Original subtitles

It was back in the late spring of 1968 that a man by the name of Dick Proenneke

left civilization behind to carve out a new life in the remote Alaskan wilderness.

During his first year alone, Dick would cut trees and build a

log cabin and make what was needed from materials available.

He would document his adventure through written journals and on film.

Thousands have had such dreams, but Dick Proenneke lived them.

Now, with more journal entries and never-before-seen

footage, we revisit Dick's Alaskan paradise.

Join us now for Part 2, the continuing story of Alone in the Wilderness.

I had made it through my first year living alone in the wilderness.

My little cabin had kept me warm and comfortable.

With the arrival of spring, it felt good to get back to work again.

I must restock the lumberyard, for I had cache building on my mind,

something I had thought about all winter long.

I think it will be the answer to keeping those critters out of my food supply.

Folks say that axmanship is a lost art,

but I like to think I've found it again in these cool spruce woods.

The pull of the pack board straps felt comfortable against my woolen shirt

and I could feel the warmth of the spring sun on my face.

It was real bull work, but I never felt any better.

I wondered if there was anyone in the world as free and happy as I was.

I would spend the rest of the afternoon ripping boards from my well-seasoned logs.

I would need seven or eight to provide me with a solid and level foundation for the cache building.

With six boards ripped, it was time to take a break.

I would see if I could catch a fish for supper.

In the last few days, the Hope Creek has eaten a big opening into the lake ice.

I could see the pool of open water growing before my eyes.

A pair of harlequin ducks swam out fromshore as I passed by,

and began talking to me.

I worked a metal spoon deep into the current, jerked it toward me, and let it drift back.

Not a strike after several casts.

Then a snag.

Then it moved.

I knew I had a fish.

A 15-inch grayling.

Enough for my needs.

A few sticks of wood on the coals and I would be back in business again.

The little stove that Brother Jake built is good company and works well.

The proof of a good stove is in the heating, and this one is amazing.

Very little fire, but it keeps my water boiling in the kettle.

For my supper tonight, it would be fried trout and a batch of biscuits,

made from the sourdough starter that Mary Allsworth had given me last spring.

It's hard to believe it's been one year ago today that Babe brought me here to Twin Lakes in the little T craft.

I remembered it was a beautiful day, and we had sat and talked on the gravel bar at the upper end of the lower lake.

I had backpacked two loads that day to Spike's cabin,

and I had even picked up a sunburn from the sun on the snow.

It was the first day of what I believe has been the most interesting year of my life.

While waiting for my biscuits to raise

I will catch up on my journals and a few overdue letters to send back home.

Tomorrow just might be a good day to prepare for the cache building.

I had many poles to cut and peel today, before the cache construction begins.

I had cut many of them last November, on the far side of Hope Creek.

They had been seasoning all this time.

I had cut four other heavier logs about 15 feet long.

These would be my stilts, to hold the cache aloft.

I finished the post holes and set in the big stilts.

Like the fireplace and cabin, I can see the cache up on the poles already.

The first course of logs was notched and nailed to my foundation planks.

I cut notches for four stringers, and hewed the stringers to fit.

The logs fit snugly into their custom-made notches.

Thirty in place.

The cache is now 29 inches high.

Now, for some roof poles.

Everything has a good snug fit down here on the ground.

I hope it goes together with no trouble when I climb the ladder with all the pieces.

It's May 18th.

Strange to wake up before three in the morning and feel that daylight is being wasted.

This is Red Runt's country, and I am the invader.

And hardly a day passes that he does not remind me of this with his chatter.

It's good to see bears on the mountain again.

I spotted a big blonde bear, and then another chocolate color, and another.

Until there were three, standing half as tall as their mother.

Cubs, but not this year's.

I studied them through the 60-power eyepiece, and finally talked myself out of climbing up there

to see them at close range.

I had a cache to build.

I went to the woodshed and ripped out planks for the doorframe,

and some inch-and-a-half planks for the door.

I then cut two sets of hinges out of a stump of wood.

I was ready to take my little house apart and put it back together again on top of its nine-foot stilts.

I used my meat-pole ladder for a scaffold.

Soon, number one log was resting atop the stilts.

The logs fit perfectly.

Forty-penny spikes went into the heavy ends,

and sixteen pennies into the small ends.

Next, the door.

