Brooks Range Expedition: Alaska 1984

The story of our 1984 journey to Gates of the Arctic National Park in the Brooks Range of far north Alaska in words and in photographs. Below the story there are many more photographs that you can click on to enlarge and also see photo captions.

“You guys might want to get out of the tent … there’s a Grizzly out here.” Denis Davis startled us out of our perpetual twilight dreams with that simple statement, and we’ve rarely gotten dressed so fast. The Griz was several hundred yards away on the Arctic tundra and was steadily traveling up the treeless valley. If it smelled us–which it probably did given that we had been backpacking for a week–it didn’t stop to check us out or even look our way. For that we were grateful, given that we had no protection in the era before real bear spray.

This two-week backpacking trip in Alaska’s Brooks Range originated in Denis’ Christmas card for 1983, in which he suggested several possible adventure trips for the coming year to a number of his friends. We were the only ones who responded, and we liked the idea of backpacking in Gates of the Arctic National Park, which was at that time a newly minted national park. 

Karen Rentz backpacking in 1984 in Gates of the Arctic National Park, Brooks Range, Alaska, USA

We began planning for the trip in conjunction with Denis and his wife at the time, Elaine. We needed to carefully consider every aspect of our equipment for weight and usefulness. I needed camera gear, including a 500mm lens for wildlife, a macro lens for wildflowers, and a wide-angle lens for landscapes, plus 25 rolls of Kodachrome film. Tents at the time were limited, and we needed a tent strong enough to withstand possible snow, so we brought the legendary North Face VE-25, a favorite of Mount Everest expeditions, but which weighed 12 pounds! Karen brought a hiking staff that was actually a beaver-chewed stick from the Adirondacks; she had to check it on the cross-country flight because the gate attendant said it looked like a weapon. Our clothing was in the pre-fleece era and included items Karen sewed from Frostline kits. We had jeans, army surplus wool pants, wool shirts and sweaters, long underwear, rain-resistant pants, and Frostline parkas. We also each had an insulated Frostline vest; these would also serve as pillows. Plus stocking caps and Frostline mittens and heavy wool socks for hiking. Water-resistant hiking boots were essential to combat the wet tundra and snow. 

Lee Rentz backpacking in 1984 in Gates of the Arctic National Park, Brooks Range, Alaska, USA

Considering food, we had to keep it light. Karen used our dehydrator to dry all sorts of precooked meals, not all successfully. Dried shredded cheddar cheese was crunchy and tasty, but melted away needed fats. For lunches we ate Pemmican Bars, which were an early protein bar from the 1980s. For breakfast and dinner we cooked on a Svea stove that ran on white gas. Our simple meals included a commercial beef stroganoff, rice and beans and dried cheese and chocolate. Breakfast always included hot drinks: our standing joke on this mosquitoey trip was that when a mosquito would land in the hot chocolate, we would fish it out, but any leftover mosquito legs would just go down the hatch. We lost weight on this trip because our calorie intake couldn’t possibly keep up with our exertions.

At the start of the trip, Lee’s backpack weighed 78 lbs, with Karen’s about 59. Karen had a full bright orange daypack lashed on top of her backpack; she sewed it from a Frostline kit.

After all our preparations, the time for travel came in late July, 1984. We flew from Syracuse, New York to Anchorage, Alaska. There we boarded a flight to Fairbanks, and then a smaller plane to Bettles, a tiny Alaskan bush town on the Koyukuk River. This is where we did our final planning and packing for the trip, with our gear splayed across the runway’s edge. We talked to some guys who were heading into another part of the Brooks Range who had long rifles with them for protection and hunting; we felt quite naked by comparison. But at the time, it was illegal for hikers to carry a gun in a national park, so that wasn’t even a possibility for us.

With our packs finally stuffed, we walked to the office of the bush plane to give them our final itinerary. We were to be dropped off by float plane at a small lake in the western part of Gates of the Arctic National Park, then we would hike for about two weeks and 50 miles through Arctic tundra, following rivers. Our biggest challenge would be a climb over unnamed mountains, hoping we could get to the crest, then down the steep cliffs on the north side. This was all uncertain, because it was possible no human being had ever traveled this route over the mountains and the available topographic map was not detailed enough to confirm cliff locations. This was real, raw wilderness in the extreme. If all went well, we would follow a drainage from the mountains, hiking north until we reached Kurupa Lake, where we would be picked up by float plane.

Dramatic arctic landscape between the Arctic plain and the high summits of the Brooks Range, Gates of the Arctic National Park, Alaska, USA

We finally shouldered our heavy packs and walked to the Koyukuk River, where our float plane magic carpet awaited. This was a Canadian-made bush plane, a De Havilland Beaver, that was and is the workhorse of the far north. We took off from the river–our first experience on a float plane–and followed the river west for a ways, with us watching for Moose among the Black Spruce trees along the river. Eventually the pilot left the river and turned the plane north, taking us over turquoise tarns and rugged, sharp peaks where the trees eventually dwindled to none, leaving us over a treeless tundra. We came to a broad opening in the mountains where several lakes shimmered, and one of those was our destination. The pilot descended and made a smooth landing on the lake, then taxied over to the shore. We didn’t even get our feet wet while unloading our gear. After confirming our final meeting point for a rendezvous two weeks later, the pilot taxied into the center of the lake, then took off with a roar, leaving us feeling lonely on the vast tundra. The pilot had been instructed to pick us up at Kurupa Lake, but if we weren’t there, then he would look for us at our drop-off lake in case we couldn’t make it over the mountains.

Two things happened within minutes: we found a distinct fresh Gray Wolf track in the wet soil between tussocks, and mosquitoes descended upon us in Biblical multitudes. We were in the Alaska Wilderness!

After a few minutes of gazing out over the lake, we pulled out our mosquito head nets, shouldered our lead-filled packs, and set out on a two-week journey through one of the wildest places in North America. We consulted our topographic maps, then headed over a ridge that looked down over a long valley stretching toward a line of mountains in the distance. Our route would take us down the valley along an unnamed river past unnamed mountains. 

Our trip took place at the warmest time of year in the Brooks Range, with temperatures hovering above 70°F. At our feet, arctic wildflowers bloomed in profusion–most of them hugging the ground to avoid the drying winds–while along the river Arctic Fireweed was vivid. In this warm weather, the clouds of mosquitoes were legendary. To cope we wore head nets, plus applications of DEET-containing Jungle Juice. Karen had sewn the placket gaps above our sleeve cuffs shut to keep the bugs out. But we discovered that they could still bite through our jeans, so we ended up with a lot of itchy welts. During the first two days of hiking along this long valley, we saw no large charismatic wildlife, so we focused upon cool birds we had never before seen, such as a Wandering Tattler on its nest site, an American Golden-Plover, and a Gray-Crowned Rosy Finch.

We set up our first campsite on the lower flanks of a mountain high above the valley. This was northern Alaska during the height of summer, so the sun barely set, making the inside of our yellow tent look like perpetual dim daylight all through the long night. We thought it might be hard to sleep in these conditions, but we were so worn out from hiking with heavy packs that sleep was not a problem. As we gazed up the valley the next morning we could see where we would camp the next night; an expansive view.

Grizzly Bears were always on our minds, but not enough to keep us from sleeping. Without bear spray and without guns, our defense lay in our numbers–with four of us, that should work as a deterrent against daytime attacks. At night, we needed to protect our food supply from bears, but there was no place on the open tundra to hang our food. Each night we took our packs and placed them together about 100 yards downwind from our tents. Atop the packs we placed our cooking pots with stones in them, so a raid on the packs would alert us with noise. We also had little mesh bags made by Karen containing mothballs that we hoped would cover up the scent of food, or at least serve as a repellent. While hiking, the mothballs were triple bagged to contain the strong fumes.

