One day in September near Hooper Bay I decided to go for a walk on the Tundra. It had not yet snowed and the temperature, while cold, was not bone freezing and there was still water in the ponds and finger like projections that connected some of them.
The Tundra seemed to me to be made up of grass with a marsh thrown in here and there. Sometimes it was grass up to your knees and other times you walked on soft moss that reminded me of walking on a trampoline.
I saw a ridge in the distance and decided to head in that direction. After about a half hour of trekking I realised that the distance to the ridge was deceiving so I altered my plan and veered left toward what I guessed was the direction of the Bering Sea.
Because of ponds and connecting water ways I could not walk in a straight line and it seemed like for everyone 100 feet I went straight I went 200 feet sideways one way or another. The going was slow.
After about an hour I decided that I was not that interested in seeing the Bering Sea again so decided to return to the village. That was no problem because I never let it out of my sight. I began my weaving between the ponds and the muck and the streams and was making very little forward progress. The streams were just wide enough that I could not jump but I did find one spot that looked shallow enough for me to wade. My boots were good, having found them in the closet when I moved in, so I had no fear of them leaking. I stepped into the little stream and immediately sunk to mid calf. I put the other foot in and it did the same. Water seeped down into my boots and it was cold. I lunged forward trying to hit the opposite bank with my chest and crawled out. Not being a fast learner I repeated the process one more time until I made it back to the edge of the village.
I thought to myself what would have happened to me if it had been 40 below or something. Well if it had of been I realized I could have just walked in a straight line across the frozen Tundra and not have gotten wet.
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