All that remained was to cut the logs in between,

and I had an opening for the door.

I finished off the roof with tar paper and a good layer of moss.

I am really proud of that piece of work.

For all practical purposes,

my miniature cabin on stilts was complete.

Today, I had better check the lake ice,

for I've been expecting Babe in with supplies any day now,

and I would hate to see him sink out of sight.

He once said to me,

when the ice is safe for landing,

put the oil drum out on the ice.

So I did.

Ten weeks later, he came in and asked,

why the oil drum on the ice?

He has a good memory, but it isn't very long.

The ice was still thirty-two inches thick,

so I formed a huge OK,

so Babe could easily see it from the air.

Today, I would take a hike up country.

My pack made up and lashed on the GI pack frame.

Along with the bolex and heavy tripod,

I packed five hundred feet of film,

some smoked fish, and the big pistol.

Around forty pounds, I would guess.

I was away by seven-thirty.

Past Bell's Point, and up the lake,

I spotted the rear half of a moose

sticking out from a spruce.

A big old cow.

And she made no effort to leave,

even though I was no more than a hundred yards.

Hiding in the brush was a new calf,

and I just had to try for pictures

of that cute little guy.

I kept trees in mind that I could get behind,

just in case the mother got ornery.

Just how much would she put up with?

Then the hackles from ears to shoulders stood on in.

And here she came,

ears back and nostrils flared.

At fifteen feet, she whirled past me

and trotted back to the calf,

bawling as she went.

That was enough to get my heart pumping.

I figured it was a good time to be moving on.

Lots of loose rock,

so it was slow climbing.

When I came to the edge of a big basin

and peeked over the edge,

three full-curled rams were staring back at me.

They had me pegged.

They were in their chosen isolation,

wild mountain dandies,

living high off the grass

and far away from the women and kids

and well out of reach from the wolves.

They watched me as if they were surprised

to see something else

as high up on the mountain as they were.

The whining sound of the boleks

seemed to make them nervous

and they disappeared up

and over the ridge with ease.

What a view from up here.

Rugged mountains as far as I could see

and many glaciers.

I walked the ridge to keep warm

and to look for more game.

To see animals,

you must move a little

and look a lot.

I came to a good view

of Allen Mountain.

So I stopped to glass it for a bear.

Right away,

I saw something not right.

And with the binoculars,

I saw it was a bear all right.

Not far away were two little cubs,

a good-looking sow grizzly with twins.

The cubs romped

and chased each other

without a care in the world.

While Mom constantly

had her nose in the air,

always on the lookout for danger.

Nothing will make a grizzly

leave the country faster

than the scent of a man.

Now, if only she would stick around

all summer.

I had wandered a long way

from the cabin today.

My pedometer read 22 miles.

It was time to head home.

I shouldered my pack

and headed down.

Today,

I feel like a man

inspired by a sermon

that came to me firsthand,

that came out of the sky

and the many moods

of the mountains.

My left foot was getting sore,

so I stopped and pulled off

my boots and socks

and buried my tired feet

in the snow

for a few minutes.

Cold for just a little while

will make your feet good

for many more miles.

The caribou seemed content today

and show no fear of me.

I wonder what he thinks about.

Is his brain just a blank

as he lies there

blinking in the sun

and chewing his cud?

I wonder if he feels,

as I do,

that this small part

of the world

is enough to think about.

I was home

and would sleep good tonight.

My gear put away

and my starving birds fed.

It had been a pretty good day.

My ladder project

had priority today,

and before I finished,

it started to snow.

Surely just a shower.

I used a perfect,

well-seasoned pole,

ripped it down the center

and put my ladder together

with the flat sides in.

The steps were short logs,

flat side up and level.

A ladder a man could walk up

instead of climb.

There was four inches on the ground

when it finally stopped.

Hopefully this was the last

good snow of spring.

The cloud cover broke

and a big blue spot

opened up in the sky,

and the sun feels good

on my face.

A good day

to do some tin bending.

I have surprised myself

with what I could make

with simple tools

when a definite need arose.

And my need today

was a new pan

to heat water

on the stove with.

My old wind is now

starting to show

a bit of rust.

I have made all kinds

of things

from empty fuel cans.

It seems that I always

have a good stockpile

of them in the woodshed.

Bush pilots have discarded

many over the years.

And like they say,

one man's trash

is another man's treasure.

