This was the first non-geology McPhee book for me — and a test to see whether I started to find geology fascinating or whether it’s McPhee’s writing chops that did the trick for me. Well, maybe geology rocks indeed, but McPhee is where the magic is. A good writer is like a wizard with words. Obviously.

n “Alaska is a foreign country significantly populated with Americans. Its languages extend to English. Its nature is its own.”

Here we get to see 1977 Alaska, which is a beautiful but strange place. A remote and huge expanse of land with competing ideas to apply the frontier approach to it or keep it as preserve of nature for those who have little in the way of pristine nature elsewhere, a place that attracts wilderness enthusiasts and people who’d prefer to be left alone as they make their living in whichever way they please whether they are permitted so or not, those who’d prefer use and exploit and those who wants to conserve, the spirit of individualism and collectivism, and the ever-receding wilderness. All that in the same place and time, and sometimes even in the same people.

n   “They invite a question. To a palate without bias – the palate of an open-minded Berber, the travelling Martian – which would be the more acceptable, a pink-icinged Pop-Tart with raspberry filling (cold) or the fat gob from behind a caribou’s eye?”n

We see the forests and rivers where bears roam and salmon swim, the tiny remote towns full of tensions and dramas, and the efforts to move the state capital from Juneau to a bunch of other places (the campaign that as we know 50-ish years later ended up unsuccessful). It’s pretty much three books in one - wild Alaska (Salmon River), rural Alaska (Upper Yukon, the settlement of Eagle) and urban Alaska (Juneau, Anchorage).

n

McPhee’s own presence is stronger in this book than in his geology series. He’s here hiking though the wilderness, terrified of bears, taking a canoe down the river, fishing, and hanging out with quite a few characters whose rugged quirks are fascinating. And he shines through the crisp clear prose with sharp vivid observations. The imagery is strong, the descriptions are crystal-clear and fresh and often surprising and wonderfully effective.

n   “Looking over the side of the canoe is like staring down into a sky full of zeppelins.”n

One thing I got out of this book is that I’m not Alaska material, but enjoying it through McPhee filter was lovely and oftentimes a bit scary.

4 stars.
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Also posted on my blog.

Alaska—the last frontier. Well, of the US anyway. Book III is the heart of this book, full of quirky characters, mining, trapping, living off the land or some combination of the above, that the author met in Eagle, Alaska. Money is not the object of the prospectors and minors. It’s independence. Living as they please, without answering to anyone. The short Book I describes a canoe trip through the tundra of the western Brooks Range. In Book II the author travels mostly by air with a group looking for a site for a new state capital. Since the book was published in 1976, and I am well aware that Juneau is still the capital in 2022, this was less interesting to me except as the political squabbles and antagonism between the various regions of the state reveal the feisty, independent character of Alaskans. Hmm. Maybe this book makes Safah Palin more intelligible. Descriptions are marvelous. Character insights amusing. All in all, an excellent travel read.

My husband and I have sailed the Inner Passage twice. We have driven from Minnesota to Fairbanks and back, loving every moment. We live in a part of northern Minnesota/NW Wisconsin where a lot of people have either lived in Alaska or plan to, so I have had my share of fantasies. This book dispelled most of them. Not the weather; we get our way-below-zero temps here (although they don’t last as long and I don’t have to chop wood to keep warm); but the independent, no-government-can-tell-me-what-to-do attitude. Mind you, that is not the attitude of the author, but of too many of the people he meets. I get enough of that in my own rural area. So I guess I will stop fantasizing about moving (and being a despised outsider in Anchorage) and limit myself to this great armchair adventure. And maybe another road trip!

Is it telling, or maybe ironic, that I most preferred Book II - In Urban Alaska: What They Were Hunting For, regarding the search for a “new” capital to replace Juneau? The titular section of the book was interesting but generally had too many characters, too many details, not enough Native perspectives. Interesting enough though, and makes me wonder how much has hanged since this was written in the 70s - close to half a century ago.

Non fiction book published in 40+ years ago about Alaska. A portion was devoted to the conflicting opinions about where the capital should be located (Anchorage, Juneau, Fairbanks, other? ) and the thoughts from the locals on the subject. The more interesting portion for me was the section about the far northern area around the remote towns of Eagle and Circle. The interesting people that have settled in the wilds around there in addition to the indigenous people and all of their stories. Trappers, miners, hunters, etc. and also the wildlife (amazing stories) and the extreme weather.

