A Visit to the Top of the World in Barrow Alaska

They sat like silent sentinels on hummocks way out on the tundra – each seemingly with its own territories. As I gazed through a scope, I could see the scattered brown flecks of the Snowy Owl’s summer plumage.

The opportunity to see these wonderful birds was one of my motivations to visit the North Slope of Alaska – and I was not disappointed. I traveled to Barrow on an informal post tour with five other members of the Audubon Naturalist Society and our two guides.

As our plane began the descent into Barrow, I slowly grasped the fact that I was traveling 340 miles inside the Arctic Circle to the northern most occupied area in North America. Tiny lakes and ponds dotted the barren landscape, many still covered with snow and ice.

The chill jolted me as I descended the steps from the plane and crossed the tarmac to the tiny terminal jammed with passengers waiting for the return flight or friends and family greeting arrivals.

We pulled our bags across the dirt street to the King Eider Inn in hopeful anticipation that we would have the opportunity to see the motel’s namesake on one of the tundra ponds.

“Palagivil,” the sign said, “Welcome to the ancient village of Ukpiagvik (the Inupiat word for the village now called Barrow), the place where owls are hunted.”

We stopped our 4-wheel van next to the site of Barrow’s original settlement where a boardwalk wound around mounds that are the remnants of the original sod homes.

A sense of awe washed over us as we reached the bluff and looked out over the frozen shore of the Arctic Ocean. Large Glaucous Gulls slowly flapped over the shoreline ice that was starting to break up and had a web of tidal cracks. On the horizon, the pressure ridge ice resembled a low mountain range.

A Snow Bunting landed on a nearby mound and sang its finch-like song. Little did I realize at the time that this black and white bird would be the most prevalent avifauna of the town and nearby tundra.

We lunched at Pepe’s North of the Border, the northern-most Mexican restaurant in the world. Fran, the owner who resembled a gold rush saloon operator with her gold lame dress and dangling earrings, presented us with our certificate for the Arctic Circle Club.

After lunch, we headed out towards the fresh water lakes area. The tundra was alive and evidence of nesting birds became immediately apparent. Male Pectoral Sandpipers danced in the air, uttering their haunting display call as they glided back to a hummock. Lapland Longspurs sailed into the air, did a helicopter maneuver in place while singing their lark-like song, and then slowly glided down. Long-tailed Jaegers flew up, and then appeared to parachute down. American Golden Plovers puffed up their black chests and strutted on the tops of mounds. Red-necked and Red Phalaropes swam in the tundra ponds uttering their buzzy breeding calls.

On May 10, the sun set for the last time until early August. When we pulled the heavy shade over the window at bed time, it was fairly dark in the room; however, when the alarm went off at 5:15 for our early morning excursion, the sun had circled around the sky, shone at our room and seeped amply in around the edges of the shade.

As we headed out of the town, we passed the landfill. Since the town’s only access is by plane and the summer barge, disposing of trash of all kinds is a major problem. A row of dumpsters guided residents in their disposal, including one for whale blubber and carcasses.

We laughed as we drove by a whaling village where each whaling captain has a supply shack. A whaler with a sense of humor constructed a palm tree, complete with baleen fronds – the only tree in the Barrow area.

We stopped for photos along the Arctic Ocean.

A Ringed Seal rested on the shore ice, not too far from shore. While he initially appeared languid, he clearly was on constant alert. “He raises his head and peruses the area about every seven seconds,” Rob observed. While we did not have the opportunity to spot a Polar Bear, the Ringed Seal is its meal of choice.

After breakfast back at Pepe’s, we headed out to the tundra on Fresh Water Lake Road. Something caught our attention at the end of a small pond – a pair of Stellar’s Eiders was napping. We got out the scopes and climbed on a mound of ice to get a better view. As we watched, they raised their heads from time to time allowing us to see the male’s peachy chest and large black eye spot. Further down the road we stopped to check out a pair of loons and were thrilled to discover they were the red-throated species that only nests on Arctic ponds. Their necks were extended and as they turned, I was able to view their striking red throats.

“There is something just to the right of the pond,” Marta exclaimed. We re-directed the scopes to discover a King Eider. The large orange ‘knob’ on top of his slightly upturned bill is quite distinctive.

We purchased lunch supplies at the town’s supermarket where everything was double the price of goods at home, since all food supplies arrive by plane. As we were picnicking in the van along Gas Well Road, mark spotted a Parasitic Jaeger also enjoying lunch. Instead of a sandwich, he was munching on a Red Phalarope.

“There’s something in that pond we just passed,” I announced. “Back up so we can check it out.” It was a female Spectacled Eider. Now we had seen three eiders that nest on the arctic coastal plain near Barrow.

