The Adventurer's Son(89)
I wished he’d been just an email away to share the new facts I’d learned at the conference on polar and arctic microbes. He would have found the red-colored bacteria that nucleate hailstones fascinating, the organisms that live in the salty brine of the ice pack improbable. A critical piece of Ganey’s experiment had been Roman’s suggestion. And he had been with the Japanese, Jazz, and me on the Harding Icefield looking for red snow, half his short lifetime before.
Roman and I were so close. Paddling alone in a wilderness he would have loved, I discovered that I was slowly learning to live with this chronic injury set deep in my soul. As I paddled farther into the Arctic, thoughts of him invaded every crevice of my life. They still do, where they germinate and grow like dropped seeds.
Acknowledgments
A handful of writers were invaluable in organizing my writing, particularly Michael Wejchert in several chapters of Part I. His skill in selecting nuggets from my stream-of-consciousness recollections and ferreting out confusion allowed me to rewrite my old stories coherently, accurately, and truthfully. He was an excellent coach and structural editor for Part II. Our discussions in my office encouraged my way forward in Part III, most of which I’d written while in Costa Rica, Panama, Alaska, and D.C. as events unfolded. I am grateful to the young writer for his advice. He was the book’s first reader and particularly adept at helping me see what was missing.
From the beginning, David Roberts has been the driving force behind my book. For decades he has encouraged me to write a memoir, but it wasn’t until my son went missing that I needed to tell a story at book length. By sheer happenstance we encountered one another in a remote Arizona canyon along the Mexican border in March 2017. At first, I thought Roberts—dressed in khaki shorts and a floppy sun hat—was just another springtime birdwatcher. Drawing closer, I saw through the willows it was he and Sharon balancing on boulders, picking their way upstream on a research expedition for yet another of his wonderful books.
Roberts invited Peggy and me to dinner in Tucson and later to the Airbnb that he and Sharon were renting. Over a bottle of merlot, he convinced me I needed to write this book. Given the auspicious serendipity of our encounter midstream along a desert creek bottom, Peggy insisted I move forward. I soon set to writing in earnest. Roberts read early drafts, reviewed grammar, and like a psychoanalyst pushed me to explore uncomfortable memories where important themes dwell.
I’d also like to thank two Alaska Pacific University faculty for each reading an early draft: David Onofrychuk and Mei Mei Evans. Like Michael, David was particularly adept at encouraging me to write more clearly and succinctly, pointing out redundancies and narrative side trips. As parents and writers, David and Mei Mei also forced me to confront the heart of this book. I am fortunate to have colleagues like them who take time to help me.
Gordy Vernon is another writer I admire and respect. Michael usually asked for more words, more sentences, more paragraphs; Gordy less. Jon Krakauer offered support and structural suggestions. I appreciate his advice. Michael, David, Gordy, and Mei Mei all made suggestions that chaffed me at first and I let them know. But in the end, I followed (almost always) their advice. Maybe I owe them my apologies as well as my thanks.
Peter Hubbard, my editor at William Morrow, has been a true pleasure since the moment I met him. His fifteen years at HarperCollins show and he has been insightful, helpful, and gentle. It would be wonderful to work with him again. Nick Amphlett took care of the many necessary details to make this a book. I appreciate the work they put into publication, going so far as to have the copyedited manuscript airdropped to me in the Brooks Range wilderness.
My agent, Stuart Krichevsky, went far beyond what I would expect any agent to do. With his team, including Laura Usselman and Aemilia Phillips, he helped me arrive at a place where my notebooks, stories, and ideas became this book. I am especially grateful to Stuart for having faith in me, given the early words I provided.
Without Peggy’s support this book would simply have been impossible. Not only did she encourage me to write, but she sacrificed her time to support me while I did. She literally took care of me during the months I did nothing but write from when I woke to when I slept. Our daughter, Jazz Dial, too, supported my efforts. Without these two I would be lost.
Friends and family who read early drafts and caught typos, provided comments, and recalibrated my recollections include: Peggy, Jazz, Steve and Maureen Haagenson, Linda Griffith, Tamara Dial, Lauren Cleaver, Thai Verzone, Brad Meiklejohn, Dick Griffith, Carl Tobin, Chris Flowers, Jon Underwood, Nancy Brady, Paul Twardock, and Michael Martin.
This book is dedicated to the family, friends, friends of friends, former and current APU students, U.S. and Costa Rican officials, acquaintances, miners, rangers, Cruz Rojas volunteers, OIJ, U.S. Embassy, FBI, TIJAT and its contractors, and even strangers who came forward to help us and support us physically, financially, emotionally, and spiritually. All of them helped Peggy and me find Roman.