The next day we hiked further along the river, coming upon a spot where there was enough shade from the mountains that river ice several feet thick had not yet melted; it resembled glacial ice, with its aqua-blue color. Later, we were setting up camp when we heard the blowing and galloping of a mammal coming our way. It was our first Caribou, and it appeared to be running in terror. But nothing was chasing it, and it was possible that there was a parasitic larva called a nosebot driving it crazy. Or maybe it was the ever-present mosquitoes.

The third day out, we left our broad, open valley and began ascending a steeper route into the mountains. This was the drainage we hoped to take over a high pass at the northern crest of the range. As the day wore on, the cloud cover increased and there was a noticeable chill in the air. We set up our tents high in a cirque, with sharp peaks rising around us, then finished our camp chores and wriggled into our sleeping bags. A drizzle began, followed by rain, then silence.

When we awoke the next morning, there was about four inches of fresh snow on the tents. It was cold, and we decided it would be too treacherous to make our climb over the pass in these conditions. So we took a snow day, mostly napping and reading inside our tents, waiting for the weather to pass.

We hiked to a snowy, high, unnamed pass in Gates of the Arctic National Park, in the northern part of the Brooks Range, Alaska, USA [No model release; available for editorial licensing only]

The following morning the weather had again changed, with sunny blue skies appearing between clouds still hanging in. We decided this was our day to face the biggest challenge of the trip, so we loaded up and headed straight up the snowy steep and rocky slope toward the pass. When we reached the pass, the view straight north to the Arctic Plain greeted us. The wind was blowing hard over the pass, so we took shelter against a rock buttress and ate lunch. Then Denis and Lee split up to try to find a safe route down from the pass. Denis went to the east and Lee ascended to the west, each looking carefully at our chances. When we got back together, Denis said his side of the pass was not feasible, but Lee decided we had a good chance of making it if we carefully went in his direction. It involved climbing higher, then going sidehill in snow while hugging a cliff above a steep, snow-covered dropoff. If we went far enough, we would reach a scree slope leading all the way down to the valley at a steep angle.

Lee turned to Karen, who gets nervous with exposed heights, and said “You’re going to have to be brave.” She was, and we carefully inched along the cliff face without mishap, then began our steep descent. The scree slope was snow covered, but we forcefully stuck our legs through the snow to the soft rocky debris (almost like a fine gravel dune) and felt almost entirely safe. When we made it to the bottom, it was with a sense of triumph and relief that the most difficult part of the journey was behind us. We celebrated by making a no bake boxed cheesecake chilled in the snow, and all was right with the world.

The bad weather closed in again the next morning, and we hiked down the length of a lake with wet snowflakes steadily falling. Very briefly the mosquitoes were too chilled to move. The mountains were gleaming with their coat of fresh snow. We climbed out of the valley into some foothills. Then, while eating lunch we saw movement in the distance. Binoculars revealed one of the most amazing sights of our lives: thousands of Caribou traveling across the rocky terrain! We changed our route to intercept the herd and over the following days we watched and photographed them extensively, burning the sight into our memories as well as on film.

We camped that night on a ridge in the path of the Caribou, and all night we could hear the clicking of tendons in their ankles as they walked past our tents. It is a fascinating phenomenon, and apparently it serves to keep herds together as they travel–even in the clouds and fog of the mountains they can hear each other enough to stay together. The Caribou traveled well-worn paths along mountain slopes and through wildflower meadows. There were bull Caribou with huge antlers, as well as females with smaller antlers and young of the year racing around. These were part of the Western Arctic Caribou Herd, which migrates twice yearly between the calving grounds on the Arctic Plain and the wintering grounds south of the Brooks Range. When we saw them, they were gathered together in a huge group, but not yet beginning their fall migration south. Our days among the Caribou were wonderful, as we saw them crossing streams and silhouetted against snowy mountains.

Caribou, Rangifer tarandus, migrating through the mountains of Gates of the Arctic National Park, Brooks Range, Alaska, USA

On another morning about this time in the trip we saw our first Grizzly Bear; fortunately it didn’t pay us any attention. It was astounding to see how large it was and how prominent was the hump on its back. One advantage of hiking in the tundra is you can see bears from a long way away. We still remember Denis and Elaine talking about being first on the scene of a near-tragedy in Glacier National Park. A family of four had been hiking together when they surprised a Grizzly in the forest. It attacked, and had one child’s head in its gaping mouth when the father jumped on its back. The bear broke the man’s arms but then called off the attack. But enough about scary bear stories. 

Our packs were now a bit lighter from the food we had consumed, and our still-young bodies gained strength as the days wore on. One day Denis proposed we go off on our own and he and Elaine do the same. That sounded good, and we ventured into the Kurupa Hills. Our highlight was seeing a young Dall Sheep lying on the tundra, and later seeing some adults crossing a talus slope. At our campsite we enjoyed watching an Alaska Marmot, though not-so-much an Arctic Ground Squirrel who chewed through one of our plastic water containers. During the second half of the trip we saw Peregrine Falcons, which were truly rare in the lower 48 during the 1980s because of the effects of DDT, as well as a Long-tailed Duck on a tundra pond, and Long-tailed and Parasitic Jaegers, which flew at us aggressively when we got too close to their nesting grounds.

Hiking further, we approached our destination, Kurupa Lake. Denis didn’t tell us at the time, but later said an early oil prospector’s report described the “herds of Grizzly Bears” at Kurupa Lake. Fortunately, we encountered no herds, but we did see a second Grizzly Bear on the other side of the lake, where it paused to furiously dig up an Arctic Ground Squirrel’s burrow. It is astounding how fast those massive muscles and claws allow a Grizzly to dig. We assumed it got the squirrel. 

We stayed two nights at our last campsite, giving the bush plane plenty of time to retrieve us. While we waited, Karen and Denis both fished, each catching a Lake Trout and observing Arctic Char. Denis released his fish, but Karen was determined to eat ours. So we cleaned the fish and boiled it, tossing the carcass into the lake to reduce the scent. It was good, but the scent from the cooking would have clung to our wool clothing, undoubtedly acting as a lure for a bear. Fortunately we didn’t attract any bears to camp.

There was always a chance the plane would not appear on our pickup date; if fog or other bad weather delayed previous days’ retrievals, people would be picked up in order and they would get to us as soon as possible. We were getting low on white gas and food and speculated that if we were delayed by days we would be eating raw fish.

We were entranced by the whole experience, and Lee could have turned around and stayed in the wilderness for another two weeks if we had the time. Alas, work called and we needed to return. On our last day we needed to pack early and have our gear ready to go. In the afternoon we heard the whine of a plane approaching, and it turned and descended to our lake. The pilot had instructed us to leave a tent up so he could spot us along this large lake. As soon as we knew the pilot had spotted us, the tent was quickly collapsed and we hoisted our packs to trudge down to the shore, then loaded our gear onto the float plane. When we took off, it signaled the end to one of the signature experiences of our lives.

The photographs below show a map of our route, final packing on the runway in Bettles, our flight north through the mountains, and our first moments on the arctic tundra. Click on any of the pictures for a larger view and more information.

As we hiked across the tundra with our heavy packs, the Arctic revealed itself in beautiful wildflowers, distant views, Caribou antlers, fast streams, and campsites with glorious views.

