As Luck Would Have It

“As luck would have it” often refers to good luck, but apparently it can also be used for bad luck. For whatever reason, I rarely use the phrase in reference to bad luck. Perhaps it sounds too sarcastic. Like a sad trombone playing “wah, wah” in the background. We arrived in Unalakleet, but as luck would have it, the dogs and our gear did not. Wah waaaaaah. Meh. I like utilizing the phrase in a more positive light. I prefer the twist from negative to positive. And as luck would have it, a recent trip to the North Slope provides lots of opportunities to use the phrase.

There were no shops in Fairbanks with time to perform the alignment on Tucker’s new truck, but as luck would have it, the old dog truck was up for the task.

The original plan was Tucker’s. He wanted to go North to look for sheds, test out his camping gear, and have a little vacation after a summer of firefighting. The Brooks Range is one of my favorite places on Planet Earth, so when I noticed a lull in tours and projects, I jumped at the chance to tag along north. We were going to use his new-to-him Tundra. However, new tires and an alignment are in high demand in Fairbanks in October (changing seasons and all), so the job of bringing us North fell to the old dog truck. Old Blue’s made the trek many times, but there’s always a question mark. Equipped with two 5-quart jugs of oil, bottle jacks, a spare tire, a specialized jumper pack thingy (that is the technical term), and an inReach to beg Derek to come rescue us in the event of truck trouble- we headed north in the dog truck. But not to worry, I checked and we have free towing through the insurance. Fine print says it covers only up to $200 worth, but as long as the truck breaks down by Hilltop Fuel Stop, insurance has us. Spoiler: as luck would have it, the dog truck reliably carried us to the North Slope and back with zero issues.

The Dalton Highway was exceptionally icy, setting us back in our planned itinerary, but as luck would have it, arriving at 6:00 PM was perfect, for us and others.

Hunting along the Dalton Highway corridor is very popular. Perhaps not to the extent of the Fortymile caribou road hunt, but we were still anticipating possibly meeting other hunters in the area. And truthfully, while I did tote a rifle, I was more excited to just travel with the dogs. I planned to only be an opportunistic hunter and see what luck had in store for us as we mushed around and explored. The first people we met hinted that we might just get lucky.

As we pulled into the parking lot, we passed a couple of guys driving out in a pretty Toyota 4Runner. Like the kind you would see at a ski resort in Colorado, shiny and fancy with loud, hip music blaring as they strap on their ski boots. It didn’t quite equate in my brain that they were hunting, as they flagged us down, asking if we had any spare gas. Did they go backcountry skiing? Ah, interesting- dragging behind the 4Runner was an otter sled with four large caribou heads. To this day, I’m confused as to how exactly their logistics worked. Were they sleeping in the idling 4Runner and used up too much gas? Did they have a truck stashed somewhere or did they drag the otter sled down the Dalton Highway? Either way, they were friendly, and as luck would have it, the fuel required for a cool, new stove contraption that Derek had designed for the Arctic Oven tent was gas, and I had brought extra. I pulled an old oil container from behind the seat, handing it to the guy. I know it’s in an oil container, but I promise it’s gas. It’s probably just a gallon, but it’ll get you a little farther down the road. They were kind and appreciative, saying they harvested three caribou with a rifle just beyond the five mile, no-rifle corridor, and the other with a bow within it. Seeing their gut piles later, it all seemed awfully close to the boundary. Then again, with a dog team, I wasn’t too worried about keeping precise mileage, knowing that my powerful canine quartet could transport us way past the boundary, so what do I know.

Since we arrived so late and the sun was setting, we opted to sleep in the truck. This allowed us to keep our tents dry and wrapped tightly in their bags. To stretch our legs after a long day of driving, we ventured into the mountains for a short jaunt. Cooke at the lead, Fox, then Elmer and Muenster in wheel drug me effortlessly up the first big climb. Tucker headed off in a slightly different direction with Dwight and Charlotte as walking companions. I reached the top of the hill and surveyed the terrain, making a plan for the next day. On the way, we bumped into two other hunters. After a nice chat, I promised we’d steer clear of where the hunters planned to hunt the following day. Ah don’t worry about it. It’s big country, the guy said, ironically reciting back verbatim the words I’d said to Tucker when he was worried about Dwight or Charlotte disrupting my hunt and wondering if he should leave them at home.

