The -22-degree air bit into my face like miniature daggers. It seemed to creep and crawl around the edges of my baklava and goggles, eating away at my exposed flesh. Our transportation was a mix of modern-day technology and tradition: an Inuit sled pulled by a grumbling snowmobile. We eased along an ice-packed ridgeline, the hum of the snow-machine ringing in my ears. We’d gone several miles before my guide...
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