I don't think a man

knows what he actually

can do

until he's challenged.

I do think a man

has missed a very deep

feeling of satisfaction

if he has never

created something

or at least completed

something with his own

two hands.

We have grown accustomed

to work on pieces

and parts of things

instead of taking things

to completion.

The emphasis

seems to be

on teamwork.

Now I realize

that man working together

can perform miracles

such as sending a man

to walk on the surface

of the moon.

And there is definitely

a need in place

for teamwork.

I would be the last

to argue that point.

We need each other

but nevertheless

in a jam.

The best friend

you have

is yourself.

It is always a pleasure

to see what you can make

instead of buying it

all packaged up

and ready-made.

My problem now is

where to store it all.

Today I would take

an overnight tour

down country

and with the ice

still in good shape

I would sled my gear

rather than carry it

on my back.

I followed close

to shore

so as not to disturb

the caribou

any more than I had to.

Yet something else

was making them uneasy.

Opposite the den opening

were grizzly bear tracks

and droppings

all old

and I felt certain

the bear was gone.

With pistol in hand

I crawled inside

for a closer inspection.

Inside I found

the bear's hibernation plug

something I had only

heard about

from the old timers.

The large black plug

was made up

of dried grass

twigs

and hair.

It was mother nature's

way of blocking

up the back door

of the bear's

digestive system

during his long

six months sleep.

I figured the bear

must be close by

and it wasn't long

before I spotted him

in the brush below.

He acted like a bear

looking for caribou calves.

When he dropped

out of sight

I followed.

Maybe this was

a foolish thing to do.

The evidence showed

this bear

had already killed

and consumed

at least one

unlucky caribou

this season.

No better company

in the wilderness

than a campfire.

Very comforting.

It is surprising

how comfortable

a bedroll

on the ground

can be

after you've

come down

off a mountain.

I was on the

home stretch now

and had the

cabin in sight.

on the trail

stood a brand

new bear-bit tree.

Hair rubbed

into the bark

and seven feet

above.

More destruction

of wood

than I have seen

in a long time.

This was no

ordinary Alaskan

brown bear.

Was the message

meant for another

bear

or was it for me?

I will have to

watch out

for that guy.

It would be

an early dinner

a fireweed salad

and the last

of my caribou meat

fried in a

well-salted skillet

topped with onions

and of course

a batch

of fresh-baked

sourdough biscuits.

I was proud

of my cabin

and cache.

The actual

cache layout

was just a shade

over $40

and that included

the window

that Babe

had flown in.

Although it was

small

at 11 by 14 feet

it was cozy

and big enough

for my needs.

Everything seems

to find its place.

However,

if I continue

to collect

souvenirs

on my travels

I will need

more mantel space.

the fireplace

really adds character

to my little cabin

and is good company

in the winter.

A Twin Lakes

holiday

Babe had made

a mail drop

while I was

away down country.

Many letters

to read

and some very good books

from my good friend

Roy Allen

and good news

from Brother Jake

the J3 Cub

is ready to fly

and he will be here

for a visit

in August.

The rest of my day

would be spent

bringing my journals

up to date.

As I glanced up

from my writing

a cow moose

and her good looking calf

strolled past

on the beach.

I do believe

it's the same cow

that was so unfriendly

a few weeks ago.

Life is so uncomplicated

here at Twin Lakes.

It is now

June 13th

and the great

ice chunks

are moving past

at the rate

of 50 feet

per minute.

Last year

the lake

was not ice free

until the 26th

of June.

I wonder

does the lake ice

melt from the top

down

or the bottom

up?

Now

after six and a half

months

the mountains

will be able

to see themselves

in the mirror again.

I would celebrate

the ice breakup today

with a trip down lake.

A pretty good breeze

going down

but that was okay.

Anything below

the white cap stage

is good.

The wind fared up

a bit

after beaching.

I left the beach

and climbed to the edge

of the timber

to get a better look

at a fine

caribou bull

I had spotted

from the canoe.

He looked to be

in prime shape.

A trophy hunter

would leave his wife

for a head like that.

I do hope

that old boy

makes it

through the hunting season.

It was a warm day

and I can hear

the many waterfalls

in the distance.

I do believe

the lake level

will rise today.

It was very buggy

down low

but very few bugs

up here.

The good breeze

gives me some relief

from those pesky

mosquitoes

and white socks.

