Changing Paths: Travels and Meditations in Alaska's Arctic Wilderness

Changing Paths: Travels and Meditations in Alaska
Changing Paths: Travels and Meditations in Alaska's Arctic Wilderness
Author : Bill Sherwonit
Published : 2009-09-15
Amazon Price : $19.42

A solitary journey into the vast Gates of the Arctic wilderness provided just the right surroundings for Bill Sherwonit to reflect on his life journey and his particular way of thinking about wilderness, wildness, and himself. The result was Changing Paths: Travels and Meditations in Alaska's Arctic Wilderness (University of Alaska Press, 2009, $21.95).

Bill Sherwonit is a wilderness advocate and nature writer whose resume lists a dozen books and a wealth of articles and essays. Many of you Traveler readers have already read some of his stuff. The rest of you should seriously consider it, and Sherwonit’s most recent work would be a great place to start. It is, I think, his best effort to date.

As the title implies, there are two interwoven, mutually supporting themes in Sherwonit’s latest book. One is his backpacking trip in Gates of the Arctic National Park, a two-week, seven-camp, 50-mile long trip taken without benefit of companionship, any special physical conditioning, or extensive wilderness backpacking experience. This is the theme that carries the heavy weight. The second theme is Sherwonit’s mental exploration of the life journey that saw him transformed from a shy, sensitive boy growing up in Connecticut into a popular nature writer, wilderness lover, and environmental activist living and adventuring in Alaska.

Sherwonit blends these physical and mental journeys in a journalistic style called creative nonfiction (aka literary journalism), a writing genre that can be very difficult to master. University of Idaho English Professor Phil Druker points out that balance is the critical variable:

The author tells a story (entertains the readers), presents factual information (expands readers' knowledge of the subject), and shares passion for the topic. The trick is to balance these three elements to make the text work for the readers….

If you do this thing correctly, you get well-grounded nonfiction that’s loaded with useful, interesting facts but still reads like well-written fiction. That is, when you start reading it, you don’t want to put it down because you’ve just got to know what comes next. Good storytellers can make us feel this way, and as anyone who reads Changing Paths can attest, Bill Sherwonit is one hell of a good storyteller.

Bill’s a deep thinker, too. Here’s what he has to say about the personal worth of wilderness treks like his Gates of the Arctic adventure.

….”being part of” [nature] is something I too easily forget when immersed in urban routines, though in my middle-aged years I have done a better job of regularly bringing wild nature into my daily life. And myself into nature. I have managed this through year-round walks, natural history studies of the plants and animals with whom I share the Anchorage landscape, journal writing, and the midlife discovery of the joys inherent in bird feeding and wild berry harvesting. Still, I don’t know that I would have been able to (re)establish a deeper relationship with both the wild “other” and wild inner self without the awareness I’ve gained through deeper trips into wilderness, where society’s influences are stripped away to reveal what’s essential.

The shifts of consciousness that occur seem nonlinear, almost quantum jumps, as my time in the wilds increases from an hour or two to a day, a week, a month. The more deeply I move, both into wilderness and out of my regular time and busyness, the more cultural layers I shed and the more easily I become part of the larger nature that’s always there.

Because it offers few urgent distractions -- grizzly bears, prime hypothermia weather, and treacherous stream crossings being notable exceptions – the wilderness isolation that Gates of the Arctic affords is conducive to introspection. Sherwonit sees the experience not just as a physical test (with death as the possible price of failure), but also as a quest for greater understanding. “I want to better comprehend,” he says” why wilderness matters so much to me and other like-minded (and hearted) souls. And, immersed in wilderness, I hope to better know my own wild nature.”

The temporal blending of the physical and mental movements makes this narrative an “easy read.” The wilderness trek unfolds mile by mile, camp by camp, incident by incident. At the same time, the author’s life story is revealed stage by stage, watershed event by watershed event, epiphany by epiphany. The flow of the trip and the flow of the author’s life seem to merge, becoming the same stream. At the end of the trip, we not only know a very great deal about America’s preeminent wilderness, we also know a very great deal about Sherwonit the man. Both of them are fascinating, and that’s why I can enthusiastically commend this book to your attention.

A parting word about introspection, or “meditations” as the book’s title calls it. By the time you reach the far side of middle age (and at 50 years old, that’s where Bill was when he wrote this book) you realize that introspection is worth the trouble only if it is done the right way. When you tell others about your mental life – what’s going on inside your head – you had better be honest, even if it hurts. To his credit, Bill would not have us believe that he is a candidate for sainthood. He has very human flaws, and that makes his achievements all the more inspirational. May his kind increase.

Amazon Detail : Product Description

Changing Paths: Travels and Meditations in Alaska’s Arctic Wilderness is an autobiographical exploration of author Bill Sherwonit’s relationship with the Alaska wilderness. Written in three parts, it first describes Sherwonit’s introduction to the Brooks Range and his years as an exploration geologist. Taking a step back, the author then takes us into the past to explore his childhood roots in rural Connecticut and his recognition of wild nature as a refuge. He concludes with his emergence as a nature writer and wilderness advocate.

An engrossing, fascinating, and eye-opening tale of one man’s life and of wilderness conceptions, this vivid description of an area of Alaska that few people get to experience is authentic and enlightening. It is an extraordinary contribution to the literature of place from one of Alaska’s most accomplished nature writers.

 

Comments

Bob--

I was fotunate enough to do a similar journey in the Gates. We started at Summit Lake, 100+ miles north of the Arctic Circle and backpacked until we came to the place that Bob Marshall called the Gates of the Arctic. There we picked up some rafts and floated for a couple weeks on the North Fork of the Koyakuk, taking out at Bettles, Alaska.

We never saw another person during the trip other than the four of us. Other than some planes that flew over head, there was no trace of civilization except for the hiking gear we had with us. As the author above suggests, that much time in the wilderness does promote introspection, stripping away illusions about what is necessary and what isn't.

It was on this trip that I first heard an expression that has been used on NPT--"let the rangers range." On the trip, it came up during a heated discussion around a campfire about what the role of a US national park ranger ought to be. I have never forgotten it and was pleased to see it in one of the posts on, I believe, the "Core Ops" thread.

I gave a talk to the NM hiking club once with the title, "The Five Greatest Hikes in the Natiional Park System." The Gates hike was one. The others were: the Wilderness Beach in Olympic, the Subway in Zion, the Teddy Roosevelt trail into Rainbow Bridge, and the Hopi Salt Trail that ends in Grand Canyon. Of course, that's my list; everyone has his/her own.

Rick Smith

Sounds like a wonderful trip, Rick. Must be nice to be able to savor memories like that. Several decades ago, when I still had hair and illusions, Sandy and I took a flightseeing trip out of Anchorage, over the trackless boreal forest and tundra, and eventually to the flanks of Denal and beyond. I remember that, as we flew over mile after seemingly endless mile of wilderness, I looked down and wondered if there were any people down there, and whether they were looking up at us even at that moment. It's human nature, I guess, to measure solitude in whatever metric happens to apply to your situation.