Heimo Korth isn't a ghost, but he lives like one. Most people think the era of the American mountain man died out when the beaver trade collapsed in the 1840s or when the last wagon trains rolled through the dust. They’re wrong. Deep in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge (ANWR), thousands of miles from the nearest Starbucks or paved road, Heimo and his wife Edna have spent decades carving a life out of frozen silence. He is often called the last mountain man, not because he’s the only guy living in the woods, but because he is the final resident permitted to live permanently in a 19-million-acre wilderness where new human permanent residency is now strictly illegal.
It’s a heavy title.
If you’re looking for a romanticized tale of a guy talking to birds and finding inner peace, you’ve come to the right place for a reality check. Survival in the Brooks Range isn’t about "finding yourself." It’s about not starving. It’s about the brutal, repetitive math of calories in versus calories out. When the temperature hits -50°F, the world doesn't care about your philosophy. It only cares if you have enough dry wood and caribou meat to make it to Tuesday.
Why Heimo Korth is Legally the Last of His Kind
You can't just pack a bag and move to the Alaskan Arctic anymore. That door is shut. Locked. Bolted.
In 1980, the United States Congress passed the Alaska National Interest Lands Conservation Act (ANILCA). This massive piece of legislation changed everything for the bush pilots and trappers living on federal land. It established millions of acres of protected refuge. For the handful of families already living within those new boundaries, the government issued "non-transferable" permits.
These permits are basically a sunset clause on a way of life.
You can stay until you die. But you can't sell your cabin to a guy from California. You can't pass the residency right down to your kids as an inheritance. When Heimo Korth eventually leaves the Coleen River, his cabin will likely be reclaimed by the wilderness or removed by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. He is the last mountain man because, legally, there is no next one.
The solitude is staggering. We’re talking about an area roughly the size of South Carolina with zero permanent roads. Heimo’s neighbors aren't people; they're grizzly bears and wolves that would just as soon eat his winter supply of meat as look at him. Honestly, the level of isolation would break most modern people in about forty-eight hours.
The Daily Grind of Arctic Survival
Think about your morning routine. You probably hit a button on a coffee maker. Heimo has to haul water from a hole chopped in river ice. If the hole freezes over, he chops it again.
Everything is about preparation.
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During the brief, mosquito-choked summers, he isn't relaxing. He's a machine. He's netting whitefish, drying meat, and stacking cord after cord of wood. If you don't have fifteen cords of wood by September, you’re basically dead. It’s that simple. Heimo has often described the lifestyle as 90% hard, boring labor and 10% pure adrenaline when something goes wrong.
And things do go wrong.
There was the time he accidentally sliced his hand open while butchering a moose. No 911. No urgent care. You just stitch yourself up or you bleed out in the snow. That's the part the reality TV shows—like The Last Alaskans on Discovery—sometimes gloss over. The sheer, terrifying stakes of a simple mistake are always present. One slip of an axe can be a death sentence when the nearest help is a bush plane ride that might not come for weeks.
The Misconception of the Lone Wolf
There's this weird myth that a mountain man has to be a hermit who hates people.
Heimo Korth is actually pretty gregarious. He loves a good story. More importantly, he didn't do this alone. For most of his journey, his wife Edna, a Yup’ik Eskimo woman from St. Lawrence Island, has been the backbone of the operation. People forget that the original mountain men of the 1800s survived because they embedded themselves in Indigenous cultures and learned how to actually read the land. Heimo did the same. Edna brought traditional knowledge that kept them alive.
They raised daughters in the bush. Think about that for a second. No playgrounds, no schools, no playdates. Just the tundra.
The tragedy of their daughter Coleen, who was lost to the river as a toddler, is a grim reminder of why this life isn't a postcard. It’s a harsh, unforgiving landscape that takes as much as it gives. The fact that they stayed after such a loss tells you everything you need to know about their connection to the land. It isn't a hobby for them. It’s who they are.
How Technology Changed the "Mountain Man" Label
Is Heimo Korth a "pure" mountain man if he uses a snowmachine or a chainsaw?
Purists love to argue about this. They think if you aren't wearing buckskins and using a flintlock rifle, you're a fraud. That’s total nonsense. Historically, mountain men were the first to adopt the best technology available. They wanted the best rifles, the sturdiest traps, and the most reliable gear.
