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I gape at the expanse of deep blue and rich green below. “I’ve never seen so many lakes before!” Countless oddly shape bodies of water are scattered as far as I can see. So many that I can’t tell if the land is interspersed with water or if the water is interspersed with land.
And in the center of it all is a colony of rectangular buildings, their roofs a vibrant collection of reds, greens, and blues.
“This is all part of the Yukon-Kuskokwim Delta. Ahead of us is the Bering Sea,” Jonah explains, his deep voice filling my ears.
I aim Simon’s Canon and attempt to capture a few pictures of the breathtaking landscape. The glare from the sun bouncing off the glass makes it challenging.
“How are you feeling?”
“Fine. This is definitely a better plane. Am I yelling, though?”
He grins, flashing that perfect, white-toothed smile. “Nah, you’re good.” His hawkish eyes rove the skies around us. “It’s a great day for flying. Not as much wind as normal.”
“Plus you’re so much better than that last asshole pilot I had.” I struggle to keep a straight face as I snap pictures of the colorful town, feeling his gaze on my profile. Waiting for his clever response.
“That’s Kwigillingok, where we’re going,” he says instead.
“It feels like we just took off.”
“It’s only a thirteen-minute flight. Most of the trips to the villages are that short. Even getting all the way up to Barrow takes less than two hours from us and that’s Alaska’s northernmost point.” Jonah tips the plane to the right and I feel a surge of butterflies in my stomach.
Though, I’ll admit, it’s not nearly as terrifying as it once was.
While the view may be picturesque from above, the reality down below is another story.
I finally find my breath and my tongue again. “Are all the village airports like this?” If you can even call this place an airport. Because if they are, I have no interest in seeing more of Alaska.
“Nah. This is one of the most dangerous ones,” Jonah says casually, seemingly unfazed by the jerks and bumps of the plane as he steers us along a narrow, uneven gravel road with water on both sides. We basically just landed on a patch of an island.
“And you thought it’d be a great idea to bring me with you?”
“Baptism by fire.”
“I’ve already been baptized, thanks.” Not that I’ve been to church in two decades. I take a calming breath. “I thought we were going to skid into the water.”
Jonah smirks, pulling off his headset as we finally come to a stop not far from a windowless cerulean-blue shed where two people linger, an ATV beside them. He flicks a series of switches that brings the propeller to a slow halt and cuts the engine. “Maybe you would have with another pilot. But I’m that good.”
And that cocky.
Unfastening his seat belt, he stretches his body to reach behind my seat, his solid chest pressing against my shoulder as he wrestles to unsecure something. I can smell the mint on his breath. It makes me press my lips together with worry that my breath isn’t nearly as fresh.
The two people are walking toward our plane. They’re clad much like everyone else I’ve seen in Alaska so far—layers of casual flannel and cotton on top, jeans, and boots.
“Why are we here, again?”
“To drop off a portable ventilator.” Finally he heaves out the red case by one arm. I’m forced to shift away so as not to get knocked in the head by it. “Come on. Time to meet one of Wild’s customers.” Throwing open his door, he deftly slips out.
I’m not nearly as graceful in my descent, losing my footing and stumbling on my way down. By the time I round the plane, Jonah’s already handing over the case.
“. . . with all the sand kicking up in the wind, the past couple days,” the woman says. “At least today’s not so bad.” She’s a middle-aged Alaska Native woman with a kind face and sooty-black hair tied in a ponytail. She has a slight accent that is similar to my dad’s, and Agnes’s and Michael’s, and pretty much every other person I’ve met who has lived in Alaska their whole life. It reminds me of a girl from university, who grew up almost eight hours away in Sault Ste. Marie. She had a distinctive way of saying things. Vowels sounded longer, certain consonants were left off. In general, she didn’t rush her words. Even though the dialects aren’t the same, there’s a distinctively “northern” sound.
“This should help her out. I’m sorry it took so long to get here.” Jonah does his hair-hat-smoothing thing. I wonder if his hat actually needs adjusting, or if it’s an unconscious move.
“These new ones are so much smaller.” The woman marvels at the case in her hand. “Evelyn said you harassed Anchorage until they gave it up?”
“They were telling her next week and that’s bullshit. They had this one sitting in a storeroom, just in case.”
“You’re a lifesaver, Jonah.” The woman’s curious gaze shifts to me.
