The horizon dead ahead is an edge of white gold. The immensity of dark green spruce is suddenly and inexplicably swamped with wave after wave of golden sand that the wind has built into a small ocean of dunes. John circles once and says, “Now if we can just find the airport.” I peer intently through the windshield as we descend. A series of airplane tracks materializes between two dunes and we land. I step out into a world unlike any other in Alaska. Baring a few extremely hearty species of flowers, one of which looks like a minature lupine, there is no vegetation. The silence is absolute. There is a small breeze, which means no mosquitoes, a good thing.
Dana Stabenow. Alaska Traveler (Kindle Locations 3040-3044). Gere Donovan Press.
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