Under the Northern Lights(2)

There were so many creatures I wanted to encounter on this trip. The bears should be out, gathering food for hibernation. I’d come across a gigantic male last year, and I’d absolutely love a repeat encounter with him—from a safe distance, of course. Seeing some wolves would be amazing. Alaskan gray wolves were some of the smartest creatures out there. They hunted in packs that could take down a moose. Dangerous, yes, but so incredibly beautiful. Lynx were on my list too. Plus eagles, owls, martens . . . there was so much I was eager to see.

I’d gotten interested in photography in high school when I’d gone to an art exhibit with my mom and had seen some of the thrilling shots captured by professionals. My mind had spun with the possibilities. In what other line of work could you spend ample amounts of time outdoors, go all around the world, and see extraordinary things that most people never got to see? It had seemed like the perfect career for me. My parents had thought otherwise. They just hadn’t been able to see how photographing animals could sustain me financially. And of course, they’d worried about my safety. Accepting that your child was going to be alone in the middle of nowhere all the time was difficult for a protective parent. They wanted me to stay home and stay safe.

There had been countless arguments with my parents over the years, especially in the beginning, before I’d started earning money from my photos. I’d been living with them back then, and not a day had gone by without one of them telling me that I should give up my improbable dream and get a real job, a paying job, a less adventurous job. They’d been over the moon when I’d finally relented to my incessant boyfriend, Shawn, and agreed to marry him. My parents adored Shawn and thought he would be a stabilizing influence on me. I thought they’d secretly been hoping he would convince me to stay home and give them tons of grandbabies. But it hadn’t worked out that way, and marrying Shawn had been a huge mistake, probably the biggest mistake I’d ever made. The two of us had always been better at being friends, and even as I’d said “I do,” I’d known Shawn wasn’t the right one for me. He was too much like my parents and spent too much time telling me everything that I couldn’t and shouldn’t do. Within a year, Shawn and I had divorced. My parents had been crushed. Shawn too.

But none of them had understood and accepted the vision I had of my life and that nothing short of achieving my goal would make me truly happy. And it had taken a lot of hard work, time, and determination, but I’d done it. I’d managed to make a name for myself, and I’d eventually found a way to make a small but steady income doing what I loved, on my own terms. I’d been my own boss ever since graduating high school more than a dozen years ago, and even though Shawn and my family hadn’t entirely approved of my risky passion, I wouldn’t have it any other way. I had to live life my way and not within the confines of someone else’s expectations. I hoped someday they could appreciate that and forgive me for not compromising.

A heavy splatter landing on my windshield distracted me from my reminiscing, and when I looked up at the sky, my chest tightened with dread. Clouds were billowing across my projected path, and they were getting darker and more ominous by the second. Damn it. The weather report had been telling me all week that my path would be clear; this wasn’t supposed to happen. But the unpredictability of Alaska’s weather was about the only thing you could be certain of up here. You had to adapt to survive, and I was pretty good at adapting.

But getting caught in a sleet storm was one of the most dangerous things that could happen in a small plane like mine. Like most bush planes, my Cub didn’t have any navigational instrumentation. All I could rely on were my eyes—I had to be able to see the ground at all times—and low, dark clouds releasing a thick rain-snow mix meant no visibility. And no visibility meant I could easily crash into something . . . like a mountain. Ice buildup was also a problem. If too much formed on the wings, I’d be too heavy—I’d go down. I needed clear air, so I had no choice but to land and wait for the storm to pass.

God, I hated having to make emergency landings in unexpected places. So much could go wrong . . . but even more could go wrong if I stayed airborne. Trying not to worry, I started studying the ground, looking for a place suitable for landing—it needed to be a long enough stretch that I could slow to a stop without running into something. Panic started creeping up my spine as I studied the earth. I wasn’t seeing anything even remotely close to an open space—everything beneath me was dense forest. But having gone this way several times before, I knew there was a wide-open meadow in a low valley, just on the other side of the first pass. I had no choice but to brave the storm . . . and pray that I could see well enough to pick my way through the mountains.

Heart racing, I lifted a small golden cross hanging around my neck, brought it to my lips, and said a quick prayer. Help me see—help me find the path. I let out a slow, calming breath once my prayer had been whispered and concentrated on my training, my years of experience, and my knowledge of the land. This wasn’t my first scary moment in a plane, and it probably wouldn’t be my last. Hopefully it wouldn’t be my last. No, I couldn’t think that way. I had to stay positive, had to stay focused. I could do this. I’d done it before.

The ceiling was getting lower and lower as more clouds moved in, and that meant I’d have to hug the bottom of the pass while making sure I still had room to maneuver. One wrong move, and I’d be a permanent part of the countryside. Shit. I’d had to do this once or twice before, and it always made me feel ice cold inside, almost numb with terror. I hated this . . . but it was my only option—I needed to get to the meadow on the other side of this pass.