Katherine Keith - Epic Solitude: A Story of Survival and a Quest for Meaning in the Far North

Copyright 2020 by Katherine Keith
E-book published in 2020 by Blackstone Publishing
Cover design by Alenka Vdovi Linaschke
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Trade e-book ISBN 978-1-5385-5703-7
Library e-book ISBN 978-1-5385-5702-0
Biography & Autobiography / Personal Memoirs
CIP data for this book is available from the Library of Congress
Blackstone Publishing
31 Mistletoe Rd.
Ashland, OR 97520
www.BlackstonePublishing.com

To Amelia, whose unending faith in me assures me that I can never fail if I keep searching for that next stake.

Introduction

We talk of communing with Nature, but tis with ourselves
we commune...Nature furnishes the conditions
the solitudeand the soul furnishes the entertainment.

John Burroughs

It is a fall evening above the Arctic Circle in Kotzebue, Alaska. Looking up at a dark sky during a new moon, dazzling stars compete for attention while fire-red northern lights dance in universal celebration. Brought to my knees in surrender of grace, I dream of belonging. I yearn to be part of the symphony of life embodying the perfection of nature, but my song is punctuated with the dissonance of human flaws, of which there are many. Each satellite passing overhead reminds me of loved ones who came into my life before fading out into the horizon. I miss them all.

A falling star burns its way across the sky, making its mark on the Milky Way. That same burning courses its way across my heart, mandating me to tell this story. My story is not unique or heroic. It is raw truth demanding readers as participants to stand in their own authenticity. We have a choice when it comes to how real we get with ourselves and each other. While self-preservation asks us to be nondescript, the fire within demands that we be alive in the fullest sense of the word. That means being vulnerable. I trust you to handle the rawness of life in this book even though it might mean looking into your own pain without blinking.

I grew up in Minnesota in a family full of tradition and with its share of drama but never lacking in love. I sacrificed the security of my family in a gamble on the great unknown. The hunger for the wilderness of Alaska, mountains to be explored, and unexpected journeys requires constant feeding lest I starve. Our souls burn brightly to shed light on this mystery we call life.

Sure enough, life happens along the way. Over marriage, divorce, birth, and death, life gives with surprising ease and takes away with equal ambivalence. When life drags us through the mud of anger, despair, bitterness, and trauma, our tendency is to huddle up and close ourselves off in a defensive posture. We need fireworks to wake us up and open our eyes to the helping hands being offered by those around us. I wrote this book in hopes of being a bright comet to inspire others to open their heart to the possibilities around them even when it hurts the most.

Life is suffering, states a major Buddhist precept. In eliminating our attachment to the things and people we love, we may be free from suffering. But what if those attachments give our life purpose? My lifefull of attachment, full of sufferingleft a mark on my soul. What we do with these scars remains our choice.

As a caterpillar spins a cocoon to become a butterfly, I seek renewal. The vast solitude of the wilderness serves as my cocoon. I enter wilderness quests such as thousand-mile dogsled races and transform each step along the way.

This book details the failures and achievements of a life that I felt compelled to live to the fullest. I may be odd in the way I find connection with the world. Not everyone likes being outdoors in Arctic storms. Not everyone needs a vision quest to uncover past memories. However, we all need the intention of healing in order to guide our lives forward. Wilderness adventures have gifted me with healing. Every life-or-death situation seems to magically parallel some deep trauma that I need to process and release. In facing real-time danger, I gain the courage and confidence to face my far scarier internal demons, the ones we all have.

The path of learning should never end, or we would become stuck in a pattern of limited growth. We have all been there: halfway up the mountain and so tempted to simply stay there, enjoying the view.

We all have the opportunity to become something greater than we have imagined for ourselves. In reading my story, I ask you to consider your own suffering and what can be created from it. What is your cocoon? Im here to tell you it is not good enough to hang out halfway up the mountain in a bivy sack, suspended from any progress, forward or backward, waiting for an avalanche to take you away into a dark, cold abyss. Try. Take one small step forward, through the pain, suffering, grief, anger, shame, and everything else convincing you that you cant make it. Life is worth saying yes to.

I turned forty this year. What do I want to do now that I am over the hill? I want to keep climbing and hold the hands of others making their own journey up their mountain of suffering. You are not alone.

Part One:
Starting Line

Iditarod, Mile 777
Unalakleet, Alaska | 2014

Life is either a daring adventure or nothing.

Helen Keller

When it comes to cold, the crossroads of crisis and necessity is forty-five degrees Fahrenheit below zero. At twenty or even thirty degrees below zero, we can maintain our body temperature so long as we wear the proper gear. But deeper than thirty below, no gear suffices to counteract the coldnot even the four layers on my legs and feet, the six on my torso, the work gloves and two sets of hand warmers inside my musher mitts, and the wool balaclava and liner on my head, all topped off with a goofy-looking beaver-fur hat.

Im just a poor boy, nobody loves me, I sing out, trying to stay awake, to my dogs who march like heroes down the trail. The dogs are used to my off-key singing by now and dont seemed disturbed by my choice in music.

Cowboy, take me away. Take me high and above to see the stars, I cry out, making up the Dixie Chicks lyrics as I go because, despite this being my favorite song, my sleep-deprived brain cant quite recall the correct words. The dogs dont seem to mind.

I am seven days and 750 miles into my first Iditarod, the thousand-mile dogsled race across Alaska. I started the race with fourteen dogs and have dropped five at the checkpoints for various reasons. Nine dogs remain with over 250 miles yet to travel.

Just as we leave Unalakleet at forty below zero, the weather service issues a winter storm warning with a high wind advisory. There is only one option: keep moving. We trek over the bare Blueberry Hills rising away from Unalakleet over the Bering Sea. I hope for snow to smooth the way but find none. Covered with sand and rocks and patches of glare ice, the climbs through the hills are long and arduous. After eighteen miles we reach the high point of this section with a steep climb. I scream out in frustration as the dogs slip around on ice while the sled sticks on sand. We cannot move. How are we supposed to do this? Inch by inch, I push the sled forward until the dogs can get off the ice. Their attitudes are positive, and the dogs march on once they get traction.