I tried to finagle the world's least romantic weekend getaway, but we ended up having to go a few days later. And luckily, we were gifted with perfect weather: sunny, almost windless, and a mere -30F, which afforded us gorgeous mountain views, a bizarre Mars-like sunset of a cold red ball hovering over barren tundra, caribou and musk ox grazing in the clear crisp air, and even a solitary goshawk sunning himself on a mile marker post.
It was heartening to have five of us in the van as we wound through the Brooks Range and onto the stark, lonely north slope. Aside from a handful of steampunk-Soviet looking beige corrugated aluminum mechanical sheds and pump houses, it is an austere landscape. Deadhorse itself was rather buttoned up as oil demand and production are still low; there were a few trucks around, and some single-engine cargo planes. We shared a fifty-room dorm with only three other inhabitants. I scored some much-needed toothpaste at the general store and had my first espresso coffee in many months.
It was just a quick trip up and back. We stopped for a walk near (frozen) Galbraith Lake. There the foothills and snow over were incredibly reminiscent of the scenery near McMurdo, if you ignored the grasses and stunted bushes. There's a deep satisfaction in going to the end of the road, as well as returning to our homey camp tucked in with the trees.
No comments:
Post a Comment