Alaskan summer evening

It was a beautiful sunny night on the water. Alice was ecstatic about the wilderness she had discovered and the eskimo culture, intertwined in peaceful harmony with the seasons and the mountains and the wind, and all the magazine stories she could write. Warm air blew by our faces. Occasionally we motored through pockets of cold air near shaded cutbanks. Cottonwood cotton floated on the water. The land was dry and wild rhubarb was already beginning to go to seed along the shore, and that meant wild onions would soon be past, too, and the bull caribou would have dark velvety horns, and the bulls would be getting fat but would still taste like summer meat from eating greens; and salmon would be flooding upstream to spawn, and trout would follow, silver-blue and heavy with oil; and it all was truly wonderful, but something irked me about the way this pretty woman -- who might never see the land we called winter -- could swoop in and harvest our world with her camera and words and spoon it back as if only she understood its profundity. [299-300]

Kantner, Seth. Ordinary Wolves : A novel. Milkweed Editions, 2005. ISBN: 1571310479.