©Bert Gildart:  Twenty-five years ago – that’s May 4th, 1991 — Janie and I were married, and for the past few days we’re been recalling some of the highlights of our lives as a couple. At the time we were surrounded by family and friends and were married in New York by Methodist minister Tom Vancus, who had once hiked the entire length of the Appalachian Trail.

That afternoon we drove to New York City and spent the first night of marriage in the World Trade Center. We dined in a revolving restaurant that looked out over the city and then attended CATS, a Broadway musical. Tragically, we cannot repeat our stay at the World Trade Center.

L to R:  Celebrating sun rise at Apostle Islands, Porcupine River, Dry Tortugas

We departed NY several days later, then drove to our permanent home in Montana, then on to Alaska. Back then I had a contract to teach in a summer school program at a remote Gwich’in Indian village known as Arctic Village. The superintendent, an old friend, was trying to bring in people with different backgrounds.

My expertise was photojournalism, and for three more summers, Janie and I worked in several different Gwich’in Indian villages, to include Fort Yukon, Beaver, Rampart, Venetie and Arctic Village. At the end of our first summer we created a multimedia slide presentation, later made into a video and used by the Alaska Department of Education to acquaint prospective teachers with life in remote villages.

Originally, we’d planned to stay but one summer, but we became so enamored with their subsistence culture of caribou and fish, we continued to return, even doing so one winter. As well, we took up their cause to preserve the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, “birth place of the Porcupine Caribou herd,” writing stories for many major publications. We continue to support their various causes and remain friends with a number of the Gwich’in.

L to R:  Jasper National Park, norther lights in Venetie, AK 
streaming over our first home together; Janie kayaking sea caves in the Apostles.

Now, 25 years later, we’re still fulfilling assignments with various publications, most of which we cover from the comforts of our Airstream. The easiest way to summarize some of our experiences is simply to post pictures.

Toasting one of our anniversaries from the road.

Accordingly I’ve included a small sampling of images from various spots in North America. Included are images of northern lights streaking over our cabin in the Arctic; an image of a four-month trip along the Yukon and Porcupine rivers; toasting one another near the Mojave National Preserve; and using a  wheelbarrow to transport our camping gear to a site in the Dry Tortugas.  Finally, I’ve included images of the  Apostle Islands, and of an elk and our Airstream in Jasper, Alberta. You can see write-ups on some of the areas by following links to blogs which I’ve included below.

It’s been a great life for Janie and me, and we hope to keep exploring North America for years to come, celebrating anniversaries where ever we might be.

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World Trade Center:

Dry Tortugas:

Kayaking Bay of Fundy

©Bert Gildart: Seventy-four years ago I was at Pearl Harbor, and though I was but a few months old – I believe circumstances of the day make me a Pearl Harbor Survivor? At least that’s what I always told Mom and Dad as the event grew in my mind, and when we were all in a jovial and reflective mood.

At the time my dad was a captain, stationed in Hawaii at Schofield Barracks. It was a Sunday morning and my mom asked my dad, “Why all the noise?” My dad (and I’ve heard the story often) told Mom not to worry, that the Air Force was probably conducting some tests at nearby Hickam Field. Nevertheless, he looked outside and much to his surprise saw a plane flying toward our civilian quarters, and doing so at a low level.

Suddenly the pilot opened up with machine gun fire, forcing my dad to look up where he quickly noticed an emblem of the rising sun on the underneath side of the wing. “Stay inside,” Dad hollered at Mom. “We’re at war!” Then he ran to where I was sleeping in the yard in a bassinet and grabbed me. In later years, I would joke, and say, “Why were the Japs trying to kill me?”

Immediately, the military was mobilized, and Dad and his command were directed to a beachhead with orders to thwart a possible invasion of Japanese from the ocean. Dependents, such as my mom, were directed to take children into the nearby sugarcane plantations and seek cover.

The date, of course, was December 7, 1941 and Japanese were hoping to destroy the Pacific fleet, but luckily most were at sea. However, the Japanese did destroy the Arizona and killed several thousand military service men.

In the aftermath, most service dependents were ordered to return stateside, unless they were locally employed. At the time, Mom was working as a secretary and was told her position was significant and that she could remain on Oahu, which she did until Dad was subsequently ordered to Guadalcanal. In 1943, Mom and I returned to the states, where my first memories of Dad were of him deplaning in Washington D.C… From a small balcony Mom and I looked out over a small runway and saw Dad waving at us vigorously.

Thinking back, that was my very first memory, but as the years went by and stories from Dad, Mom and their friends piled up, I came to believe that I could hear the bombs breaking and the sound of a Japanese pilot strafing our home with machine gun fire.

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Ancillary Post:

West Point, Where Our Parents Are Buried