I give him a wide berth, and keep moving.  When I reach the open cliffs, the gyrfalcon is long gone, but below, in a broad, empty valley, a herd of muskoxen amble.  The animal I saw back at the quarry was a lone male; the former leader of this herd.  When his age showed in his leadership, he was cast off by the herd, as is customary among the muskoxen.  He will live and die as a hermit – the price of power.  The realization of my encounter shames me: All male muskox are extremely aggressive, and may charge with a force that belies their sad, grizzled faces. 

I have come to the Seward Peninsula of Alaska – the threshold of the western hemisphere – to pursue the origins of a stone tool my brother and I found in the Southeastern desert of Oregon three years ago.  Instead of asking the experts or reading books, I decided to learn about the tool, and thus the history of my adopted state, the hard way – by traveling, chatting and listening.

The tundra – tiny plants, mosses and lichens, is like a thousand million spilled bell jar gardens.  Rarely do these plants reach over a few inches in height – the effect accentuates the endless quality of these broad valleys and mountains.