Adjacent to the pond, a Lemming, about the size of a Guinea Pig, scurried amongst the brown grass. When we looked closely, we could see its perfect burrow holes that appeared as if they had been made with a bulb planting tool. Its paths through the grass looked as though they had been flattened by a bicycle tire. I could also see the early signs of greening and was glad I had preceded the mosquitoes.

I heard a familiar sound and glanced up to see pair of Sandhill cranes fly by.

On our final early morning excursion, we watched as an Arctic Fox in partial molt wandered across the tundra about 100 yards from the road.

We ended our stay with a visit to the Inupiat Heritage Center to learn more about the people who have lived along the Arctic Ocean for thousands of years. The People of Whaling exhibit provided explanations of ancient and modern subsistence whaling. “My husband taught our sons to hunt whale,” an elder from Wainwight told me as we rested our legs together. “I was a bi-lingual teacher and my sons also know our language. Today the young people are not interested in the traditional ways. They are only interested in,” and she made the motions of someone playing a hand-held video game – a sad expression on her face.

After checking in our bags at the airport, we took one last drive along Fresh Water lake Road. A pair of Spectacled Eiders sat on the edge of a pond – the perfect ending to our three-day visit to the top of the world.

Birding the Interior of Alaska on the Denali Highway

The alpine tundra was spongy beneath my feet and rose up in clumps and mounds from the permafrost action. Occasionally I had to maneuver over or around dwarf birch bushes. I pulled the hood of my windbreaker over my fleece cap to block the chilly breeze against my neck. A thick fog was moving across the tundra. It was 7 a.m. and we were searching for longspurs that were preparing to nest.

One of the only accessible places to see Smith’s Longspurs in breeding plumage is near milepost 13 on the Denali Highway. Our trip leader Mark Garland, as well as Barbara Jean, had ventured out on the tundra first to scout the bird’s location, and then whispered into the two-way radio for us to join them.

Because my pace is slower, I envisioned the longspurs flushing as the others arrived ahead of me. However, Mark asked the rest of the group to wait a short distance away until we were all together. The longspurs seemed unperturbed as they busied themselves with scrounging in the grass.

Our first find was a male Lapland Longspur. As he foraged, he would pop up on a bush or tussock to scout his territory, which gave us great views. Lapland Longspurs occasionally wander through northeastern New Mexico in the winter, but they look like a drab sparrow. In its breeding plumage, the male is quite striking with his black face and chestnut nape.

As we watched, a male Smith’s Longspur appeared. It had a buffy-golden chest with black on its head. It is not a territorial or monogamous bird, and did not have the same behavior as the Lapland Longspurs. It was worth the early morning outing in the cold to be able to see this uncommon bird. Now that I had seen it, I could buy and proudly wear one of the Denali Highway Cabin’s t-shirts that sports a Smith’s Longspur on it.

As we tromped across the tundra, we kept stopping in amazement to examine the flowers that were beginning to push their heads through the permafrost. “These plants are adapted to take advantage of a short growing season,” Mark explained. “By mid-August, there may be snow again.” The alpine tundra plants tend to be matted against the ground to protect them from the wind and have dark colors to better absorb heat.

Our base of operations on the Denali Highway was the Denali Highway Cabins. Owner, Audubon (Audie) Bakewell IV, and one of the author’s of the Alaska Bird Finding Guide, went with us into the field one morning.

“There are only two routes across the Alaska Range,” Audie told us. “That goes for birds, as well as people,” he continued. “On June 10, yesterday,” he clarified for those of us who had lost track of the date, “the Arctic Warbler winged its way through Isabel Pass, the end of its journey that began in the Philippines where it spends the winter.”

In less than 24 hours, the male Arctic Warblers had staked out their territories and were busy displaying to protect those territories and attract a mate.

Above the tree line the lakes were in various stages of thaw, some still pretty much covered with ice.

Despite the cold, Orange-crowned, Wilson’s and Yellow Warblers, Golden-crowned and Fox Sparrows and Gray-cheeked and Hermit Thrushes were already active in the low willows. When I stood still, the air was filled with an orchestra of melodic bird song.

A variety of waterfowl swam languidly in the thawed ponds, including Long-tailed Ducks and Trumpeter Swans, as well as favorites that winter in New Mexico.

A Semi-palmated Plover had already laid her eggs – in the gravel on the wide of the road. We unknowingly pulled over near her nest. She tried to distract us by bobbing away from the nest area, then finally resorting to her injured wing routine. Other shorebirds nesting in the area included Whimbrel and Lesser Yellowlegs.

A Willow Ptarmigan, Alaska’s state bird, scurried off the road, weaving in and out of the bushes, as we drove by.

