Our friends over at VICE TV have put together a wild documentary anyone thinking they need a break from modern life should watch. As it turns out, there’s pretty much only one way to skin a bear, and it requires both a gut and will of iron.

In 1980, Jimmy Carter established the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge in the Alaskan Interior, cutting off 19 million acres of prime boreal wilderness from the mitts of fur trappers, oil tycoons, and would-be lodge owners alike. Only six families of white settlers were grandfathered in and allowed to keep cabins in the refuge—of them, only one still stays there year-round living off the land. His name is Heimo Korth, and he is basically the Omega Man of America’s Final Frontier.

Raised in suburban Wisconsin, Heimo set off in his teens to the Alaskan Bush to pursue the Davy Crockett lifestyle in more or less the only place it was still possible. Amid numerous setbacks and misadventures, Heimo gradually learned how to master his terrain, provide for his Eskimo wife, and rear children in one of the most inhospitable environments in North America. Here, the trailer to a 5-part series.

ALSO: Interview on Treehugger with the director of Heimo’s Arctic Refuge.

The full version of Far Out: Heimo’s Arctic Refuge - Now you can watch/embed the entire uncut doc in its awesome entirety.

Interview with James Campbell - Campbell, Heimo’s cousin, wrote a critically acclaimed book about him called ‘The Final Frontiersman’.

Like food? Check out these culinary posts about other Arctic delights. Caribou Tacos are just the start.

ANWAR Caviar - it’s freshest when it’s right out the river.

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I was floating somewhere off the northernmost coast of British Columbia when my 17 foot sea-kayak was overtaken by a friendly gang of Canadian charter fisherman.

“Looks like you been on quite a trip, eh?” the apparent leader said, studying my loaded-down vessel while toasting me with a can of Lucky beer.
 
“I’m paddling to Alaska,” I told him.
 
It had been almost thirty days since I’d left Seattle, and based on my charts, the symbolic end-point of my trip—the U.S.-Canada border—was just a short paddle away. If the weather held and the wind stayed down, I’d spend the late evening crossing the 50 mile wide Dixon Entrance, an international waterway known among sea captains and commercial fisherman as Southeast Alaska’s Bermuda Triangle. I’d heard numerous stories of 20 foot rogue waves swallowing 50 foot fishing trawlers. If I survived this crux crossing, I was sure to emerge a different grade of man.
 
“Whoa, hey!” the fisherman said. “I never heard of anyone crossing the Dixon Entrance in a little boat like that!”
 
“I’m not worried about it,” I said. “I’m pretty comfortable in this thing.”

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