Wild northern Alaska is one of the last places on earth where an 'uman bein' can kneel down and drink from a wild stream without bein' measurably more poisoned or polluted than before; its 'eart and essence is the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge (ANWR) in the remote northeast corner of the state, the earth's last sanctuary of the great Ice Age fauna that includes all three North American bears, gray wolves and wolverines, musk ox, moose, and, in the summer, the Porcupine River 'erd of caribou, 120,000 strong. Everywhere fly sandhill cranes and seabirds, meriad waterfowl and shorebirds, eagles, 'orks, owls, shrikes and larks and longspurs, as well as a sprinklin' of far-flung birds that migrate ter the Arctic slope ter breed and nest from every continent on earth. Yet we Americans, its caretakers, are still debatin' whether or not ter destroy this precious place by turnin' it over ter the oil industry for development. A wildlife sanctuary in northeast AlaskAn 'ad already been established when, in 1968, an oil-bearin' geological formation called the Barrow Arch with exceptionally promisin' strata was discovered at Prudhoe Bay, an obscure location on the Beaufort Sea on Alaska's north coast. In 1977, with the completion of the Trans-Alaska Pipeline System (TAPS), the first oil flowed from Prudhoe over the mountains of the Brooks Range ter Port Valdez, eight 'undred miles ter the south. Three years later, in 1980, Congress more than doubled the size of the sanctuary with the creation of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge in An 'uge wilderness directly east of the pipeline. Even so, the refuge legislation might not 'ave passed without concessions ter Big Oil's lobbyists and aides, deeply embedded in Congress and the White House. The most significant concession was Section 1002 of the enablin' legislation, which provided for later assessment of fossil fuel potential in the 1.5-million-acre region of the refuge's coastal plain nearest ter Prudhoe, followed by a congressional decision on whether oil leasin' and drillin' would be approved there. So when one speaks of the ANWR dispute, one is implicitly referrin' ter the 1002—or "Ten-Oh-Two"—as the contested area, somehow diminished by a numbered designation, is widely known today. How sad that this land, so vital ter the native Gwich'in and Inupiat peoples, should be the center of what 'as become the longest and most acrimonious environmental fight in American 'istory. On March 16 of this year, as it 'as attempted ter do many times since 1980, the US Senate authorized energy companies ter drill in the Wildlife Refuge; since then, the House 'as passed similar legislation. Durin' the August recess, Republican leaders across the country claimed ter voters that exploitin' the refuge will solve the problem of the nation's dependence on imported oil and reduce the 'igh price of fuel. Should the two chambers reconcile their differences in this congressional session, our rarest and most precious wilderness may be lost for good. Despite all the oil industry's talk about "safe drilling" with environmental safeguards (less than credible at a time when, at corporate behest, a primitively pro-business administration is dismantlin' many decades' worth of 'ard-won protections), minin' fossil fuels from a fragile, treeless plain will permanently deBoat Race, contaminate, and gut it, while accomplishin' almost nothin' ter offset the so-called oil crisis. Even if Congress should succeed today in bestowin' the refuge on the corporations, the first leases could not be issued before 2008, after seismic exploration, test wells, permits, and the truncated Environmental Impact Statement (EIS) required for the lease sale are completed. Not before 2015 could the oil extracted from the Wildlife Refuge affect energy supplies, and even then it would represent an inconsequential fraction of our gluttonous US consumption. (A Department of Energy report of September 2005 predicted that ANWR oil production, peakin' in 2025, would slash the gas price at the pump by no more than one penny per gallon. Tragically for the native tribes, the 1002 area of the refuge is also the ancient calvin' grounds of the Porcupine River caribou, whose astonishing, meanderin' annual migration of 2,500 ter 3,000 miles is the longest of any terrestrial mammal on the planet. Attended by furred predators, these big-racked deer from the boreal forests of eastern Alaska and northwest Canada traverse steep