As we headed back to the cabins, we stopped to look at caribou grazing and a Golden Eagle on his perch atop a rocky outcropping.

That evening we donned rubber boots for a float trip along the Gulkana River. As we floated along, Audie and Jenny gave a running narrative on the geology and avifauna. A group of Harlequin Ducks scurried ahead of us, and then finally flew off. They were replaced by several Red-breasted Mergansers and Barrow’s Goldeneye.

“This river is fed by the Gulkana Glacier and is important to the life cycle of the Copper River Salmon,” Audie explained. The salmon lay their eggs in the gravel created by the glacial melt, which are then fertilized and protected by the males until both the male and female die. “When the salmon die, they make an ecological contribution to the soil of the river,” he added.

Several species of sandpipers also lay their eggs along the banks of the Gulkana. We saw them feeding all long the willow-lined banks as we floated along.

As we rounded the bend in the river that leads into Paxson Lake, three Arctic Terns were perched atop the bare branches of a dead spruce.

And, as we drifted into the lake two Trumpeter’s Swans swam languidly.

As I lay in the cabin that night, I pondered how lucky I was to visit the interior of Alaska, where few tourists venture.

Along the Glenn Highway at Sheep Mountain Lodge

I sat on the porch of cabin 5 at Sheep Mountain Lodge at milepost 113.5 on the Glenn Highway, a National Scenic Byway. It was sunny with moments of warmth between the cold gusts that had been blowing all day. The normal songs and chirps of warblers and sparrows were drowned out by the sound of the wind. Across the valley the mountains were iced with snow – in some places still solid, while in others the snow was more streaked, like glaze running off the sides of a cake. A ‘river’ of snow filled a narrow canyon. I was awed by the scenery. Suddenly, a Black-billed Magpie sailed over the willow bushes at the edge of the property. And I thought back over our stay at this beautiful location.

It was cold and clear on the first early morning walk on the cross-country ski trails behind the cabins. Cindy made sure we stopped to watch the Dall Sheep raising their young on the cliff face of the Talkeetna Range, which rises to 6,300 feet.

A large sign posted by the Alaska Department of Fish and Game provided information about Hawk Owls that frequently nest here in the Black Spruce trees. They perch atop the spruces during the day. We scoured the tree tops with no luck. Mark used his recorded Hawk Owl call – a loud hooting trill – to see if he could attract one’s attention. No Hawk Owl responded, but a number of passerines flew agitatedly into the trees and bushes near where we were standing in order to check things out. It was clear they had heard this sound before. Orange-crowned Warblers, Slate-colored Juncos and a Boreal Chickadee were prepared to ‘mob,’ or gang up on, the owl. We later learned that the owl population is subject to fluctuations and may at times be rare. No one was seeing Hawk Owls in eastern Alaska at this time.

As we descended the trail for breakfast, Mark shushed us and pointed to the top of a gnarly spruce. I was expecting a Hawk Owl; however, it was a Merlin sitting tall and dignified. It was the first time I had seen this falcon when it was not flying swiftly by.

After breakfast we drove five miles down the road, then off to the Trail Creek area along the Matanuska River. The terrain was very different from what I had pictured for Alaska,

and the low shrubs reminded me of the Shin Oak of eastern New Mexico. These bushes were alive with birds – Blackpoll Warbler, Fox and Tree Sparrows and Yellow and Wilson’s Warblers. Pussy Willows were starting to blossom.

Further down the road at milepost 123 we watched Barrow’s Goldeneye, Horned Grebe, Surf Scoter, Greater Scaup and Bufflehead. A Tundra Swan was lingering and hanging out with an American Wigeon, while a Trumpeter Swan was already sitting on its nest. It was easy to hear the call of the Alder Flycatcher that sounded like “free beer.”

“Look at these tracks,” Robb pointed out. “See how the hoof prints are shaped like a broken horseshoe. You can compare it with the hoof print of the moose over here. Their tracks are more elongated.”

On the following day, we drove to a more forested habitat along the Little Nelchina River, gray with glacial silt.

Adjacent to the parking area was a two-foot long ammonite fossil. As we walked through the woods, spongy with peat on the permafrost, we stopped to watch a Bald Eagle flying down river. Although we saw eagles every day, we never tired of them.

Each of our meals at the Sheep Mountain Lodge was a gourmet treat. On the first night, when the waitress asked me whether I wanted soup or salad, I presumed I would have to choose soup, since all I had seen in Alaska was iceberg lettuce. She laughed and answered “Never,” when I inquired whether the salad was made with iceberg. My dinner entrees included grilled salmon and seared scallops. It was hard to resist the desserts, especially the strawberry rhubarb pie.

