Midnight Sun

    I sit here at my desk looking out the window. As I look at the sunset going behind the buildings of the city my thoughts drift to my father. These thoughts hit me square in the chest. Memories of all the times we spent together while I was growing up. All the adventures we had in the woods tracking and trailing deer, hogs, and so much more. The times we spent out on the water, coming in sweaty and sunburned. The realization that I have let the busyness of life get in the way overwhelms me. I have allowed it to distract me from pouring into the relationships around me. My father and I were always so close. People would comment that I was his miniature. I would puff up my chest with pride every time I heard those words. I miss him and he is still here, or at least at my childhood home. Still finding work to do with his hands, still wandering the woods every fall, and still out on the water every summer. 

    I remember how much he always wanted to go to Alaska, to see the beautiful landscapes, to hunt something new and different than the white tail deer he is used to. He would read countless stories and watch so many hunting shows with wonder in his eyes. He said one day he would experience it for himself. Having an epiphany, I turn around to my computer and begin my research. I look up hunting licenses and tags; and the best places to go for this time of year. I look at lodges and scout out guides. I want him to have the best experience possible. I have the money for a trip like that and after reminiscing I will make the time before there is none left.

    I buy the tickets, book the guides, and gather a list of things to pack. I know without any doubt he will agree to go. I pick up my phone and call home. Of course my mother answers and after her usual twenty questions I get my father on the line. I tell him my plans, our plans, he is of course on board. Without the slightest hesitation and utter jubilation in his voice he agrees to be my guest. I hang up smiling bigger than I have in a while. 

    I travel back home to pick up my father and my mother takes us to the airport. First, we will be flying to Fairbanks and then catching a small plane to be dropped off in Barrow, Alaska. I tell my dad we will be going to the northernmost part of the state, home of the midnight sun. A remote place only accessible by plane, where the nearest road is a hundred miles away and a large percent of the population are actual Iñupiaq Eskimos. I can see the excitement gleaming in his eyes. It will be a lot of work and  it won't be easy, we both know that. He smiles knowing he can handle it and it will be worth every minute. He is tough, the toughest around. Always working hard, too hard really. He has kept his body in shape because he is just that type. The type that never quits until the day his body makes him. But until then, there is always work to be done. 

    We arrive in Fairbanks and board the small plane to the Northern Brooks Range. They have these small makeshift hunting cabins, just big enough for two maybe three people to stay in. We will only be staying in one for a night to gather our supplies and pack. From there we will have to take ATVs into the tundra to hopefully track a herd of caribou and bring home payment for our efforts. We will be in the cold, especially at night, even though it's August and the sun is out for most of the day. As we try to find our prize we will stay in tents battling the elements of rain, cold, and fog. We are the predator to the Caribou but the prey to the grizzlies. It's a rough and rugged trip, wearing on the travelers emotionally, mentally, and physically. If anyone can handle it, it's my father. 

We walk in our cabin and set our bags down, it's small and rustic, but perfect. Out here in the remote, the literal nothingness, and the quiet, you can feel the peace settle deep into your bones. My father and I haven't talked much yet, but the distance I have unfortunately created is fading with each passing minute. It's in these settings that binds were formed between us that cannot be easily broken. It’s where he taught me not just about the woods, survival, and hunting; but about life and death. It's in places like this he helped me form into a man, always there but allowing me to forge my own way while his watchful eye was on me. In the woods I felt true freedom, I was able to ask anything without judgement here and knew he would give me a truthful answer. He taught me to embrace the quiet, to enjoy it, not to fear it. That it's ok to be alone with my thoughts.

    We eat a large supper, plates full and brimming over. Then we head off to go to sleep. It's difficult to go to bed when the sun's still shining but I know I will need the energy. Enough to be able to make the adventure ahead count. Due to the cold temperatures there are still some snowy parts around the water and in the mountains. There the Caribou like to roam, the colder areas. We will go into the tundra, a vast openness, looking for trails frequented by the animals. When we wake up we load the ATV’s and ride bumping along the terrain. We can only go so far and then we have to walk in a way and pitch our tents. We make this our base camp and will stalk from here.

