Limestone Scramble

They could’ve been tiny patches of snow on a distant mountain face, winter clinging to an Arctic summer on the North Slope of the Brooks Range in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge (ANWR).

However, scanning with my binoculars while on a braided, swift-moving raft, on the Kongakut River, 18 snowy white Dall sheep gradually grazed the squishy tundra above. Megafauna was plentiful on the craggy peaks and sweeping river valleys of Northeast Alaska.

Two miles upriver, I exited the raft with my camera pack slung over my shoulder, binoculars, and bear spray in hand. Using a forest of dense willows as cover, I made my approach toward the Dall sheep.

Like other sheep species, they possess incredible eyesight, requiring open space to keep tabs on potential predators, mainly gray wolves. However, as soon as I left the willows and crossed a gurgling creek, I lost my cover. The sheep gradually moved away, and I thought I lost my opportunity to photograph them.

However, summer days above the Arctic Circle are long. The sun sets at 12:30 am and sunrise is 3:30 am, so it never gets dark. There’s no need for a headlamp. Needless to say, I had plenty of light and ample time. I decided to hike up Plug Mountain, a steep, east-facing crag with impressive, toothy limestone jutting throughout its summit. The massive spire was north of Drain Creek, one of the many tributaries feeding into the Kongakut River.

Once I topped out at the Plug Mountain summit, I continued scanning with my binoculars. Thinking I had lost track of the Dall sheep, there they were hundreds of feet below browsing across the colorful tundra two gullies further north.

The views from up high were stunning to say the least. In the background, the Kongakut flowed amongst fortified ice walls on either side of the runnel. Known as “aufeis,” 10- to 15-foot-high walls of blue ice fields eventually break away during the short Arctic summer feeding the Kongakut and other significant rivers throughout the ANWR.

After soaking in an overload of Arctic panoramas, I decided to give it another attempt, and from the summit I down-climbed towards their direction. Fortunately, there was lots of cover amongst young willow shrubs, with the spongy tundra allowing me to easily bounce down the mountain.

Eventually though, as I grew closer, those advantages became less and less. Deciding to shed my camera pack, I slithered and scooched my way downward on my tummy and rear-end. Before I knew it, I was about 100 feet away from the nimble Dall sheep. They effortlessly climbed up into a lofty limestone spire cloaked in vibrant, orange lichen to graze and thermoregulate beneath the Arctic sun, the mighty Kongakut cascading northward below.

I too had my own convenient limestone perch from where I observed and photographed the 18 Dall sheep. During the several hours I spent on that exposed ledge, the winds howled from the north, and dark clouds swirled above. It rained, snowed, and I too baked in the sun as temps fluctuated from balmy and buggy to downright frigid, the Arctic biome always unpredictable.

Suddenly though, I wasn’t alone. My cover was blown once again. Two raucous Arctic ground squirrels were not happy with my limestone occupancy on their steep scree slope. They chirped loudly and scuffed aggressively at the loose dirt just a few feet below me, little brown plumes of dust wafting skyward with the breeze blowing southward above the runnel.

Eventually, they grew tired of me, and scurried off nearby in what appeared to be inside the jaws of a limestone slab. It then grew quiet except for the steady flow of the Kongakut. The Dall sheep were thoroughly relaxed as I barely budged from my perch. They continued grazing the tundra and peat moss, and all the surrounding ledges were occupied by resting, sunbathing herbivores. 

As the Arctic sun sank in the west, it was an epic scene of natural wonders in this roadless expanse. Plug Mountain was shadow casting across the Kongakut and beyond to the east. However, it was nearly midnight and instead of bedding down for a low-lit evening, the Dall sheep seemed to revel in the cool, crisp evening air, and in the abundant, palette of Arctic flora. 

Two rambunctious lambs frolicked amongst the browsing adults, their mothers always with one eye on their young. Before I knew it, the herd had moved so far away, they appeared as they did when the afternoon had commenced, simply mistaken as white patches of snow across the grandeur of the Arctic.