Arctic Mists...

   This was a journey into a new beginning. Into what, I didn't know.
   I would soon find out.

   I turned 46 while standing on the ice clogged shores of the village of Kaktovik, watching the ice make it's gradual migration into the Eastern Beaufort. It was still packed together, growlers that shouldered each other like reluctant cattle out into the vastness of their Arctic Ocean pasture. The wind never stopped, thankfully for the caribou. They were already feeling the relentless suffocation of their gnawing, swirling clouds of insect pests, haunting their every move. As I paddled the herd's vast expanse of shoreline refuge, the corpse of each exhausted animal run to death by these relentless hordes would occasionally reveal itself. The grim reminders of each march into a sandy grave would leave it's unforgettable imprint on my mind, as I would drift in reverent silence beside a tombstone monument of huge antlers pointing futilely to the sky. The bodies were untouched by the predators scouring the tundra, whatever their composition, until the bolder opportunists finally realized that the hooves and massive antlers were no longer a threat. Then the move to match the needs of the land would prevail, and the cycle of life would continue to it's inevitable conclusion. 

   The tundra shores were my home now, as well, with all that the self reliant isolation entailed. I had lost everything else that had held me. The survival gear within the tiny world of my kayaq was all I had left, and the world of ice and wind was the breath of life for me now. Without fully being able to comprehend what was before me, all I knew for sure was that I had a journey before me, a different destination than I had originally planned, and an unknown future. 

   How unable to predict was my preception, that this shore, the wind off the pack ice, and the uncertainty was what was molding me for a creation of years to come. For the experiences that followed began to register within me, a comprehension of something I had to give to others.

   But it had to start with me. Because if I didn't get it, no one would.
   So began the battle against the demons of memory and war, of loss and futile anquish, and a reconstruction of the man fighting to emerge free of the chains that the failure of civilization and human fraility had imposed. My own failures, my own weakness, my own memories and conflicts. Because here, in my Arctic Monastery, I couldn't run any longer from the war in my soul. It was here I would fight, and either win, or lose. I would have to face myself, alone. And here I would afterward walk out with a peaceful purpose, secure in myself as a man - or destroy myself in the failure of my dreams. 
   In other words, I would come out into a world with my glass half full, as part of the solution - or half empty, as still part of the problem. 
   I looked at the tiny 19 foot kayaq, compared to the field before me. The storms I knew, the boat I knew - the future I didn't, only the God that had chosen to allow me these trials. How solid was my faith, in myself, my equipment, in what I was about to do, in why I was doing it?
   Why the Arctic - again? Because this time I needed her. I needed to move again with the rhythm of the land and sea, and let tomorrow take care of itself. Somewhere else, with someone else. Right now, I needed the solitude, to sort things out, to be open with myself without interruptions from the outside. Right now, the only voice I wanted to hear was the wind. People could come later. But right now, today, I had my hands full with too much else. All I really needed now, was to fill them with a solid ash paddle, my mind with the present, and my heart with the memories. Then deal with them as they came, until the march of yesterday left only a finishing parade of clear tomorrows and the virgin dawn of a new beginning. 

   So that second of July, I pushed off after my morning tea, with only a dim chance and a bright hope. Everything I had to try and win was with me then, my faithful Kayaq, my years at sea, my Bush Alaskan upbringing, and my faith in one Being that I knew would be there, to help me sort all of this out. 

   And by the time I was moving within the company of the cool boundries of the ice lined leads, I knew I was right. The adventure had begun again, in earnest.

   No doubt in my military mind.

   I was where I was supposed to be.

-WKD