Since I’ve canoed on our nation's biggest rivers I’ve been asked repeatedly: Why? My answer has always been the same: I love nature, boating, sleeping under the stars, camp fires, and solitude immersed in beauty.

Anne Morrow Lindbergh's Gift from the Sea first met the hands of readers in 1955. Yet, even reading it in 2014, it's abundantly clear that our discomfort with solitude and our eagerness to fill the void with the dull hum of gadgets has not changed one bit. Her gentle writing is a balm for all those lost in the white noise of the modern era, and an essential guide back home:

+ Read » Part I: Arrival | Part II: Absence | Part III: Navigation

I've been taking walks out into trackless space, leaving point A without a point B to find.

+ Read » Part I: Arrival | Part II: Absence

Look at the map. Don't look at the coast, don't look at the text. Just look at the white mass that is the Antarctic. Look at the nothing that fills the map.

Beyond the penguins and icebergs, far behind the stony coast, larger than the United States and deprived of life, is the East Antarctic ice cap. This blank space is the vast bulk of the southern continent, a world of ice inconceivable to anyone who has not traveled over its emptiness.