Last week I was given the chance to jump on a plane and head just north of the Arctic Circle. I spent about 4 hours playing tourist.
My tour began with a briefing given by Ed Peebles, the marketing director at Warbelow's Air Ventures. My head was filled with facts about the history of the Athabaskan Tribes, the Pipeline and the lifestyles of the Native People.
My pilot was Jeremy. A handful of tourists and I boarded a Piper, Navajo twin engine aircraft. This is the typical aircraft that is used by Warbelow's to serve the villages. Aircraft are the lifeline that the villagers rely on to see the doctor, dentist and to take supplies back to the villages.
This time the aircraft was used to serve as a tour plane. Seats can be removed, or added to provide different configurations, depending on the purpose of the aircraft at a given time. Jeremy asked for a volunteer who would like to fly "right seat". I took a glance at the timid faces of my co-tourists and decided to raise my hand. It was a wonderful position to be in, although difficult for taking photos. I was allowed to see forward with a panoramic view without other tourists blocking it.
The famous Alaskan Pipeline that pumps oil from Prudhoe Bay to Valdez, is visible on part of this flight. Fort Yukon is about 1 hour (by air) to the north-east of Fairbanks. Jeremy pointed out the accordion look, somewhat noticeable from our distance. He explained how this allowed for expansion and contraction during temperature fluctuations.
We reached the Yukon-Tanana Uplands mountain range within moments of taking off. Jeremy gave the extra effort as we skirted the white mountain peaks. A few of those chiseled limestone peaks were dotted with Dall sheep. Their coats were brightened by the available sunlight and they looked like tiny puffs of cotton. Fire weed swept up the slopes. The bright magenta blossoms were a wonderful contrast to the sand and limestone colors.
The terrain changed again as the flats offered the colors of sage and burnt sienna. Numerous creeks meandered through the wilderness. Odd little mounds were built by muskrats in the middle of some of these streams. Jeremy explained that the muskrat mounds provided a means of trapping and food for the critters that built them. We were fortunate to spot a few moose. Jeremy had a keen eye when it came to pointing them out. When he had the chance he would tip the wing and circle them so that we could get a better view.
The flight was smooth as we glided into the small village of Fort Yukon. We landed at the agent's station and were greeted by Richard Carroll and his 2 year old grandson. The tourists and Jeremy snacked on sandwiches that were ready when we got there. We rested and chatted until it was time to board the tour bus.
The tour bus was humble, yet comfortable. The windows were rolled down, since it was quite warm. Temperatures in Fort Yukon are similar to those in Fairbanks. It was about 80 degrees and humid.
"C'mon, Son." Rich coaxed the toddler who was with him at the station.
"Is he really your son?" one of the tourists asked.
"I wish he was, but he's my grandson. I would have had more kids, if I could have, so I call all of them Son." The little boy had an uncanny resemblance to his grandfather.
The dark haired, brown eyed little boy gently patted his tiny hand on a seat as if persuading me to sit on the best seat available.
"Where you folks from?" Richie asked.
"I'm from Fairbanks, but I've only lived there a month." I answered.
"Do you plan on dieing here, in Alaska?"
"I'll at least turn gray here."
The bus rumbled toward the cemetery. "Too many people don't stay here. It hurts the village. These people in the cemetery, they're not coming back. Take photos if you like, they don't mind. The village has ingrained upon me to stay, so I will die here. It's a way of life. There are no jobs here. We used to do so much trapping, but not anymore. The animal activist groups from the 90's destroyed our industry, so the young people leave. They go to Fairbanks, or Anchorage. It hurts the village. They're the ones with the marketable skills, so the ones they leave behind don't have those skills. 800 people lived here at one time. Now it's only about 400."
We continued toward the fishing village. We stepped out of the bus to observe the activity of boats and fishers. "Wish I had my camera," Richie said "This is kind of a neat scene." I thought so too, and snapped a few shots. The scrubby fishing boats were rustic, yet intriguing. I wandered off to snap just a few more.
We traipsed back into the bus. "Now I will show you the resorts and casinos." Rich turned and looked at us with a wry face.We rambled away from the fishing area as the locals called out hellos and waved at Rich and the familiar blue bus. Then we toured the streets with the humble dwellings that lined the narrow dirt roads. "So many of these homes are abandoned... People who are still here live by subsistence, or rely on the government. I don't need a job. I drive the tour bus; been doing it for 32 years."
Fort Yukon has a few modern medical buildings. Dozens of people from outside the interior have tried to make it in Fort Yukon, but have had to leave because of the extreme conditions. The sun doesn't set in Fort Yukon for several weeks during the summer. In the winter it is the opposite. It can remain dark in December - no sunlight - for several days. "If you live here, get outside no matter what, or you will go crazy," Rich warned us.
Over there," he pointed "was a big wedding. Everyone came just to see what a wedding was like. We don't see many weddings here. I don't understand it; people just don't get married anymore. It's not like it was in the olden days: single women could stay on welfare much longer. Now it only lasts five years. Either way, I don't get it."
We had wrapped ourselves around the village and soon our tour was over.
Once again,we boarded the Navajo and were on our way to Fairbanks. A thunderstorm was building up on the horizon. We reached our cruising altitude, but were able to catch the sun's magical rays beaming down between clouds. The rays stretched down to the peaks and gave faint hues of gold and amber.
We reached Fairbanks. Jeremy managed to spot some sand craines on the way.
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