West Thirty of Forty in the 49th

Memories of a Wildlife Biologist in Alaska
1. Auflage 2021
ISBN: 978-1-0983-4809-0
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: PC/MAC/eReader/Tablet/DL/kein Kopierschutz

E-Book, Englisch, 184 Seiten

'Thirty of Forty in the 49th' shares the conservation history of Alaska through the eyes of a retired biologist. The author reflects on his 30 years working in the far north while on a solo canoe trip in the wilds of the Upper Yukon River 40 years after his first visit there. The book combines an account of the dividing of Alaska's lands through statehood, Native claims, and ultimately as national interest lands set aside for conservation. The author combines Alaska history with tales of survival and legal, political, and natural challenges. From run-ins with grizzly bears to managing diverse programs of multi-million acre national wildlife refuges, the stories document a time of transition in one of the last great wild areas remaining on the planet.

Autoren/Hrsg.

West, Robin

Leseproben

Chapter One:
Back on the River Again July 13, 2019 – Canoe loaded, I waved a farewell of thanks to “my ride” (my oldest daughter Alex and her husband Jay) as I pushed off the beach at the boat landing above Eagle, Alaska. I dipped the paddle and pulled a J-stroke to propel me downstream in a straight line toward the looming bluff that rose above the Yukon River below the small town. I was struck by the similarities of a similar embarkation 40 years ago, July 1979: the sweeping expanse of brown water ahead, the intense sunshine of the mid-day in the broad river valley, and the striking bluffs on the horizon. Something was different though too—I did not hear the swirling of silt pushing against the vessel’s hull. Perhaps the difference was attributable to the boat material—previously aluminum and now a composite plastic? Or, perhaps my hearing had faded enough that such subtle sounds were now lost to me. This thought made me aware of other differences. Previously I was in my early twenties and the trip was the first of what would lead to thousands of miles traveled by raft and canoe, and many hundreds of nights spent in a tent in the far north. I was enthusiastic then for sure, but green (I would have been rightly labelled a “cheechako”). Now, needing reading glasses to see a map and with flexibility reduced to where getting over the aches from a day’s paddling was taking noticeably longer to fade, I was feeling my age. A good start to a day now, I mused, is one in which I didn’t need to sit down in order to put on my socks. I thought too though, along with the less desirable changes that came with aging, the passing years also offered the benefit of experience. Experience brings confidence, confidence provides a relaxed attitude, and a relaxed attitude creates fun. I was having fun. I arrived downstream at Calico Bluffs about 7:30 pm, unloaded the canoe, and set up camp. Into the Country One of the first books I read after arriving in Alaska in 1978 was John McPhee’s Coming into the Country. At the top of the cover of the paperback it read, “A voyage of spirit and mind into America’s last great wilderness—Alaska.” Those few words were spot on in their description. I carried the same old copy with me on my canoe trip in 2019 and read it again for the first time in 40 years. I reacted somewhat different to the stories this time—I had since met some of the people McPhee wrote about, and had visited many of the same places. The tales were no longer distant thoughts and ideas but a part of history that I had joined, at least in a small way. The theme, however, had not changed for me. It still was a story about Alaska and its people, and wild places, and how peoples’ values shape everyday living. It was a story about how those values change, not so much for individuals, but for societies. In protecting Alaska’s wild treasures for future generations, and with strong support by America as a whole at the time, the freedom cherished by many locals for many decades (to build cabins in the wilderness, mine gold without much regulation, and to take fish and wildlife for food without consideration of season or other restrictions) would be lost in short order. The passage of the Alaska National Interest Lands Conservation Act (referred by most simply as “ANILCA”) in late 1980, soon spawned new regulations. The rulemakings were democratic and legal, and arguably for the greater good, but nonetheless, the last vestiges of American freedom to live off the land, largely as one pleased, and without much government interference, were lost. Some compromises were made in the legislation, and limited re-direction occurred over time through litigation, but for the most part, it can probably be agreed that ANILCA changed Alaska forever. While I personally supported the conservation provisions and the Act’s overall objectives, I too could not help but mourn the loss of simpler times and the freedom they held. For those who have read McPhee’s book you know that “The Country” that he referred to is the Upper Yukon River region, and at the time of the book’s writing, the area was being proposed to be set aside as a national monument. Indeed, with the passage of ANILCA, the entire drainage of the Charley River and 115 miles of the Yukon River and surrounding uplands were re-designated from general