We flew from Fairbanks, over the Arctic Circle to the small native town of Arctic Village in June just as the days became longest. We met our bush plane there and, after loading our gear, took off into the Brooks Range, landing on a sandbar far, far away from what others call civilization. The air was clear, the river rapid and the work of setting up camp deeply satisfying. We spent one night at our landing site before blowing up our rafts and heading downriver toward the Beaufort Sea. We were in search, not just of carabou as they headed for calving grounds, but of our best selves. In the end, we found both. And we found peace. These rivers have to be protected. They’re our salvation … and our responsibility