It turns out that Kotzebue is why God invented bush pilots. Literally the moment I get off the jet from Anchorage, Lynda steers me through the maze of airplanes and air taxi outfits at the Kotzebue airport to Northwestern Air, run for umpteen years by bush pilot and certified Alaskan old fart Jim Rood. Jim says hi and without further ado bundles me into a Cessna 206 on tundra tires with my pilot, a tall, cool drink of water named John St. Germain, and we’re in the air heading east five minutes later. I barely have time to pee.