Joshua Boatwright sat patiently, sipping from his small espresso cup, unsure of how he had come to be where he was; tucked into the back corner of the lobby of the Sheraton hotel in Crystal City.
The airport at Nome isn’t an airport at all. It’s a hangar at the end of a long concrete pad. In summer the sun shines all the time. Twenty-four hours a day. There is no luggage claim.
I stepped aboard the expedition ship, leaving the city well behind me and wondering whether I had made a wise decision in taking this assignment.
I learned from Don, my bunkie and fellow de-frocked PhD, that the ship was never referred to as the “M/S World Discoverer.,” which was the name painted in black across her white prow
The bar on the Lido deck is where I settled in for the afternoon run out toward the Diomede Islands, just off the Seward Peninsula. Passengers were drinking like proverbial fish….