    There is no guarantee we will see one much less get a shot on it, but this trip isn't for the trophy, it's for the time spent with the greatest person I could spend it with. It's for the wisdom gained from the wisest man I know, the memories that can never be erased. The story we will have to tell. The trip is costly, but I have the money. To not take this would cost me so much more. You just can't set a price on making up for lost time.

    Everyday we walk mile upon miles, hoping to catch a glimpse of brown. We see so much wildlife; bears, wolverines, mink, and hares. We learn so much about the land and its earliest inhabitants and their traditions. We learn about plants that are edible and those that are not. We take in the landscape, the vastness surrounding us. The sun is always in the sky. We hope to glue into our memories so once we get home we can still accurately reflect the beauty that we lived in for just a bit. To be able to recount the creation before us, knowing the world is so much bigger than us. My father asks so many questions, always wanting to take in as much knowledge about the land as he can. I absorb it all too, hoping to one day have a son of my own to pass it on to. 

    The days are long and exhausting, we go to sleep every night completely worn out. Sleeping a dreamless sleep of the truly exhausted. Despite the length of the days, they are passing too quickly. I am not ready to reach the end of this journey. I beg for the time to stretch. I have more bridges to mend, more wounds to heal, and more things to apologize for that I can't quite get out. I know he understands though, we don't have to speak to convey our feelings. I appreciate that through a hand laid on my shoulder or through a nod I know he forgives me. He was me once upon a time. A son that has let time slip away and has forgotten the bond between father and son needs to be nurtured sometimes. That we need more than a phone call or a dinner here and there. That being in nature, going back to a primal existence, is where we grow together. We grow more through experience than words. 

    It's been six days now, long days of stalking and hoping. Finally, we have come across a worn trail, a path of earth tramped down by hoofs. We hope this is a popular path and a new group of caribou migrating through will take this one. It leads to a beautiful lake, so wide and open you can't see the other side. The sun is shining upon the crystal blue water, so clear and calm that you can walk up and see your reflection. We arrive here early in the day, so we plan to stay in this area all day, praying for an opportunity. We find a covered spot as close to the lake as we can get, the best place to be hidden and get a good shot. After a couple of hours of patient waiting, we loudly hear the earth crunching, as many hoofs make their way towards us. This is a large group, they are fast despite their size. We retreat back a little in the shade of our cover, holding our breath, hoping we won't spook them. After several walk by, some females and some smaller racked males, a huge male passes by. As he approaches the lake for a drink, he perfectly positions his body for a shot. I look at my father, his face taut with seriousness,  as he pulls back his bow. His muscles taut as he holds it to line it up just so. I suck my breath in praying for a perfect shot, I watch the arrow land right behind the beast's shoulder. As the animal runs off we look at each other, our smiles wide. We both know he made a great shot. We will be bringing home a trophy. 

    We let him lay, to make sure he has fully expired, while we eat lunch. We slowly walk over to him and seeing he is dead, my father picks up his massive antlers. I go to take pictures but he beckons me over to get in them with him. He wraps his arm around my shoulders and squeezes, which I know is a thank you. Squeezing him back I hope I am conveying all my years of gratitude to him for just being him. For everything he has taught me and all the love he has given me. We both hoist the rack up and hold it as pictures are snapped. Our grins spread over our face so wide I know our cheeks will hurt tonight. We field dress him and head back to our base camp. Just like that the adventure is over, tomorrow we will go back to our normal lives. Him at home working in his garden and me back to work. I want to leave here knowing this isn't the last adventure we will have. I want more and selfishly hope his days are still long ahead of him, that his body won't betray him yet. That I can have more opportunities to make up for time stolen by monetary ambition.  

    We have a safe trip back home. On the plane rides home we relive everything that happened this week, story after story. We haven't talked or laughed this much in years, so much our throats are raw from it. We load our luggage into a cab and ride back to my childhood home. There I helped him unload his bags. After a few hours of telling our stories it's time for me to leave. I turn to go but my father embraces me. He holds me tight and through his embrace I know he is expressing everything he cannot say. I know that he is saying there will be a next time.  I smile and embrace him back, hoping I am letting him know it won't be so long between my visits or our adventures. I don't know where we will go but I'm going to plan something as soon as I leave.  I return home knowing there not only will be more trips, but also I know our relationship was never broken, it just needed a little care. No amount of time or distance can break a bond between a father and his son.