After a grueling 5000 thousand mile journey, encompassing nearly 3 days and nights, 6 airports and 4 airliners, not to mention (but I will) a domestic dispute closely akin to a scene from Stephen King's flick, "The Shining," I was physically and mentally exhausted. ....Frenchman's Island to Beantown, ....Beantown to Chitown, ....Chitown to Sea-Tac, ....Sea-Tac to Anchortown, ....Anchortown to Corona....

Robin Sunn's face was a friendly beacon in a big, wide, turbulent country. Turbulent country!....After sleeping overnight on a thinly-carpeted, concrete waiting area floor at Sea-Tac International, I was streaking northwards aboard the Alaska Airlines' Anchorage Clipper, getting a little loaded on the airline's booze du jour with this cat who lived in Anchorage. He said he was a contractor, ....or a window-washer/businessman, ....or an owner-entrepreneur, ....or some such thing, and I told him I was going to Corona to go to work for a friend in the fish cannery.

Well, this guy offers to put me up overnight till I can catch the Corona flight the next day. Sounds pretty good, right, ....after the previous night that I spent on that cold airport floor?

"Yeah," he says, "....I got a nice big house right by the airport, ....plenty of room, yeah, ....we'll have a few beers, etc., etc., etc.."

"Great," I think, "....a warm place to sleep, a nice brew! Friendly company. This Alaska's a right friendly kinda place."

The guy, ....Roy, ....or Roger, ....or Roy Rogers or something, ....never tells me he's psychotic, and that his wife's a psychotic, ....or that after we get even more wasted at his place, ....and that when I'm completely pickled, ....and when I'm packed away, all warm and cozy in my sleeping-bag on their living room rug....

....he doesn't tell me that they'll explode out of the bedroom at 2:30 A.M. and have a world-class row, ....complete with huge butcher knives, ....ear-piercing, obscenity-laced screaming and hollering, ....the obligatory call to the police, and of course, the coup de gras, ....the classic ripping-the-phone-off-the-wall and smashing-it-down-the-hallway sequence, ....of course, he never tells me all this shit!

As I'm recovering from acute apoplectic shock, aggravated by deep intoxication-interruptus, two of Anchortown's finest come storming through the front door like the Keystone Cops, trying to placate the wildly warring couple with a series of loud "ssshhhhs' and "Calm down's."

Then suddenly, the fierce beams of officer Mulligan's flashlight find me hiding in the farthest corner, stabbing violently through my sleepy eyeballs, straight into my sensory-overloaded cortex. Shock waves and panic reverberate through my guts in a primal warning scream.

Just like that, these two bastards are all over me like a wet blanket, and they start giving me the third degree like a couple of dicks in an old "B" movie. About the time the Jekyll family finishes killing each other off, and I tell these guys my story three times, the stupid Bozos finally realize I'm an innocent bystander, and "suggest" that I "get going back to the airport."

Yeah, right. It's the middle of the night, it's foggier than London outside, and the fucking airport is 5 miles away. "How 'bout a fucking ride?" ....It was a long walk back to the airport. The Asshole twins helpfully guided me with conscientious directions, "Just down there, ....take a right on the highway, ....all the way to the airport! You can't miss it"

"Thanks. Thanks a lot!" Friendly place, alright. Really fucking friendly.

Waking from a fitful sleep on an even colder concrete floor than Sea-Tac's, I finally board the shiny white Boeing with the smiling Eskimo's face for the last leg of the journey to Corona.. The day is indescribably gorgeous, a hulking neon sun blazing at an oddly unfamiliar angle, low in a perfectly pure ultramarine sky filled with unseen noises and smells. Earthy tundra aromas and springlike heather scents blow on air chilled by the distant, icy mountain peaks. The sound of calling seabirds and a million buzzing insects blend in a pleasantly muted cacophony.

These mountain peaks are white all year round. The sheer scale of the landscape is immense. Anchorage lies situated on a broad plain encompassing hundreds of square miles. Nearly encircled by the great icebound ranges, the Anchorage basin bakes in the summer sun, radiating heatwaves from the surface, lending it the appearance of a vast, hazy desert. Stretching to the distant foothills splashed with vivid wildflower hues of bright red and yellow, the land is frantic with seasonally energetic plants and animals, hurrying about their business before the short summer gives way to arctic night.

How could you tell anyone what this looks like? A person has to see this with their own eyes ....you have to smell this, ....to hear this, ....the buzz of a billion flies and mosquitos, ....the smell of the flowers and the mountains. This was the way the world was a million years ago!

Now, on the last leg of the journey to Corona, riding the hulking, roaring, metal bird far above the clouds, the soaring vantage point of the jetliner's window reveals another mountain range behind the first, ....and then another and another, ....huge jagged spines stacked one behind the next like shark's teeth, all great in rows, ....as far as the eye can see. If I had caught my breath since last night's horror show, the unbelievable scenery took it all away again.

Finally, the tires squeal and belch smoke as we touch down in the promised land of the Copper River Delta. About the size of a small schoolroom, Corona's jet terminal is jam-packed, chock-full of every size and shape person, ....all coming or going, ....sending-off or picking-up ....the baggage guy with the earring and the glazed red eyes, ....the grubby, porcine cabby, who's so fat his cigarette looks like a toothpick, ....the bearded, rubber-booted fishermen, who all appear to exude either a bored self-absorption or a boyish, athletic enthusiasm, ....and the women! Oh, the women ....asian women and Indian women, ....white women and black, ....and every conceivable variation in between. Just like a frigging Baskin-Robbins'!

And there he is. I am glad to see Robin Sunn. Very glad. Call him an island in a stormy sea, an oasis in a desert, a rescuing angel. He was all of them ....He was the archangel Michael!

"Yo, Lowell," he waved, "over here!" Just look at that big goofy lug! A hulk of a man, Sunn is wearing a beard and rubber boots of his own, and a big foolish grin, looking just like the cat that ate the canary. What a smile!