A part of me thinks I should just post photos of this adventure and spare the writing. Yet, the other part of me is trying to find words that articulate how it is that some of us connect to certain places in a way that is hard to explain to others. I suspect we all have our own place of refuge from the demands and expectations of the real world. For me, it seems the MacKenzies are that place, though my place of refuge wasn't always a place so isolated, lonely, and remote.
As I think about the regenerating value of lonely places, my mind goes back to Pine Island State Forest as the location where I found a lot of comfort at a difficult time in my life. My parents went through a messy divorce when I was ten. Being the oldest of three kids, I was probably caught in the middle of it more than my younger siblings, and that seems to be why I sought places that made sense.
The perfect "nuclear family" notion seemed to be my future. Yet, when my Dad decided that drinking was more important that running his businesses, that notion came unraveled in the course of about three years. Standing on our steps, watching his logging equipment, his trucks, and his land get sold at a bank auction was a stark reality of how rapidly one's world could come unwound.
When my Dad moved a few hours away to find work in the iron mines, I was pretty much on my own as far as outdoors. Thankfully, with a quick half-mile walk down the hill from our trailer house, across Larry and Patsy Cook's place, onto Albin's land, I could climb up into the trolley car that took me across the Big Fork River to Pine Island State Forest. In doing so, all the stresses of life were left behind. Nobody knew where I was. And nobody else invested the effort to trolley across the river and disturb my three-thousand acre pieces of unexplored wilderness.
It was this place where I found some sanity in during a very turbulent time. I didn't understand why I was so attracted to that place. Not sure I can explain it well, even today, fifty years later. Yet, in this small place, a place that seemed like the most remote corner of the planet to my ten year old mind, it was very comforting.
Things made sense. The false premises of human society were absent. No egos, no charades, no human drama, no stigma for having divorced parents, none of the fake expectations humans created. Nope, just some Ruffed Grouse I hoped to find, a lot of Snowshoe Hares, Evening Grosbeaks by the hoards eating on wild rose berries, and the hum of human activity drowned out by the gurgle of the river. The simplicity and honestly to my young mind was very comforting.
Since that time, it seems I've continued to seek places of refuge from humanity. Maybe it is my coping mechanism. Maybe it's just the human need to be undistracted, focused, and calm. We attach many terms trying to explain such; "recharge our batteries," or "soothe the soul," and many others. Whatever term we use, it works for me. And as I left northern Minnesota, the places that provided that feeling for me got bigger, wilder, and more remote. As I got older and my budget allowed, the places I sought were even further from the modern world.
When I went to college in Nevada, there were lots of vast lonely mountains and basins. When I moved to Montana, the presence of grizzly bears kept most people out of my newly discovered favorite spots. With family in Alaska, I had shortcuts to adventures and lonely places that made my Montana sanctuaries seem semi-tame in comparison. And then I discovered northern Canada, specifically the MacKenzie Mountains.
All of those special places along my journey, from Pine Island State Forest, to Nevada, to Montana, to Alaska, have done some great things for me. They've provided some great adventures and some quiet times to sort out my thoughts and re-prioritize my life. Yet, for reasons only explainable to those who have been there and find the same comforts in loneliness and human insignificance, the MacKenzies are a different level.
My first trip to the Mackenzies had me looking for what was there - Dall's sheep, Mountain Caribou, grizzlies, and a landscape seemingly just unpackaged for human view the day before I arrived. This trip, I would be coming back for that "isn't there." What "isn't there" is human complexity, noise, internet, cell service and it's continual pinging, expectation of immediate response, masses of people, drama, politics, and a much longer list of conditions absent from the MacKenzies.
Flying out on the final day of my last trip was a contradiction of feelings - still in awe and wondering how such a dream became reality, offset by the realization I'd likely never be able to return. When I got home, a lot of thoughts focused on returning to the MacKenzies, the most significant being the cost to do so. Being a tightwad CPA can result in some screwed up priorities, most often leaning towards financial security. Two weeks in the remote expanse of northern Canada helps align those priorities.
Unburdened with the normal American obligations of mortgage, retirement savings, college costs, and other adult-duties, reprioritizing got a lot easier when I really thought about it. It took two years and a cancellation opening to get back to the MacKenzies, but with Mrs. Fin's complete support, a lot of my "saved this for a rainy day cushion" is going to be pissed away while my health allows.
Those who feel the slow erosion of Father Time probably relate to this "later-in-life" reprioritization. I know I would not have related to it in my thirties or forties and my effort to maintain a pace on the Great American Treadmill. Add in a liver condition that at last report was showing incremental decline, and I am the classic poster child for the slogan, "Beware of an old man in a hurry." I'm in a hurry alright; a hurry to immerse in places that slow down the craziness of our modern lives and allow me to throw away the last four pages of my five-page "to do list."
I have spent a lifetime searching for my "MacKenzie Mountains." The MacKenzies are a place on a map, a place that time has yet to disturb, yet I'm starting to realize that we all have our "MacKenzie Mountains," sometimes not too far from home, maybe not as vast, and maybe not as quiet, yet they are "that place" that does something for us that we know is good for the mind, the body, and the spirit. I feel blessed when I get to be physically present in the MacKenzies, yet some times "My MacKenzies" are in a remote bay on Fort Peck, alone on the vast Montana prairies, in a lonely sage basin of Nevada, or listening to the click of llama hooves trailing behind me in western Wyoming. For the times I can't be in northwest Canada, I cherish those special places and the refuge they offer.