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Heimo uses:
- A snowmachine (because walking 40 miles to check a trap line in deep powder is a great way to die young).
- A chainsaw (because hand-sawing fifteen cords of wood is an inefficient use of limited calories).
- A bush radio (for essential communication with pilots).
- Solar panels (for small amounts of electricity).
Using a tool doesn't make the environment any less dangerous. The wind still howls at 60 miles per hour. The bears are still hungry. The ice is still thin. Technology just shifts the margins of survival by a few inches. You still have to be an expert tracker, a master carpenter, and a self-taught mechanic. If your snowmobile breaks down 30 miles from home in a blizzard, you better know how to fix it with a piece of wire and a prayer.
The End of an Era
We are currently witnessing the literal end of a specific type of human existence.
When the last of the ANILCA permit holders pass away or move into town for medical care, the "mountain man" as a legal resident of federal wilderness disappears. It becomes a museum piece. A story we tell. We’re moving toward a world that is entirely managed, mapped, and Wi-Fi enabled.
Heimo knows this. He’s seen the changes. He’s noticed the winters getting weirder and the animal migrations shifting. He’s an accidental scientist, a witness to a changing climate in a place where those changes are amplified.
But he stays.
Why? Because the silence is worth the struggle. There is a specific kind of freedom that comes from knowing exactly where your food comes from and exactly what it takes to stay warm. It’s a total lack of abstraction. In the "civilized" world, we have layers of systems between us and survival. Heimo has none.
What We Can Actually Learn from the Last Mountain Man
You probably aren't going to move to the Arctic. You probably like your shower and your high-speed internet. That’s fine. But the life of the last mountain man offers some pretty sharp insights for those of us living in the "real" world.
First, there's the concept of radical self-reliance. We’ve become so specialized that we can't do anything for ourselves. Heimo is a generalist. He can build a house, fix a motor, tan a hide, and navigate by the stars. There is a profound psychological stability that comes from knowing you can handle your own basic needs.
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Second, there's the value of observation. Heimo knows the patterns of the river. He knows when the caribou are coming based on the smell of the air. We spend so much time looking at screens that we’ve lost the ability to read the world around us.
Finally, there's the reality of limits. In the bush, you can't argue with reality. If you run out of food, you're hungry. If you're cold, you need fire. Our modern society thrives on the illusion that limits don't exist—that we can always have more, faster, forever. The Arctic doesn't tolerate that delusion.
How to Apply a "Mountain Man" Mindset Without Moving to Alaska
You don't need a cabin on the Coleen River to reclaim some of this perspective.
Start by building "redundancy" into your life. Don't rely on a single system for everything. Learn a manual skill that has nothing to do with a computer. It could be gardening, basic carpentry, or even just learning how to properly sharpen a knife. These things ground you in the physical world.
Also, try to embrace a bit of "calculated discomfort." We are the most comfortable humans to ever live, yet we are arguably the most stressed. Heimo finds peace in the middle of a literal struggle for survival. There’s something to be said for testing your limits and realizing you’re tougher than you thought.
The last mountain man isn't just a relic of the past; he’s a mirror. He shows us what we’ve traded away for the sake of convenience.
Tangible Steps for Further Exploration
If you're fascinated by this way of life, don't just watch a 10-minute YouTube clip and call it a day.
- Read "The Final Frontiersman" by James Campbell. It’s the definitive biography of Heimo Korth and goes way deeper than any TV show ever could. It covers the grit, the loss, and the technical reality of his life.
- Study ANILCA. If you're interested in land use and why the "mountain man" is disappearing, look into the 1980 Alaska National Interest Lands Conservation Act. It’s a fascinating look at how we balance preservation with human heritage.
- Practice situational awareness. Spend a day in the woods—even a local park—without your phone. Try to identify five plants, three bird calls, and the direction of the wind. It’s harder than it sounds.
- Support Wilderness Conservation. The reason Heimo's lifestyle is so rare is because the wilderness itself is shrinking. Look into organizations like the Northern Alaska Environmental Center to understand the current threats to these remote ecosystems.
The era of the mountain man is closing, but the lessons of the Brooks Range are permanent. You just have to be quiet enough to hear them.