Anniversary edition of the classic wilderness journal provides a refreshing respite from our noisy lives

One Man's Wilderness: An Alaskan Odyssey. 50^th Anniversary Edition, by Sam Keith from the journals and photographs of Dick Proenneke. Alaska Northwest Books, 2018. 272 pages. $19.99.

This classic book, first published in 1973, has just been reissued in a new format, with dozens of large colored photographs and a new foreword by author, actor, and fine woodworker Nick Offerman. The fiftieth anniversary the new edition celebrates is that of Richard Proenneke's arrival in 1968 at the Twin Lakes in what is now Lake Clark National Park to build the cabin and wilderness life he would document in writing, photography, and film for thirty years.

Proenneke was fifty-one years old at the time of his "retirement" to the lakes, after a career as a carpenter and mechanic. "One Man's Wilderness" draws upon his journals and photographs from his first sixteen months at the lakes, from May to September of the following year, when he left for a winter to attend to family affairs. His friend Sam Keith assembled and edited the material, which appears in dated journal entries.

(Readers may like to know that park historian John Branson edited two additional volumes of Proenneke's journals — More "Readings from One Man's Wilderness: The Journals of Richard L. Proenneke, 1974-1980" in 2005 and "The Early Years: The Journals of Richard L. Proenneke, 1967-1973″ in 2010. There's also a documentary film, Alone in the Wilderness, that uses Proenneke's film footage, not only of the wildlife he observed but of himself building his cabin, picking berries, etc.)

Reading the journal entries collected here might very well convince any reader that he or she is a complete slacker. Proenneke seemed to do more in any one day, all with hand tools and inventiveness, than most of us can accomplish in a week—or a lifetime. He raised a cabin in twenty days. Even more impressive is that the man was an incredibly skilled craftsman, a perfectionist in everything he did. He fit every log joint perfectly. He carved wooden door hinges ("forest hardware") from selected tree stumps. He rejected a glass window in favor of his better-performing "poor man's thermopane" made by trapping air between layers of storm window plastic and Handiwrap. He built a gorgeous and perfectly functioning fireplace and chimney with rocks carefully selected and fitted. To clean sawdust from the gravel floor inside the cabin, he moved the gravel down to the beach to be washed by the lake and then returned it.

On an "odds-and-ends day" in his second May, "I made a screen for my kitchen window. . . . I washed the caribou calfskin in soap and water. . . . I wrapped a twelve-inch band of gas tin around each leg of the cache. . . . I grubbed out a path to the cache and packed it with beach gravel. Cleaned up some building chips and drove in a water gauge stake for measuring the lake level."

Proenneke chose to have little contact with the outside world. The missionary and legendary bush pilot Babe Alsworth was his lifeline, flying in with mail and supplies every few weeks. During hunting season a guide and various hunters frequented the area, but Proenneke avoided them. (He scavenged from their kills and cleaned up the trash they left behind.) He lacked even a radio. ("I am my own newspaper and my own radio. I honestly don't believe that man was meant to know everything going on in the world, all at the same time.")

Considering that 1968 was a year of considerable cultural and political upheaval in our country, Proenneke was as isolated as anyone could have been. His only comment on anything beyond his immediate environment and concerns comes in a single paragraph: "I got some really sad news in my mail. Senator Robert Kennedy was assassinated."

If the journal is to be believed, Proenneke was perfectly happy with his own company, rising early every morning eager for whatever projects he tasked himself with. There's no evidence that he "conversed" with even the ideas in books; the only books he mentions are some religious ones Alsworth brought him (and that he scorned) and a guidebook for identifying birds. He didn't keep a dog. ("It would mess up my picture-taking for sure.")

He did, however, befriend various animals, making them almost into pets. He taught birds to eat from his hand, had personal relationships with a weasel and a squirrel, and once rescued a caribou calf. He got no end of pleasure watching bear cubs wrestling on hillsides.

He was also intensely curious about all things in nature, and continuously set up his own experiments. How deep was the lake ice? What was in the trout's stomach? What will grow in my garden? How can I design the most effective face covering for cold weather? How far can I comfortably travel at fifty below? Is there a relationship between a full moon and temperature? If I go look for caribou, will I find they have new antlers? If I follow the tracks of this hare, what will I learn?

One of his experiments involved wolverines. He baited a sled with meat and tied an "alarm cord" from the sled to his wrist, so that any movement of the sled would wake him from sleep. In the resulting "tug of war," he got a good look by flashlight. "There he was, the king of the weasel family, with short, rounded ears, teeth bared and glistening, muzzle wrinkled like an angry chow, eyes blazing blue — a sight to remember."

Nancy Lord is a Homer-based writer and former Alaska writer laureate. Her books include "Fishcamp," "Beluga Days," and "Early Warming." Her latest book is "pH: A Novel."