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This section of the trip has been filled with meeting people and making new friends. Odd that in my attempt to explore one of the most remote and least visited areas of the world that I should meet so many new and interesting people, people whom I hope to stay in contact with long after my trip is done. For example, a few weeks ago, while climbing on the glacier in Canada’s Jasper National Park, I volunteered to snap a picture for a pair of women traveling to Alaska. We got to talking, and I learned that one of them had worked a few seasons at the visitor’s center in Coldfoot. Coldfoot is located halfway between Fairbanks and the Arctic Ocean along my route to the north. She made me promise to stop in and check out the center, as well as giving me a tip to visit the small community of Wiseman.

So with great anticipation, I prepared to leave from Fairbanks and head towards Gates of the Arctic National Park and the Arctic Circle. I spent the night in a nice RV park in the wonderfully named town of North Pole, Alaska where I did some laundry, had some dinner, cleaned out my ‘fridge and pretty much met everyone in the camp. In addition to a group of ol’ buddies from Colorado, I met a lovely quartet of women and their pooches from the Pacific Northwest and we fell into easy discussion. They were also planning on heading up the Dalton Highway to meet an old friend of theirs in Coldfoot, but were unsure of the capabilities of their vehicles. Somehow, I got elected advanced scout to head up the road and attempt to e-mail them when I got to Coldfoot with road conditions. I was also armed with the name of their friend, the campground host in Coldfoot, and was trusted with a message to her that the ladies were contemplating the drive.

With waves and good wishes, I headed out of the RV park at the bright and early hour of 9:45 am and set my course north, way north. Other than a windshield chip I received approximately 250 yards after leaving the pavement and a 15 mile section of construction, the Dalton Highway was a pretty simple affair. Long, dusty and awfully narrow when the 18-wheelers go by, for sure. And still nothing like South Dakota’s dirt roads. But not a difficult drive.

Okay. In the interest of full disclosure, I didn’t actually enter the park. The Dalton Highway comes within five miles of the eastern edge of the park’s boundary in the Brooks range of mountains. There is a route that gets within a mile and half of the park, and it would be a soggy, uninteresting hike to the park border. According to the ranger in the beautiful Coldfoot visitors center (indeed, check it out!), the park boundary is rather arbitrary anyway. So in terms of scenery, I really wasn’t missing anything I couldn’t see from the road. The park is completely undeveloped – no visitors center, no roads, no trails. Exploring Gates of the Arctic would be both a sublte and extensive undertaking.

And, oh, the scenery. Not sure what I was expecting. The main terrain is something called “arboreal forest,” the main feature of which is acres of dwarf spruce trees. The hard rock just below the thin layer of soil makes it difficult for the trees to gain any real purchase. There is also a limited amount of precipitation, long winters and cool summers. What you end up with is a lichen covered forest floor, populated by short, but old spruce trees, all laced with super clear streams and rivers. Occasionally, you get smally, hearty purple wildflowers or fields of snow white “arctic cotton.” The backdrop is the beautiful Brooks range. Like the spruce, the range isn’t tall, but it is craggy and dramatic.

I made it to the Marion Creek campground where I was found the host and delivered my message. Guess she was surprised to have a stranger looking for her 70 miles north of the Arctic Circle! But we hit it off, and ended up kicking back and chatting as the sun deftly avoided the horizon.

The next morning, I headed to the Arctic Ocean, and coming back into camp, was pleasantly surprised to see the four women from North Pole – they had made it after all! I, however, had just completed 470 miles of dirt road driving, so I excused myself, tacked a paper bag over the skylight in Harold and grabbed some sleep.

The next day, I awoke with the goal of visiting Wiseman, a little gold rush town that refused to die. I piled everyone in Harold and we set up the Dalton Highway againIt has about 20 full time residents now, including one Mr. Jack Reacoff. Jack turned out to be quite an interesting man. He’s been living “off the land” for many years now, and among stories of charging grizzlies, immense snow storms, mason jars of gold hidden under floor boards, I picked up a few tips and ideas should I ever “live off the land” myself one day. One word, for you, m’ boy, one word. “Potatoes.” Also turns out that Jack is getting married to one of the staff I met in the visitor’s center who knew the woman I met on the glacier in Canada. Circles within circles within the Arctic Circle.

We all headed back to camp where the five women and I shared jokes, stories, political philosophies, and finally, drinks, dinner and dessert. It was fun and thought provoking to meet these people. Getting a chance to meet people of different lifestyles (radically in the case of Jack), has started crystalizing some of the things I’ll be looking for when I next settle down.

But it’s south now, towards Denali National Park where I hope to go backpacking among the grizzlies!