Driving the Dalton Highway to the Arctic Ocean

If you had the chance to go to the Arctic Ocean, would you take it? We had that opportunity and jumped at it, but it took a lot of preparation. 

Getting to the Arctic Ocean in Alaska requires flying to Prudhoe Bay or driving the 414-mile Dalton Highway. Since we travel the country in our fifth wheel RV, we chose the latter option — but we didn’t take the RV. 


Road Conditions

Known to locals as “the Haul Road” because of its heavy truck traffic, the Dalton Highway follows the Trans-Alaska Pipeline System between Fairbanks and Deadhorse.

We had heard that the roadway is gravel the whole way and pretty rough. Not wanting to subject our home to those conditions, we decided to leave it behind at my cousin’s in the Fairbanks area (thanks, Dayn and Dawn!) and take Gulliver and our tent for the truck bed. 

The Haul Road actually has numerous paved sections. Other than the last 60 miles, however, we found the dirt and gravel portions easier to drive than the paved portions, which were littered with potholes and frost heaves. A number of parts were under construction in early June, some of which required us to follow a pilot car through miles of narrow, bumpy roads. 

Although better than the pavement, the dirt and gravel sections did have some shortcomings. The Alaska Department of Transportation spreads calcium chloride on those portions to minimize dust. It does a pretty good job of that but can corrode vehicles. In wet conditions, it can make for a slick, sloppy mess that requires extra alertness while driving.


Where to Stop

The highway follows the pipeline through beautiful, breathtaking scenery. It’s quite remote, and wayside stops are limited and not obvious from the road. You have to do research ahead of time to find them — especially because there’s no cell service on most of the journey.

We ventured off the highway at Yukon River Camp, just past the Yukon River Crossing. The camp offers fuel, a restaurant, snacks, a gift shop, and lodging. Although accommodations here and at all stops along the highway are designed for truckers and pipeline workers, not travelers, we found the people we encountered very friendly.

We topped our fuel tank at a jaw-dropping $7.49 per gallon price for diesel. (We paid $4.19 per gallon in Fairbanks before hitting the highway.) 

Our next stop was about 60 miles away for a photo op at the Arctic Circle sign, marking the northernmost point we had ever visited. About 20 miles later, we passed through the tiny town of Prospect Creek. Since we drove right through, we’re not sure what it offered, if anything.

We pressed on for another 38 miles to Coldfoot, about the halfway point on the trek. Because of that status, Coldfoot is a popular stop and offers a restaurant, lodging, and fuel. Although we didn’t really need more diesel, we took advantage of its availability to ensure a successful journey in the off chance that Deadhorse would be out of fuel when we arrived. 

We reached Coldfoot around dinner time, our stomachs rumbling for sustenance. Hungry and cold, we decided to spring for $25 each for a warm, ready-made meal. The restaurant’s buffet featured a salad bar, pulled pork soup, sausage with pasta, steamed vegetables, mashed potatoes, and bread, with mango rice pudding and lemon bars for dessert. It hit the spot. 


Atigun Pass

Finding internet availability in Coldfoot, we checked the weather for Atigun Pass, a 4,739-foot route through the Brooks Range, about 70 miles away. The reports showed snow and rain in the morning forecast. Not wanting to drive through unfamiliar, potentially precarious territory in wet, sloppy conditions, we decided to continue on with our drive, a feat made easier by the Arctic’s midnight sun. 

Nothing could have prepared us for our journey through the beautifully snow-capped mountains standing guard at the pass. White snow flurries flew at our windshield as we ascended seemingly into the clouds. As the outside temperature dropped from 30 to 20 degrees, we gawked at our surreal, mesmerizing surroundings, feeling tiny in the vastness around us.

We successfully followed two semi-trucks through the mountains and had planned to stay at the primitive Galbraith Lake Campground just beyond the pass. Arriving there at 10 p.m., we found icicles hanging from the picnic tables in the 24-degree weather. That combined with a missing toilet seat in the outhouse and rain in the forecast convinced us to move on.


Boondocking in the Arctic

That decision took us to a slightly warmer temperature — 30 degrees at 11:20 p.m. — but we had to navigate the worst section of the Dalton Highway, forcing us to go 20 to 25 mph to reach our stopping point for the night, near pipeline pump station 3. 

Although you can find established campgrounds in some areas along the highway, the Haul Road offers numerous turnouts where travelers can pull over and camp overnight. We set up our tent in the bed of the truck, snapped a picture of the midnight sun, and settled in for some shuteye. Fortunately, I had taken an eye mask to block out the light, which didn’t bother Bob. 

