Arctic Son , livre ebook
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2014
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210
pages
English
Ebooks
2014
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Publié par
Date de parution
09 avril 2014
Nombre de lectures
0
EAN13
9781941821008
Langue
English
Poids de l'ouvrage
1 Mo
The chronicle of a family's first year alone in Alaskan wilderness, here is a poetic exploration into what we value in life.
In 1992 Jean Aspen took her husband, Tom, and their young son to live in Alaska's interior mountains where they built a cabin from logs, hunted for food, and let the vast beauty of the Arctic close around them. Jean had faced Alaska's wilderness alone before in a life-altering experience she shared in Arctic Daughter. Cut off from the rest of the world for more than a year, now her family would discover strength and beauty in their daily lives. They candidly filmed themselves and later produced a companion documentary, ARCTIC SON: Fulfilling the Dream, which shows on PBS stations across the nation.
From an encounter with a grizzly bear at arm's length to a challenging six-hundred-mile river passage back to civilization, Arctic Son chronicles fourteen remarkable months alone in the Brooks Range. At once a portrait of courage, a lyrical odyssey, and authentic adventure, this is a family's extraordinary journey into America's last frontier.
Near midnight we were jerked from sleep by the drone of a small plane! Pulling on jackets and rubber boots, Tom and I rushed down to the delta and lit our signal fire. The sky was burnt orange, but the land lay in deep shadow. The fire gusted brightly, blowing sparks across the sand.
Spent from this small exertion, Tom returned to bed with our sleeping child while I watched the plane transect the valley in a hunting pattern. Finally it turned toward us. Shivering in my night clothes, I lay on the tarp, holding my hands over my head to indicate that I needed help. At last he spotted me and began to circle.
I could see that he was on wheels, but I tried to indicate with gestures that the river was our airstrip. A streamer on the ground caught my eye in the twilight. I ran to pick it up and found a small plastic bottle tied to one end! I hadn’t seen it fall. Inside was a note. With shaking hands I opened it and read: “Hello from the Civil Air Patrol! We have notified the State Troopers that you need help. If you need immediate medical attention split your fire in two. You can turn off your ELT now.”
Immediate medical attention? I wondered. The word “immediate” was the problem. I didn’t want food dropped, and I didn’t want help next week. I made up my mind and split the fire. It turned out to be the wrong answer, but as I’d told Luke, sometimes you make decisions without all the information. You do the best you can.
I returned to bed but not to sleep. They had come! My family would be all right. I must have dozed, for my dreams included a familiar chop-chop-chop sound, growing insistently louder.
“Helicopter!” I yelled, bolting upright, my heart pounding. It was twilight, the sun not yet up. I slid on my down vest and rubber boots and rushed for the beach where a large, serious-looking, army helicopter was settling in a tornado of sand. Two olive clad men with a stretcher ran toward me.
“We heard there was a guy with a heart attack!” one of them said as we met.
I felt bewildered. “We’re expecting a floatplane,” I began. “My little boy was bit by a squirrel and we’re concerned about rabies, but my husband is too sick to canoe out. I think he has TB.”
They led me to the chopper where I again yelled our story to the grim looking pilot and copilot. The four men shut down the engines with a slowing whine of blades then followed me across the delta, shiny black boots sinking into the mud. It all seemed very unreal. Realizing the expense and trouble this trip had entailed, I was embarrassed that a Medevac team had come. The men were tired from the long trip and lack of sleep. We were beyond their normal range and they had taken out the rear seats to load extra bladders of fuel.
Within our dim cabin the medic examined Luke’s fingers (now almost healed) with a flashlight. Then he listened to Tom’s chest with a stethoscope and asked him questions. The men had a whispered conference and one of them said, “You definitely need medical treatment and should both be seen by a doctor, but this isn’t an immediate emergency. It’d be better if we called someone else to come for you.” We later heard that private ambulance and charter companies resented lost business.
“That’s fine,” we agreed, “but we need to get out soon.” I gave them the Warteses’ phone number saying, “Tell the pilot the river is high but clear of ice.”
They said they would radio in flight. With that they were gone, leaving me feeling like Alice in Wonderland. I had reached a state where nothing seemed real.
“Do you think anyone is on floats yet?” I asked Tom as the staccato of the chopper died away.
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Well, it’s out of our hands. Even if it takes two days, it’ll be a lot faster
than the river. And safer.”
“I know,” he said, softly. “I couldn’t sleep last night, thinking of the river. In my shape we might have all been killed.”
