blinding sun and biting wind for eight hours straight, partly on skis, partly behind or on the sweet leather seat of a snowmobile
snowmobile love - getting ready to leave the snowmobiles behind, rope up, and find the mysterious hut, supposedly located somewhere out in the whiteness. honestly, we had our doubts 
whiteout
at last, finding and entering the holy hut after digging it free from snow
hut love - interior hut. never has a hut looked so fine
oh, sitting in a warm and toasty hut, drinking hot coffee with warm hands and almost warm feet, getting ready to snuggle down in our down sleeping bags, sleeping all night through, only barely hearing, and not at all paying attention to the hauling wind outside 
holy hut view - holy, gorgeous, and extraordinary world
getting ready to do some serious ski mountaineering
view over the hut and the mountain range
keep on climbing. for sure that next peak is the top. maybe. or maybe not. just a little further. you can totally do it. focus on breathing. you're almost there. just a little baby bit more....
uh, pretty steep, huh. how are you gonna come down again, little mountaineer?
totally getting my ass kicked by a nasty snow crust and wobbly boots. never have i spend more time sitting down than standing up while wearing skis. seriously refining my falling technique.
great weekend!
well, I have just finished cleaning out the Marmot, our home for two months. In doing so I found an new appreciation for the Dr. Bronners I had come to dislike so much. the Marmot is packed away safe and sound, unscathed from our insane Alaskan adventure. the bus zips by my window every fifteen minutes now, and howls of joy, pain and everything easily break these walls here in this city. already everything that we did, those sixty days that came to pass often spent deep in the wild with nothing but each other have become nothing but words, a passing phrase between two people; 'yeah, we hitchhiked through Alaska together'. the reduction is so simple, but so wrong. i miss you, and i miss our mobile life and the home we had with one another. tell me sweet tales of baby Marmot...for she will have a chilly birth in Svalbard...
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