With that background, I'll try to do justice to a place, an adventure, and a hunt that is hard to explain with words. Physically being there is the only way I know to fully appreciate it. I hope everyone has their "MacKenzies" and they spend as much time there as possible.
As always, amazing photos are credit to Marcus Hockett.
As I think about the regenerating value of lonely places, my mind goes back to Pine Island State Forest as the location where I found a lot of comfort at a difficult time in my life. My parents went through a messy divorce when I was ten. Being the oldest of three kids, I was probably caught in the middle of it more than my younger siblings, and that seems to be why I sought places that made sense.
The perfect "nuclear family" notion seemed to be my future. Yet, when my Dad decided that drinking was more important that running his businesses, that notion came unraveled in the course of about three years. Standing on our steps, watching his logging equipment, his trucks, and his land get sold at a bank auction was a stark reality of how rapidly one's world could come unwound.
When my Dad moved a few hours away to find work in the iron mines, I was pretty much on my own as far as outdoors. Thankfully, with a quick half-mile walk down the hill from our trailer house, across Larry and Patsy Cook's place, onto Albin's land, I could climb up into the trolley car that took me across the Big Fork River to Pine Island State Forest. In doing so, all the stresses of life were left behind. Nobody knew where I was. And nobody else invested the effort to trolley across the river and disturb my three-thousand acre pieces of unexplored wilderness.
It was this place where I found some sanity in during a very turbulent time. I didn't understand why I was so attracted to that place. Not sure I can explain it well, even today, fifty years later. Yet, in this small place, a place that seemed like the most remote corner of the planet to my ten year old mind, it was very comforting.
Things made sense. The false premises of human society were absent. No egos, no charades, no human drama, no stigma for having divorced parents, none of the fake expectations humans created. Nope, just some Ruffed Grouse I hoped to find, a lot of Snowshoe Hares, Evening Grosbeaks by the hoards eating on wild rose berries, and the hum of human activity drowned out by the gurgle of the river. The simplicity and honestly to my young mind was very comforting.
Since that time, it seems I've continued to seek places of refuge from humanity. Maybe it is my coping mechanism. Maybe it's just the human need to be undistracted, focused, and calm. We attach many terms trying to explain such; "recharge our batteries," or "soothe the soul," and many others. Whatever term we use, it works for me. And as I left northern Minnesota, the places that provided that feeling for me got bigger, wilder, and more remote. As I got older and my budget allowed, the places I sought were even further from the modern world.
When I went to college in Nevada, there were lots of vast lonely mountains and basins. When I moved to Montana, the presence of grizzly bears kept most people out of my newly discovered favorite spots. With family in Alaska, I had shortcuts to adventures and lonely places that made my Montana sanctuaries seem semi-tame in comparison. And then I discovered northern Canada, specifically the MacKenzie Mountains.
All of those special places along my journey, from Pine Island State Forest, to Nevada, to Montana, to Alaska, have done some great things for me. They've provided some great adventures and some quiet times to sort out my thoughts and re-prioritize my life. Yet, for reasons only explainable to those who have been there and find the same comforts in loneliness and human insignificance, the MacKenzies are a different level.
My first trip to the Mackenzies had me looking for what was there - Dall's sheep, Mountain Caribou, grizzlies, and a landscape seemingly just unpackaged for human view the day before I arrived. This trip, I would be coming back for that "isn't there." What "isn't there" is human complexity, noise, internet, cell service and it's continual pinging, expectation of immediate response, masses of people, drama, politics, and a much longer list of conditions absent from the MacKenzies.
Flying out on the final day of my last trip was a contradiction of feelings - still in awe and wondering how such a dream became reality, offset by the realization I'd likely never be able to return. When I got home, a lot of thoughts focused on returning to the MacKenzies, the most significant being the cost to do so. Being a tightwad CPA can result in some screwed up priorities, most often leaning towards financial security. Two weeks in the remote expanse of northern Canada helps align those priorities.
Unburdened with the normal American obligations of mortgage, retirement savings, college costs, and other adult-duties, reprioritizing got a lot easier when I really thought about it. It took two years and a cancellation opening to get back to the MacKenzies, but with Mrs. Fin's complete support, a lot of my "saved this for a rainy day cushion" is going to be pissed away while my health allows.
Those who feel the slow erosion of Father Time probably relate to this "later-in-life" reprioritization. I know I would not have related to it in my thirties or forties and my effort to maintain a pace on the Great American Treadmill. Add in a liver condition that at last report was showing incremental decline, and I am the classic poster child for the slogan, "Beware of an old man in a hurry." I'm in a hurry alright; a hurry to immerse in places that slow down the craziness of our modern lives and allow me to throw away the last four pages of my five-page "to do list."
I have spent a lifetime searching for my "MacKenzie Mountains." The MacKenzies are a place on a map, a place that time has yet to disturb, yet I'm starting to realize that we all have our "MacKenzie Mountains," sometimes not too far from home, maybe not as vast, and maybe not as quiet, yet they are "that place" that does something for us that we know is good for the mind, the body, and the spirit. I feel blessed when I get to be physically present in the MacKenzies, yet some times "My MacKenzies" are in a remote bay on Fort Peck, alone on the vast Montana prairies, in a lonely sage basin of Nevada, or listening to the click of llama hooves trailing behind me in western Wyoming. For the times I can't be in northwest Canada, I cherish those special places and the refuge they offer.
With that background, I'll try to do justice to a place, an adventure, and a hunt that is hard to explain with words. Physically being there is the only way I know to fully appreciate it. I hope everyone has their "MacKenzies" and they spend as much time there as possible.
As always, amazing photos are credit to Marcus Hockett.