Publié par
Date de parution
09 avril 2014
Nombre de lectures
0
EAN13
9781941821008
Langue
English
Poids de l'ouvrage
1 Mo
Arctic Son
Fulfilling the Dream
Jean Aspen
Copyright 1995, 2014 by Jean Aspen
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the publisher.
Arctic Son was originally published in 1995 by Dell Publishing in New York.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Aspen, Jean.
Arctic son : fulfilling the dream / Jean Aspen.
pages cm
Originally published: Birmingham, Alabama : Menasha Ridge Press, 1995.
ISBN 978-0-88240-920-7 (paperback)
ISBN 978-1-941821-00-8 (e-book)
ISBN 978-1-941821-22-0 (hardbound)
1. Aspen, Jean. 2. Aspen, Jean-Family. 3. Pioneers-Alaska-Brooks Range-Biography. 4. Brooks Range (Alaska)-Biography. 5. Brooks Range (Alaska)- Description and travel. 6. Alaska-Description and travel. 7. Frontier and pioneer life-Alaska-Brooks Range. 8. Wilderness areas-Alaska-Brooks Range. 9. Wilderness survival-Alaska-Brooks Range. I. Title.
F912.B75A77 2014
979.8 70092-dc23
[B]
2013050352
Cover Design by Jean Aspen and Vicki Knapton
Interior Design by Vicki Knapton
Illustrations by Jean Aspen
Published by Alaska Northwest Books
An imprint of
P.O. Box 56118
Portland, Oregon 97238-6118
503-254-5591
www.graphicartsbooks.com
For Luke And his children s children, And for every child Who dreams of Freedom, Beauty, and Adventure; And for Tom Irons and Laurie Schacht Who made my dreams come true.
Our wilderness family, October 1992.
CONTENTS
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Map
C HAPTER 1
C HAPTER 2
C HAPTER 3
C HAPTER 4
C HAPTER 5
C HAPTER 6
C HAPTER 7
C HAPTER 8
C HAPTER 9
C HAPTER 10
C HAPTER 11
C HAPTER 12
C HAPTER 13
C HAPTER 14
Epilogue
We chose our cabin site on a 1990 canoe trip. Luke was four.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The first time I set off for the Arctic I had just turned twenty-two. It was a perfect age for testing myself against hardships and the unknown. I felt the need to do it on my terms and sought little help. Two decades later, proving myself was no longer the issue. At forty-two I was comfortable with my physical limitations. As a mother, I wished to ensure the safety of our journey. As a seeker I was learning to accept life s gifts.
I was therefore deeply moved by the number of friends and even strangers who stepped forward with offers of assistance when Tom and I announced we were returning to the Brooks Range to build a cabin and live alone for a year and a half with our young son, Luke. Were it not for this help, our undertaking would have been far more difficult.
Apart from the love these gifts represented, there was sometimes a wistful quality. I felt rather like an astronaut, setting forth where few will go but many will follow in their hearts. In receiving, I discovered a nobility of human spirit, a desire to contribute and be a part of something beyond our daily lives, and so came to see our venture not in terms of us alone, but as something greater. This odyssey then belongs not only to me and mine, but to all who stood and waved good-bye and to any our story may touch and inspire.
I apologize to anyone I fail to mention by name. The oversight is not intentional. I am grateful to each of you for your contribution, your love, and for teaching me that it is also good to receive.
In the order they come to mind and not in importance, I wish to thank and acknowledge the following individuals:
Mark and Denise Wartes were our safety lines. They collected our mail, organized supply flights, kept our truck, and gave us a loving home base in Fairbanks.
My sister, Ann Helmericks and her husband, John Louder, built our stovepipe oven and gave us numerous items. My Aunt Janet and Uncle Bert Cutler provided the stove and helped purchase videotapes. Tom s brother and wife, Fred and Sally Irons, helped us buy video equipment.
My father and stepmother, Bud and Martha Helmericks, and my brothers Jim, Mark, and Jeff Helmericks and their families, were kind to us.
Tom s family: Alice and Larry Irvin, Frances Putman, Mary-Eva Irons, Nancy and Charlie Weatherman, and Richard and Barbara Irons supported us with love, despite their concerns.
Vic and Judy Michael rekindled the dream.
Stan and Ruth Brown supported in countless ways with joy and enthusiasm. Luke s sleeping bag was a present from them. Barb and Bill Dantzler championed us with clothing, food, and much else. Neighbors Joyce Mattson and Debbie Gonzolez often took on an extra child to leave me free to prepare.
Jeffrey and Nicole Ureles and Jennifer Barnacastle took care of our Arizona home with assistance from Joe Burns and Keven Mulkins. Peg Hausler, Robert Fleming, and Bea Carter handled our affairs.
