The vast cathedral opened before us. Massive crags glowing pink from alpenglow; a gasping glow of a soft, setting sun. It was our greatest trip, that mid July. It was our greatest dream, that one sunset.
It was July the Seventeenth, Oh-Nine. It was Anaktuvuk Pass, Alaska. We flew here in a small plane from Fairbanks; bumping and rolling to pure solitude. We planned this day for an eternity; the first sunset in this National Park. My wife and I climbed a nearby ridgeline; the wind whipped and burned, but we bore onward. The orange pink glow enveloped us at nine. The dreamlike alpine tundra urged us on; by half past, we were in place—at the top.
My wife opened a rare, red, fruitlike wine. We watched the sun’s orange orb slowly descend; it clung to our heavens for one last moment—a blast of red sunset piercing our world, and, with a whisper, arctic night began; the first moment without sun for two months.
We waited in solemn meditation; eyes glued to the stretching horizon. It was mere minutes before day began. We relished that first night, no matter how brief; the Arctic wind could not pierce our pure joy, sitting in silence in the Brooks Range peaks, at the craggy Gates of the Arctic Park.
Jacob B.
