Diomede Islands

Early in the year, we took two sales trips, one along the road system to Fairbanks and the other by plane to villages in the Bush. The response was incredible. My enthusiasm for the book and other ideas was rekindled as we met principals, teachers, and kids who wanted, needed and loved Facts Plus.

We had excellent weather for the Bush trip. The first night we flew to Manley Hot Springs and took a swim, then slept in a tent under the wing. We got to school just as it opened Monday morning. From there we went down the Yukon River, stopping at each village to visit the school. A teaching couple treated us to a moose dinner and a warm place to sleep in Galena. We met a biker at Koyukuk who'd ridden down the river all the way from Whitehorse!

Tuesday was again bright and beautiful. So we cut across Norton Sound on the Bering Sea, and stopped at village after village on the coast. Dennis was hoping the weather would allow a flight to the Diomede Islands.

Little Diomede is a rocky island belonging to Alaska. It is located in the middle of the Bering Strait, just five miles from another rocky island belonging to Russia. In the photo, Little Diomede is the closest, Big Diomede (Russia) is just beyond it. In the distance is the Russian mainland. During the Cold War, each side watched the other almost continually across the channel between the two islands.

Dennis checked with air taxi pilots in Nome and learned that the ice runway was still frozen solid and safe. They cautioned him to fly to the north over the ocean where the ice was more solid.

The weather was clear the next day, so we headed for Diomede. The air was calm and clear, but I still held my breath as I looked down at floating chunks of ice. We finally found the airstrip, exactly between the two islands. It seemed to be closer to the Russian island at first, but a tiny trail led toward an Eskimo village clinging to the cliffs on the American side. We landed on the ice right on the International Date Line. On one side of the airstrip it was Wednesday, on the other side it was Tuesday!

Briefcase in hand, we walked toward the village, bundled in heavy parkas to protect us from the howling north wind blowing off the ice pack. Through a ground blizzard, we saw a snowmachine towing a large sledge coming our way. It was driven by Moses, a quintessential Eskimo elder, short, round, and with a warm, almost toothless smile. "Where are you going?" he asked. "To the school," we shouted. He waved us into the sledge and gave us a quick jarring ride over the rock-hard snowdrifts to the village, where we talked with the principal, toured the school, and sold some books.