The last several months have been a hallowing and trying experience. I lost another toe this winter. Seven still remain, faithful friends as they are. This wilderness in which I’ve become accustom is unforgiving as my father; as cold as my mother.
I have been whittling a pinhole camera out of elk antlers, purposing to record my surroundings for those that come after me. Having forgone a dozen, dozen meals and resigning myself to a strict and exhausting diet of berries and insects, my work has finally been completed. My bones are weak and have begun to protrude from my body. My muscles are weak. My arms oft dangle, with no strength to lift them. Using trout skin as a film substitute I’ve managed to capture and record the raw wild in which I have been living these past nine years. May my pain bring you joy and wonderment, and may you enjoy the appendages you still possess, while you still possess them.
I finally braved the journey that not long ago laid plans to thwart me and take my life. The ridge haunted me. Mocked me. Controlled me.
But I have prevailed. I have conquered. And I have had my worst fears realized. This land is but the isle of my demise. No hope is there for me and my cause. I am alone. I will survive. This marks day 3,144 of my solitude.
Were I to die tonight, I’d be more of a man tomorrow.
It is but a few degrees above freezing but I can’t tear myself away from the shoreline. The waves crash against the rocks endlessly and with such fury! Every drop of water that sprays into the air is transfigured into a crystallene rainbow in the light of the setting sun. I fear for my safety, away from shelter, but I remain. Transfixed.