The Sun Is a Compass: A 4,000-Mile Journey into the Alaskan Wilds

After almost five months, movement brings stillness. Movement brings peace.

Tedium is a regular part of my job. But today the graphs and calculations fall away as I inhale the scent of dirt and spruce needles. Out here, I am half scientist, half disciple. I’ve left the laboratory far behind and, with it, the need to quantify and contain. In its place, I’ve reconnected with the simple act of observation.

They have dense bones that can resist pressure underwater, fewer air sacs than other birds to reduce their buoyancy, and muscles designed for diving. But

But we’ve known the power of the wild, the all-consuming demands of rain and snow and wind, the callousness of mountains and rivers. We’ve been cared for by strangers. We’ve felt part of something much

Moving at human pace solidifies his connection to the land.

He’s a study in contrasts, a rare person who sees little conflict in owning many identities at once.

When he slows down, he told us, he can see and feel so much more. Plus, he likes the physical challenge.

Even social media and Internet platforms have changed how we do our work, adding millions of observers around the globe and providing sample sizes much larger than anything a single study could achieve.

The certainty that comes from being loved.