Remember this Moment

We rode our snowmobiles out of Aniak in the morning with an artist’s landscape in the distance pleasing our eyes. We received a large amount of fluffy white snow recently and everyday when the sun is out, the distant Russian Mountains are a heavenly bright glare, almost blinding. Today, I saw the mountain range look as if one of the world’s utmost painters captured their beauty on a never-ending canvas.  The snow was a subdued off-white, but what was more remarkable was the darkness of the valleys. I could see every detail of the depths, contrasting with the pointed peaks. No picture could ever truly display what I saw with my own eyes, and I did not stop to take a picture, because I knew it would not be worth it. Whenever I come upon a situation such as this, I tell myself repeatedly in my mind, “Remember this moment.”

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We snowmobiled up the Aniak River and then overland over the flat, frozen tundra in order to reach a small offshoot of the main river. As we were riding on the tundra, we were surrounded by mountains to the north, west, and south, and trees to the east. Sometimes we had to venture through the trees, and we slowed down and winded our way through the birch thickets.

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After an hour, we reached our destination, a small cabin located just off the main Aniak River. Five friends made the trip in total.

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The cabin was small, but it had a small kitchen, couch, and beds upstairs in the loft.

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We made a fire outside while we sat around it in our camp chairs. With temperatures in the mid-30s, it was warm for us. I sat with my face turned toward the sun, soaking it in.

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A jet flew high above in the atmosphere, soundless, carrying people on its way to a distant land. The plane’s contrail cut the sun in half. I imagined the people on the plane looking down at Alaska, never visiting, only looking. They could not see us but we could see them. I remember thinking of the business persons and tourists flying to a faraway land, on their own adventure. Most will never know of the simple act of five good friends sitting around a fire in the middle of Alaska, and how much joy and serenity it brings.

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We drank beer and roasted bratwursts while we talked. Only one of us sitting around the fire had lived in Aniak his entire life. The rest of us made it our home. He spoke of the 1980s, and how Russian MIGs would buzz their way up the Kuskokwim River. He would then go down by the river and wait for the U.S. Air Force to fly by, chasing their counterparts from the “Evil Empire.”

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Darkness set in and two of us headed back to the village of Aniak. I remember not wanting to leave. It felt good to get out.

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The Alaskan wilderness around us glowed an eerie blue color as we made our way back home. Once again, I made a mental note to, “Remember this moment.”