We awoke to the arctic coastal plain with arctic ground squirrels scurrying around the van. A morning walk out from the Last Chance Wayside further confirmed the vastness that is the Arctic and the insignificance that is us.  Although I traditionally consider myself an ardent fan of the trees, this treeless expanse rivals any forested community in grandeur and beauty. 

With only sixty miles of highway between us and Deadhorse (the end of the line) we took our time on the road, stopping for a considerable amount of time to view one of the largest caribou bulls we have seen to date as well a herd of scuffling musk ox. Arrival in Deadhorse sent a slight hush through the van. The area itself seems to boast a “this is where it all happens” significance.  It is a very no nonsense town where people come to work and work hard. The typical shift seems to be two weeks on, two weeks off, with twelve-hour workdays.  The resident population is touted as only about 25 yet the part time population evidently numbers between 3,500 and 6,000 depending on the production demand. The entire area is situated on an arctic bog; so all “buildings” and facilities are situated on constructed gravel bars.

We located the Arctic Caribou Inn and submitted our names and identification for reservations for the short trip to the Arctic Ocean tomorrow. Public access to the ocean is completely restricted and commercial tours are the only apparent option. Reservations must be made a day in advance to allow for some sort of minor security clearance. Fair enough.

Fueling in Deadhorse is slightly unorthodox. Gas pumps are housed in a plywood box and payment is through an interesting ATM sort of machine, spatially disconnected from the pumps. There are three hotels in town and apparently, meals are generally only served in one location at a time. In an effort to better understand the workings of this area we dined at the locale of the evening, which proved to be a substantial buffet. We timed our eating with an apparent shift change as well as the arrival of an organized bus tour group so we got moderate exposure to the lifeblood of the town. Interestingly, tourists seemed to be sure we were here working while those working I’m sure were certain that we are not.  In any event we do seem to be the only passenger car in town that isn’t a work truck and a Ford.