We're closer to Russia than to the nearest movie theater.

Got here on a 75-mile ride, no trail, in Kenji we trust. The man who runs the store and sells the gas in Brevig Mission told us to come overland rather than go by the sea ice. Open water. Here he is telling Kenji the way.

On the way here, we crossed the Continental Divide, saw three musk ox, a moose, two foxes, and many tracks, among them wolverine, wolf, and what looked to be weasels.

Then we ran out of North America and into Wales. Wales is home to some of the most consistent winds in North America. And maybe the biggest snowdrifts:

It's also a place where three young Natives murdered this cocky white missionary in the late 1800s. Below is his monument. The older villagers weren't crazy about the missionary either, but they didn't like that the boys had acted without consulting the elders. The story is that the boys' uncles had each dig his own grave, then they shot the boys.

No shots fired today in Wales. Just the sound of Kenji's drill echoing off Cape Prince of Wales, the northern terminus of the continental divide.

And, though I have a column due tomorrow for Alaska mag that's nowhere near done, I was in Wales with the sun shining until 9:48 p.m. and not much wind, so I had to hike to the divide. Rebecca, the editor at AK, has to give me a break, because, how many times do you get to Wales? And you do read this blog, right Rebecca? Anyway, the late hike was my favorite part of the day. I sat on a rock near ancient gravesites on the cape, listened to a village dog bark and cakes of sea ice knocking against one another, and saw the sun set behind Fairway Rock, just this side of the dateline. Out from the end of America.