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National Geographic : 1993 Apr
Contents
way. On June 4, Ken and I drifted downriver into Old Crow. Because I live in Alaska, people immediately asked me what I thought of the Exxon Val dez oil spill. I'd never heard of it. That night, for the first time in three months, I watched television to catch the news. Its impact shook my soul. Live reports were coming in from Tiananmen Square -the flames, the tanks, the shootings, and the panic. Then came a report from Prince Wil liam Sound-blackened water, beaches, and sea otters. The outside world came crashing in. Tears came to my eyes. Ken simply shook his head. My best hope of crossing the lowlands to enter the Brooks Range was to head up the Old Crow River, retracing the route taken by Olaus and Mardy Murie in 1926. They had poled a boat through Old Crow Flats to the river's headwaters. If I could do that, I'd be in a good position to strike out overland to the next village-Arctic Village. Friends offered to take me in their motorboat up the river as far as Timber Creek, and on June 10, having traded my dogsled for a 17-foot canoe and all but one of my dogs - Smoke - for food and supplies, we headed north into Old Crow Flats. I stood for a long time watching as the motorboat disappeared down river around a bend. For a while I could still hear its engine, then that too was gone. It was quiet and still, and in that silence I became aware of how alone I suddenly was. As if their departure had taken something from me, I felt a growing emptiness inside. I wondered if I truly was ready to begin. To keep myself from dwelling on the uncertainties, I began loading my gear into the canoe. There wasn't much: backpack, dog pack, ax, 12-gauge shotgun, burlap bag of dried meat, small box of groceries, and a watertight NationalGeographic, April 1993
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