Going It Alone: The Story of Richard Proenneke
In the summer of 1968, a tiny fixed-wing bush plane landed on the glacially carved shore of upper twin lake in southwest Alaska. A middle-aged man stepped down from the plane and pulled a few canvas bags with him, then turned to wave goodbye to his friends still in the cockpit. Richard Proenneke watched as the aircraft shrank in the sky and slipped over the Neacola Mountains of the Aleutian range, its vanishing thrum replaced by a windy quiet, leaving him profoundly alone in the deep of Alaska. The nearest road was little more than a dream at hundreds of miles away, the nearest human probably farther. And that’s exactly the way dick, as he was known, wanted it.