PASSAGE VI

As I slung my pack onto my shoulders a big mosquito thudded against my cheek. There had been a few through the day, but it was early in the season – the ice had gone out just two weeks before – and I had scarcely noticed them. But now as I wound down the ridge, the last breeze faded, and they were on me. Rising in clouds from the soggy tundra, they pelted against my face. I reached in my pocket for the repellent, and came up empty.

When he was in the arctic, the time of the year was