Ed

This year falls into three seasons:

Pre-Arctic
Arctic
Post-Arctic

The first and last of those are nearly identical. Work. Work. Work. One stress substituted for an equivalent one. Concern for deadlines substituted for calculating how to fight off grizzlies. (Essentially the same thing.) Concerns over personnel issues substituted for figuring out what clothing would keep me from dying of Arctic cold. (Hmmm, pretty similar.) "When can I retire?" substituted for "Will I ever get ready?" (Neither has an answer yet.)

The middle period of the year was probably not that much different, now that I really think about it. Eli and I (30daysinthearctic.com) were headed for wilderness. We were going to be alone. We would see visions of our totemic animal spirits. We would bond with the universe. We might even touch Indians. Instead we found ourselves at the SFO of the tundra.

At one point, we might have preferred the promised hordes of giant Alaskan mosquitoes to the constant drone of bush planes landing a few yards from us. Three parties landed and stayed near us on day 2 of our "wilderness" expedition. And then hunting season started, and there were bush planes everywhere, dropping camo-ed gun-toters like propaganda in Iraq or bags of rice in Bangladesh.

Come to think of it, there was very little difference between the Arctic and my office--except for the many thousands of dollars I spent getting there. I came to dread our boat-loading and so-called paddling days, but no more than an executive team meeting. It's a toss-up which required the most endurance and mental strength--dragging overloaded boats across endless gravel bars or pretending to pay attention and care about yet another program for making life in the office better and more productive.

The "river" we were on for our first few "paddling" days was about an inch deep. It would occasionally flush through little teasing six-inch troughs, giving us the illusion of actually floating for about 15 seconds and then back to dragging. Mules in Grand Canyon have it easy.

I realize now that the process is indistinguishable from inching, teasing, nudging, dragging a data-driven web-based project forward toward a distant deadline. I got slightly wetter when I fell into the Arctic river, but that's the only difference I see now.

OK, now I'm really depressed. I spent a lot of money to get nowhere. It's all been an illusion. Wilderness. Individual effort. Discovery. Photography that would save the earth. Blah blah blah, as Jane says. I could have stayed in my office, kept warm, had identical adventures, and afforded a lot more songs on iTunes. And I, of course, could have seen Louise more often--she's always at the top of my list. (Guess who was looking over my shoulder while I was writing?).

I'll know better next time. But I've said that before too ...

Salvage what you can from the year and enjoy your holidays by forgetting what else you've done as much as you can.

Ed