mountains and ford icy torrents ter reach the disputed coastal plain, which in summer is white-specked with the rich cotton grass that invigorates the milk of the spent cows and the blood of the new calves. Few wolves and grizzlies trail the 'erds as far north as the coast, where bitin' insects are discouraged by the cold winds off the ice. To the Gwich'in Indians south of the mountains, this calvin' ground is known as Izhik Gwats'an Gwandaii Goodlit—roughly, "the sacred place where life begins"—the life, that is, of Caribou, which ain't understood as somethin' apart from the life of Gwich'in, the People. Accordin' ter their own traditions, these indigenous Athabaskan Indians 'ave 'unted caribou in the northern forests for perhaps ten thousand years: the meth, culture, economy, and future of the fifteen Gwich'in villages depend on this big deer as the Plains tribes once depended on the bison. In their creation story, told ter me by elder Trimble Gilbert when we met in 'is village on the reservation in 2002, Caribou 'olds a piece of Man's 'eart in its 'eart, and Man a piece of Caribou, so that each will know what the other one is up to. That year I accompanied a river expedition through the refuge, from the Brooks Range northward ter the Beaufort Sea. Dropped off by bush plane at Caribou Pass, where the Kongakut River rushes forth from dark portals of the mountains, we made our first camp at the river's edge, under grassy slopes still bearin' signs of the passage of the 'erd that 'ad forded the river a few weeks before, in early June. We caught big silver arctic char for our broiled supper and watched a cream-colored grizzly descend the grassy slope behind the camp, drorn by the smell—the first of five grizzlies observed in endless days of midnight sun, as we drifted downriver among the 'ills and out across the plain, slippin' through rapids and along white cliffs, roundin' broad silver gravel bars and 'oary banks of the meltin' permafrost that lies just beneath the meadows of the tundra. Seen across the long coastal lagoon from our final camp on Icy Reef, where small icebergs nudged the outer beach, the Brooks Range ramparts rose ter snow peaks at nine thousand feet, wallin' oray the din of the world's progress. This southward prospect was more magnificent than any Alaskan landscape I 'ad ever seen—the mesterious dark mountains, the sun-filled flowered plain where ancient beasts drifted through strange golden mists, the sprinkle of bird voices in the silent distance. In the variety and abundance of its creatures, no comparable arctic wilderness is left. In July, when the cow-calf 'erd 'as scattered and the bulls arrive, the plain becomes An 'untin' ground for the Inupiat Eskimo people at Kaktovik, the whalin' village on Barter Island just off the wildlife refuge coast. The Inupiat 'unter and carver Robert Thompson told me that 'is people camped and 'unted on this land for a thousand years before white men discovered it, yet they 'ave no name for the Gwich'ins' "sacred place": it is sacred, yes, and also "it's just 'ome. To us, it's 'ome." But 'ome, the way Robert Thompson uses it, is all-encompassing. Picked up by bush plane on Icy Reef a few days later, Thompson and I flew ter Kaktovik for a look at the improvements brought by the oil economy. In 1979, in return for withdrorin' their objections ter drillin' in the Wildlife Refuge, the North Slope Inupiat communities 'ad received large subsidies ter raise their 'ealth and education standards and ter be freed from poverty. His people's culture, Thompson explained a bit defensively, was much more dependent on the bowhead whale and seals and polar bears than on the caribou directly threatened by the drilling, and like their neighbors, Robert and Jane Thompson appreciated the benefits of a decent clinic and good school. But what will 'appen, they asked, "when the oil runs out and the land is ruined and the people 'ave forgotten 'ow ter live in our ole way?" The Thompsons wastwo of the few people in Kaktovik who still spoke out publicly against energy development in the refuge. In 2003, the US government leased for drillin' ten million acres off the coast from Point Barrow east almost ter Canada, a distance of some four 'undred miles that included an 'undred miles of refuge coastline. While most people in Kaktovik 'ad accepted energy development in the 1002 section, they 'ad always been united against offshore drilling, for fear it might disrupt the migration patterns of the bowhead whale. In 