After dinner the last evening, Zach Steer, 33 who owns the lodge with his wife Annjanette, regaled us with tales about experiences as a musher. He has completed both the Yukon Quest and the Iditarod. Zach came in 3rd this past winter, completing the approximately 1,200 mile Iditarod in 9days 7 hours 28 min. 12 sec. He told us about shipping dog food and supplies ahead of time to the various check points and the mandatory rest periods. Volunteer veterinarians check the animals along the way, provide care if needed and are authorized to pull a dog.

Zach owns 25 dogs, plus five he shares with a friend, including one that had just been born that morning. “The dogs rest at this time of year,” he told us. Even though we were wearing our fleece jackets, it was too hot for the dogs. He will start training runs of one to two miles in mid August. They will work up to fifty mile training races by winter. We had an opportunity to see the dogs in his kennels at the lodge.

The wind continued to blow the next morning as we headed for Glenallen. At Eureka Pass, elevation 3,322, the thermometer outside of the roadhouse read 38 degrees. I started having anxiety about Barrow, and then remembered I wasn’t wearing the two additional layers I brought for that part of the trip.

We were headed to the Copper River Valley.

Viewing Alaska’s Marine Wildlife off the Coast of Seward

“There are orcas breaching at our location,” came the call over the radio. I was sitting next to Dan Olson, our captain on the Misty during our Kenai Fjords boat cruise. The morning had started with a drizzle and the weather deteriorated as the day progressed. We were crossing 3 foot swells just beyond Resurrection Bay. I was glad I was wearing my acupressure bands and had taken 12-hour bonine as an added precaution. Dan circled back and headed near their other cruise boat’s location so we could see the whales.

I left my spot in the bridge, pulled on my rain hood and headed out on the deck to get a better view. During the next half hour we watched Orcas, or Killer Whales, that are really large dolphins and Humpbacks. When the black and white Orcas would hump high, we knew its next move would be to dive. As it lifted its tail flipper and slapped it against the water, we yelled, “Fluke.” The Humpback would hump, and then disappear when it dove. When it humped, we watched for the water spray from its spout. It was quite a show.

While it rained steadily, the seas were calmer in the morning. As we left the harbor, two Bald Eagles were perched on a tall buoy as if they were guarding the harbor entrance.

Before long, we began to see nesting sea birds. I was able to stand under an awning to observe Horned Puffins and Black-legged Kittiwakes flying in and out of their cliff-side nests and both Marbled and Kittlitz Murrelets swimming in small groups as the boat slowly cruised next to the islands. In order to get a good look at the Tufted Puffins and Red-faced Cormorants, we had to stand on the bow. I covered my binoculars with my hand to protect the lenses from getting wet, focused with my eyes, and then raised the binoculars to look. The objective end of the lenses kept fogging up and I had to wipe them off carefully. The puffins looked like windup toys when they flew, whereas the cormorants would fly straight out from the cliffs, their bodies straight, as if they had been shot from a bow.

“You can tell which puffin is flying by looking at their underside,” Mark pointed out. “The Horned Puffin has a white underside, while the Tufted Puffin’s underside is black.”

I was glad I had spent time visiting the Alaska SeaLife Center, a working research, rehabilitation and educational facility. In addition to perusing exhibits on marine ecosystems, I spent considerable time in the naturalistic exhibit where sea birds where swimming, mating, sitting on nests, and flying between rock perches. An eider seemed to enjoy sailing from his perch towards the visitors, only veering at the last moment, splashing us as he landed in the pool. We were able to stand close enough that we could have reached out and touched the birds. It was a wonderful opportunity to see each of their features clearly.

As the boat sidled up to one island, Harbor Seals were piled on top of each other as they rested on the rocks. When I looked closely, I could see seal pups nursing. Further on, we came up alongside Chiswell Island, containing a Steller Sea Lion rookery.

We had watched these 1,200 plus pound sea animals on the live streaming video in the Alaska SeaLife Center the previous afternoon. It was a thrill to see them up close. The video cameras, easily visible on the rocks, aid the SeaLife Center’s marine biologist researchers who are studying the endangered sea lions.

As we headed back to the Seward harbor area, a Sea Otter was floating contently. Andrea, the Misty’s co-captain and a marine biologist, explained that the thickness of the Sea Otter’s fur enables it to float, keeps it warm in the cold water and prevents its skin from getting wet.

While our trip was not treacherous, we empathized with the Russian governor, Baranov who traveled through bad weather to Alaska in 1792. When he entered the bay, the waters were calm and he knew he would be safe. Since it was Easter, he named the body of water Resurrection Bay. He felt its calm waters saved its life. We were out of the storm and the rain had slowed to a drizzle as we headed to the dock.

Sharing the sea with whales and sea birds was a thrilling experience.