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to get access to all these benefits and more and now on with the show. I'm going to Yeah. Hello?

Hello? Oh, no, no. Sometime in the early 1940s, a humble resident of a small port town on the rocky and

enchanted southern shores of Alaska stepped out of his door to greet the thick morning air.

He stood tall and breathed in deep as he faced the barely lit woods that met him at his house's threshold.

The early morning didn't bother him. One must grow

used to such living in this part of the world. Instead, this man, Tom Larson, had grown to

cherish the quiet serenity in cold bite of the ethereal northern mornings.

A small fern-lined path led from his home and disappeared into thick fog some yards down from him.

The trees stood like a dark centuries at the gate of an unknown

dreamland ahead of him. Somewhere in their as-yet unlit halls was the larger road that his little

path led to, flowing down into the small town he called

home. But alas, town was not where he would be heading down on this particular morning.

No, he had traps to check before any other plans for the day could be made.

Thinking nothing of the dense fog, uncanny light, and utterly still and cold air.

Larson buttoned his jacket and confidently began the short hike down his dirt trail.

...