Alaskan bush pilots who greatly deserve our thanks: Stephen Ruff and Ken Howard of Brooks Range Aviation, Steve Porter of Transporter Air, Don Ross of Canning Aviation, the Alaskan Civil Air Patrol, and the Fairbanks-based US Air Force Medevac Team.
Drs. Georgie and Jack Boyer were our medical advisors and Dr. J. Rokey set us up with an emergency dental kit, as he had twenty years before. Dr. Christopher Demas, Mr. Rogers, PA, and Dr. Stephen Moore deserve our thanks as well. Our pharmacists, Rich Howard and Mary Sparling, also guided us.
We couldn t have made the video without technical help and encouragement from Chris Knight of The New Film Company. Kate Bandos of KSB Promotions was indispensable in handling my books.
When Arizona schools turned us down, several individuals contributed materials and ideas for Luke s first grade. Among these were Sue Clemans, Peggy Clemans, Jennifer Vemish, Jane Chittenden, Ruby James, Beth Zona, Susan Kraft, David Anderson, Marie Tsaguris, and Amelia Warner and her children.
Robert Morgan located a canoe for us and gave Luke a pair of skis. Ralph Griest donated his knives as did Eugene Brown. Eugene Brown and Betty Brown drove three hundred miles to clean our carpets as a parting gift. Friends and neighbors offered to help us pack.
My spiritual teacher, Frederick Patchen, has altered forever the quality of our lives.
The Indian people of Venetie, Beaver, and Steven s Village treated us like family.
The cooking staff at the University of Arizona Student Union saved empty food containers. Susanne Loeper of Back to Basics in Payson, Arizona, special ordered dried foods.
Special thanks goes to my editors, Budd Zehmer and Kathy Howard, for keeping my creative style within acceptable bounds, and to Barb Wieser, Mike Jones, Stephen Reynolds, and Doug Pheiffer for believing in me. Jacob Hoye, Scooter MacMillan, Angela Zbornnik, and Vicki Knapton also contributed.
And finally we are thankful to everyone who loved and supported us, including: Duane and Jenny Durham, Mark and Jane Fraze, Don and Ginny Fisher of Papillon Glass, Denny Genzman of Snoopy s Flight School, Hugh and Claire Wingfield, Ralf and Celia Webber, Michelle Polis, John Callentine, Valina Cutler, Albert Cutler III, Chris Vemish, George and Fredi Young, Jake Cadzow, Jay and Sandy Dominic, Philip Fergione, Charlotte Cardon, Gayle and Richard Carter, Bob and Jean Rupkey, John Lacoma, Sally Steven-Towne, Bob Stauffacher, Terrel Miedaner, Lillian Fisher, Michael Zanders, Troy Mattson, and Darlene Schacht.
I personally wish to acknowledge Laurie Schacht for her suggestions on this manuscript and my husband, Tom Irons, for his considerable help in creating this book. Above all, I am deeply grateful to Tom, Luke, and Laurie for their love and trust.
Tom, Jeanie, Laurie, and Luke the summer of 1992.
PROLOGUE
Luke shifted sleepily in my arms, and I realized that he was still awake. The steady rocking of our chair had lulled me into a dream state, but as I looked down, I could see his large, brown eyes watching me. Eyes like forest pools dappled in sunlight, I always thought, liquid and deep.
Sing, he commanded with the quiet assurance of a two-year-old. Thoughtfully, he tucked the frayed corner of his blue blanket into his mouth, snagged his front teeth on it, and pulled. Then came a happy sucking sound.
I searched my memory for something different and began an old Howard Halsey song that Johnny Horton had made famous.
Snowflakes fall as winter calls, And time just seems to fly
Again my thoughts drifted out the window, North. Snowflakes. Wind in the dark treetops. The call of migrating geese. Alaska. Autumn was upon the high country five thousand miles away, while in Arizona the thermometer still registered in the hundreds. The ceiling fan droned quietly on, Luke sucked his blanket, and I sang and dreamed.
Many years before, I had set out to live on the land in the wilderness of the Brooks Range of Alaska with my first husband, Phil Beisel. We were college kids with little money and no strings to hold us back. It seemed the perfect time of life for a Grand Adventure.
This wasn t my first expedition. My parents, Constance and Bud Helmericks, were arctic adventurers and authors of a dozen books on the wilderness. I had traveled with them as a toddler, following the caribou herds by dogsled and flying in our Cessna over the vast distances between our Brooks Range cabin and the arctic coast. My sister, coming along eighteen months after my birth, was left with grandparents in a small town in Colorado. Grandpa ran a gun shop and delivered mail over mountain roads with