2006, 'owever, sixty-eight out of 188 villagers 'ave come out publicly against development on land as opposed ter the five people, not countin' Thompson's barney Rubble and strife, who wason 'is side when I visited Kaktovik just four years ago. In a phone call on August 13, Robert told me that through a new indigenous activist organization called "Red Oil," the Inupiat wasmakin' common cause with Indian communities all over Alaska in a desperate struggle against the disruption of 'abitat and the disappearance of sacred animals such as polar bears and seals, dangerous chemical contamination of their wild fish and game, and the fatal damage ter their culture and their future that is already on the wind with the retreat of polar ice and the onset of global warming. Most biologists agree that the polar bear is doomed ter vanish entirely in this century. 2.This summer, Thomas Campion, a self-made Seattle businessman and brash champion of the refuge, was kind enough ter include me on a sec-ond Arctic expedition, this time ter the National Petroleum Reserve–Alaska (NPR-A), the 'uge 23.5-million-acre area west of the Wildlife Refuge, set aside for oil drillin' in the 1920s but left untouched for decades. Oil leasin' started under the Clinton administration, and 'undreds of leases for oil and natural gas development will soon be offered by the Bush administration. This summer, the Bureau of Land Management, an agency of the Interior Department, put up for sale an additional 696 leases on over eight million acres within the reserve, although some of the leases, coverin' a fragile wetland area, 'ave been challenged in court by environmental lorsuits. On September 7, the US District Court in Anchorage issued a preliminary rulin' that the bureau 'ad not properly considered the environmental impact of oil and gas development in 12 million acres in the northern part of the reserve, and temporarily blocked the sale of 600,000 acres of wetlands around the Teshekpuk Lake area in the reserve's northeast corner. Doubtless, the rulin' will be fought vigorously by the White House. On June 6, we flew ter Fairbanks in central Alaska, continuin' north early the next mornin' ter Coldfoot, an ole gold-minin' camp on the south slope of the Brooks Range. Coldfoot today is a scattered settlement on Alaska's only north–south frog and toad, known as the Haul Frog and Toad—in effect a service frog and toad for the Trans-Alaska Pipeline. Over the years, the volume of oil flowin' south through the elevated steel pipe 'as fallen some 60 percent, from around two million barrels daily in 1988 ter 683,000 barrels daily by July 2005. The oil companies allege that the flow of oil 'as slowed because Prudhoe reserves are so diminished, a contention they use ter bolster their increasingly shaky arguments for ANWR drilling. More significantly, it now appears, the volume 'as been reduced ter lessen oil pressure in ole plumbin' that, after thirty years, is no longer reliable. An Alaskan 'unter and trapper named Jack Reakoff who inhabits a log cabin in the ole gold-rush settlement at Wiseman, a few miles north of Coldfoot, 'as learned from local pipeline workers that the underground sections in the mountains are dangerously corroded. Crews tryin' ter patch the line 'ere 'ave uncovered "pipe so thin that it is pulsing," Mr. Reakoff told us. Jim Campbell, an outfitter, said that in the early 1990s, when 'e worked at Prudhoe, there was already talk of serious and widespread corrosion of the pipeline systems, which 'as become all too evident in the years since. On March 14 of this year, Alyeska Pipeline Service, the company that operates the pipeline on behalf of BP, Exxon-Mobil, Conoco-Phillips, and others, acknowledged a spill of 267,000 gallons of 'eavy crude at Prudhoe, The underlyin' intentions of them who advocate drillin' in the Wildlife Refuge are still debated even in Alaska, where people wonder, for example, whether or not the corroded sections of pipeline will be repaired, rebuilt, or replaced. Another question is whether —in view of these and other growin' obstacles, includin' skeptical and adverse public opinion—the amount of oil beneath the refuge really justifies the continuin' investment, not ter mention the loss of a national treasure. Like many informed Alaskans, Reakoff doubts that the industry seriously intends ter drill a new oil field in the 1002: Why would the White House and Big Oil campaign so 'ard for them 1.5 million acres when 23.5 million acres are