My friend Kris came to Alaska with us this summer. He was a welcome addition—on many fronts.

He is an expert fisherman.

Great with the kids.

And a devoted fish smoker.

But more than any of this, Kris added spirit. He has a huge heart and a tireless sense of adventure. This photo sums it up—Kris drinking straight from the spring that flows from the bluff.

It was so nice to have his energy in our midst, and it was always fun to see what he would come up with next.

My favorite adventure of the summer, by far, was the day Kris discovered the hill. Rising above the tundra like a tower, the hill had a simple path that led straight up.

I’d seen the hill before while riding along the Winter Road on a four-wheeler, but the path had always seemed to steep, so I’d never bothered to stop and have a closer look.

But Kris, being Kris, decided he would climb it. To see what was on the other side, of course.

Lucky for me, he brought me along.

At the top, was a sandy clearing, probably formed by hundreds of other ascents by four-wheeler.

Once on top, we enjoyed a 360-degree view—of the tundra, of the bay, of Egegik across the water.

We walked down the other side of the bluff and stood on a cliff above the beach. It was a spectacular day. The sun was shining and the wind was blowing hard around the point.

We felt pretty good about ourselves.

As happy as he was to have climbed the hill, Kris was not content. The ascent had been so satisfying and the view so spectacular, that he had to note the moment somehow. He had to find a way to share it with the folks back home. So we got back on the four-wheeler and headed down the hill.

Back at the compound, Kris ripped up a t-shirt and got out some markers.

I asked what he was up to, and he told me that he was making a flag.

He was claiming the hill for his people of Maryland, for the people of Rock Hall (another town not far from Chestertown), for the Ravens, and for his many friends.

We drove back up the hill. Kris found an alder branch to use as a flagpole.

Luckily, the ground was soft.

Luckily, the branch was strong.

Kris had come prepared with duct tape.

A few minutes later, the flag was planted on the hill.

At first, there was no wind.

But then, as if somehow aware that the time had come to let that banner fly, the wind picked up, and the flag announced the sweeping reach of Kris’s domain.

The flag planted, and the mosquitoes coming out for their evening feast, we drove back down the hill.

Pretty fast, which is how Kris tends to drive. The kids loved it, of course.

The kids love Kris, because Kris is pretty easy to love.

 

Kris’s spirit is huge. It filled that wide and empty space. He showed me in one summer what I hadn’t seen on nine previous visits. For that, I thank him. That flag of his will fly on, whether or not it’s still there when I head back to the tundra next summer.