It’s not often I read fiction that really stirs me up like this did. It’s from “The White Silence“, a short story by Jack London. He refers to the extreme cold and profound silence he encountered in the Klondike winter …

Nature has many tricks wherewith she convinces man of his finity - the ceaseless flow of the tides, the fury of the storm, the shock of the earthquake, the long roll of heaven’s artillery - but the most tremendous, the most stupefying of all, is the passive phase of the White Silence. All movement ceases, the sky clears, the heavens are as brass; the slightest whisper seems sacrilege, and man becomes timid, affrighted at the sound of his own voice. Sole speck of life journeying across the ghostly wastes of a dead world, he trembles at his audacity, realizes that his is a maggot’s life, nothing more.
Strange thoughts arise unsummoned, and the mystery of all things strives for utterance.
And the fear of death, of God, of the universe, comes over him - the hope of the Resurrection and the Life, the yearning for immortality, the vain striving of the imprisoned essence - it is then, if ever, man walks alone with God.

I haven’t experienced the Arctic North like Jack London did, but I’ve had a taste of what he was writing about. It was on the main range of Australia’s Snowy Mountains in the winter of 2001. My main campsite is pictured here, see my Snowy Mountains page for other photos.

Snow-camping above the tree line - all vegetation and life buried under a blanket of snow, even the rocks plastered with ice. Under a clear sky, with stars blazing in the dry cold air, the temperature plummeted and the silence became overwhelming. With not even an insect to disturb the air, the sound of my blood circulating became audible in a feeble attempt to fill the sound vacuum. I’ve experienced the quietness of calm nights at home, but the still calm of the snowy wilderness took peaceful silence to a new level.

Hiking to Mt Kosciusko with snow shoes on a calm day brought another profound white silence. As the only speck of life in a sterile soundness expanse, I felt small and vulnerable … but in a refreshing and cleansing sort of way. The absence of sound and colour, plus the hypnotic rhythm of walking, certainly got the thoughts working in ways not possible in a more noisy world. As Jack London says, “it is then, if ever, man walks alone with God” - and I felt like I was.

Reading of Jack London’s white silence made me want to ride a dog sled up the frozen Klondike, but we can’t all visit the Arctic, or the Snowy Mountains, or a desert. Fortunately, however, some of the mental and spiritual benefits can also be gained by a walk in the bush (without an iPod!) or a stroll along an empty beach.