It is a world

of beauty

at Twin Lakes.

As I rounded

a brush point

there sat a fox

at the edge

of the brush.

It was a mother

standing guard

over three pups.

Like the bear cubs

fox pups

are very different

from one another.

Some like to get out

and explore.

Others prefer

to stay close

to the den.

I sat and watched

them play

for more than an hour

and exposed

145 feet of film.

It was time

to be moving on.

I was a long

way from home.

Emerson Creek

was running

a lot of water

today.

I couldn't help

myself.

I just had to stop

and waste a few shots

with the camera.

So much beauty

all around me.

A near calm lake

as I shoved off.

It is always

enjoyable

to run the

connecting stream

between the lakes.

How many times

have I wished

the scenery

would go by

that fast

on a calm lake?

A lone young moose

appeared in the pond

next to the stream

on the left-hand side

of my canoe.

I cruised down

wondering

just how close

I could get.

I thought it odd

that this little guy

was all alone.

Where was his mother?

Curiosity

got the best

of me.

Still no sign

of the calf's mother

along the stream.

I wondered

if I had an orphan.

The first calm cove

I came to

I beached the canoe

and packed the

bolex and tripod

to high ground

above the pond.

As I reloaded

the camera

a young bull

waded in

but still

no sign

of the cow.

Then up the stream

bank

came the little guy

limping along.

The calf's

right front leg

had a big patch

of white

below the knees.

Quills.

There must have

been a hundred of them.

The culprit

was not far away.

How could something

so cute

cause so much pain?

The calf

had picked

the wrong one

to mess with.

With the help

of my walking stick

I encouraged

the porcupine

to move on

just in case

the little calf

had not learned

his lesson.

If only the calf

had left

that porcupine

alone.

Now it will have

one very sore

leg to go

with its problem

of making a living

without milk

without milk

and a wise mother

to teach it

the do's and don'ts

of the very cruel world

that nature is.

I will have to come back

and check on the calf.

I very much doubt

that it will survive

until winter.

There was a good breeze

blowing up the lake

and soon I was among

the whitecaps

and really sailing.

It would be

a fast trip home.

An hour and ten minutes

found me at my beach.

It was good

to see my cabin again.

With my gear packed in

and a fire going

I packed and labeled

a good batch

of exposed film

for brother Jake.

I expect Babe

should be flying in

any day now.

I was weary

but not too weary

to go down

to Hope Creek

to see if I could

catch a fish

to go along

with my beans.

After a few casts

one grabbed the lure.

I worked him in

slowly and carefully.

I didn't want

to lose this one.

This business of fishing

can turn serious

pretty quick

when a man is hungry.

I've learned something

from the big game

animals.

Their food is pretty

much the same

day to day

and I don't vary

my fare too much

either.

Food is fuel

and the best fuel

I've found

is oatmeal,

beans,

and fresh fish

and a caribou

or porcupine stew

once in a while.

I just season

simple food

with hunger

and I have never

felt better

in my life.

There's nothing

better than

a fresh caught

grayling

fried in

bacon grease.

The rest of my evening

would be spent

catching up

on my journals.

It was eight o'clock

when I turned out

the lantern.

I just knew

I would sleep

good tonight.

That four inches

of foam rubber

under me

never felt so good.

I slept

as if I had died

last night.

The cabin

was still warm

and the coals

in the stove

were still glowing.

For breakfast

it would be

a good stack

of hot cakes

topped with

last year's

preserves.

One of these

days I must

take a hike

up to the

Calgill bench

to see how

the blueberry crop

is faring up.

They should be

ripening up

about now.

With the dishes

washed

and my

welfare birds fed

I had a notion

to paddle down

to the lower end

again.

The flat water

looked inviting

so I packed

the necessary

gear to the beach.

A beautiful

quiet morning

for the trip.

The only sound on the lake was my paddle, and a few distant waterfalls.

I was making good time.

One hour later I had made it to the lower end of the lake and was coasting down the connecting

stream when I surprised a very large mother brown bear.

The stream bank blocked my full view of her on the marshy flat, but surely she must have

a cub or two hidden in the brush.

It was clear to me that she was irritated,

so I kept the canoe well centered in the stream,

just in case she came back to have a talk with me.

The mosquitoes were affectionate today when I beached the canoe

On up to my climb out point, and from there it was perfect hiking country.

