Today I have almost the whole day free.
I've got enough time to think about the hunting trip coming up, and the expedition as a whole, which is just starting.
I've prepared a lot for this trip, but there's no guarantee of success. I think I'm as fit as I can be; I haven't missed one training session or target practice. I've come with the best equipment available, and I'll be led by the best guides. I have decided that I'll do anything, and more, for success. Whether it will be enough, or not, will be decided by the future. I'm sure it will be enough. After long consideration, I've come to the conclusion that unless someone puts a curse on me, or I have an accident, I might well become a successful hunter here in Alaska.
Or rather, I hope so.
After my usual mega-breakfast I go into town to the local branch of the Sportsman Warehouse. Back in their shop in Anchorage I bought four pairs of professional mountaineering socks, but one pair
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developed a hole after just a day. Socks with holes are not what a man takes hunting. The hotel has a generous offer, whereby, for $5, I can travel all day on their private buses. These vehicles drive around Fairbanks in circles, cruising around the city non-stop, collecting up the hotel guests scattered about, and then delivering these honoured customers to wherever it is they want to go. The downside of this is that you sometimes have a long wait until one comes, and then it might not be going straight to your destination.
I'm taken for a longer drive than I expected. Before we reach the shop, we pop out to the international airport to collect a newly-arrived hotel guest.
The situation here is serious.
The range of vision on the runway is down to a few feet, and the smell of burning is everywhere. I'm getting worried about my journey tomorrow. My schedule is so tight that if even one day is missed it will affect the the whole expedition ahead. It looks almost certain that I'm going to lose a day's hunting. It wouldn't be a problem if I wasn't starting with the mountain hunting. For the best results I'll probably need every single day I've got, and unfortunately I simply won't be able to make up any days lost mountain hunting because of a delayed take-off; the expedition schedule won't allow it.
When we were planning all this we were fully aware of the risk, and that there was no flex-day, that is to say, a spare day. I had to decide whether to accept it or not. I did accept it, as if I hadn't, I would have had to give up other hunting trips during my trip. The mountain hunt coming up is the riskiest part of the program, as there is no guarantee that, even without all the damned smoke, my little plane will be able to collect me to bring me back from the camp on time. The weather conditions there are
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usually bad anyway, but now there is also the added possibility of a delay because of the smoke. The bus-driver tries to reassure me that at my camp - up in Brooks Range, known as a ram paradise for hunters - there won't be any smoke; but it will be just as bad if I'm stuck here in the city, and can't get there.
One of the managers at the Sportsman Warehouse is almost shocked when I show him my poor, wounded sock. He can't understand it; he says these are the best socks they sell. He also hunts, and always uses these. Needless to say, he immediately exchanges my battle-worn sock for a new pair, and assures me that I'll have no problems with my three other pairs.
This morning I notice that I don't have any rifle-oil and batteries. I buy another pair of gloves, and continue to look around the shop with increasing astonishment. It's as big as a Tesco supermarket in Hungary, and what you can't find here doesn't exist. The selection is ... endless. Cabela's is similar in size, with a similar selection; you could spend a fortune in these places.
After my successful sock-exchange, I continue chatting with the manager about the latest smoke-update. Well, yesterday, even the large Boeing 737s couldn't take off. I don't want to hear any more, so I go back to the hotel - because of this unexpected news I cancel my visit to the museum. I've just realized that the most pointless question to ask anyone in Fairbanks is whether he hunts or not. In this city that's what you're born to do. Everywhere, there are men walking around wearing camouflage clothes, and while I was in the shop, two young men, locals, strolled in, carrying guns over their shoulders. They just dropped in to get some ammunition, which is lying around in piles.
It's not locked away, or supervised or anything.
The minibus is not coming.
Over the phone the receptionist advises me to take a taxi, which they will pay for, as it's their fault.
And so I do; that's the way things should be done. My taxi-driver also hunts: he has nine guns and four pistols at home. He can't understand these foreign "trophy" hunters - here they just hunt for meat.
He's allowed to shoot five caribou each year, and he does. He thinks I'd better get used to the idea that I'll be staying here for several more days because of the smoke, but I'm not to worry because it's such an hospitable city.
Ha ha ha! He's a very funny man.
I flop down and get out my netbook - my room has WiFi - and email everyone I know at Cabela's to find out more about the situation. Will I be able to leave Fairbanks tomorrow? Replies start pouring in; they come so fast I hardly have time to read them all.
The situation is becoming clearer; the air, unfortunately, is not.
This is what's happening.
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The safest solution is to fly back to Anchorage today, as, in that direction, the air is clear. Then tomorrow I can go on to Deadhorse (this would suit me, as I'd planned to go there from Fairbanks, because it's the nearest settlement to the part of Brooks Range that I want to visit), and as it is unaffected by all the smoke, I can easily fly from there to the camp. This is only possible because planes flying from Anchorage can avoid Fairbanks and all the smoke, if the wind is in the right direction. If I do this, I will forfeit my accomodation tonight in Fairbanks (already paid for) and will have to book, and pay for, another room in Anchorage; as well as this, I will incur extra charges for the plane fares. I wouldn't mind doing this, but I have something very special planned for tonight: I'm going hot-air ballooning. Andy arranged it all for me, and I don't want to cancel it.
The other possibility is to wait until tomorrow and just hope for the best. According to Alaska Airlines, their big planes will be flying, but if the wind changes they could well be stuck on the ground.
To complete the chaos, I hear that my guide, Greg Jennen, is in Fairbanks too. This means that either we'll both be able to get away, or I'll have to do my hunting here in Fairbanks. There's always something ...
What a country this is!
It's still as huge and wild as it ever was.
It's because of all these unforeseen problems that I chose Cabela's to be my organizers, as these sort of things can only be sorted out by local companies who understand the local conditions. Here it is 3.00 in the afternoon; at home it is 1.00 in the morning.
How would a European company be able to help me now? By the time I got a reply from them it would be far too late ...
Room 327, Pike's Waterfront Lodge