Vern

There’s a Man here, his name is Vern. I know he’s a Man because that’s what comprises him.  Man, and only man is what Vern is.  I want to tell you about Vern.  Vern is a 62 years old he is 5’9” and roughly 145 lbs of bear, moose, and salmon meat. 
I am going to a Ham radio festival with Vern.  The grizzle bear claws around his neck rattle with excitement as he tells of Alaska, his home. He is a trapper he built his cabin 10 miles up the Yukon river from Fort Yukon, a small athabaskan village above the arctic circle.  Vern has killed 26 bears since completing his 16-40ft cabin a mere 15 years ago.

"Tongue and grooved the whole thing by hand” he says.

There are no roads to the 40 acres spruce forest from which Vern’s cabin is cut.  Vern has left his cabin for the first time in 15 years to visit Hawaii and escape the cold.   Since turning 62 his income has more than tripled.  He now collects a social security.  He is humble and eager to learn about anything.    I notice his back, it seems to large for his body.  How far he must have dragged his trappings. At 62 years of age he has never learned to swim, but his shoulders put any surfer on the big island to shame.  

He is remarkably approachable for someone who hasn’t left his cabin in 15 years. 

"182 days, longest I’ve ever been without seeing anyone” he exclaims.

182 days in the dark trapped up the Yukon River by the spring breakup.  

Vern is explaining to me what he calls 'The Fire Dragon' a chines effort to block citizens with long range Ham radios from hearing specific channels deemed “inappropriate" by the government.  There is no way to block a frequency, so the Chinese government bombards the channels with traditional Chinese music.

His bright green eyes shine through his weathered face as he explains why mores code is still very much a living language, a constant reminder that he is engaged, living moment by moment.  Less than a hundred wispy hairs dance on atop his head as the story comes full circle 

“And that wasn’t the last time I had to shoot a bear off my porch.”

His green felt hat rests on the back of his neck atop the tattered leather bomber jacket that seems to be held together by only a few remaining threads.  He puffs his cigar and smiles.