Getting High

I’ve got a thing for the Alpine. The word deserves capitalization because, for me, it is more than a habitat, or geographic zone. It is these things, certainly, but it also has personality and character. I relish the time I get to spend in the high elevations, on mountaintops and wild ridges. 

I made this image atop a mountain that lay beside the Kongakut River in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. It was a mid-afternoon in June, and my clients, after a few days of long hikes were preferring their tents, naps or card games to the rocky tundra. So I took off alone. Moving as quickly as I could the 2500 vertical feet from the river to the mountaintop. The flowers were in full bloom, but I wasn’t pausing often for photos or any other reason except to occasionally gasp for air.

There was forest-fire smoke in the air. Not a lot, but enough to smell, just a bit. It was blowing in from the south, and softening the hard afternoon light (and probably doing some unseen damage to my hard-working lungs). It took me about an hour and 45 mins to reach the top. The mountain broke away precipitously to the east, where far below I could make out the colorful dots of our tents. Amidst the boulders on the summit outcrop, I found several patches of wildflowers, but these caught my eye more than any other.

I lingered only briefly on the mountaintop before plunging down the far side of the peak, down a loose scree slope and into a tundra-filled gully that led me, back to our gravel-bar camp. I was gone from camp for perhaps only 3 1/2 hours, but that is the draw the alpine has on me. Any time up high, is better than none.

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