lands (held by the Bureau of Land Management) to the new Yukon–Charley Rivers National Preserve managed by the National Park Service. As I reached the terminus of the Taylor Highway at the town of Eagle in July 1979. I recall a large wooden sign that read, “Don’t Let the Park Service Into the Country.” It didn’t take a mind reader to know how the locals felt about the federal government then. In the time I spent in Alaska leading up to the passing of ANILCA, and for a half a dozen years or so after, the animosity exhibited in some places toward federal employees was plain to see and sometimes bordering on the threatening. It was not uncommon to be refused service at some gas stations in Interior Alaska when driving a government vehicle, so one needed to carry enough gasoline for at least one refilling. Once, while in uniform, I was even refused service when trying to order a milkshake at a Tasty Freeze. More disturbing, however, were the times I was physically threatened. Many folks were mad, really mad, and sometimes fueled by a little alcohol and/or peer pressure, things could get a little dicey. No matter that I, or practically any federal employee in Alaska at the time, had nothing to do with the setting aside of millions of acres of Alaska lands for conservation purposes; Washington, D.C. was a long ways away and we were handy. Ultimately no harm ever came to me from any of the threats and they did subside as I got older and as the passage of ANILCA faded in the rearview mirror. I looked at the gigantic striations in the mountains across the river from my camp. Such geologic wonders are prominent in the Upper Yukon region. They provide outstanding nesting habitat for peregrine falcons and other raptors which are numerous, and their sightings offer reward to the boater, who doesn’t have to pay super-careful attention to the water ahead in this section of the river. The birds are just the icing on the cake though, as the bluffs themselves are awe-inspiring. What is most striking is that the striations, deposited over millennia, are near vertical rather than horizontal. Over time these gigantic mounds have been lifted up and turned on their side. Yukon is said to mean “Great River” so named by the Gwich’in people who have lived in the region for thousands of years. It certainly is a great river, being the third longest in North America. It originates from the glacier-fed Atlin Lake in British Columbia and flows 715 miles through B.C. and Yukon territories before entering Alaska, and then flowing another 1,267 miles to its mouth at the Yukon–Kuskokwim Delta and the Bering Sea. After retirement I drafted a standard bucket list of places to see and things to do, and this included a 1,000-mile canoe trip on the Yukon River. I softened the 1,000 mile goal a bit later, wanting neither the hassles of the international crossing by starting in Canada nor the frequent delays that can occur waiting out weather on the lower river. Practicality entered the equation too. While one can charter a float plane pickup along much of the river, or fly out from numerous villages along the way, there are only three road-accessible points (that you can drive to) in Alaska: Eagle, at the terminus of the Taylor Highway, Circle, at the terminus of the Steese Highway, and the Yukon Crossing on the Dalton Highway (in route to Prudhoe Bay). I felt the distance from Eagle to Circle was too short (158 miles) and too easy (with a current of often over 5 miles per hours and a route that was easy to navigate) and so opted to go to “the bridge.” This would be a 408-mile trip from Eagle and should take only a couple of weeks. The daily routine on a solo trip is whatever you make of it. All decisions are yours to make: when you start and finish the day, when and what you eat, where you camp, and whatever side trips you may want to make to explore interesting areas. It is a great stress reducer to be in control of the basic elements of your day. If you are tired, take a nap, if you are hungry, eat a snack, if you are unclean, go for a swim. Another postretirement bucket list item for me was to backpack the Oregon section of the Pacific Crest Trail; on completion I found that I liked the independence of going at my own pace and altering my routine for whatever whim struck me. For that trip, my wife Shannon re-supplied me at three highway crossings during my month-long hike so I didn’t have to carry all my food for the 500+ miles. I hiked as little as 12 miles a day and as much as 23. The canoe trip on the Yukon was similar, in that I largely set the pace of travel but was also different in two ways. First, when hiking you can “go” rain or shine, but when paddling solo, if the wind comes up from an unfavorable direction, it can be fruitless, or even dangerous, to continue. Second, and on the bright side, using a canoe allows you to take a lot more snacks, books, and other goodies than when everything has to fit in a bag on your back. I like goodies. Though I had ample room in the canoe, I still opted largely for freeze-dried food for dinners. I supplemented that with cheese or peanut butter and crackers, Hershey’s Kisses, and a little red wine. Breakfast generally included coffee, oatmeal, dried fruit, and a granola bar. Lunch is non-existent for me, whether hiking or paddling. I snack throughout the day eating nuts, raisins,...