We left for Alaska on June 26. Getting to the Philadelphia airport was supposed to be the easy part of the trip. Alas, we had an unpleasant run-in with this truck.

Which resulted in this damage to the car.

The truck swerved into our lane and squeezed us between its wheels and the guard rail. We honked and flashed our lights for a few minutes, trying to get the driver to stop. Eventually he did, and we (politely) asked him for his insurance information, etc. He got back in the truck, presumably to fetch said information, and promptly drove away. I decided that I wasn’t quite Vin Diesel enough to pursue him.

After all, we had a plane to catch.

And a lot of crap to get on the plane.

It took 13 TSA bins to get all of the crap through the x-ray machine.

Once aboard, Alden schooled August on the intricacies of airplane seat belts.

The first flight, to Seattle, was long. But not dull.

I wrangled Alden and Kato while Robbi hung out with August.

Once we got to Seattle, we headed to the baggage claim, where we fetched Iggy and set up camp for the night.

Here, Robbi explains the many amenities of our luxury accommodations. Notice the conveniently placed steel bars.

Somehow, we managed a few hours of sleep

And, from what I could discern through my sleep mask and earplugs, inspired great amusement from the people coming off of the late-night flights.

The next morning, we boarded a second flight, and eventually landed in…

…Anchorage.

The flight into Anchorage is breathtaking. Try to make it there some time if you can.

We spent an hour or two in Ted Stevens International, enjoying the free wifi and reveling in the horrible comfort of McDonalds cheeseburgers. Then we boarded a jet for King Salmon, the last bastion of semi-civilization before we headed for the tundra proper.

We felt very welcome there.

In King Salmon, we chartered a bush plane that would take us to a fish processing plant a few miles up the beach from the Behr family compound.

August got his first look at the tundra.

On one hand, it’s bleak, flat, and barren.

On the other hand, it’s absolutely gorgeous.

Twenty minutes later, we had reached our destination, a small cluster of buildings near the water.

There is no airport, no runway, so the planes land on the beach. The pilot did a fly-by to make sure the beach was clear.

Notice our yellow truck on the left-hand side of the above. Bob had heard of our pending arrival on the VHF, and was waiting for us to land.

As we got off the plane, boxes of fish were being loaded on.

32 hours later, the kids were still standing and very glad to be there.

We all piled into the back of the truck, using the aforementioned crap as a bench, and headed up the beach.

Even Iggy, who, given the option to run alongside the truck like a proper dog, respectfully declined.

As faithful intern Tilly kept careful watch over the cats and barn in the 108-degree Maryland swelter, we pulled on our winter parkas and luxuriated in the sudden gift of late-fall chill. We had finally made it to our “other” home and were planning on staying for a while.