We identified and photographed wildflowers and lichens and ferns that we had never before seen. The tundra plants are short, hugging the ground to stay out of the wind and take advantage of the warmth near the ground; most of the wildflowers are pollinated by flies, since bees are scarce in the Arctic.

When we reached the end of a long valley and several days of warm temperatures, our route next led us into the mountains. After setting up camp, rain turned to snow. After a rest day, we climbed steeply up into the mountains, not knowing if we could cross the range here. It turned out that we could, although there were challenges of negotiating ice and snow and a steep scree slope.

After the steep mountain crossing we hiked down a long valley in rain and snow, passing alpine lakes and crossing a stream. Here our wildlife sightings began in earnest, with Grizzly Bears, Caribou, Dall Sheep, and birds we had never seen before. Seeing thousands of Caribou was a highlight of our lives.

After all our time in the wildest wilderness we had ever experienced, it was time for a float plane to pick us up at Kurupa Lake on the north side of Gates of the Arctic National Park. We arrived two days early and spent the extra time fishing and hiking. Alas, we heard the plane overhead and quickly packed up, ending one of the premier adventures of our lives.

Wilderness and adventure in far off places would lure us to distant locations and backpacking trips during the ensuing decades, but nothing would be quite the challenge as this trip to the Brooks Range. Looking back now, nearly four decades later, we both think of it as a highlight of our lives.

To see more of the work of Lee Rentz, go to http://leerentz.com.

ROUND ISLAND: Walrus Sanctuary in Peril

Pacific Walrus male

Horned Puffin near our campsite

There are times that remain hazy and golden in my memories; times when life came to a peak of wonder that is only rarely experienced. Five days on Round Island was one of those defining times in my life.

In 2009 my wife and I flew to Alaska, then took a second flight to Dillingham on the west coast, then boarded a beat-up puddle jumper to the Yup’ik Eskimo village of Togiak, then sped by tiny boat, piloted by a man of that Eskimo village, across part of Bristol Bay to Round Island, where we were greeted by Alaska Fish and Game staff. We set up camp on the small island, on platforms erected atop campsites used by ancient peoples, then set off exploring the island. Within a minute we were watching a Horned Puffin about 50 feet away standing atop a rock jutting out over the ocean. Later that day we watched half a dozen Pacific Walrus stretched out, resting atop a flat rock near shore.

Flat Rock with first view of walruses, with Dragon’s Tail in the distance

Our expedition tent enduring high winds

Trail along the grassy headlands near camp

Staff quarters and sanctuary headquarters

As the days went by, we listened to giant blubbery walruses singing sweetly. Endangered Steller Sea Lions performed synchronized swimming as their “Jabba the Hutt” harem defender gazed out imperiously. Wildflowers were at their peak, including the bright yellow Alaska Poppy. Red Foxes trotted around the island unseen by us, like ghosts of the landscape. Beaches were entirely filled with pink walruses resting after days of diving deep into the ocean. A high wind came up and rattled the tent with its terror all night. Parakeet Auklets gossiped constantly on the rocks below. A Tufted Puffin watched us watching him, and only snuck into his burrow when we glanced away briefly.

Dragon’s Tail and its walruses from the top of the island

Tide’s coming in!

Jagged rock formations atop Round Island’s peak

As I said, it was a peak experience, but those of you who are long-time readers of my blog know that I have already written at length about our Round Island experiences in these blogs:

Experiencing the Walruses of Round Island, Alaska

I Am the Walrus

Puffins and Auklets and Murres, Oh My!

So, why am I returning to Round Island in this blog? Because I passionately love this place and I believe that it is in danger.

Watching the walruses basking and sparring and emerging from the depths is always entertaining

Alaska’s Department of Fish and Game, in a misguided attempt to save a few bucks, has decided to close the camp on Round Island after this year. There will be no seasonal staff to serve as island stewards, and the important work they’ve done in scientifically monitoring walrus and sea lion numbers will be abandoned. The campsites will be abandoned, and tourism to Togiak and Round Island will become a distant memory.

Why do I care? Because this is one of the greatest places in the world to experience wildlife that is not behind bars. Yes, there are a few walruses protected in zoos. After returning from Round Island, we went to see walruses in the Point Defiance Zoo & Aquarium in Tacoma, Washingon. It was a profoundly sad experience. The walruses had lost their tusks completely, as they often do in captivity. They were trained to open their mouths to have their teeth brushed and to take a fish on command, then they would swim a pattern back and forth, back and forth, in the big tank lined with fake rock. This is not how sentient creatures should live.

Steller Sea Lion harem and young out for a swim

We could often hear the walruses coming up for a deep breath

People need to see wild creatures in wild places, and that’s where Round Island shines. After we left the island, the next visitors coming were high school students from all over Alaska, camping on the island for days to study the wildlife of that magnificent place. The memories of that experience will remain with them for their entire lives. When we were there, the other visitors were two men from Manhattan, making their second trip to Round Island. Photographers and videographers from all over the world have come here to create a record of walrus behavior. Including me.

Delicate Alaska Poppies, one of scores of kinds of wildflowers at the height of summer blooming during our visit

Wary Tufted Puffin

Blowing bubbles while surfacing

Shelter provided for campers to eat and hang out during times of high winds and rain

Looking up at the top of the mountain during a morning of unsettled weather

Alaska Fish and Game claims that they might still issue some permits to visit the island, but I suspect those will be few and far between. Instead, we are more likely to have surreptitious visitors shooting walruses for the ivory, and boats and planes buzzing the walruses and creating panicked stampedes that will trample and kill individuals. People will be able to land on the island with nobody knowing, and will undoubtedly force walruses away from the beaches. The island will no longer be a sanctuary.

Is this speculation on my part? Of course, but it is informed speculation based upon my experience on the island. When we were there, we felt that the two staff members were extremely serious about their jobs, and that their first priority was to protect the walruses. When we were seen by the refuge manager watching walruses from atop a cliff, we were told in no uncertain terms to crouch down so that our silhouettes wouldn’t scare the walruses off their rock. I felt bad at violating the rules, and in retrospect I’m glad that someone was there to keep protection of the walruses as top priority.

Abandoning the camp on Round Island would save $95,000 per year, which I think is a drop in the bucket compared to the lost opportunities for environmental education and tourism in the region, which bring far more dollars than that to the Alaskan economy (our trip alone added $5,000 to the Alaska economy–it isn’t cheap to get to remote places!).

Can this decision be modified or reversed? Who knows? All we can do is try. If Alaska Fish and Game is adamant that they are going to save money this way, perhaps they could come up with a Memorandum of Understanding with The Nature Conservancy or another not-for-profit to operate the island as a sanctuary with a provision for allowing visitors to come and camp. Perhaps the National Park Service should buy it from Alaska and operate it as a national park unit, similar to the manner in which Channel Islands National Park off the California coast in operated. Perhaps an Eskimo corporation could run it. Maybe volunteers could assist a paid staff member. Perhaps the University of Alaska could run the visitor operations in conjunction with research. Since the infrastructure is already there, it would be obscene to just abandon it, and it seems that the state has not explored these and other avenues for protecting the sanctuary.