The waterfalls had really come to life since the warm weather had arrived,

and Emerson Falls was as pretty as I have ever seen it.

If there was gold in this creek, the nuggets would be found in the deep clear pools.

I think that the real question is not whether is there gold in the creek,

but just how do I go about shutting the water off?

The red salmon were active in the creek today, a sure sign that fall was on its way.

How far had they come since leaving saltwater near Dillingham?

According to the map, probably more than 250 miles.

On the opposite side of the creek was a sow and her good-looking cub.

I walked gently and watched her closely.

I had told myself, don't surprise her, and she will probably take her cub and go.

I have heard the people who claim to know say, she isn't likely to harm you unless her cubs

are in danger, or thinks they are in danger.

I think what she thinks is the determining factor.

What I think doesn't count.

I already had one bear that was upset with me today, and I didn't need another.

On this very calm day, instead of towing the canoe the half mile upstream to the upper lake,

I would carry it.

With the canoe well balanced on my shoulders, and no wind, the chore seemed easy enough.

I think the old girl was pleased to see me move on.

I do believe that carrying the canoe is the best way up the connecting stream.

Providing, of course, the wind isn't blowing.

Not a riffle on the lake.

It will be a pleasant paddle home.

Hot cakes for breakfast, and the sky was clearing.

Today would be a blueberry picking day.

Across Hope Creek Bridge, and then I would head up the trail to the cowgill berry patch.

Hopefully the bears had not beat me to it.

I would need a good supply to see me through the winter.

In just a few weeks, the bull moose and caribou will be rubbing that soft velvet free from their antlers.

I found a real good patch, and the berries were large and sweet.

I was anxious to try out my new berry picking machine that I had made.

In no time at all, I had picked a gallon and hardly raised from my knees.

With a good supply on hand, I would have to send some to Mary, next time Babe flies in.

A young and very curious bull caribou was good company while I picked.

I think he was impressed with that new picking machine.

I had filled almost three cans when I heard a small plane.

I didn't want to get too excited yet, but could it be Brother Jake?

I had almost given up on seeing him fly in.

But when the little plane turned, I could see that it was a yellow J3 Cub.

This was the nicest thing that has happened at Twin Lakes for a long time.

I told him that I had given up and expected that he had junked the remains and hitchhiked back to California.

It was in the late summer that Dick's brother Raymond, better known as Jake,

would fly his rebuilt J3 Piper Cub airplane solo well over 2,000 miles from California to Alaska,

and then into the remote wilderness of Twin Lakes country.

Raymond would then spend the next month with Dick at his cabin and experience wilderness living firsthand.

Along with as much fresh food supplies as the little plane could carry,

Raymond would surprise Dick with a 16mm wind-up Bolex camera.

Later on, it would prove to be Dick's most important and valued possession.

The camera would allow Dick to continue to document his lifestyle and travels in this one-man wilderness.

The little two-seat airplane, the Arctic Tern, would provide a new and exciting way for the brothers

to explore the far reaches of this remote wilderness,

a region that otherwise would be difficult, if not impossible, to travel by foot.

When weather permitted, the Proenneke brothers would fly off into the unknown,

taking turns at the controls.

The vast wilderness that surrounded Twin Lakes offered countless rivers and valleys to explore,

and the Prenicke brothers wanted to see it all.

What used to take Dick days to hike on foot could now be covered in minutes.

They were now enjoying something that they had only dreamed of as boys growing up in the flat country of Iowa.

They were living that dream, and exploring the Alaskan wilderness in their own plane, and together.

On occasion, when the lack of daylight or unflyable weather prevented their return to the comfort of Dick's cabin,

Ray and Dick would welcome an excuse to make camp and sleep out under the stars on the shores of a remote lake in the middle of nowhere.

They would always manage to catch something, cook it, and simply enjoy each other's company.

Ray would soon say goodbye to Dick and fly back home to California,

Yet the brothers would remain close through countless letters.

This bond would continue over the next thirty years.

On this fine October morning, Jake was on his way back to California, and I was alone in the wilderness again.

I took my gold pan and shovel and headed up the creek, high up on the gorge where bedrock is very near the surface.

The gold should be here.

Right away, I found a good flake lying in plain sight.

Very seldom is it this easy.

Gold is not hard to recognize.

