through the mountains to their summer
range in Canada. Envious that I wasn’t
on the trip, I imagined myself as a rock in
the middle of a flowing river of caribou.
I envisioned the wonder of seeing them
as one big organism moving in unison.
Unfortunately, that team had worse
luck than us. After 11 days without see-
ing a single caribou, it embarked on a
grueling 30-mile, 18-hour desperation
hike based on tales of thousands of car-
ibou to the north. As the group flew out
the next day, they passed over 10,000
animals heading straight to their aban-
doned camp—a lesson that no matter
how much you plan, nature is unpredict-
able and sovereign.
Later in the summer, I was in the
Gwich’in community of Arctic Village,
on the southern edges of the refuge, with
photographers Mark Kelly and Justin
Taus. Once again, we were waiting for the
caribou to pass through. The small village
is nestled in a flat valley protected by a
series of gargoyle mountains cut with a
ribbon of twisting dull green water. It
was late August, and the land was painted
brilliant red, green and yellow. The bugs
died with the first cold snap, and the air
was sharp and intoxicating. We came to
document the reciprocal relationship of
the Gwich’in and caribou.
Community matriarch Sarah James’
hunting camp was nestled in a little dipvalley on the mountain plateau on the
outskirts of town. We spent days on the
mountain with her and a few young hunt-
ers. We didn’t have the patience of the
Gwich’in, who have spent years of their
lives waiting for the caribou.
We wondered, “When will they come?”
“They will come, they always come,”
replied Sarah assuredly. “The caribou are
our life. Healthy caribou means healthy
Gwich’in. They must come.”
We flew home the next day, yet again
missing the elusive caribou. The late
spring altered the patterns of the caribou
and threw our best-laid plans to waste.
Every expedition seemed to miss the elu-
sive ungulates by days. It’s amazing how42 Outdoor Photographer outdoorphotographer.com