Eventually, we leave the birds behind and begin to hike up a steep slope, sweating, our bodies finally warm from within. When we crest a rise, views open broadly into the next valley. The tundra blazes red and yellow beneath our feet. My arms swing more freely with each step, shaking off the morning's scare. Pat's pace is matched perfectly to mine.

For the rest of the afternoon, all the answers I need are in front of me. The sky as big as we are small, our forms dwarfed by mountains and rivers and wide-open spaces. The way Pat and I stop in unison to watch a bear trundle across the valley, each of us reverent and wordless. The scientist in me, having shed the degrees and statistics, once again filled with wonder. The realization that if we weren't doing this, now, we would always be missing something.

Excerpted from The Sun Is a Compass by Caroline Van Hemert . Copyright © 2019 by Caroline Van Hemert . Excerpted by permission of Little Brown & Company. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.