I had long heard of Coming Into the Country, but it somehow never got onto my reading list until recently. I was a little disappointed. It feels like that sort of New Yorker piece that is just way too long turned into an even longer book. McPhee spent many months in Alaska, meeting the full panoply of residents, including those who had recently “come into the country.” That’s all interesting, but it is a big state with a lot of characters and they never mold into a narrative. We learn about problems with the Native Claims Settlement Act from somewhere in the 1970s, which allocated portions of the state to Native Americans and others to the state and others to settlement. I am sure it was hard at the time but it is old news. The latter part of the book takes place in and around Eagle, which is on the Yukon River (one of the 10 biggest rivers in the world) right where it enters Alaska from Canada. I’d like to visit there someday, and this book will give me a little bit of insight into Alaskan culture, but not much. McPhee does very well in landscape descriptions—he apparently has some geological background. But that is not enough to make this worthwhile.

This book has meant a lot to me as an Alaskan interested in the raggedy interplay between development and conservationism, although I had never read it in its entirety. Now I have. I would say this book at best offers a kind, sympathetic view of all sorts of Alaskans circa 1977, a period which I just barely remember from grade school. I still recall the statewide debate on whether to give "Mount McKinley" the new/old name of "Denali" as part of ANILCA, then called the D-2 Lands Bill, which was a hot-button topic (i.e. federal take-over) for Alaskans such as my parents. I remember the debate to move the capital to Willow. I remember John Denver's goodwill trip to Alaska to promote conservation and the passage of ANILCA. It was all HIGHLY charged politics in which the feds were dabbling, playing, frivolizing with OUR land. The outgrowth of both the Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act and the Alaska National Interest Land Conservation Act are INCREDIBLY far reaching with regards to living and working in Alaska today. In that respect, the first two chapters of the book are now dated and rather nostalgic, kind of a time-capsule of what was going on while these landmark Congressional laws were being sussed out.

The chapter "Coming Into The Country" (nearly half of the book) on the Yukon River/Charley River area of Interior Alaska was by far the best part of the book, focusing on the communities of Central, Circle, and Eagle and the idealistic, sometimes hard-nosed characters that live there. Although McPhee, in what I've read, was an impressionable young man leaning to the side of environmental conservation at the expense of economic development, I think his writing in this book shows both a reverence for Alaska's brand of wilderness (in a word, awesome) as well as a sympathetic, humane perspective on the toll that Congressional protectionism, environmental regulation, and romantic idealism has on the lives of real families living in "the country".

(The best writing is the transcription of journal entries made by a young man, Rich Corazza, living alone in a cabin somewhere around Eagle. This section is one third into the last section "Coming Into The Country" and made me grin and laugh out loud. A true seeker with a good dose of humor and longing.)

It's thorough reporting, I guess. As a "read," somewhere vaguely between 1-star and 5-stars. May I add that long before statehood, my family drove up the AlCan Highway when I was 4 and my dad was stationed at Elmendorf Air Force Base. I remember several dead bloody wolves that were shot from airplanes hanging up for public display. I remember the little houses of an Athabascan cemetary and a few other things and wish I remembered the Aurora Borealis.

Part I
In places the river is so shallow they have to get out and wade alongside their canoe and kayaks to the next deep water. They catch lots of big fish. There are plenty of grizzlies. Inexperienced bush pilots in the air get confused telling one river from another.

Part II
A committee to move the state capitol from Juneau, far to the southeast, to somewhere more central searches for possible locations. After the book’s publication Willow was identified as the desired new capitol, but history shows that in the last 40 years, due to politics and budgets, the transfer was never made.

Part III
The lifestyles of various extreme backcountry loners and isolated settlers, living as trappers and dog sledders, hunters and fishers. Most living within a wide radius of Circle, Central, and Eagle, all near the Arctic Circle and northeast of Dawson. Lots of survival yarns in a land of self-induced hardships. The narrative circulates among several characters and makes it difficult to recall each one by the time you get back to them. Sort of a precursor to those Life Below Zero/Alaskan Bush People TV series.

I went to Alaska 25 years ago and I was reading this book and I remember liking the book very much and enjoying reading about Alaska while I was in Alaska. This year, I went back to Alaska and decided to read the book again. What a difference 25 years makes - this time I did not enjoy the book at all! There are a few interesting stories/observations but the book drones on and on and it was hard to stick with it to the end.

I started to read this book on my flight to Alaska. I loved reading about the bears and remembered what I read when I had my first encounter. This book was recommended by some I know who knew some of the characters in the story. I found the book mostly mesmerizing but I only gave it 4 stars because there were times when it got a little long. I highly recommend this to anyone who wants to know more about Alaska.

