By Frank Keim
Old days drift slowly into new days
and the white eye of the Arctic sun rolls
bright across the night,
as we trek
south
up the Hulahula River,
named more than a century ago
by Hawaiian whalers stranded
on an ocean cold and frozen
before its time.
We stop at vestiges
of ancient Eskimo camps
where the only traces are
oil lamps made of pecked stone
and circles of rocks
where skin tents once perched.
We climb over tall rocky passes seen by few
in this harsh land
where musk oxen and caribou wander free
from man’s confining designs,
and so do we.
There’s no time in this wild place,
only the wind turning willow leaves white,
and water bouncing and
curling over primordial rocks
that gravity pulls
inexorably seaward
down
the rivers,
helping carve the steep valley we’re in now.
A Gyrfalcon cruises alone
above rough limestone crags,
searching for unwary parky squirrels
that chatter
at our uninvited presence.
Wild sheep speckle sharp-angled slopes,
staying high with their capering lambs,
ready to flee the prowling hunger
of loping wolves
and the hairy hulk of grizzlies
ever watchful for an easy meal.
The verge of snow ridges and cirques
severs the earth
from the blue midnight sky
where the sun dances across the horizon,
flicking light from the flowers of avens
tilting yellow and white in the blowing breeze
in this high Arctic valley of our refuge.
Time has no meaning here as it slides into itself,
moment into moment,
day into sunlit night,
into misty mornings
and scintillant afternoons
that fly endlessly
like the birds that fill them with endless life
for us here
on the Hulahula.
Hulahula River
Arctic National Wildlife Refuge
Editor's notes:
“Wilderness Experienced” is our shared stories and musings about recent experiences in our nation's Wildernesses. Stories focus on the virtues of Wilderness and/or challenges facing the National Wilderness Preservation System. We want to hear your story! Learn more and submit a story.
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At 88 my life has turned upside down. So at my bedtime I reread your poem & put aside the fragmented day. I’m a winter person who has spent many days in the mountains as my husband has. Who is now in another room with a caretaker. Thank you & bless you. I hope I can find your books & poems for further enjoyment
Very beautiful and so special as it helped to bring the beauty of the artic so I could see it in Frank's poem. We have been given such a gift with our parks and environment. I pray that we can take care of them for the future. It is such a gift to have the ability to express in words so others can share the same special places where time stands still.
I love your poem. I am 82 but 38 yrs ago. I am too old now but back then during the month of Feb. I flew to Ak to hike from Juneau to Mendenhall Glacier from Douglas Island where I was visiting & explore. We hopped a freighter for 5 cents to travel down the islands to Sitka & slept in a hollowed out log falling asleep to the swoosh of waves near us with a huge moon. While hopping off briefly to stand on other islands we spent the night on the ship deck where ice was about 15 to 24 or more inches thick, found a melted ice space my body would fit into w/o rolling out thru the roping into the sea, the ship rocked me to sleep with the wind howling looking up at the stars. Before leaving we climbed Mt Roberts to the top to the ice fields but did not have proper ice soles so I laid in the snow by the statue which moves in the wind and I leaned on almost to my demize (sp) & made snow angels in the snow for my Xmas cards. Also above the tree line coming down I accidentally fell about 5 switch backs before a root sticking out held when I grabbed it & my butt caught on a rocky 6 in ledge edge. My guardian angels were holding me I know. One of a few great adventures of my life.
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