Logbook: Nuiqsut to Wasilla, via Barrow and Anchorage, entry 5: The kiss I did not get

I activated my phone and called Margie immediately after the wheels hit the tarmac at Ted Stevens International Airport in Anchorage. She was still at the "blue house" where she had been babysitting grandkids. She arrived to pick me up right after I secured my luggage and stepped out the door. "You won't want to kiss me," she said, "I'm coming down with a bad cold." I did want to kiss her. I very much wanted to kiss her. But I didn't want to get the cold. I didn't kiss her. I'll probably get the cold anyway. I might as well have kissed her. Life is so full of missed kisses. I hate to have missed another one. 

Logbook entry: Nuiqsut to Wasilla, via Barrow and Anchorage, entry 4: The big mountain and the red-haired woman who admired it

I was booked on the direct flight from Barrow to Anchorage. I was glad, because not only is it a much quicker trip then when we stop in Fairbanks, but this is the flight that tends to go right between Denali and Foraker. I was sad, because I got stuck in a middle seat. I wanted the window. Last time, I had the window on the Foraker side. This time I was on the Denali side. It turned out to be a good thing that I had the middle seat. If I had had the window seat I would not have got the shock of red hair in my picture. If I had had the aisle seat, the passenger in the middle would have blocked my view of Denali. I tried to be polite and to lean back a few times, so the guy in the aisle could get a glimpse, too. 

Logbook entry: Nuiqsut to Wasilla, via Barrow and Anchorage, entry 3: choose life

I had a three/hour layover in Barrow, long enough for me to take care of some Uiniq business at the North Slope Borough. I had barely stepped inside and climbed up the stairs when a young woman who I did not know asked me if I would add my name to a statement about choosing life over suicide, and then let her photograph me holding the poster. I did. Shortly after that, she asked several workers from the Mayor's Office if they would do the same as a group. They agreed. As they posed, North Slope Borough Mayor Charlotte Brower, right, showed up and joined in the picture, too.

I took a couple of shots, too, both with my "real "camera and this iPhone. My "real" camera photos are sharp and crisp, but there was not really enough light for the iPhone and my shutter speed slowed down so much I could not get an iPhone photo that did not have some camera shake and blur in it. I think some blur is appropriate here. When you lose someone you love to suicide, the whole world goes blurry. It is a blur like no other blur caused by death of a loved one by any other means. So, yes, choose life – if not for yourself for those you love, for those who love you. At the moment it may not seem like it, but in time the pain will ease and you will be glad you chose life. So will they, whether they know it or not.

Logbook entry: Nuiqsut to Wasilla, via Barrow and Anchorage: the million or so lakes of the Arctic Slope.

Actually, I don't know how many lakes there are on the Arctic Slope, also called the North Slope. No one I have asked has ever had a definitive answer. I have googled the question and the best number I have come up with so far is "an immense number of lakes." Officially, Alaska has 3 million lakes. I have flown all over this state and the greatest concentration of lakes I have seen is on the Arctic Slope. I like to say "one million lakes," but I suppose it is probably not quite that many. It sure is a lot, though. Here we are, drawing near to Barrow. I recognize this grouping of lakes right away. Before GPS, I had used them as a checkpoint when I used to fly my own plane, the Running Dog, through here. I sure miss that plane.

Logbook entry: Nuiqsut to Wasilla, via Barrow and Anchorage, entry 1: Left turn/air vent?

"I can't turn left! I can't turn left!" The pilot shouted. "Somebody help me!" With that, Margaret jumped up from her seat and swung her arms to the left. Sure enough, the plane turned left. We were saved.

I JOKES!!! I JOKES!!! In truth, Margaret had just adjusted the air vent and was about to get comfortable again. Little Charity was comfy in the arms of her mother, Eunice Brower.