"...off in a storm of whale shit"

Apparently, it's an old family saying. Lindsay, my travel companion on this adventure, shared this clan colloquialism just as the pilot began taxing for my first-ever bush flight. Something her father used to say before a road trip, she commented that since moving to Alaska the phrase has become even more appropriate for her life.

Lindsay and I will spend the next 8 or so days together flying in and out of some fairly remote tribal villages. As always, my role will be to conduct architectural survey, though these particular buildings are nothing to blog about. The real story for this scope of work is in the communities. These small villages are some of the last remaining vestiges of traditional Eskimo lifeways, and mark a unique culture that I am only limitedly familiar with.

Our trip includes 16 flights in 7 days, not including my own flights into and out of Anchorage. Most of these are on small, single- or dual-prop planes, taking off and landing on runways of gravel. So far, we have visited two of six villages on our docket. The schedule of flights and surveys has been grueling, with barely 4 hours of sleep each night since I arrived in Alaska 3 days ago. Tomorrow, I will share thoughts on Point Hope, Newtok, and our current hub of Bethel. Tonight, I have 10 free hours between flights, and 9 of those I intend to spend with my eyes closed.

Lindsay and our pilot, Aaron, on our way to Point Hope. We were definitely NOT the most precious cargo: those are boxes of frozen White Castle hamburgers, presumably on their way to the Village store. 

Me, on my first ever bush flight (and first small aircraft flight?).