast of Miami, near her home. Having received my Polar Bear Plunge certificate many years ago after immersing myself in the Beaufort Sea off Prudhoe Bay; today, I was content to serve simply as photographer and videographer for Isabel’s adventure.
By 9:15 p.m., almost everyone else was inside their tent. Matt was several hundred yards away, walking along the lagoon back to camp carrying two bladders containing fresh water from the creek. There was a strong wind blowing from the northwest. I had lingered outside looking for the toilet kit when I noticed the smell of smoke. It then dawned on me that someone else was using the kit. Later John told me he had closed up our tent after also smelling smoke.
When I looked in the direction of where I smelled smoke, I saw Isabel in the beach grass, looking down and doing a strange kind of dance. Like a flash, it dawned on me that she must be stomping out a fire. I immediately took off running toward her; yelling at the top of my voice for Matt to help. As I ran toward Isabel feeling a sense of panic, I remembered a scene in the TV show, “Little House on the Prairie,” when Laura was running and frantically calling out to Pa when she spotted a prairie fire.
I was out of breath by the time I reached Isabel. My fear was well-placed. Indeed, the dry grass around the cat hole she had dug into the ground had caught fire when she was burning the toilet paper. Thankfully, she had just stomped the last of the fire out as I arrived, using her open-toe, white plastic camp sandals! She was close to tears when I gave her a big hug. After the fear of the moment subsided, we were both a bit giddy with relief.
Isabel had simply been trying to burn the toilet paper as we had all been instructed. However, the wind had other things in mind. We were thankful she had not burned her feet, and that the fire had been extinguished. Left unchecked, given the direction and strength of the wind, the fire would have likely raced across the grass to our tents with an end result that neither of us wished to contemplate.
It turned out that the wind had also carried off my cry to Matt for help. So, Isabel and I decided that for the rest of the trip, mum was the word and no one (except John) was the wiser. We decided on the spot, that next time, any used toilet paper would be carried out in a zip lock bag rather than being burned, which had proved throughout the course of our trip to be difficult at best.