There are places in this world where bad decisions grow naturally—like weeds, or mosquitos, or unreturned text messages. 

Then there’s the Arctic. 

The Arctic doesn’t grow bad decisions. 

It breeds them. 

Quietly. Patiently. Like a wolf waiting for you to wander just one inch off the trail so it can say, Ah yes, finally, lunch. 

Most people think the North is just cold weather and quiet nights and stars that hang low like lanterns. And sure, that’s part of it. But the truth is simpler: 

Up here, you meet yourself. 

Not the version you post online. 

The other one. 

The one who whispers at 3 a.m. and says, You should text her. 

The one who buys airline tickets without reading the fine print. 

The one who says yes to things that sound like wisdom but smell like trouble. 

If you stay long enough, the Arctic will strip away your excuses one layer at a time—same way it strips the skin off your knuckles when you forget your gloves.

You learn things here. 

For example: 

Beer freezes faster than your dignity. 

Snowmobiles do not respond to positive thinking. 

And loneliness, when mixed with windchill and a hint of heartbreak, becomes a hallucinogen. 

But most importantly, you learn that every journey—spiritual, physical, emotional, or just stupid—begins with the exact same sentence:

“How bad could it be?” 

This is the story of the time Jake—hero, idiot, philosopher, survivor, bartender, dancer, yogi, salesman, and emotionally unstable explorer—tried to fix his life by running to a place where running is physically impossible. 

It’s a story about cold. 

About beer. 

About all the decisions that begin with bravery and end with paperwork.

It’s about a man who didn’t mean to start over, didn’t mean to fall apart, and definitely didn’t mean to get involved with a town full of women, snowstorms, muskox, prophecies, or cosmic nonsense. 

It’s about the moment he looked at the mess he’d made of his life and said, Yeah, sure. Let’s make it worse somewhere colder. 

It’s about a heart frozen on purpose, a soul thawed by accident, and a journey that began with a suitcase of cowboy boots and ended God-knows-where. 

If you’re expecting wisdom, you might get some. 

If you’re expecting survival, it’s a close call. 

If you’re expecting Jake to make good choices… you haven’t met Jake. 

So bundle up. 

Keep your fingers inside the vehicle. 

And for the love of God, don’t follow the lights in the snow. 

Welcome to the Arctic. 

Welcome to the trouble. 

Welcome to Ice, Beer, and Bad Decisions. 

Excerpt From
Ice, Beer and Bad Decisions
J.F. Barão
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