The Long Way North
Floatplanes, glacier landings, and a lake the color of a glacier mint. Two weeks of flying where the roads give up.
North of a certain latitude the map stops being a map and becomes a suggestion. Rivers are runways. Gravel bars are airports. The weather decides the schedule and you decide whether to argue with it.
We flew the long way, deliberately. Every leg had a lake to land on and a swim to regret. Nobody regretted it.
Exploration is the oldest version of chasing potential. You go to see what's there, and you come back different.
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