In the meantime, if you would like to write a rational and passionate letter supporting the continued use of Round Island as a place to view Alaska’s native wildlife, please contact:

Alaska Department of

Fish and Game

P.O. Box 115526

1255 W. 8th Street

Juneau, AK 99811-5526

Or email them from their website: http://www.adfg.alaska.gov/index.cfm?adfg=contacts.emailus

Sadly leaving the island

Ferrying gear to the small boat just prior to departure

The small plane we arrived on in the Eskimo village of Togiak

Daily scene in Togiak

Some of the Sockeye Salmon from Bristol Bay smoking at an Eskimo smokehouse in Togiak; the Sockeye Salmon fishery here is called the most sustainable fishery in the world, but the Pebble Mine proposed in the watershed could change that. That is another important environmental issue facing the region (see below for a link to more information).

 

For what could be your last chance to visit this enchanting isle, go to http://www.wildlife.alaska.gov/index.cfm?adfg=refuge.rnd_is

To read the article that announced the closure of Round Island, go to Round Island Closure

To read what Trout Unlimited has to say about the Pebble Mine, go to Save Bristol Bay

To see my photography, go to Lee Rentz Photography

 

 

 

Puffins and Auklets and Murres, Oh My!

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The goal for our July 2009 trip to Round Island, located in Bristol Bay off the Alaskan mainland, was primarily to see hundreds of Pacific Walruses.  But Round Island has rocky headlands that are the nest sites of a quarter-million seabirds, so we enjoyed five days of wonderful birding at close range and with a soundtrack that always included the lyrical cries of Black-legged Kittiwakes and the beautiful notes of Golden-crowned Sparrows and Hermit Thrushes.  The only ducks we observed were nine Harlequin Ducks in the surf; we are more accustomed to seeing Harlequin Ducks on the fast rivers near our Olympic Peninsula home.

For this weblog entry, I will show you some of my favorite photographs of birds on the island.  I didn’t spend as much time photographing birds as I would have liked, because of several days of windy conditions and the constant distraction of photographing Walruses; however, I was thrilled with the photography I was able to do.

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Tufted Puffin (Fratercula cirrhata) in breeding plumage perched at the entrance to its burrow, located among tundra grasses on a cliff face within the Round Island State Game Sanctuary in Bristol Bay, Alaska.  The Tufted Puffins were secretive around their burrow entrances, and seemed to wait until we were looking away before silently entering the opening.

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Savannah Sparrow (Passerculus sandwichensis) surveying its territory from atop a dried umbel of a Cow Parsnip or Angelica.  Savannah Sparrows were the most common songbird on the island; wherever we walked, they were constantly chipping from atop plants or rocks, and were gathering insects with which to feed their young.

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Horned Puffin (Fratercula corniculata) in breeding plumage perched at edge of breeding colony.  The Horned Puffins perched on exposed rocks on the cliff faces, often several together.  This puffin was sitting about 100 feet from where we pitched our tent, so whenever lighting conditions were good, we would quietly approach the cliff to see if birds were present.  The puffins allowed us to sit on an overlook and photograph, perhaps 35 feet from them.

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Horned Puffins in flight, heading back to their burrows after a fishing trip off Round Island.  At this point the puffins did not appear to have young, because we never observed any carrying fish.

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Horned Puffin in breeding plumage stretching and fluffing its wings while perched at the edge of a cliff on Round Island.

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Bright reddish-orange feet and wonderful faces characterize this species.

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The grassy headlands and rocky cliffs of Round Island provide good habitat for a variety of songbirds and seabirds. There are no bears or wolves on the island, which is located some 40 miles from the mainland.  Here the major predators on nesting birds are Red Foxes and Common Ravens.

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Pelagic Cormorants (Phalacrocorax urile) in breeding plumage resting, showing metallic iridescence when the sun was coming from directly behind us.

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Pelagic Cormorants on nests with young, perched on the vertical cliff faces of Round Island.

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Common Murre (Uria aalge) with blue eggs on seaside cliff.  During the half-hour or so that we observed this ledge, the adult left the ledge and both eggs were snatched by a marauding Common Raven.  Staff member Stephanie Sell mentioned that this location had been particularly susceptible to Raven raids, and that many eggs had been lost to predation.

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Common Raven (Corvus corax) panting to reduce heat stress on a hot day, when temperatures rose to about 80°F (and the temperature inside our tent at 10:00 p.m. was about 110°! ).  Ravens nested on Round Island, and we watched a cliffside nest with four young that were nearly ready to fledge.

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A seabird egg probably taken by a Common Raven (we’re not sure of the egg species).  We also observed a Raven carrying a bloody carcass of a small bird, probably a nestling, that it subsequently buried by piling pebbles and wildflowers atop it, creating a cache for later use.

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Closeup of a molted Common Raven feather.

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Parakeet Auklet (Aethia psittacula) perched on a rock just above the sea.  Often, half-a-dozen auklets gathered on the same rock and chattered noisily.

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Tundra grasses on steep hillsides were a better habitat for humans than birds, but we did see Savannah Sparrows there.  In a willow thicket, Hermit Thrushes sang and nested.

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Atop the sanctuary office building, Golden-crowned Sparrows sang their sorrowful descending notes that reminded me of “Three Blind Mice.”  This is as close as I got (the sparrow is on the roofline on the right side).  Note the steel cables that hold down the building during hurricane-force winds.

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You can read other descriptions of our Round Island adventures at:

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Experiencing the Walruses of Round Island, Alaska

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I am the Walrus

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4th of July in an Eskimo Village

To see my web site, which includes photographic prints for sale, please go to LeeRentz.com

To see thousands of my photographs in large file sizes for use in magazines or other printed materials or electronic media, go to my PhotoShelter Website

Experiencing the Walruses of Round Island, Alaska

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Pacific Walrus basking on the rocky shore of Round Island, Alaska

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As we perched on a rocky headland above Bristol Bay, two Pacific Walruses sparred in the shallow water below, their jabbing tusks gleaming in the late afternoon sun.  Clouds of spray splashed up from the roiling waters in a battle for dominance.  And these were just two males among a hundred or so around this sheltered stony beach, with perhaps six hundred resting and swimming on the fringes of Round Island on this early July day in bright Alaskan sunshine.

Our trip to see Walruses began several days earlier.  We approached Round Island on July 5th, after an early morning boat trip from Togiak, a Yup’ik Eskimo village at the mouth of the Togiak River.  Round Island, part of Alaska’s Walrus Islands State Game Sanctuary, lies about 40 miles offshore, and is accessible only by a small charter boat.  As we drew closer to the island, Paul Markoff, the Captain and charter operator, cut the big engine to a murmur and asked me to stop using my camera flash, so as not to disturb the dozen Walruses basking atop Flat Rock.  Alaska Fish & Game seasonal employee Stephanie Sell stood at the rocky base of the cliff, garbed in tall rubber boots and a bright squall parka, ready to help us transfer our gear and give us an island orientation.  The boat departed, and Stephanie duly recorded in her field notes that several Walruses had been spooked off the rock by our arrival.

You wouldn’t think that 4,000 lb. creatures would be scared by a small boat, but Walruses are extraordinarily sensitive to the sound of motors.  Even a small plane, flying too low, can cause a panic, with hundreds of the immense creatures fleeing the land for the safety of the sea–a panic that can result in trampling and death much like a shouted threat of fire in a crowded theater.  That is why the regulations are so strict.

We climbed the steep stairs and said our brief goodbye to the arrival beach, which would be off limits to us until our departure.  Stephanie showed us around the camping area, which has half-a-dozen or so tent platforms, which sit atop

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From the camping area: Walruses basking on Flat Rock, with Dragon’s Tail distant, and hundreds more Walruses were resting on the beach below Dragon’s Tail

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archaeological digs of campsites that were used seasonally for 6,000 years.  The archaelogist figured that the safest way to ensure the long-term conservation of these sites was to cover them up with the platforms.  We expected to see or hear ghosts of old Eskimos in the middle of the night, but our sleep was sound on this island that lacks Brown Bears and other nightmares.

