A week on the fly at Alaska West
Story by Troy Letherman
There is an ethereal quality to a morning submerged in fog. For one, it’s almost always unexpected, no matter how attuned one may be to the capricious moods of western Alaska weather. It moves in during the night when no one is looking, heavy and gray and silent as a wolf padding across the tundra floor. It softens the horizons of sight, hides landmarks, dampens sound. The otherworldly sensation is helped along by a lingering befuddlement concerning the day’s overall intentions; there could be a bright sun already at work burning through the mist, or there could simply be more gray, and rain. This content is available for subscribers only.
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