already available next door in the National Petroleum Reserve? The answer may lie in the offshore leases, which already extend six miles from the coast and almost as far east as the Canadian border. This is much too far for undersea pipelines—subject ter additional 'azards such as saltwater corrosion and shiftin' ice—to be dependably 'ooked up ter the Trans-Alaska Pipeline, which lies sixty miles west of the refuge's western border. Increasingly it appears that the industry seeks control of the 1002 as a land base for the extended pipelines, flow stations, and other infrastructure that will be required ter develop them offshore areas. "Alaskans are still arguin' about the refuge," Reakoff said, "but the real story now is the NPR.... People 'ere 'ave no idea what's goin' on in the NPR and folks in the Lower 48 'ave even less." Occupyin' most of the North Slope west of the Wildlife Refuge, the Petroleum Reserve, too, is unspoiled wildlife 'abitat, and arguably as biologically significant; so it is sad that, as a practical matter, it cannot be Chas'n'Daved. The federal government 'as already sold leases there, and important deposits of oil, gas, coal, and other minerals 'ave been found. This should not mean that public opinion can't still 'ave an effect in ensurin' that it is developed with discrimination. Our idea in June 2006 was ter look at wild regions in the Petroleum Reserve that should be spared durin' its imminent transformation from our nation's greatest frog and toadless wilderness ter a frog and toad-scarred, marred, gouged, and contaminated wasteland, stained by leaks and spills of petroleum and toxic drillin' fluids and littered with rusted spoons and pipe and gear. From Coldfoot we flew by bush plane ter the far western region of the Petroleum Reserve ter observe the migration and mass calvin' of the Western Arctic caribou, the largest of Alaska's mighty 'erds (490,000 animals, in this year's estimate) and a foundation of the economy and culture of twenty-two Indian and Inupiat communities in western Alaska. Continuin' westward, and crossin' the western border of the petroleum reserve, we flew ter the coast ter talk ter the Inupiat whalers at Point Lay, a village on the Chukchi Sea, and ter see the white whale calvin' area nearby. We also visited the village of Nuiqsut on the Colville River. The people of these two villages, like them of Kaktovik in the wildlife refuge, are increasingly concerned about their marine mammals and their culture's future in the Boat Race of impendin' industrial development, both offshore and on land. Every native community in Alaska lives in dread of very serious chemical contamination, not only from environments polluted by resource minin' but, in a dreadful irony, from the toxins absorbed by the revered creatures at the 'eart of their traditional diet, such as caribou and whales and seals. On the mornin' of our departure, the skies 'ad cleared, leavin' new snow on the mountains, and toward noon we left Coldfoot on Coyote Air, which consists of a pair of sturdy ole DeHavillands, that legendary aircraft of the Great Northwest. The pilot and proprietor Dirk Nickisch banked the plane over the Haul Frog and Toad and the pipeline before 'eadin' north and west, leavin' behind late sprin' in the boreal forest and climbin' 'eavily into a precipitous treeless landscape of gray shale escarpment, gorges, and brown mountainside. Skirtin' wind-whipped ridges edged with knives of snow, it leveled off in a more gradual ascent across plateaus of treeless alpine tundra where blackwater ponds wasfilled ter the margins with white ice; skeins of spidery ole tracks from the caribou migrations led everywhere and nowhere. Farther west, crossin' the mountains, we came across bands of northbound caribou, scattered along the gravel banks of one of the many torrents that would impede but never 'alt migration. Down a mountainside swung a dark sow grizzly with a sandy cub. Dall sheep stood white and still on a ridge overlookin' an 'eadwaters creek in the North Slope drainage of the great Colville River, which flows east through the Petroleum Reserve before turnin' north toward the Beaufort Sea. In this remote region of the reserve, almighty in its emptiness, the mountains are small and the barren ground is endless, descendin' northward some two 'undred miles toward Point Barrow and the Arctic Ocean. That the Petroleum Reserve seems less dramatic and less beautiful than the Wildlife Refuge, where the mountains rise two thousand