After last night's discussion, I decided to leave Kavik today.
I don't have to be in Anchorage until the 20th (St. Stephens Day in Hungary), but that is my deadline. I can arrive earlier, but no later, as that would upset all my plans. So far during my stay here, I've had the dubious luck of experiencing all types of weather, and, consequently, the unpredictability of air-travel, so I don't want to take any chances. According to Susan, people at Kavik don't leave when they want, but when they can. And today the weather is good; today it is possible to fly. As my schedule is so tight, I should go now. Tomorrow it might snow, or there could be a three-day windstorm, a typical, devastating event in polar regions. Greg contacts the Alaska AirTaxi office, who promise to send transport this afternoon.
Most of the day passes uneventfully, apart from a problem with the generator, which lasts for about two hours.
Nobody has touched the equipment I left here; everything is in the same place. Greg rents a whole mobile-home for his guides and hunters. Nobody else has access, and no-one has slept in my bed since I left. I'm packing to get ready to leave the base-camp. I check my gun twice to make sure no ammunition is left in it. But no matter how many times I count, one bullet is missing.
I shot one as a test, two for the ram and one for the stag: that's four bullets. However, in the plastic box there are five empty places. I've brought five boxes of ammunition, which should easily be enough, I'm just concerned that the lost bullet could turn up in an awkward place. If I've left it in a pocket, there could be serious consequences at an airport. I can't find it anywhere; I must have lost it. After lunch, Mark's son goes off for a caribou hunt with Striker, as he still hasn't shot one. They come back two hours later with a beautiful stag. Mark swells with pride. The boy shot it straight through the heart from 500 ft; no professional hunter could have done better. He certainly knows how to handle a rifle.
Chapter II.: Hunting in the Alaskan Arctic
Page 59
The supply store and gas-station at Kavik are being replenished over three trips by a single freight-plane. All the hunting planes refuel here, and the camp's nafta always runs out quickly. A de-commissioned military plane - the experts say it is a DC6 - brings in the fuel and supplies. It's much too large for such a small runway, and the pilot passes over us three times, checking the conditions. Finally, with roaring engines, the silver giant lands. It reverses up to the gas-station so skillfully and quickly, I have to admire the pilots ability. I can smell the exhaust fumes from the bob-cat tractors, as they use their fork-lifts to remove the supplies from the belly of the plane.
They are pumping the fuel at the same time. I'm there for its second landing, but then the Cessna 207, which has come to take me away, arrives.
A few miles out of Kavik we enter dense cloud. We are flying low, but I still can't see the ground. It was a good decision to leave. If these clouds settle over Kavik, no pilot would dare to land there.
Chapter II.: Hunting in the Alaskan Arctic
Page 60
I arrive in Deadhorse a few minutes before 6.00. I have to spend the night at the Prudhoe Bay Hotel again. I'm given Room B104, which even has a bathroom. Through the mud, I walk over to the office building, a part of the airport, which is opposite the hotel. Alaska Airways runs several flights to Anchorage every day, but the last one has gone. The next one leaves before 9.30
tomorrow, making one stop before reaching Anchorage after 12.00. The kind lady sitting behind the desk changes the date on my ticket.
In the evening I have dinner with some big oil-workers. There's American football on TV; it must be an important match as everybody is watching it. So I watch it too, trying to work out the rules.
Room 262
Expedition Headquarters
Anchorage Hilton
Anchorage