If you're willing to read one book about Alaska, pick this one. You'll get to canoe down a clear river with a flotilla of government biologists discussing conservation values, fly in a helicopter with a committee of state representatives pondering capital worthy developments, and trek to the homes of ordinary people who choose to live as far away from anyone else as possible. Not every one gets along. Thanks to one hard-working mayor, "Eagle was in the National Register of Historic Places for two years before the city found out it was." Thanks to a incomplete land-use planning, one hard-working official explained to a trespasser, "This is now the twentieth century. You can't just do what you want to do." One hard-working 12-year resident remarks, "There are forces here that a lot of people don't know exist." The only one who get eaten by a bear is the hard-working geologist using a magnetometer.

Occasionally random chance drops a masterpiece into your lap, and you can’t do anything but marvel at your good fortune. Coming into the Country is a collection of three short books about Alaska written by John McPhee in the 1970s.

I wouldn’t say I am particularly interested in Alaska (although, I am after reading this book!), and I definitely prefer fiction, but wow is this book good. There’s not much magic to it, McPhee is a masterful writer. This is the first book I’ve ever read by him, and perhaps this sounds a little dramatic, but he might be one of my favorite writers now. His prose is clear, clever, funny, humane and interesting. He weaves his way in and out of history, personal anecdotes, characterization, and current events that is reminiscent of the encyclopedic non-fiction work of DFW without all the two-dollar words and solipsism. McPhee writes with an elegant grace.

Perhaps it’s just that I love being outside. I’ve never been much for reading about the outdoors, I much prefer being there, but there is something about the way McPhee describes the mighty Yukon with its crashing cascades of ice floes, or the barren alpine plateaus with a cluster of birch in the distance that feels right. Again, it’s his writing, his feeling of wonder and appreciation for the raw wildness of Alaska is visceral and feels honestly communicated.

However, I don’t think this book would have merited a five star review if it had just been about nature. What makes this book superb is McPhee’s interviews and characterization of Alaskans. McPhee writes about modern politics, the founding of the state, the gold rush history, the development of the oil industry, the decision to establish a new capital, as well as documenting the histories of ordinary citizens. He is a master of showing and not telling, each segment is rich and alive.

The last thing that needs to be said is that despite this book being 40 years old, it still feels modern and engaging. Alaska has probably changed since this was published, but I imagine that the Alaskan spirit that McPhee teases out still howls on in the bush.

McPhee's classic work on Alaska was written in the 1970s, while The Last Frontier was figuring out statehood, The Pipeline, and the 1971 Native American Claims Settlement Act. McPhee shows the warping force of all three, while digging for the gold that underlies them all - the deep and unyielding wildness that shapes the lives of all who live there. I have read many books on Alaska, in all of them seeking to understand what it is about Alaska that makes it such a looming presence in every work. COMING INTO THE COUNTRY is the first to give satisfaction. There are two stories and a long one: the first, about a group of government-funded, academically-trained, mostly seasoned wilderness experts' journey in the Brooks Range and down the Salmon River assessing the potential for it inclusion in an Arctic National Wildlife Preserve. The second recounts the story of Alaskans' vote to move the state capitol away from isolated Juneau and the search committee's exploration of potential sites for anew state capitol. This is an excellent way to unpack the internal politics of statehood, the characters and strategies thatcollectively have disunited to keep the capitol at Juneau to this day (2021), The final and longest story centers on the Arctic frontier? town? of Eagle (and the indigenous Eagle Village nearby) and the fiercely independent, safe-reiiant tough and wild-hardened people who collectively, McPhee reveals, express the essential uniqueness of Alaska. In a book of near perfect prose, and too many memorable turns of phrase to remember, I have selected three, perfect to me:

"Death is as much a part of life as breathing. People in cities seem to want life and death to remain at a standstill. Most people who are against killing are horribly afraid to die. They seem to think you can have life without death, and if so they have withdrawn from life. They seem to think the animals up here are smelling flowers. They use the word ecology for everything but what it means. It means who's eating home, and when."

"The moose was tough, I ate a little of it. The grizzly was tender with youth from a winter in the den. More flavorful than any I had eaten, it expanded my life list. . . . And now a difference overcame me with regard to bears. In strange common, I had chewed the flag, consumed the symbol of the total wild, and, from that meal forward, if a bear should ever wish to reciprocate, it would only be what I deserve."

And finally . . . "It is sheer foolishness to approach Alaska in terms of the patterned traditions of the Lower Forty-eight, and . . . this basic consideration – Alaska seen as a largely different country , should be the beginning of any plan made for Alaska by the federal government . Where this is not the case at present, the government should be urged to go back to Square One. In the society as a whole, there is an elemental need for a frontier outlet, for a pioneer place to go – important even to those who do not go there. People are mentioning outer space as, in this respect, all we have left. All we have left is Alaska, which, on the individual level, and by virtue of its climate, will always screen its own, and will not be overrun."