We next checked out the cooking tent, which provided a good place to get out of rain and wind.  It also had a propane stove, which was important since we could not bring a backpacking stove and fuel on our plane rides.  There was a big bin for food storage, to keep the island’s Red Foxes from gaining access to human food.  Water was available nearby from a tiny stream, but it had to be filtered or otherwise treated.

Next, Stephanie showed us the sanctuary office, which was headquarters for the three staff, who stay on the island from May to mid-August, when the weather starts to deteriorate.  A generator and solar power provided enough electricity for the staff to have a bit of power to fuel the radios and a computer that are the only means of contacting the mainland.  Stephanie taught us how to use the radios and Iridium satellite phone, in case of a serious emergency (a heart attack qualifies, but not a sprained ankle), if staff was not available.

After the briefing, we were on our own with a list of wildlife-watching rules echoing in our heads.  The island has a trail system that leads to a series of overlooks, where we could see Walruses, Stellar’s Sea Lions, Horned Puffins, Parakeet Auklets, and other seabirds.  After setting up our tent, we immediately assembled our photo gear and crept up to a viewpoint about 100 feet away, where we had a

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Round Island Sanctuary office, with old bones from a Walrus that was part of a 1970s-era research project

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wonderful close view of Horned Puffins and Tufted Puffins perched on a lichen-covered rock in the afternoon sunshine.  This made a fine start to our wildlife watching and photography.

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Horned Puffin in breeding plumage near our campsite

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After watching the puffins for a time, we crouch-walked away from the overlook, and began a hike toward one end of the island, where there is a rock formation that looks like a jagged spine leading far out into the ocean.  The staff calls this formation the “Dragon’s Tail,” an appropriate name for what looks like a scaly tail emerging from the depths.  At the end of the trail, we kneeled at an overlook where we looked down upon hundreds more Walruses, basking along the Dragon’s Tail beaches.  Closer, we had an intimate view of sheer cliff faces, alive with the shrill cries of hundreds of Black-legged Kittiwakes, some in flight and others perched on precarious nests clinging to the cliff face.  Common Murres occupied nearby ledges, attempting to guard their big blue eggs against marauding Common Ravens.

We have a lot of patience for watching wildlife, so the hours flew by on our first day, as we thrilled to the sight of walruses just 100 feet away.  We finally got hungry, and hiked to the cook tent to make our dinner.  We eat simply when we’re in the field, so it was a dehydrated Backpacker’s Pantry brand dinner of Jamaican BBQ Chicken.  Pretty good, at that.  But  the island’s only other guests, a pair of guys from Manhattan, had more sophisticated tastes; they prepared an elaborate meal of fresh vegetables and morel mushrooms that had the aroma of a fine restaurant (undoubtedly the taste as well, but we’ll never know, since it was their dinner).

After dinner, we walked back to an overlook and enjoyed the view of puffins and Parakeet Auklets and Walruses loudly exhaling as they surfaced offshore.  By now, it was 11:00 pm, but the sun had not yet set.  We were tired, so we retired to the tent

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Walrus exhaling after a deep dive, pale from the cold of the ocean depths

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for a blissful sleep in a night that never really got dark.  We drifted off to dream, with a sound track of Kittiwake cries and Walrus’s sharply exhaling.

In the morning, we decided to climb to the top of the island, after the Manhattan guys described the wonderful views out over Bristol Bay.  We stopped at the sanctuary office, picked up a map and a radio (in case of an emergency), then proceeded to begin the hike and climb.  Since there is no trail to the top, we relied

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The high dome of Round Island rises nearly 1500 feet above sea level, and is a steep, hard hike.  The camp outhouse, in the foreground, is secured with steel cables so that it won’t blow over in the high winds.

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on a description of where to make the climb so that we wouldn’t encounter dead-end cliffs.  It was steep, as we knew  from looking at the high dome of an island towering above our camp.  We trudged over low willow thickets, and around the highest trees on this tundra-clad island–which were a few willows about eight feet tall.  As the pitch grew steeper, our calves burned, but we eventually summited.  The island rises nearly 1,500 feet above sea level and gives a panoramic view of the bay, the distant mainland, and the sparkling blue Bering Sea.

On our way up, we were struck by the beautiful wildflowers everywhere.  Since there are no grazing animals on the island, vegetation is abundant and lush for the subarctic tundra.  There were yellow Alaska Poppies, deep blue Monkshood, dark

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Alaska Harebell on the left, with Chocolate Lily on the right

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Alaska Poppies added delicate yellow petals to the tundra landscape.

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Stunning Wild Geraniums bloomed along the headlands of Round Island.

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brownish purple Chocolate Lilies, vivid purple Violets, lavender/rose Dwarf Fireweed, delicate Spring Beauty and scores of other species at their peak of bloom.  Cloudberry and Nagoonberry trailed along the ground, offering the promise of delicious fruits if we could stay long enough on the island.  There was even Lady Fern, a species we used to cultivate at our home in upstate New York.

We walked along Red Fox trails on the high, relatively flat summit, passing several dens.  We were disappointed not to see any Red Foxes here or anywhere else on the island, though there is supposed to be a population of about 30 foxes.  They were undoubtedly watching us, but predators can remain hidden if they wish.  The Red Foxes, as well as the other major predator, Common Ravens, make their living largely by eating seabirds and their eggs, at least during the long nesting season.  One predator, not previously known on the island, was discovered this year.  Diane Calamar Okonek, the sanctuary manager, discovered a Weasel foraging along the shore.  The winters must be hard on the predators after the fat summers teeming with life, but there are Lemmings on the island that would make a good winter dinner.

While watching Walruses from one overlook, we saw a Common Raven fly in with a bloody red mass that was almost certainly a chick, perhaps from a puffin or murre.  The raven layed it on the ground, then proceeded to pick up stone after stone, which it laid on top of the dead bird; then it ripped off some grasses and wildflowers, and laid those on top.  It was either an elaborate burial ceremony or the caching of food for later use.  We suspect the latter.  This is the fat time of year for predators, and we had watched ravens snatching a lot of eggs from the 250,000 nesting birds on the island, so a little bit of saving for a rainy day was a good raven survival strategy.

From the far end of the island, we had a spectacular view down over Dragon’s Tail.  Perhaps 300 Walruses were huddled together in several groups strung out along the beaches of Dragon’s Tail.  We observed the spine of this rock formation leading

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Walruses resting on the haul-outs along the beaches of the Dragon’s Tail rock formation: in some years there would be thousands on these beaches (instead of the hundreds shown here)

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hundreds of yards out into Bristol Bay.  Also from the summit of Round Island, we got to see the exceedingly steep other side of the island.  Rock outcrops, looking like castles, broke the steep slope and were circled by Black-legged Kittiwakes, calling with a sound that reminded me of children crying.

Round Island is a rich sensory experience.  The scent of salt air mingles with the intense smells of thousands of nesting seabirds and resting Walruses.  Seabirds fly everywhere overhead, crying out ceaselessly.  On the way down from the summit, we heard a Hermit Thrush making its elegant song from the willow thickets; this was a sound we did not expect, since we are used to hearing these thrushes in the ancient forests of our Pacific Northwest wilderness.  Golden-crowned Sparrows called mournfully from perches; Savanna Sparrows chipped constantly from atop the dried umbels of Cow Parsnip and Wild Celery.

