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In 1997, I traveled to Fairbanks, Alaska, in the dead of winter to complete a two-month veterinary internship focused on—of all things—reptiles. Though I wasn’t particularly interested in building a practice around snakes and lizards, I enjoyed learning about them. My main goal, however, was to witness the northern lights. I’m happy to report that I watched their seductive dance on several occasions and will never forget the feeling of awe I experienced each time. I left Alaska with a multitude of memories beyond aurora sightings and a deeper appreciation for its culture, climate, and landscape.
A few months ago, I received an email from author Michael Engelhard, asking if I’d read and review his book, Arctic Traverse: A Thousand-Mile Summer of Trekking the Brooks Range (Mountaineers Books). I was eager to return to our nation’s wildest state, but this time from the comfort of my home. An experienced Alaskan guide, anthropologist, and celebrated writer, Engelhard fits the mold of an intrepid explorer rather than a thru-hiker searching FarOut for a resupply town boasting an all-you-can-eat buffet. In short, he’s the real deal, and this book is a rare gem amid a sea of trekking memoirs.
I imagine that writing about a solo journey with minimal human interaction would be difficult, but Engelhard’s prose is so rich and immersive that I finished the book feeling as though I had experienced the trek (and paddle) myself. He doesn’t just describe the land; he inhabits it, while seamlessly weaving natural and human history into the narrative. Even the wildlife seems to accept him as just another feral being living amongst them.
I especially appreciated learning about the landscape north of the Arctic Circle—a place I’d love to explore one day. It’s a shame Engelhard no longer guides. The depth of his love for the land and its denizens is palpable throughout the book, as is his underlying concern about its future. The increasing evidence of climate change is included in his observations, giving the book an urgency and relevance that goes beyond personal adventure. After having recently experienced the effects of Hurricane Helene here in western North Carolina, his insight was especially haunting. But even with such heavy content, he still manages to incorporate a sense of levity and dry wit in all the right places.
Of course any good adventure story keeps its reader’s attention rapt with stories of “type 2 fun” and perilous moments. Whether it’s grizzly bear encounters (so many!), mosquito clouds, missing supply caches, or the final leg of his journey threatening to end in a catastrophe, Engelhard shares his stories in a way that had me either groaning aloud in frustration or wide eyed with anxiety.
Arctic Traverse is a book to be savored, not devoured. It’s the kind of lyrical writing you want to underline and return to for reflection. Engelhard’s journey and prose are a rare gift, and I thoroughly enjoyed both the story and its message.