I have to admit my greatest fear. It’s not the bears or the cold or the possibility of death or serious injury. It’s not even the mosquitos. My greatest fear is being the weakest link.

The Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. Its name is bandied about all the time, and depending on who’s doing the bandying, it is either the most sacred piece of wilderness left in the United States or a wasted source of critically needed petroleum supply.

It really is a good thing my mother hasn’t asked how we’re going to call for help yet. I’ve got to figure it out for myself first. Here’s where the whole wilderness thing really starts to sink in for me.

Turns out Fran’s bringing a Marine Magnum, Model 870 Remington 12 gauge pump action shotgun.

I am going to ANWR! Yes, the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. That mythical wilderness of glaciated mountains, retreating sea ice and stranded polar bears, and vast herds of migrating caribou doing battle against the invasion of big oil.