One solitary man chooses to spend his golden years in the Alaskan wilds, busying himself with personal expeditions and construction projects in a cozy, hand-made, lakeside cabin. That’s the story of Dick Proenneke, a retired technician whose first seasons in the tundra were documented in the initial volume of this self-produced documentary. He’s just stepped out of semi-hibernation at the start of _Part II_, watching the snow melt and his beloved bears emerge from their dens, but that doesn’t mean he’s idle. With his trusty telephoto lens and 8mm camera along for company, he immediately sets out to build a nine-foot-tall storage cache for food security, then hefts a canoe and hikes to a new corner of the land.

Even in his early 50s, Dick’s an inspiration. He may not look it, but the man is a physical machine, proudly tromping a dozen miles through rough terrain or splitting an entire building’s worth of lumber using nothing more than a sturdy axe and the devil’s persistence. As if that weren’t enough, he also serves as his own cameraman and director, with a narrative track pulled directly from his exhaustively detailed journals. This footage derives from the late ‘60s, so it’s hardly a sterling HD visual experience, but the knowledge that Dick was out there alone - setting up the tripod, checking the exposure, paddling past, circling back and collecting the equipment - makes it hypnotic in a different way. His thoughts and observations are everything one might expect, too, all reflective and appreciative of the free life he so savors. Confident and capable, he’s nonetheless even-tempered and open-hearted. A woodworking naturalist who’s cut from the same cloth as Bob Ross.

If you’ve got to watch one such documentary before you die, I’d recommend the first chapter. By the time _Part II_ rolls around, Dick has already finished building his cabin and found his niche in the wild. While both make for a soothing, relaxing experience, this episode is more casual and less challenging, with smaller projects and similar views. Like checking in with an old friend after some months apart.