The Sun Is a Compass: A 4,000-Mile Journey into the Alaskan Wilds

Moving at human pace solidifies his connection to the land.

Tedium is a regular part of my job. But today the graphs and calculations fall away as I inhale the scent of dirt and spruce needles. Out here, I am half scientist, half disciple. I’ve left the laboratory far behind and, with it, the need to quantify and contain. In its place, I’ve reconnected with the simple act of observation.

After almost two months in the constant company of the sea, we will head inland, traveling north into Canada’s Yukon. If our mountain crossing goes well, we’ll be in Whitehorse in less than two weeks.

They have dense bones that can resist pressure underwater, fewer air sacs than other birds to reduce their buoyancy, and muscles designed for diving. But

Before walking toward the forest’s edge, I offer a silent goodbye to the gray-green waters of the Pacific.

four thousand miles of roadless, trailless terrain through a landscape

carefully planned, our route detailed, the logistics ironed out? But uncertainty has become the only constant. Rather than adhering to schedules or itineraries, our days are shaped by the landscape; each valley, each river, each pass slightly different from the last.

Observation can guide us to wonder. It’s also the foundation of all scientific inquiry. Without observation, we have little hope of understanding an individual, a species, or an entire ecosystem.

Oh, no, the current is so close.” Then, in a single, impossible motion, the animal channels its energy into its core and, like a spring released, launches onto its feet. Prancing, it high-steps along the steep bluff. When it eventually darts up the embankment into the brush, I clap my hands, the mother in me washed with relief.

But we’ve known the power of the wild, the all-consuming demands of rain and snow and wind, the callousness of mountains and rivers. We’ve been cared for by strangers. We’ve felt part of something much