• Nonfiction

    The Hunt

    By Evan Nasse In my garage sits the skull of a caribou. It has a misshapen rack, jutting out the top of a bright, white, sloping caricature of an animals face, pockmarked with several holes. Where there was once a mouth, for the lackadaisical chewing of cud, are now rows of cracked teeth, and further up the snout are two empty spots where once eyes beamed. There, just above the right eye socket is the hole where I unceremoniously placed a bullet, using a worn hunting rifle owned by my grandfather. The miserable creatures’ offset rack and dome-piece sit bolted onto an ornate, hand crafted, wooden mantle. It was constructed…

  • Nonfiction

    The Way Forward

    By Simon Frez-Albrecht Wintergreen spice lingers in my nose from when I first cut into the branch.  My forearm is fatigued and swollen from wielding my axe and gripping my knife for hours today.  Smooth facets glide under the rough pads of my fingertips, left by a sharp knife on the surface of this spoon I have carved.  I probe for unacceptable imperfections, barely perceptible even to my experienced touch.  The spoon is not perfect of course, but it must be exact in a few certain ways to reach not only its potential of elegance in appearance, but also be pleasurable in the hand and delightful on the tongue.  I…

  • Nonfiction

    Winter Wilderness

    By Simon Frez-Albrecht We began Winter Wilderness with a busy few days in which we frontloaded as much information as possible.  Ideally we would have taken the whole class before taking the class, as there was much avalanche and safety information to learn quickly, as well as efficient and comfortable winter travel and camping skills.  The first few days were long and packed with as much as we could handle, but we soon found ourselves at Hatcher’s Pass, unloading skis. As we unloaded skis and packs in the Hatcher’s Pass parking lot on our first day, some students had been on skis exactly once or twice before in their lives.  Looking…

  • Nonfiction

    Sheldrake’s Shin

    By Hillary Hafner The day my wrist broke, Instant Karma showed up in the mail. The prescribed painkillers directed to be taken every four to six hours, so the time spent staring at my wall was time spent pondering or reading. I was comforted by Sheldrake’s descriptions of much more severe injuries, like having to wear a leg cast designed to make his bones rub together for seven months. However, when I felt my own broken bones scrape each other, the wrenching pain shot up my arm and I felt dumb. I felt defeated. I felt that I had failed. I questioned my own motivation for pursuing this sport that…

  • Fiction

    Maasai Girl– excerpt from my upcoming book, “Crossing Rivers.”

    by Tim Wilson Her first mother called her Kiserian because she was a peaceful baby. She would follow her mother, as a young girl, listening carefully as her mother showed her how to check for disease and wounds in the cattle and goats. Together, they would milk the cows. After the milking and inspections, her mother would signal her brothers, who would drive the cattle out of the enclosed manyatta for grazing in the grasslands.  She would help her mother set the milk filled gourds in the sun and drop smoldering charcoal in each to maximize the curdling process during the day. She would often sit with her mother on…

  • Nonfiction

    A Winter Adventure

    By Emma Walker   For the better part of my childhood (and by childhood, I mean age five or so to the present day), anytime I was cold for more than about an hour, I absolutely insisted I was being frostbitten. Despite my tendency toward melodrama, I have always enjoyed cold weather activities, even the ones I suspected might result in frostbite. And so, armed with approximately 4,000 calories per day, I was excited for a ten-day expedition into the Alaskan Interior for Winter Wilderness Skills, a block course offered in January at APU. In order to mentally prepare myself for a week and a half of frigid, sleepless nights,…