For days, all the hunters on Cross Island, young and old, male and two females, have been working hard to cut up and prepare the whales. Now it is time for a break. The older hunters retreat to their cabins to get out of the cold wind, to eat, drink coffee, visit and relax.
But the young hunters - their energy is boundless. They eat quickly, then run out to play with the wind. They climb upon a roof, scramble across it and, with the wind at their backs, leap off.
The wind howls in excess of 30 knots. It is the kind of wind that cuts through clothing, skin, fat, blood and meat to chill the bones.
The young hunters don't care.
To them, the wind is fun. It transforms their coats into sails and pushes them about.
Young hunters, at play with the wind.
For a moment, I worry that the wind will lift him right off the island, hurl him out over the Beaufort Sea and drop him down amongst the icebergs, or perhaps carry him over the top of the North Pole and all the way to Russia.
Won't the Russians be surprised to see a boy from Cross Island drop into their country?
"How did he elude our fighter jets?" Putin will rear his head and grill his military advisers.
It didn't happen that way, though. All the young hunters had fun, but stayed on the ground.
;)
Even as the boys played with the wind, this nanuq family rode in with the ice, then stepped onto the beach and took a stroll.