The Book
One man’s riveting account of a life that took him from the streets of Flint, Michigan, to the icy rivers of Alaska.
Ron Hyde was just fifteen years old when he prepared to navigate his first winter alone in remote western Alaska. His inner-city childhood inspired a fascination with preparation and survival, and provided a unique training ground for life in the Bush, where thin ice, bears, and armed strangers posed constant threats. The Yup’ik people welcomed Ron into the Native culture, where he was guided by the wisdom of the elders. They even gave him a Yup’ik name: Agyaq.
Navigating life and death alongside the good-natured laughter of the ghosts who followed him, this is one man’s riveting account of living off the land and recognizing the value of elders in a modern world that has all but forgotten them.
Excerpts
There was a bear no more than fifteen feet away. Blond on top with dark brown underfur. A beautiful animal.
It immediately stood up on its hind legs and began to chatter: its teeth slamming, its ears pinned back and forth, slobber running down its face. This was a very bad place to be. The bear was agitated. It was scared. And I was basically defenseless. I had a .22-caliber pistol on my waist, and that was no match for an encounter with a bear. I could feel my face flush and my heart beating through my chest.
Duchess, at this point, was not barking. Not whining. She was just staring at the bear, and the bear was staring back at us.
The bear dropped to all fours. There was no place for me to go. The grass was nearly chest high, the raft was too far, and there was no way I could outrun a brown bear. Then the bear did something I did not expect.
Every time I got it right, it was because I paused long enough to ask myself a simple question: Is this fear talking, is this instinct talking, or is this my ego? The pause is everything. The pause is the difference between a story you tell and a story someone tells about you at your funeral.
When I was preparing to spend my winter alone to become a man, I was on the radio with my father, who was in Anchorage. I went through the list of things needed to complete my preparation for winter: additional traps, a skinning knife, some ammo, some batteries. And then I told my dad, “Don’t hesitate to send me some female companionship.” I was a teenage boy. I chuckled to myself. In my mind, that could be amazing out here in paradise—a swimsuit model who wanted to learn to trap from someone with little experience but a great steam bath.
Days later, I ran outside as a plane touched down on the water. It landed, came off step, and taxied toward the cabin. I was handed multiple cases of supplies. And then a comment from the pilot: “Oh, I almost forgot. You wanted some female companionship?” He reached in and handed me Duchess, a young black Lab puppy. She lived for more than seventeen years. She was an amazing companion and an amazing friend.