I was in it.
Though I had hardly slept, I was sharp. Abe and I finished our coffee under a bright moon losing its battle with the rising sun, then stepped out of his beaten-up V8 truck. The vehicle was running somewhere around a
V6.5 thanks to a few too many trips up, down and around logging loads on Prince of Wales Island in Southeast Alaska.
See full article in January 2014 issue of Alaska Sporting Journal.