I just finished reading The Arctic Prairies (1911) by Ernest Thompson Seton. This memoir is an account of a six month journey by canoe Seton took into northern Canada in 1907. Seton was an artist, writer, and naturalist who undertook the trip in hopes of finding bison and caribou and, in his words, “the chances to see and be among wild life.”

The narrative details various aspects of the trip: logistics, the people he traveled with, communities encountered, and ample descriptions of the land and wildlife. It is a pleasing mix of anecdote, sublime description of the natural world, and insights on human behavior. It’s also a compelling window into another time and place.

“This was the land and these the creatures I had come to see. This was my Farthest North and this was the culmination of years of dreaming.”

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When I was a young child, my father read aloud to me his old copy of The Biography of a Grizzly by Ernest Thompson Seton, a book from his childhood. I was completely enthralled and remember crying as my father finished the book. I have read that story to my daughter but never looked into any other books written by Seton until I stumbled across The Arctic Prairies. Soon, I felt as if I was traveling along with Seton, Preble, Billy, and Weeso deep into the northern Barrens, looking for caribou as the slim canoe glided over the river’s surface.

As seems to sometimes happen, a book that hadn’t even been on my radar ended up being a wonderful reading experience. It feels like such an unanticipated, serendipitous meeting when this happens…the reader (me, in this case) bumping into a book that carries them away to a previously unglimpsed experience. This is one of the true joys of reading.