My solo canoe expeditions were not simply journeys to the wilderness, but journeys to my interior self. In an attempt to convey these experiences, I offer two of my writings, “Encounter” and “Migrations,” that I paired with Photoshop collages—constructed in an attempt to address the question so often posed by my friends, “How does it feel?”
Migrations
The spirit of the caribou permeates
the night-shroud of the Jade Mountains
where I make my camp.
It is reflected in the moontrail
over the waters of the Kobuk
I have come to this hallowed ground
as did our ancestors
twelve thousand years before.
Not to hunt, though hunters still come,
and leave the heads of their prey
as a gift for the ravens.
I have come to witness,
to commune, to be transformed.
Throughout the late arctic evening,
under the star-struck sky
I follow endless tracks along
rusty sands.
Returning, I gaze across the ghostly river
searching the shadows.
I sleep in my tent, earful of the night
I wake to thundering splashes
announcing the first crossing of
the day.
After their frantic dash,
the Kobuk now behind them,
the caribou gather.
Stately statues
eyeing me curiously.
The caribou are social.
They are family.
They will risk their lives for one
another. And for you.
They will dash back across the
river to retrieve the fearful stragglers.
Leaving themselves exposed.
Inviting the wolf.
Now they approach.
Proudly. Models on a runway.
They do not fear me.
I am the photographer, not the
hunter. They ask, “Are you coming with
us?” Unanswered,
they turn to continue their long
migration. I watch them go,
suddenly homesick.