Skiing up frozen rivers, enduring frigid nights at twenty below zero and staggering over vast reaches of barren tundra and scrub woodlands, David Metz trekked 600 miles across northern Alaska with his two dogs. The remotest part of his journey was crossing the Gates of The Arctic National Park, tucked deep in the heart of the Brooks Range. On this grueling leg, the threat of starvation loomed like the storms on the horizon. Every day brought rivers and bogs to wade, peaks to traverse and miles of nagging tussocks to hike over. In the isolation and desperation to forge ahead, he had to stave off panic in order to appreciate the immensity of the land. As he walked, he was able to rekindle his childhood amazement for the natural world and discover truths about himself and humanity, about loved ones and about where he wanted to go next. Even in the grip of exhaustion and despair he willed himself to stay calm and connect with wilderness again.
All in all this was a good book, but parts of this went on and on. I think it could have been written in about half of the pages. I really wanted to see how he felt at the end of the hike, but this is where he actually glossed over and ended the book. He also talked a lot about his previous dog that had passed on, and it almost seemed obsessive. I loved his commentary about crossing creeks and seeing the wildlife of Alaska.