160. WAHOO!! Made it…journey’s end at Prudhoe Bay

Friday, 31 May 2019

Coldfoot, Alaska, USA

Up early.

Excited.

This is it folks.

Fasten your seatbelts.

The final few miles.

To the end of the road.

And the Arctic Ocean in Prudhoe Bay.

This has been the objective for all those months of travelling.

Have missed breakfast. Breakfast starts at 0400hrs. That’s not breakfast. That’s a midnight feast.

Short drive to another hotel, the Deadhorse Camp Hotel. Glad I’m staying at the Aurora Hotel. About a dozen of us have paid to go on the Arctic Ocean shuttle bus. Which is meant to depart at 0830hrs. Having rushed around like a blue bottomed fly to get here on time, I hate it when others are then late. Sat waiting for 15mins for two that are late.

Bet they’re French. It’s always the French.

But no.

Two lads cycle towards us. It’s minus 3C with a minus 10C windchill and they’re cycling along with bare hands. Stupid fools. They’re to ride home to Boston. Apparently.

Arctic Ocean access necessitates driving into a restricted oil drilling area operated by BP. Pass through the security checkpoint. As with most security checkpoints, it’s job creation rather than any security. Shuttle bus driver is mates with security guard. A nod and a wave and we’re through.

Drive through the oil fields with drilling rigs, offices, site establishment, workshops, plant and machinery yards and laydown areas with pipe spools. Having worked in the oil & gas and petro-chem industries, I am in my element. This is interesting stuff.

And then.

There it is.

The end of the road.

Quite literally.

The Arctic Ocean beyond the barrier.

Driver tells us to watch out for polar bears. If he honks his horn three times we’re to immediately rush back to the bus. Means there’s a polar bear coming.

Erm.

WHAT?!

Polar bears. Oh great. Make it this far and get gobbled up by a polar bear.

Not one to get emotional, I am actually a bit choked when I walk down to the water’s edge, keeping an eye out for polar bears.

I can go no further.

This is it.

My end point.

The longest and most adventurous trip I’ve ever done.

All those months of planning. All those years of grafting long hours to fund this little jaunt. All those months of travelling each day. Apart from the Alaska car ferry being cancelled at the last minute, everything has, very surprisingly, gone according to plan.

I am, quite frankly, chuffed to bits.

At times like this, it does make you wonder if someone is looking down on you.

Of all the places, find that I have a strong 4G phone signal. The first in two days. A few WhatsApp video calls to friends is in order. They’re all sitting at home on a Friday night, it’s a nice warm spring evening it seems. But I can only hold the phone in my hands for a few minutes at a time as it’s so cold. Not wanting frost bite at this late stage, it’s a case of video call, plunge hands into trouser pockets to warm up, video call, plunge hands into trouser pockets. And repeat. It’s chuffing freezing.  None of them can hardly hear what I’m saying because the wind is howling around me. All they can see is a frozen friend, wrapped up in waterproof clothing, sexy pashmina (free to a good home at the end of this trip…ladies…anyone want it??) and woolly hat. Like charades, it’s a case of point at the ice floes on the Arctic Ocean and giving a thumbs up and an award winning smile. Thankfully they get it.

Told a few celebratory drinks were drunk on my behalf tonight in the UK, Germany and Brasil.

So, dear reader, I know this news is slightly delayed because of my tardiness in keeping up with blogs, in part due to lack of internet access, but feel free to raise a glass and join me in a little drink to celebrate.

WAHOO!

Made it!

Antarctica to Alaska. TICK!

Cheers!

Bus driver has given us an hour. That’s a bit optimistic. After 15mins we’re all seeking the warmth of the bus. Such is the windchill.

Back the way we came through the BP oilfield restricted area. Buildings are either built on the permafrost or on stilts. They’re built on stilts to enable air to circulate underneath which makes the permafrost remain frozen. Where they’re built on the permafrost, pipes are buried under the foundations and vented to atmosphere. This is a form of passive cooling. The vent pipes take the heat out of the ground and maintain the permafrost in its frozen state.

Told that the Brooks Camp has rather a good shop for souvenirs, make a quick detour and find the sign at the entrance denoting the end of the Dalton Highway.

Souvenirs bought. Postcards sent. You lucky few.

There’s no other reason to stay any longer than necessary in Deadhorse, so as one shepherd said to the other, “Let’s get the flock out of here.”

Only one way up and only one way down. Back along the Dalton Highway. The first 50 miles along the causeway is now quite slippery. A few earthscrapers are levelling the road and to suppress the dust, large water bowsers are spraying water along the road. The gravel is obviously on a dirt base and with the water combines to make a slippery surface.

I can assure you there were a few squeaky bum moments as the car drifted on the straight and the corners in the gravel/mud slush. With a steep, long drop down to the Arctic tundra below. Might have been rallying a bit too much.

See a cyclist heading north. He looks a bit frozen. He’s German. Cycling from Fairbanks to Prudhoe Bay. And I thought it was only mad dogs and Englishmen.

