Miguel and I went fishing, the other night, and I fell in. We were down by the creek, where it joins the ocean. The tide was high, and there's a little rocky island that is only separated from the shore by a few feet of water. I wanted to go out on it so I could cast into the deep water, so I asked Miguel to give me a piggy-back. We were trying to carry fishing rods, as well, so I was kind of precariously perched, and we were giggling about me falling in... Well, of course, I did. Luckily we were almost there, and I only got wet to the ankles, but the water is... well... Arctic. But we stayed fishing, until I couldn't feel my wet/cold feet any more. Still no luck, I think the fish are pretty safe from us.

I'm still living in the awe and "I'm really here" state. and meanwhile, fuzzy husky pups come to visit, muskox can be seen from our upstairs windows, and when the sun goes down the sky turns salmon-coloured. standing on the banks of the creek, or the bridge, and watching the locals pull out char after char, lining the fish up on the bank until they're ready to clean them. riding around in the cutting wind on the ATV. catalogues come in the mail offering wolverine fur, moose leather, boots that are good to minus 50. in the evening when we walk the dogs and the sun is low, all the fluffy white tundra plants, rust and blood coloured lichen and half-buried rocks for miles and miles.