We climbed into the truck that evening, appreciative of the ease of sleeping on the big seats with the dogs tucked away in the straw-filled dog boxes rather than camping out in the cold. Other than a midnight protest by Charlotte (she didn’t like sleeping alone, and so was moved into a box with Dwight), we woke up the next morning well-rested with dry equipment and ready to hit the trail. Except oops…

Tucker dropped his inReach in the snow during his hike the night before, and we had no way of communicating. As luck would have it, our timing would work perfectly without external communication (although unfortunately, Tucker never did find his inReach).

Ok, I’m going to head over the first big hill, then northwest. It should be easy enough for you to follow my tracks. I’ll drop my tent at a good camp spot, and we’ll just meet there later this evening? My dog team was faster than Tucker’s walking, so we coordinated how we would meet up in the future. Loaded down with gear, the team and I started climbing the first big rise. Holding onto the handle bars, I tromped behind the sled since the dogs weren’t able to pull both the gear and me up the steep incline. Every time we stopped for me to catch my breath, Cooke would stand rigid and forward, leaning into his harness, resembling one of those ski jumpers as they launch off jumps. Once Cooke deemed the rest long enough, he’d give a little jerk on his harness accompanied by a “woof, woof!” Alright, alright, I’m ready, let’s go.

tangle

After a couple hours, I found a campsite, dropped the tent, and continued on with a lighter sled. We crossed a couple fresh sets of wolf tracks, but no fresh caribou tracks so far. As luck would have it, I spotted a group of three through the fog. I stopped the dogs beneath a rise, setting a front and back hook, asking them to please be good and no fighting while I’m away. We’re all on the same team remember. As luck would have it, they were perfect angels, though they were in a big ball upon my return. If dogs had fingers, I imagine they’d have each been pointing a finger at another dog, insisting they’re the culprit. I told them I got lucky, and we’re so fortunate to live in this incredible place. Cooke put his nose to the ground and eagerly chased the fresh caribou smells. As I began to quarter and process the caribou, I looked around. I messaged Sam on my inReach asking if she’d heard from Tucker. I can quarter by myself, but it sure is nice to have another set of hands. Nope, she said, he must have not found his inReach. I began processing on my own, then my team alerted me with a few short barks. I looked up, and in the northern hills, I spotted a big, white shape. A polar bear? A direwolf? No, as luck would have it, it was Dwight! I called PUP, PUP! Dwight! encouraging him to relay to Tucker our location. Torn between allegiances, he looked at me then disappeared back over the hill towards what I assume was Tucker. Not a minute later, as luck would have it, Tucker came striding over the hill. It’s big country (as the common saying goes), so what luck to have Tucker arrive right as the real work was beginning.

Tucker held legs and heckled my haphazard field dressing technique, but eventually, the job was done and it was only about 1:00 PM. I loaded up the sled, and the dogs and I (yes I did in fact help pull when we’d get bogged down) heaved the meat back to camp. I let the dogs loose to romp and play as I set up Derek’s Arctic Oven and fancy new stove. A short while later, Tucker, Dwight, and Charlotte arrived. Tucker wanted to practice his winter camping set up, so he brought his little 1.5 man tent, which Dwight insisted was actually just a 1 Dwight tent.

It was a trip that was put together with the least amount of planning, but as luck would have it, the trip was efficient, smooth, and exceptionally enjoyable.

The next day, the dogs and I hauled out the meat first then returned to take down camp and haul it back to the truck. Tucker came striding to the truck at around 3:00PM. Rather than camping another night at the truck, we opted to make a marathon drive back to Fairbanks. With the help of copious amounts of coffee, the dogs and I arrived home at 3:00 AM with meat for the freezer. It was a perfect adventure, full of “as luck would have its.”