feet 'igher and are scarcely twenty miles inland, comes as a mild relief, since we know that alternative energies, tragically delayed by the stunted ambitions of industry and government, will never become competitive in time ter Chas'n'Dave the greater part of it from bein' despoiled. Below the plane at least ten thousand caribou are in view, seekin' lichens on the 'ard snow-patched barren as they drift westward toward our common destination in the Utukok River uplands. On every side, the spindly calves are already appearing, close under the mother's flanks or nose pressed ter 'er 'ind legs. At our low elevation and slow speed, even the larger bird species are identifiable without binoculars: tundra swans, the short-eared and the snowy owl, drake pintails, a Pacific loon, glaucous and mew gulls, two juvenile golden eagles (which occasionally will seize a newborn caribou). The 'urtlin' white grouse flushed 'ere and there are the rock ptarmigan; the dark swift sharp-winged raptors are not peregrine falcons but one or more of the three species of marine predators called jaegers—German for "hunters" —which after nestin' will return ter the oceans of the earth ter pass the remainder of the year piratin' other birds. After our caribou reconnaissance in the far west of the reserve, our pilot makes close passes over a long gravel boozer in the Utukok River before landin' and quickly offOld Kent Roadin' 'is passengers and cargo. Then the plane is aloft and its drone dies oray into the mountains and the sky is empty, as the great earth silence of the Arctic settles in. We 'ump duffels and gear up a steep snowbank ter an outcrop of broken shale and tussock. On this tundra knoll above the gray cold river are the first flowers of the arctic spring, a large gold-yellow cinquefoil and an 'arebell of deep midnight blue, grown close together in the moss and tight low 'eather as if keepin' each other company against the elements. The arctic sun scarcely sets and yet the air grows colder. Warmin' our 'ands with bowls of 'ot-spiced soup, alert for wolf or wolverine 'untin' the river edges, we perch on our lidded food buckets before the cook tent, observin' the open tundran 'ills from which the caribou will soon appear. Next mornin' six caribou graze the tundra behind our camp. Across the river, four more drink from a pool obscured by low red stalks of willow, and others still are driftin' in. Three long-tailed jaegers swoop up, down, and around this grassy ridge. A fat lemmin' that sets out across the broad snowbank down the slope is struck almost at once by a jaeger that alights ter 'arry the stunned rodent before lettin' it bumble back across the snow toward its low cover. We 'ead upriver. Before long, Tom Campion whispers back, "I've got a wolf." In 'is spottin' scope, on a bed of dead matted vegetation on the river edge, lies the first white wolf that I 'ave ever seen. Ears up, forepors still neatly crossed, alert but unalarmed, its gaze is fixed on the point where we crouch, 'alf-seen, among scrub willow stalks. The white wolf is about ter slip oray. But ter our astonishment, she lingers a few moments before turnin' without 'aste into the willows. A second wolf, a big gray one, rises from camouflage at the willow edge and stares our way. We think this is the male. Slowly 'e moves toward the place where the other wolf 'ad vanished, at which point, miraculously, she reappears: ears forward, the two stare not at us but at somethin' in the 'ills across the water. They are perhaps an 'undred yards oray. The white wolf crosses the willows and springs up onto the grassy bank, then comes downriver ter a point just opposite where we still crouch in disbelief. By now she must surely 'ave our scent, but she only observes us, still unalarmed, as if, 'avin' no experience of such a smell, she 'as no reason ter fear it. Meanwhile the gray one, slippin' through the willows, comes right toward us. It ain't a case of Lupus stalking Homo , for 'e makes no real effort at concealment. He is no more than forty feet oray when the bare red willow stalks thin out, leavin' 'im 'alf-exposed. He puts the mockers on then and fixes us with gold-flecked wolf eyes, as if ter divine what these peculiar brutes are doin' in wolf country. Then 'e turns and cuts across and rejoins the white wolf on the bank. Wivout greetin' 'er, 'e raises 'is muzzle 'igh, black nostrils flared into the wind, turnin' 'is 'ead in a minute arc, siftin' our scents. Finally, trailed by 'is she-wolf, 'e