Enter the valley through the Brooks Mountain range. Have made good progress and thinking to myself I really don’t want a puncture after all this. The tyres are getting a real hammering on the washboard section followed by a heavily potholed section. At one point, hit a pothole that is bigger and deeper than anticipated.

There’s a loud bang from the suspension.

The sort that cricks your neck.

That was a heavy hit.

The sort that would puncture a tyre.

But there’s no deflation.

Phew.

Survived that one.

Thankfully.

Continue driving.

And then.

A few minutes later.

The tyre pressure indicator warning light illuminates on the dashboard.

Oh.

Clucking.

Bell.

That’s.

All.

I.

Chuffing.

Need.

Still north of the Brooks Mountain Range. Still have to cross the Atigun Pass at 4,800ft.

Sod it.

Resigned to having to change a wheel. Stop the car. Jump out. Inspect the deflated tyre.

But.

They’re all seemingly in good order. After giving each a kick.

No flat tyre.

Sod it.

Must be a slow puncture.

Right. Will continue on as far as possible. I know there’s a pipeline/highway maintenance workshop the other side of the Atigun Pass. They’ll be able to help if I can’t get the wheel nuts off.

Gingerly drive to the top of the Atigun Pass. A few miles further up the road. Stop for a tyre check. I mean giving them a kick. Nope. All inflated. Must be a slow puncture. But which one?

Down the other side, pull in at the workshop. Another tyre check. Have now driven about 10 miles. None of the tyres seem to be deflating. They all look fine. They all feel at pressure.

Hmmmm.

It’s about 70 miles to my overnight stop at Coldfoot Camp. Can I really be that lucky and make it there on the tyres?

Stop after another 20 miles. Tyres seem to be holding pressure.

Hmmmm.

Wonder if it could possibly be a sensor issue. It being knocked when the suspension grounded on the pothole.

35 miles from Coldfoot, at the junction for Dietrich, the gravel road transforms into silky smooth tarmac all the way back. Tyres feel fine. No change in steering.

Seeing a man walking with a trolley, stop to have a chat. Realise it’s the camper whose tent I saw yesterday on the way up to Deadhorse. He’s Matias Tartiere. A Brasilian walking the world over two and a half years. He started in Turkey and walked through Europe to Morocco. Then started at Prudhoe Bay and walking all the way down to Ushuaia, at the southern end of Argentina, and from where I’ve come from. From there he will then fly to Asia and walk all the way across Asia and down to Cape Town. Google ‘matias tartiere the walk around the world’ and you’ll see his trip.

And I thought I was doing a big trip.

Such is my confidence that the tyres are OK and it is a sensor issue, make a detour to Wiseman.

Founded at the turn of the 19^th century, Wiseman is a former gold mining settlement and a nice quirky little place. Couple of small accommodations, husky dog kennels can be seen as you enter. A reminder of life below zero. Very quiet and peaceful small village. Even has a grass strip runway with a solitary single engine light aircraft. Most of the houses appear to be old fashioned log cabins. It’s a great little place. Seeing a sign for local jewellery and crafts follow the road and meet up with Nikki, the jeweller. Invited inside her house she shares with husband Jack. Wow. What an interesting couple and an interesting place. For the first time, I get a feel for the real Alaska. Being in a real Alaskan home, with real Alaskan people. Made very welcome. Most ‘Alaskans’ I’ve met thus far are not from Alaska.

Shown some jewellery which is centred on locally shot coyotes. And the teeth thereof. Not convinced that my nieces would be prepared to go out dancing and romancing with a coyote tooth necklace, I purchase one myself as a souvenir.

Jack is cutting up moose steaks for dinner. Nikki shot the moose last November and the photos of it make you realise how big a moose really is. Jack has lived here since he was 13 years old and latterly used to operate hunting trips in the area. Now it’s all subsistence hunting and living off the land. A small vegetable patch has recently been planted for the crops to be harvested later in the year. A small trapdoor in the kitchen floor opens up to reveal a larder which remains at 2C to 8C because of the permafrost. The potatoes they’re having for dinner were harvested last year and stored.

Jack maintains the Wiseman museum. A small log cabin full of interesting local artefacts. It’s a fascinating place.

Wiseman is a bit of a find. Jack has also whet my appetite for an aurora trip next winter. Wiseman sits at 67deg North, which is directly beneath the high intensity aurora ring. The photos he shows me are stunning and he describes the magical moment when it was pitch black outside one winter when suddenly the aurora lit up the sky and the green glow reflected off the surrounding snow.

Sounds amazing.

Back at Coldfoot Camp again. Time for a celebratory beer. Am joined by two bikers, who remind me of the Hairy Bikers from BBC TV. They’re travelling up from Minnesota to Atigun Pass then back down to Las Vegas to meet their wives. Really enjoyable evening with a few beers to celebrate. Nice to be in company with similar views on life.

Thanks lads!

Great end to a great day.

One of life’s great days.

Of which there have been many on this trip.