That night, a strong wind rose, flapping the tent vigorously and reminding us why the sanctuary guidelines strongly suggest bringing a four-season tent.  Weather is often a concern here, with high winds and drenching rains during the summer.  In fact, one visitor wrote in the logbook:  “Now it’s raining, wet, and very, very, windy.  Our outhouse blew over last night.” That’s not likely to happen again, because the outhouse and the headquarters buildings are each held down by steel cables that stretch over the roof and are securely anchored in the ground.  The winds can keep small charter boats from making the trip out to the island; in fact, campers are told to

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Strong winds turned the tall grasses and our tent into a motion picture.

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have a week’s extra supply of food in case of a prolonged storm.  We heard of a pair of German photographers who were stuck in Dillingham for ten days, trying to get to the island.  They ran out of time and were never able to make the voyage out.  For this reason, we built in a couple of extra days at the beginning and end of the trip, so that we would have some flexibility.

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Trail along the headlands on a windy day..

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The winds were strong for the next two days, but no rains came.  Wildflower and small bird photography became impossible, but we were able to concentrate on photographing the Walruses and Steller Sea Lions during this unsettled period.  Prior to our coming, there had been an intense storm that crashed huge waves along the island’s beaches, ruining the quiet basking that the Walruses prefer.  So the Walruses went to Plan B, and sailed out to sea for a period of diving and feeding.  During our visit, the big mammals were gradually returning.  By the third day of our trip, they had returned to another cove that gave us some wonderful new views from the low headlands.

There were perhaps 600 Walruses on the island by the end of our visit.  This compares with some years in the not-so-distant past when there were 10,000 Walruses on Round Island.  Biologists are not sure why there has been a change,

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Walrus resting among the voluptuous rocks along the shore.

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but one possible reason is that they may have temporarily depleted the food supply near the island.  Walruses dive for clams, and that is their primary food source.  When that food source is depleted, the big mammals can shift to other haul-outs during the summer where nearby food is more plentiful.  I decided to write a separate weblog entry about Walrus biology, because I wanted to say so much that there wasn’t room here.  Go to: https://leerentz.wordpress.com/2009/09/08/i-am-the-walrus/

There is another big marine mammal that claims a separate beach at Round Island.  The Steller Sea Lion haul-out is found at the opposite end of the island from the Walruses.  We hiked out to a high overlook, which gave us a bird’s eye view of

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Polygamous Steller Sea Lion male with a few of his favored females.

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these graceful creatures.  Actually, the females and young are sleek and graceful, but the hulking males are corpulent and demanding lords over their territory, reminding me for all the world of Jabba the Hutt in one of the original Star Wars movies.  We watched one male surrounded by a gaggle of beautiful females.  Apparently, these are not like an Elk harem, in which the male jealously guards his polygamous family.  Instead, the huge male sets up a territory, from which females are free to come and go.  But his presence provides genes for the lovely ladies and protection for their young.

While watching the Steller Sea Lions, a group of about 20 females swam together at the base of the cliffs in what seemed to be synchronous swimming.  They were so graceful that they should probably try out for the summer Olympics.  Despite the apparently thriving Round Island population, numbers of Stellar Sea Lions have dropped precipitously in the Aleutian Islands–so much so that they are now officially listed as an Endangered Species.  We watched Stephanie Sell intently counting the Sea Lions on a mechanical clicker; her job was to count them three times to try and get an accurate census.

In the cook tent, there was a poster showing a colorful moth, with a request that should we find one, we catch it and bring it to the staff.  The moth, known by its scientific name of Artica opulenta, is found elsewhere, but the Round Island population has a unique color pattern.  Lo and behold, we found one in the trail about 150 yards from the headquarters building.  It was a stunner–with striking black & white patterned wings and a body of vivid reddish-orange and black.  I captured it in my hand and carried it to the office, where we interrupted the staff’s wonderful-smelling curry dinner.  Diane, the sanctuary manager, was ecstatic at our find.  After duly photographing it, she and Stephanie put it into the “nighty night” jar where it would enter perpetual sleep, and eventually join a national collection of arctic moths and butterflies.

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A big male, pale after a long session of cold, deep sea diving.

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Diane, with her husband Brian, have been stationed at Round Island each summer for many years.  They are dedicated to ensuring the safety of all creatures on the island (with the possible exception of our moth, but science trumps preservation in that instance).  The sanctuary is tightly run, with counts of Walruses and nesting seabirds done on a regular basis so that population trends can be monitored.

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Staff members Diane Calamar Okonek, sanctuary manager, on the left and Stephanie Sell counting sea lions on the right

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Visitors to the island are also tightly monitored; except for the trek to the summit, we were confined to the trail system and overlooks.  That worked out well, even for us photographers, since the overlooks are located in the best places.

As a serious photographer, taking good photographs on the island was my highest priority, and Karen always wants to record vivid visual memories of a trip.  Since this was a special trip, Karen brought a high-definition video camera, and I brought a full-frame digital SLR.  I also brought enough memory cards so I could take about 2,000 pictures in the RAW format, which gives me more flexibility in exposures.  I brought a 500mm lens with a 1.4x extender, a 70-200mm zoom lens, a 100mm macro lens, a 24-105mm all-purpose zoom for landscapes, and a graphite tripod.  I did not bring a computer for downloading the images because of battery issues, but that ended up being OK because it gave me more time to concentrate on the wildlife rather than the computer.  Lord knows I spend way too many hours in front of the computer as it is.

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Dramatic puffy clouds above the tundra summit of Round Island.

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Now, for some important trip details.  The weather was warmer than we expected, so our winter-weight sleeping bags were overkill. During some periods on the island the heavy bags would feel just right.  Camping on the island is allowed from sometime in May until sometime in August, when staff leave for the year.  July, when we visited, is supposed to have the best, most consistent, weather.  Mosquitoes?  Most of the time, with the constant breezes, they were not a problem.  On our last day, there was virtually no wind at all, so we were bitten a few times.  On the other hand, at what other time in our lives will we be able to say that we shared blood and DNA with a Horned Puffin?

In the cook tent there is a small library of articles about Round Island, which made for wonderful reading while drinking my morning coffee.  There is also a logbook where visitors can sum up their experiences; here are a few of the entries from recent years:

“We are on our honeymoon, and Round Island is a place we have dreamed about going to for a long time.”

“We weathered 3 nights in Togiak and may have 3 more here past our departure date, but the one day here yesterday–full of sunshine–is well worth it.”

“For days I had been hearing a sound like a string instrument and I assumed it was the wind in the cliffs, or that I was imagining the sound. Diane told me that the walrus make the sound; it is one of the most amazing noises I’ve ever heard, and who would think such a noise would come from a walrus?”

“The weather increased our stay by two days …”

“Arrived on beautiful calm seas after two days of high wind that kept us in Togiak.”

“Where else but Round Island can you sit in the outhouse and watch walrus swim by?”

“Falling asleep to the sound of walruses swimming by below my tent site is something I will never forget.”

“Truly the trip of a lifetime …”

On our last morning on the island, a parade of Walruses swam by below our tent, just a few feet from shore on the high tide.  They were making their musical chorus of sounds:  bell-like sounds when their air sacs are inflated; sharp train whistle

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Walrus loudly exhaling as it passes by our tent site.

