Each night of our trip, as we arrived at a new little Alaska town, my daddy and I would scan the tiny main street for an ice cream shop. It had become our little ritual; each night after dinner, my father and I would hit up whatever ice cream joint we could find. Then, we'd head back to our little hotel room, where my dad would pull the blinds to keep the glare of Alaska's persistent summer sun off the TV while we watched Rocky and Bullwinkle at 11 p.m. Of course, my pre-teen introduction to Alaska wasn't all Cartoon Network and Rocky Road. My trip with my dad included plenty of opportunities for wonder. We hiked over a glacier, chased salmon upstream, spied on moose and black bears from the safety of our rental car. What held my awe the most was the quiet sigh that crept into my soul at the end of the day, when I sat on my hotel bed, and listened to my father's baritone laughter mingle with my shy, little giggle. From dawn till dusk, for ten whole days, I had my father all to myself. Read next feature >