The first time that you see it, you will know that it is gold.

The rest of the morning, I washed lots of gravel and cleaned moss.

I have found the moss that grows on the bottom of the rocks in the stream is a good collector of fine gold.

The water was very cold, and that leaky boot didn't help things.

With gold now up to thirty-five dollars an ounce, I could add a few things to the grocery list.

I do hope Brother Jake enjoyed my cooking.

Said he couldn't decide whether my spicy porcupine stew tasted like Iowa rabbit or squirrel.

With a good kettle of beans bubbling on the stove, I would spend the rest of this very warm day carving out a big wooden spoon for Mary,

in exchange for all those cookies she sends me.

I dug out a good-looking stump and went to work.

The camp robbers kept me company.

Nature provides so many things, if one has the eye to notice them.

It is always a pleasure to see what you can make, instead of buying it ready-made.

Here at Twin Lakes, I have learned patience,

learned to take my time and try to do the job right by figuring it out first.

There's no sense to rush it and go off half-cocked.

There's plenty of time out here.

Two hours later, I had a spoon, a good one for dipping batter, a bit more sanding, and

it would be ready for a coat of shellac.

I do hope that Mary likes it.

Learn to use an axe and respect it, and you can't help but love it.

But abuse one, and it will wear your hands raw and open your foot like an overcooked sausage.

I enjoy working for my heat.

It seems to make my food taste better.

It's the end of October now, and the good weather is still holding.

But all signs tell me that winter is not far away.

The bears are working overtime now, bulking up on berries, preparing themselves for that

long winter sleep.

In just a few short weeks, this bear will disappear into the mountain.

And I will not see him again for six months.

I will miss his company.

The fall season at Twin Lakes is the pretty one, but always too short.

The blueberry leaves fall at the touch now.

I could not help but waste some film on these two fine-looking caribou bulls before heading

back to the cabin.

I am happy to see that they have survived another hunting season.

A stiff breeze and some big waves, it's as rough as I have seen it.

I think a change is coming.

Now at 7.30 it has stopped snowing.

A fresh coat of shellac, and the webs looked ready for miles of trail.

I could see the big bear from my cabin door.

It appeared to me that he was searching for a den site.

The question is, would he use the same den as last year, or would he dig a new one?

Dead calm and six degrees.

As cold and still as it is, the water has now become too thick to stir with a paddle.

The canoe looks out of place on the beach with so much snow.

It will do me no good now.

So I towed it up to the point and wrestled it into Spike's cabin.

A tight squeeze, but at least it was covered.

An ideal day to work at my wood supply.

Making wood is never a waste of time in cold weather.

The dead tree was a good one, not completely dry, which is better for holding fire.

The little pumpkin seed sled that I found floating in the lake last spring has proved to be a very

valuable find and was making this job a real pleasure.

Six good sled loads when I got it all to the woodshed.

And it began to snow again.

There is nothing like watching a real wilderness storm from the window of a snug little cabin.

With all this snow, I can't help but wonder about the sheep on the mountain.

It must take a lot of digging for very little feed.

Really a beautiful sight this morning.

It must have snowed all night as there was 12 inches of new snow to shovel from my paths.

Today I must go down lake to check for tracks.

I tried to make a sneak on a good bunch of caribou for some close-up pictures.

A sudden shift in the wind, and it was the beginning of the end.

A spooky old cow must have cried wolf.

I was nearly to Glacier Creek when I spotted sheep tracks in the snow.

Two young rams kept their eye on me as I made my way up the canyon.

The going was easy enough without the webs.

The snow got deeper.

But not so much a problem with the coarse rock under the snow to give me traction.

Further up the creek I saw ravens flying.

A bad sign.

I hadn't climbed far when I saw the spot of red up on the slope.

One animal had died so another could live.

The tracks told me that the wolverine had been first at the scene.

The glutton had eaten his fill and would certainly return for another meal.

I could see just how it happened.

A snowslide had caught the unsuspecting ram and carried him over the edge and onto the

rocks below.

I have often thought to myself about getting caught in a snowslide or falling from a rock

face.

If that happened, I would probably perish on the mountain in much the same way that the

old ram did.

I would be long gone before anyone found me.

My only wish would be that folks wouldn't spend a lot of time searching.

When the time comes for a man to look his maker in the eye, where better place could the meeting

be held than in the wilderness?

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