IMPRINT, the Bell Museum's quarterly magazine for members, offers stories of scientific adventure and discovery, insight into today's rapid environmental changes, updates on museum programs and exhibits, and fun activities for kids. IMPRINT is published quarterly and is available as a benefit of Bell Museum membership.

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by Jennifer Amie

The Arctic National Wildlife Refuge occupies more than 19 million acres in the far northeastern corner of Alaska, an area equal in size to the state of South Carolina. Encompassing both arctic and subarctic habitats, it is home to polar, grizzly, and black bears, musk oxen, Dall sheep, wolverines, and the 130,000-member Porcupine caribou herd. Just off its coastal plain in the Beaufort sea live spotted, ringed, and bearded seals, along with beluga and bowhead whales. Nearly 180 species of birds come there to breed, nest, and feed.

For thousands of years, this wildlife has thrived in a landscape where evolutionary and ecological processes have taken their course with little human intervention. Beneath the tundra, however, lies a cache of oil that has placed this area at the center of a national controversy. The battle over whether to permit oil exploration and extraction in the refuge has been fought repeatedly in Congress.

Illuminating just what's at stake in this debate are 50 large-format photographs in the exhibit "Endangered Treasure: Our Arctic National Wildlife Refuge," on view at the Bell Museum through August 29.

The exhibit was organized by a grassroots group of concerned citizens and sponsored by the Sierra Club, the Natural Resource Defense Council, the American Conservation Association, and the Wilderness Society. Such conservation groups led the successful campaign to designate the area as a wildlife refuge in 1960, when it was heralded as one of America's last truly wild places.

The seven photographers whose work is featured in the exhibit recorded their encounters with the spectacular and subtle elements of this arctic landscape, from prowling polar bears and shaggy musk oxen, to delicate wildflowers and colorful lichens. Together, the images present a portrait of a diverse landscape flanked by the Brooks mountain range, criss-crossed by rivers, and resting atop the permafrost.

The coastal plain is the area targeted for oil extraction. It is also the birthing ground for the 130,000-member Porcupine caribou herd (named for a major river within its range), the most iconic residents of the refuge.

Each year the caribou herd travels 400 miles from its wintering areas south of the Brooks Range to its calving area on the coastal plain. Pregnant females arrive at the coast in June, when the snow is melting. The edible plants then beginning to bloom provide essential nourishment for nursing mothers. Because fewer brown bears, wolves, and golden eagles live on the plain, the location affords the vulnerable calves some protection from predators. It also offers a respite from hordes of mosquitoes and other insects.

In summer the coastal plain is a birthplace for caribou, but by fall it is a nursery for polar bears. Though polar bears spend most of the year hunting seals and other prey on the pack ice, pregnant females come ashore in November to dig dens in snow drifts. There they give birth to one or two cubs and nurse and care for their young until March or early April. The refuge is home to the highest density of polar bear land dens on the Alaskan coast.

While conservationists describe the coastal plain as the biological heart of a thriving ecosystem, proponents of oil drilling often portray it as barren and inhospitable. That's understandable, says photographer Amy Gulick, whose work is included in the exhibit. "When you fly over tundra it's easy to look down and say, 'That is so empty,'" she says. "The coastal plain is flat, with no trees or waterfalls or other distinguishing land features. And people think that what's worth preserving are places like Yosemite, with drop-dead, beautiful scenery."

Gulick traveled to the refuge to see for herself whether it was a wilderness or a wasteland. What she discovered were complex plant and animal communities on a tundra landscape with subtle, not blockbuster, features.

"I learned that to appreciate the arctic, you have to get down on the ground," she says. "There are moose and caribou antlers everywhere, and huge holes where a grizzly bear was trying to dig out a squirrel. Ladybugs and butterflies landed on our socks. Caribou filed past our tent each day. It's rich with wildlife. I go places in the lower 48 where bears are missing, wolves are missing. Up there, nothing is missing."

Gulick also visited the Prudhoe Bay oil fields 60 miles west of the refuge, to observe the impact oil drilling has on the arctic. "There is a huge spiderweb of gravel roads, and they dig the gravel from the tundra," she says. "It's flat, dry, dusty, and it smells of diesel fuel. You hear gigantic vehicles and the noises of heavy equipment."

Based on her experiences, Gulick concluded that the refuge should be protected from development. "This is a pivotal moment politically, biologically, and spiritually," she says. "I really feel that wildness is a part of us, and if we lose it, we lose a part of ourselves. I think that's tragic for humans."

The goal of the "Endangered Treasure" exhibit is to help viewers see for themselves what riches the refuge contains—above and beyond those that lie beneath the tundra. "It's a national refuge and it belongs to all of us," says Gulick. "The refuge is a symbol for how we view all our wild and public land."