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Passage Picker

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In love with words?

Passage Picker is for you. Read until you think, “Yeah, that’s it.” Click “Pick Me.” You’ll be whisked off to your mystery book.

Book Match Maker

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Life is too short Alaska too big…

to waste time with a book that isn’t meant for you. Book Match Maker will find your perfect match.

Book Your Trip. Literally!

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Visiting Alaska?

Book Your Trip will outfit you with the right literary companions for the adventure.

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Book Your Trip!

I can’t wait to:

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My dream Alaska visit would include:

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After visiting Alaska, I hope I can say

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PASSAGE PICKER

Albert Jack Morgan of Sunrise City reportedly killed a man when he mistakenly mistook Morgan’s wife for a prostitute. The blow Morgan delivered hit the man so hard, it broke his neck. The general consensus of the community was that “the drunken fool had it coming” and nothing further came of it.

PICK ME

PASSAGE PICKER . . .

When you traverse that expanse, the infinite becomes finite, quantifiable thing. It can be measured by miles, and minutes, and days. Mostly it can be measured by moments savored. And by moments when the razor-edged knife between life and death presses against the thin membrane of your own existence.
PICK ME

PASSAGE PICKER . . .

A thought that comes to mind, when you first see the carcass of a skinned black bear: That really looks like a person. The tight balls of muscle, the look of a man curled on his side.
PICK ME

PASSAGE PICKER . . .

The moose takes note of my presence and returns to stripping newly washed leaves from willow branches. The deadly force with which I was willing to protect my young will dissipate once again into respectful awareness. Both our offspring have found other glades in which to play. And this time, I will leave the gun at home.
PICK ME

PASSAGE PICKER . . .

His fingers are tough as raven’s feet. Before falling asleep on the floor, he repairs his cracked fingernails with Super Glue. When he melts plastic tubing with a torch to prepare his frost tubes, he quenches the end with his fingertips. His feet seem to have the same indifference. A few nights ago he burst outside the Unalakleet school gym in bare feet, stepping on metal grating to get a picture of the moon. It was 10 below.
PICK ME

PASSAGE PICKER . . .

Here at the Yukon River, after 74 days and 447 miles on the trail, Jane has reverted to puppyhood. Her chocolate nostrils are constantly flexing east and west. Her blurry tail threatens to lift her airborne. The smell of a snowshoe hare and the silhouette of a ptarmigan are daily sensations. She revisits scents and images of wild Alaska….
PICK ME

PASSAGE PICKER . . .

You might think you expected nothing, that you were ready to let life surprise you. You might think this was freedom, and that in your trust you’d be spared disappointment. But the surprise was that you did expect things, whether you meant to or not.
PICK ME

PASSAGE PICKER . . .

Through the scope, everything seemed to be shaking, and he couldn’t get a steady fix. Now the bear looked huge, monstrous. Its teeth were bared and blood flecked its fur where it had wallowed in the moose carcass.
PICK ME

PASSAGE PICKER . . .

Florentino was in the hospital in Fairbanks and word got out of the terrible occurrences at Hess Creek.
PICK ME

PASSAGE PICKER . . .

Beyond them the Tanana River meanders in its shimmering course over miles of smoky blue flatlands. Spruce forests roll down to the banks and recede, and the hardwood stands make a patchwork of autumn colors muted in the early light.
PICK ME

PASSAGE PICKER . . .

I knew this history of Outside domination well and it seemed obvious the same pattern was destined to repeat itself following discovery of Prudhoe Bay. Their development raised two issues that dominated all others: environmental protection and fair taxation.
PICK ME

PASSAGE PICKER . . .

The political world seemed far away, and indeed here in this lodge on this windblown spit of land between the Bering and Pacific surges, they were all but lost to the world.
PICK ME

PASSAGE PICKER . . .

“Did you hear that?” she’d say, sitting up in her sleeping bag. I’d listen, then go back to sleep because my brain doesn’t hold the images that hers does. Like the one of a grizzly pushing your face into the forest floor.
PICK ME

PASSAGE PICKER . . .

Flo needed me fast: she was in a panic and sent little Betsy to tell me the naluagmiut hunters wanted dinner. “What am I?” I asked Willy, “the expert on whitemen now?”
PICK ME

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