It's Lonely
Somewhere between a glacier and a bridge in Alaska, I met a rancher from Montana. He asked what the project costs me. I said it's very lonely. He asked, 'Are you writing about that?' So here I am.
Today, somewhere between a glacier and a bridge in Alaska, I met a rancher from Montana.
We started talking during a tour. He asked about the boat, and I told him the improbable version of the last few months: buying Adak in New Zealand, crossing the Pacific, reaching Alaska, and trying to understand what Ice Frontiers is becoming.
He was fascinated by the project. He understood immediately why I thought it mattered to make these places and experiences accessible to people who might otherwise never encounter them. We talked about the crew, about people coming aboard from different countries and backgrounds, giving up time and income, sometimes spending their own money, because they believe there is something meaningful about being here.
Eventually, he asked about the cost to me.
I tried to explain it. The burden of caring for a boat. The financial uncertainty. The responsibility of finding an audience. And after a pause, I concluded:
"It's very lonely."
He looked at me and asked a surprisingly good question.
"Are you writing about that?"
So here I am.