Ulukhaktok is north. Not as far north as the North Pole, but pretty far north. Far enough north that there is no vegetation beyond the small varieties of mosses, grasses, and shrubs that cover the landscape, crouching low and hugging the rocks to escape the wind. Up here there are no trees to break the wind that whirls around the worn hills and plateaus and whips the across the valleys, plains, snow and ice, and the waters of the Arctic Ocean.
On the land around Mashuyak there is nothing that gets in one’s way of understanding the age of the land. There are no paved roads with motor vehicles zooming (except the few snowmobiles and quads); no masses of pedestrians milling; no large buildings competing with the horizon, their glass windows reflecting the gold of the setting sun; and on the land it’s possible to stop what you are doing at almost any moment and hear nothing. Silence. In this atmosphere, you can climb up the ancient hills that are forgotten by all except the wildlife, the hunters, and the abstract concept of time, and feel awe. Feel like you are on holy ground.

By coming up here, we have come face to face with the staggering age of the hills and plateaus that were once not simply mighty mountains, but mighty mountains a mile under a prehistoric ocean. As millennia passed the water levels dropped and the mountains felt the sunlight and air for the first time. The Earth shifted on its axis as glaciers cut, carved, and ground the craggy mountains to give them jagged cliffs and carrying massive boulders from them miles away. As this process continued, humans and animals at various stages of evolution walked, ran, hunted, killed, died, ate, and were eaten in the arms of the land. Storms raged; wind howled; sun blazed; and seasons passed.

Here lies one of the most precious natural resources: experience.

But how do you mine that?

How do you tap in?

How do you interview a mountain? The most patient and dedicated seeker would be lucky to get a breath, let alone a word. Nevertheless, Dan and I are here to listen.

Insulated by my down parka and wrapped in the serenity and peace of the ancient land, I was in one of those rare spaces where I could consider my mortality. The mountains gain accolades because they have existed millions of years. I have the equivalent of a blink, and what will I do with it? A sobering thought and a grounding question.

Sitting atop some of those mountains for hours yesterday reminded me of visiting my grandparents in that you rarely go as often, stay as long, or listen as much as you should; and yet, you learn.