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toots; and their Bronx cheer of bubbling breaths upon surfacing.  Not only that, but some were swimming peaceably side-by-side, rather than jabbing at each other with fierce tusks in their more normal displays of dominance.  We think they were saying an affectionate “goodbye” to us.

Diane came to our tent that morning and said that we had sure gotten lucky.  I hoped she meant that charter Captain Paul Markoff couldn’t make it and that we could spend an extra day on the island, but, no, she merely meant that the weather had been particularly fine during our visit.  So, we reluctantly packed up our tent and the rest of our gear, and prepared to meet Paul at the cove.

This trip is now a wonderful memory of one of the high points in our lives.  We would love to go back to Round Island, for more days drinking in the rich nature of that spectacular place, where we could again enjoy watching the planet’s distant inhabitants as they experience the daily rhythms of their lives.

If you are curious about Round Island, and want to see about getting a five-day camping permit for the island, go to this website: http://www.wildlife.alaska.gov/index.cfm?adfg=refuge.rnd_is This will give you the necessary information to begin planning one of those trips of a lifetime.  Paul Markoff, the owner of Togiak Outfitters, can be reached through the information on this web page: http://www.visitbristolbay.org/togiakoutfitters/

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Sadly leaving Round Island on a beautiful, calm morning on Bristol Bay

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Walrus haul-out at Second Beach.

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.Walruses move on land by using their flippers

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Pale male Walrus, cold and whitish because its blood retreats to the body core, coming to land after time spent diving for clams in the cold ocean bottom

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Male Walruses fighting for dominance in Bristol Bay, just off the Round Island cliffs

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The Round Island headlands shelter a quarter million nesting seabirds

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To view the three other weblog stories from our trip to Round Island, go to:

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I am the Walrus

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4th of July in an Eskimo Village

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Puffins and Auklets and Murres, Oh My!

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Go to LeeRentz.com to view the range of work by Lee Rentz. Work is available as metal or archival paper prints, and most are available for licensing for websites, magazines, and books.

I Am the Walrus

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I am the Walrus, or at least the best looking Walrus, on Round Island

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You strange two-legged creature:  I’ve seen you watching us from that high overlook, and as long as you stay right there I’ll tell you a bit about myself, since you are so curious and you’re probably going to stay there unless I reveal a bit about me and hundreds of my closest friends.  Just wait a minute while I jab my neighbor with my ivories for no particular reason.

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We like to give each other the evil eye and threaten each other with our favorite weapons–our gleaming white ivory tusks!

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Yes, my ivory tusks are long, and they are closely related to your puny canine teeth.  Those of us who believe in evolution–and that’s surprisingly few among us Walruses–think that we had a distant bear-like ancestor who decided that swimming and diving for clams wasn’t such a bad way to live.  In fact, I can’t imagine any better way to live than mucking around the murky ocean bottom, 200 feet down, probing in the dark for clams hiding in the mud.

Did you know that all of us here at Round Island are males?  Yes, I suppose you had guessed that by the tough guys surrounding me right now, several of whom

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Hundreds of us gathered on the shore of Dragon’s Tail, on Round Island.

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are giving me the evil eye.  “Back at you, one tusk!”  The testosterone is thick here, but with my 4,000 lbs. and 36″ tusks I can fight ANYONE on the beach and win.  At least I think so.  And I’ve got some major league scars to prove it.  But even I am reluctant to tangle with Orcas and Polar Bears.

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See all these big bumps on my neck and shoulders?  Only we males have them, and they develop in our maturing years, kind of like your teenage boys get a big Adam’s apple and whiskers.  In contrast, our ladies have shoulders as smooth as silk–or at least smooth as thick leather.  We males call our bumps “bosses;” remember that term for your hardest crossword puzzles!

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There is a time to rest, and a time to fight (I think it says so in Ecclesiastes).

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Here comes a big pale male named “Ghost” emerging from the ocean.  He looks like an albino, but really he is just cold from spending so much time in the ocean depths, and the blood retreated to the core of his body to keep his heart warm.

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Ghost is a pale male who just spent the morning groping around the dark sea floor

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Did I mention that we have warm hearts?  When he climbs up here and snuggles close to the rest of us, he will warm up and turn to a bright cinnamon color as his blood rises to the skin.  Much more attractive, don’t you think?  Human, how come you’re so pale?

When the guys get together each summer, we make a lot of noise.  With the ladies up in the arctic this summer, we can belch and burp and sneeze and snuffle and splash and pass gas to our heart’s content, and nobody’s around to turn up their disgusted noses at us.  But we can make some sweet sounds too.  When I was in the ocean this morning, I inflated the air sacs around my neck–they’re kind of like the life vests that I’ve seen on your boats–and began practicing the song I am going to sing when we get together with the ladies again.

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I sing sweet songs using my inflated pharyngeal sac (my very own life preserver)

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Oh, you heard it?  What did you think?  Some of us think it sounds kind of like bells, but I prefer thinking of it as a sweet violin song.  I bet you didn’t think a big, fat, old guy like me could play a violin ever so sweetly, but there you go.  Another mystery for you to contemplate.  And you think you humans know everything!

I like seafood of all sorts, but especially clams.  My buddies can tell you that I’ve eaten 6,000 clams in one morning!  That was a personal best, but I also like sea cucumbers and crabs and shrimp.  Some of my buddies like to catch and eat seals, but that seems like too much work; plus, it’s a bit too much like cannibalism, don’t you think?

You live up there on rock while I spend most of my time in the deep ocean, where it’s dark and cold.  Yeah, I’ve got nearly four inches of  blubber to keep me warm.  Human, I don’t mean any disrespect, but you are carrying quite a bit of blubber too.  What’s your excuse?

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I awoke with a headache after a long nap

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Speaking of you, human, I see you have a beard that is showing a bit of white.  Kind of like my whiskers, is it?  No?  Well, my whiskers are actually connected by nerves and muscles to my brain, so I can use them to “feel” the gravel bottom of the ocean.  With my little eyes up pretty far on my head, they are of no use 200′ down at the bottom of the Bering Sea.  So I use my whiskers–actually I call them vibrissae–to help me gather food by touch.

They are the most sensitive part of my body, with one exception, hey, hey, if you know what I mean!  Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you; I think I’ve been spending way too much time with the guys.

You’re probably wondering why all of us guys like to snuggle together on the beach, when we don’t even like each other all that much.  On a cold day, it helps keep us warm and it gives us a lot of eyes and ears and noses to look for trouble.  The downside is all these bloody patches on my shoulders where I’ve been stabbed by young toughs.  That’s not to say I don’t get in a few jabs of my own; when I raise my head with these fierce tusks and sharp glare, most of my lessers will back off pretty fast.  My biggest nightmare is losing one of these tusks in battle; that would be so humiliating!  Talk about a blow to a guy’s ego!

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One of the saddest experiences you’ll ever know is losing a tusk.

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My tusks are useful for other tasks that you might not know about.  During the winter, I can come up over the edge of floating ice and sink my ivories into the ice like one of your ice axes; with that grip I can then raise my whole body up over the edge.  Some of your kind, I think they were called “Eskimos,” used to call us “tooth walkers” after seeing what we could do with these babies.

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Resting with my peer group on Flat Rock (though, in reality, I am peerless).

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Did you know that I have tiny toenails on my flippers?

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Do I miss the women and children?  Well, sort of, but we said our goodbyes shortly after mating and that’s all right by me.  She can raise the kid all on her own and I would just get in the way.  Isn’t that how a lot of you humans live?  Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize that was such a sensitive subject …

I’m getting kind of warm laying out here in the hot July sun, so if you don’t mind, I’m just going to roll off this rock and into the ocean.  Watch the big splash!