The freezing cold didn’t make for the best sleep. We awoke numerous times. Traditionally, any time we camp, my charge is to take “too many blankets.” I thought I had done that, but I quickly learned otherwise. We had to use two underneath us to block the cold permeating through the air mattress. Thankfully, Bob had purchased a box of Sport Temp hand warmers* that we tucked around our feet and bodies to make the night bearable. 

We heard a strange animal sound over and over again and weren’t sure what it was — or how big the animal it came from. At one point, we both thought we heard footsteps. A bear perhaps? 

The next morning, we didn’t find any footprints (not that we really looked), but we did figure out what animal made the strange noise: a ptarmigan, Alaska’s official state bird. (It’s not the mosquito after all.) We had seen a couple of ptarmigan before arriving at our stop for the night. 

After repacking all our blankets and tearing down the tent and air mattress, we boiled water for coffee and a Peak Refuel backpack breakfast.* Fueled and caffeinated, we hit the road for the last leg of our journey to Deadhorse, where we had chartered an Arctic Ocean Shuttle for 3:30 p.m. We saw four caribou and a number of waterfowl on the way.

​Deadhorse

Deadhorse is a very industrial community, owing its livelihood to pipeline and related workers. It features hotels (most rooms with twin beds), a general store, an auto parts store, a couple of fuel stations, and a post office. While in the general store, we heard one visitor ask where she could get a good hamburger. She couldn’t. 

The workers eat at their place of lodging. Each of the “hotels,” or camps, offers a buffet for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, with set times and changing menus. The workers are busy, and many work long days or nights. 

Due to security around the oil fields, unaccompanied visitors are not allowed in. Getting to the Arctic Ocean requires purchasing a tour at least 24 hours in advance to allow time for a background check. 

​Arctic Polar Bear Club

An Arctic Ocean tour includes the option to dip your hands, feet, or even whole body into the frigid water. We had been psyching ourselves up for months to take a polar plunge. Because of cold, windy weather, I nearly opted out. Bob and two others in our group of five had decided they would jump in. Not knowing if I’d ever be in the area again and wanting to live each day to the fullest as a cancer survivor, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity.

Our tour guide navigated us through the oil fields, sharing interesting facts and pointing out important sights. I didn’t hear much of what he said as I was focused on mental preparation for the feat ahead. 

We reached our destination and emerged from the tour bus, fully clothed. Quickly taking in the beauty and capturing it in photos, we worked our way to the beach and started undressing in the 38-degree outdoor air, the wind prickling our skin with goosebumps. 

The sun had come out to spotlight our lunatic behavior. Eager to do the deed and get it behind me, I gingerly stepped down to the water and put in a foot. It didn’t feel too bad — not like the Atlantic Ocean in May when Bob and I had waded in with my dad, our feet nearly instantly numb. 

Ice atop the Arctic Ocean limited where we could take a dip. I wandered to a somewhat deeper, though still shallow, section and lay down in it. Bob followed and did the same. “How long do we have to stay here?” I asked, splashing water on my front so I wouldn’t have to turn over. The deed done, I sprang out of the water to the welcoming warmth of the sun, feeling very alive. 

As I dried off, I marveled at how I didn’t feel terribly cold, at least not with a towel around me. We put our clothes back on and posed for another picture before returning to the bus. We did it! We became official members of the Arctic Polar Bear Club and received certificates to prove it.

Cultural Immersion

Not wanting to sleep in our cold tent that night, we decided to splurge for a hotel. The price at The Aurora Hotel seemed a bit steep until we learned it included our meals. Warm food, a warm bed, and a warm shower — out of the rain, the truck, and the bumpy road conditions — held great appeal. And this hotel had some rooms with queen beds in them. 

The stay proved to be one of our favorite parts of our trip on the Dalton Highway. It gave us a good taste of the culture of the industrial area that is Prudhoe Bay. Pipeline and other workers spend a great amount of time there to protect a major part of the country’s infrastructure. To get any kind of food or rest in the town requires entering their world. We enjoyed learning about their jobs and lives. 

We lingered until after lunch the next day so we could get our money’s worth and start our return trip with full bellies. 

Since the weather looked good over Atigun Pass, we decided to drive to Coldfoot and evaluate our options. When we arrived, the weather didn’t make us want to set up our tent. So, we purchased coffee and journeyed onward to sleep in our nice warm bed, well wroth the 11-hour drive. Although Gulliver took a beating, we had a wonderful Alaska adventure.

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