Nov/Dec Ac 2003
Can’t you hear the Wild? – it’s calling you. Let us probe the silent places, let us seek what luck betide us; Let us journey to a lonely land I know. Let us whisper on the night-wind, there’s a star agleam to guide us, And the Wild is calling, calling…let us go. -Robert Service Where the Mountains Have No Name Story and Photos by Aaron Teasdale In the far, far north, where the wilder- This description appealed to me greatly. northwest to the border of the Northwest size of dinner plates. We’d gotten a late ness is vast and the hand of man is light, a I moved from the urban confines of Territories, a 285-mile earthen ribbon start that morning, and by the time we set dirt road wanders off from the Alaska Minneapolis to Montana, the place with the through some of the most scenic, untamed up camp on an open ledge over the road and Highway and carves a pathway into the hin- wildest country I could find, for those very country in North America. cook dinner, it’s 11:30 at night, which, terlands. A sign here reads, “Caution: nar- things. Yet here was a place that promised We never do see a grizzly bear that first given that it’s still light out, doesn’t feel all row, winding, wilderness road. No services the sweet rewards of wild nature on an even day, but as we climb into the mountains, that strange. next 232 kilometers.” On August 1st, 2005, greater scale — a kind of uber-Montana.
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