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See ya later, gator!..

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Oh, and why don’t you come and visit me next winter!  I’ll be on an ice flow several hundred miles from here, and you can take a combination dogsled and boat tour.  Just ask around if you have trouble finding me:  my Walrus name is Goo Goo G’Joob.  Everyone knows me by reputation.  Meanwhile, let me say goodbye to you with my favorite bubbly Bronx cheer.

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I bet you wish you could hear me right about now!..

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Bye now!..

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To view three other weblog stories of our Round Island trip, go to:

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4th of July in an Eskimo Village

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Puffins and Auklets and Murres, Oh My!

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Experiencing the Walruses of Round Island, Alaska

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To see my web site, which includes photographic prints for sale, please go to LeeRentz.com

To see thousands of my photographs in large file sizes for use in magazines or other printed materials or electronic media, go to myPhotoShelter Website

4th of July in an Eskimo Village

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Pilot at the Piper’s controls during the short hop across taiga and tundra from Dillingham to Togiak, in which Karen and I were the only passengers

A bumpy 70 mile plane ride from Dillingham to Togiak, Alaska, took us over Black Spruce taiga, which soon gave way to pond-splattered tundra and rugged hills.  We were the only two passengers on the long-in-service PenAir Piper; when Karen asked if we could take pictures in the air, the pilot joked “as long as I’m not doing anything illegal!”

From the air we photographed the meandering rivers and beautiful green tundra landscapes, with ponds speckled by lily pads.  Looking down, I saw a Brown Bear digging in the earth, going after Arctic Ground Squirrels or favorite roots.  As we approached the coast, we sailed over the village

of Twin Hills and took in the view over Bristol Bay and out to the Bering Sea.  The village of Togiak, huddled along the coast below, was our destination.

Aerial view of the Togiak River Delta where it enters Bristol Bay

The Yup’ik Eskimo village of Togiak is strung along Bristol Bay

Togiak was to be the staging area for our trip to Round Island, a Pacific Walrus sanctuary in Bristol Bay off the Alaskan coast, which is accessible only by a chartered boat.  Many Round Island visitors spend numerous days in Togiak, because frequent high winds make the journey impossible in a small craft.  In fact, a couple of men from Manhattan, who shared the island experience with us, had an extra wind day added to both the beginning and end of their trip.

After landing in a cloud of dust on the gravel airstrip, we climbed down the wing to the ground, then dumped our duffels into the open back of a late-model red Dodge pickup.  The native driver asked where we were going; when we said Esther’s B and B, he knew exactly where to take us, which was only a few blocks away.

Actually, there were a few other cars and trucks in this village, which stretches for maybe a mile along Bristol Bay, and we counted three school buses.  But mostly people got around town by four-wheel ATVs, and by snow machines during the long winter.  This town, like most along the coast, is isolated, with no roads connecting it to other Alaskan settlements.  Supplies are brought in by air and by ocean-going barges.

Over 90% of residents are Eskimos; their lives are a blend of traditional subsistence and modern conveniences.  There were brilliant red Sockeye Salmon drying on racks in the warm sunshine, with delicious belly strips of salmon curing in a smokehouse, while satellite dishes beamed in Nickelodeon and the daily soaps to appreciative young and old audiences.  Walrus and seals are shot for food each autumn, but there is also a well-lit supermarket with fresh produce and plenty of junk food.  By the way, when we asked Esther what Walrus tastes like, she said it looked like dark beef but tasted like clams!

This Yup’ik Eskimo village has been in the general location for at least 2,000 years; the earliest dwellings were long ago replaced with an assortment of several hundred weathered houses, stores, and service buildings.  According to the 2000 census, 809 people live in the village.  Based on the number of young Eskimo children and pregnant women we saw, the next census will see a substantial jump.  The median age in town is a very young 23.

Bristol Bay and the Togiak River are famous for their fisheries.  Paul Markoff, our charter boat operator (http://www.visitbristolbay.org/togiakoutfitters/)pointed out the cannery across the bay from the village.  During our visit, many of the village’s men and boys were out in the bay fishing; some of the catch is for themselves; most is wholesaled to Togiak Fisheries, the local fish processor.  Paul pointed out that much of this is sold in Costco stores around America. The Togiak River sports runs of Sockeye, Chinook, Silver, Pink, and Chum Salmon, and is the destination of sport fishermen who fly in to several fishing resorts.

Since we were visiting on Independence Day, there were special celebrations going on.  We went to the beach bonfire, which was hosted by the cannery and attended by scores of local children, who toasted marshmallows over the flames and smushed them into a graham cracker sandwich with a chocolate bar.  Mmmmm.  Actually, we’re a bit old to enjoy s’mores, but we enjoyed watching the cute Eskimo kids having a good time.  Several little girls were piling gravel into the bottom of their shirts, folding the cloth over, and pretending they were pregnant.  One girl asked us why we were wearing our down jackets; after all, it was a warm summer evening.  I guess Eskimos have a different tolerance toward cold!

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Yup’ik Eskimo women and children enjoying a 4th of July bonfire on the beach

Speaking of cold, Paul Markoff said that the winters get to be really long.  The bay in front of town freezes completely, and even part of Bristol Bay freezes over, as temperatures sometimes drop to -40°F.  The dusk of winter daytime last four or five hours, and this is a time to hunker down and dream of spring.  But, since the people have snow machines, they can also take long trips in the winter.  Paul spoke of people who made the overland trek to Dillingham on their machines.  Togiak, like many native villages, is a dry town, with no alcohol to be in the possession of anyone at any time.  Marijuana is another matter, with weed being the drug of choice by some of the village folk (as it is throughout much of Alaska).

Later on the 4th, there were to be traditional fireworks over the town, but we were too tired to partake.  Besides, fireworks at midnight during the perpetual light twilight of an Alaska summer night is not quite the same as seeing them against a dark sky.  Eskimos are patriotic Americans, with a tradition of proud service in wartime.  Interestingly, Yup’ik Eskimos also live across the Bering Sea–in Russian Siberia.  The old tribal roots don’t fit so neatly into the politics and allegiances of the modern world.

Upon our return from Round Island, Paul Markoff took us on an ATV tour of town.  We visited his family’s salmon drying and smoking racks, and went into the house of an elder craftsman, Willie Wassillie,who made art objects from Walrus tusk ivory.  We looked at his wonderful carvings, and selected a miniature Walrus to purchase.  He spoke little or no English, so his wife interpreted for us.  Meanwhile, we were interrupting her watching of Days of Our Lives, which was showing on the living room TV.  Traditional and contemporary America side by side in the home of a Yup’ik Eskimo.

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Willie Wassillie, a Togiak Eskimo and master craftsman in the medium of Walrus ivory.  Upon returning home, we were able to view several additional pieces of his work at http://alaskanativearts.org.  This Walrus ivory is taken from animals hunted sustainably and for subsistence.

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Fishing boat shares the beach with laundry sustainably drying

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A bicycle in Togiak gets less use than the modern ATVs that are used everywhere in this small village as the preferred way to get around

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Togiak is a dry village, with no alcohol allowed anywhere

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Karen Rentz taking an ATV tour of Togiak with Captain Paul Markoff.

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To view three other weblog stories of our Round Island trip, go to:

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I am the Walrus

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Puffins and Auklets and Murres, Oh My!

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Experiencing the Walruses of Round Island, Alaska

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