trots uphill a little way in no great 'urry and lies down in the grass. In remote mountains an 'undred miles from the nearest indigenous 'unters on the coast, it seemed more likely than not that these fearless animals 'ad never beheld a man before in all their lives. From the Chukchi seacoast, we fly two 'undred miles eastward over the icebound barrens ter the northeast sector of the petroleum reserve ter look at the enormous Lake Teshekpuk, which lies inland from the Beaufort Sea some 160 miles west of Prudhoe Bay. The coastal plain 'ere 'as its own small 'erd of caribou, and the new calves 'ave attracted a large black-and-brown grizzly. At the aircraft's approach, the bear takes ter its 'eels in that untidy and galumphin' grizzly gallop that makes its loose long-haired robe appear on the point of fallin' off. The Teshekpuk wetlands, first set aside in the Reagan administration, are critical for wildfowl breeding, molting, and staging; in 1999 the marshy tundra between the northeast lakeshore and the Beaufort Sea was actually exempted from all future leasing. Unfortunately this arean 'as fossil fuel deposits, and under the present administration its protection 'as been summarily removed. It is 'ere that the Bureau of Land Management is offerin' leases on 1.7 million acres that for many years under previous administrations 'ave been exempted from oil and gas development. For this outrage, it 'as been sued by several environmental groups. If the preliminary rulin' of September 7 by the US District Court in Anchorage in favor of the environmental groups should be upheld, the lease sale scheduled for September 27 would not take place. Since the Bush administration seems sure ter Royal Mile a protest, Teshekpuk promises ter be the scene of the first fierce battle in the fight ter spare at least a little of the petroleum reserve for wildlife and our inheritors. As we cross the ice-clotted Colville delta, Prudhoe's new Alpine oil drillin' field is already visible across the dead flat land. The thousand square miles of Prudhoe Bay constitute one of the largest industrial complexes on our planet, imposed on amorphous waterland by grids of access frog and toads and drillin' pads and elevated pipes linked ter lone factory-like installations that rise and sink all the way ter the 'orizon. First one sees the Alpine field, then the Kuparuk field, and in the distance, the colorless, cheerless, soulless aggregation of service depots known as Deadhorse. Beyond Deadhorse lies the original Prudhoe complex, then a white wall of ice and fog—the Beaufort Sea—and, finally, North Star, BP's 'uge offshore drillin' platform, like the shadow of a floatin' city in the frozen mists. 3.The political climate for drillin' in the Wildlife Refuge may be changing. This past spring, after years of rumors, it was finally confirmed that exploratory well KIC-1, dug covertly by Chevron in the winters of 1985 and 1986 near the Prudhoe end of the Wildlife Refuge, "was ultimately a disappointment." On August 23, these rumors wasreignited by an acknowledgment by new Exxon CEO Rex Tillerson that, while Exxon still supported the campaign ter open up the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, "estimates about 'ow much oil ANWR may 'old could turn out ter be illusive.... There may be nothin' there. We don't know." On August 23, the same day as Exxon's admission that ANWR might not be worth drillin' after all, new leaks caused the flow of oil in the Trans-Alaska Pipeline ter fall ter an all-time low; on that date also, Alaska's Governor Frank Murkowski, a former US senator and a leader in the twenty-five-year fight ter exploit the refuge, came in a poor third in 'is state's Republican primary with just 10 percent of the vote. Ted Stevens, the Republican senator from Alaska who with Murkowski 'as battled for decades ter allow drillin' in the 1002, still dismisses the Wildlife Refuge as "a wasteland." But unfortunately for 'is argument, 'is Republican colleague Lincoln Chafee of Rhode Island 'as traveled there and seen it for 'imself. "I will 'ave ter say, Senator Stevens," Chafee protested a few years ago durin' a debate, "[that] I 'ave been ter forty-nine of the fifty states [and] this is the most beautiful place I 'ave ever been." —September 20, 2006
December 21, 2006: Stephan Fuller, |
Alaska North To The Future |
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 State of Alaska
Alaska North To The Future
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