It is 1966 on a long isolated stretch of the Alaska/Canadian highway. He pulls the dusty and battered white Pontiac to a stop. Gets out to stretch his legs. Leaning on the car he surveys his surroundings. The mountains simply stun him, the landscape takes his breath away. The air is cool and clear and in this solitary and majestic space the mountains make a promise. The clouds and the winter blue sky make a promise. Always a wanderer, they promise, this is where he will make his home.
Fifty years. For the next fifty years he will make this place his home. He will make close friends, raise a family, rock his grandchildren there. He will explore the beauty of this place, hike the trails, fish the creeks and build a cabin with his own two hands. He will bury his wife there. The promise of those mountains, that roadside fifty years before is fulfilled