83 Books Like Two in the Far North

Wilderness guru Bob Marshall and I share at least one thing in common: despite several attempts, neither of us succeeded in climbing Mount Doonerak, the sentinel rising above the North Fork of the Koyukuk. I have traveled that country around the Gates of the Arctic multiple times, but I remain in awe of Marshall’s pioneering trips during the 1930s when the area was generally unknown and unmapped. 

Marshall’s account is part history, part adventure, and part human-interest story as he teamed up with interesting characters like Ernie Johnson after whom he named Ernie Creek. The two always managed to feast on Dall sheep. And it was Marshall who named the Gates of the Arctic. For those who can’t travel first-hand through what is still wilderness, Bob Marshall remains an enjoyable armchair guide.

Mountaineering is at the core of Alaska’s history. Many books—old and new—chronicle amazing exploits throughout the state; however, at all levels of audacity, tragedy, a bit of luck, and ultimate triumph, the first winter ascent of North America’s highest summit rises to the top of the heap. Art Davidson’s writing is as gripping as the story itself. 

In 1967, a summer ascent of what is called by its Athabascan name, Denali, was still considered unusual; any winter attempt was judged suicidal. Three team members reached the top only to have their lives hang in the balance on the descent. Originally, published soon after the climb, Minus 148˚ has remained in print for more than fifty years, a testament to its staying power, just like that of Art Davidson and his two companions.

Alaska’s politics have always been a blood sport, in part because participants are usually down-to-earth, no-nonsense Alaskans bound and determined to do what they think is right no matter the consequences—even if it costs them an election. 

A former Marine pilot with the famed “Black Sheep” squadron, Jay Hammond came north as a bush pilot and at statehood in 1959 was elected to the Alaska House of Representatives. His self-deprecating accounts of the political battles of the next quarter of a century, including the Permanent Fund, are sure to bring more than a chuckle. I once looked out an aircraft window to see a small plane upside down on a dirt runway at Hamond’s homestead some miles from Port Alsworth. Inquiring, I was told, “Oh, don't worry, Jay’s fine; he just bounced on a bad landing.”

There are many books recounting living the wilderness lifestyle in Alaska. At the top of the list is probably Dick Proenecke’s One Man’s Wilderness. But The Hard Way Home deserves to be there, too. Steve Kahn has an engaging personal writing style that makes you think you are sitting by the fire in his cabin listening to his tales. 

And there are some whoppers: from boating on Lake Clark in imprenatrable fog to tramping the hillsides in search of Dall sheep, to being forced to walk miles through an unexpected autumn snowfall to be flown out from a hunt. Remembering idyllic summers at Farewell Lake to the horrors of the Exxon Valdez oil spill and much in between, Kahn writes like a guy who knows the real Alaska.

Chosen by National Public Radio as “essential reading” for anyone traveling to Alaska, Kizzia’s lively, often humorous historical account of the remote copper mining town of McCarthy tucked beneath the Wrangel Mountains will astound you with its descriptions of bush country life in Alaska from 1938 to 1982. A book that begins and ends with the effects of a mass murder in a remote small town. Thrilling reading. 

The highly readable Wealth Woman, by longtime Alaskan Deb Vanasse, fills a major gap on the Klondike bookshelf. It is the first full biography of Kate Carmack, the Tagish woman who was wife, sister, and aunt to the men whose discovery launched the gold rush. And it flips the conventional Klondike narrative on its head and considers the event from the generally overlooked perspective of the Indigenous communities and individuals whose territories were overrun by gold-seekers.

The initial hook in Still Points North was, for me, the opening and its description of the 4-seat plane that the author often flew in with her father. I flew in one when I went to Denali for field research for my novel, and it became not just one of those memories I’ll never forget but also experiential data for my book. I also appreciated how the author so eloquently describes the landscape, comparing and contrasting life in the wilderness with life on the East Coast. But what most impressed me was her revelation, which coincides with the experiences of my novel’s protagonist, that relationships can sometimes be more frightening and challenging than Alaska’s natural savagery.

This story has a great combination of romance and suspense and action. You gotta love Sam, who's just trying to keep his family's rescue organization going and has such strong loyalty toward his family. And Nora's courageous and feisty, just trying to survive from a dangerous situation. Carmen’s books are low on the explicit and violence/gore scale, which is perfect when you want to go on a ride without all of the extraneous cursing and whatnot. 

Although I happen to know that poet Anne Coray intended this to be an environmentalist novel (a town threatened with doom by a giant mining operation), this beautifully written story set in the fictitious town of Lost Mountain in remote Western Alaska is an example of how Alaskans come together in the face of threats to the beauty and natural wonder of our great land. It may be about the land, but it is the cast of quirky characters that makes it human. 

Also environmentally themed (a town threatened by a giant clear-cutting lumber operation), Whispering Alaska is ultimately a family story of twin sisters coming to Alaska. I loved the way Jones depicts the vastly different twin girls: one compliant and friendly, the other withdrawn and driving her father nuts. Tolstoy famously said all unhappy families are unhappy in their own way. Well, this family is struggling with the loss of the girl’s mother on top of trying to find their places in the rainy Southeast coastal town. Listed as “middle-grade” Y/A, it’s a great read for adults interested in Alaska too.