“Based on your availability with the UAF school schedule, we’re thinking of sending you to the Pribilofs,” Heather said to me near the start of my interview to work for Alaska Maritime NWR in 2010.

“Oh awesome!” I responded, as I balanced my cell phone between my ear and shoulder while typing ‘Pribilofs’ into Google Maps. I had no clue which islands she was talking about; I just figured enthusiasm would be a good front until I could find the islands on a map.

Little did I know how prevalent the Pribilofs would become in my wildlife career. I was offered the position on St. George for summer 2010, so after a whirlwind month of friends, cabin life, running, and Outdoor Adventures work (outdoor guiding program for trips of UAF students and staff), I flew to this little island in the Bering Sea for 2+ months of adventure.

When I left St. George at the end of summer, having fallen in love with the island, a friend sent me off with a normal “goodbye” and less than normal “You’ll be back.” He knew I wasn’t done with this place.

Being in the Honors Program at UAF, I needed to complete a Capstone project. Being “smart,” I still didn’t know what to do for my project as I entered my senior year. Fortunately St. George was fresh in my mind, and I realized that there was very little information about the beautiful island I’d called home. With the knowledge I’d gained during summer, I decided I should make a travel guide. Unfortunately, I hadn’t asked all the appropriate questions about lodging, transportation, access, etc. while I’d been out here the first time, so I knew I needed to return to take more pictures and learn more information.

Fortunately, I was able to secure funding from the College of Liberal Arts and help from other sources to get an all-expense paid trip back to St. George that winter, thereby enabling me to share its wonders. And it was from St. George that I interviewed for and was offered the position with kiwi in New Zealand. Yep, it’s a special place.

Five years later – to the day – I find myself back out here, feeling a little bit like I’m in a time warp. Some locals recognize my face but think I was here just last year. At a gathering at the rec hall a few nights ago, one woman asked, “What took you so long to come back?”

Oh, just life. I’ve had many an experience since I last lived on this hunk of rock.

I simultaneously laughed and cried as I unpacked back into my cabin while my best friend was packing to leave for a year abroad. I biked to graduation, ate cookies and trail mix with friends during the ceremony, and earned my really expensive piece of paper that claims I know things. I traveled so far west that it was east and so far south that north meant warmth in order to work with kiwi and explore my soul’s home country. I wandered through Tiananmen Square during an 8 hour layover in Beijing and laughed to myself as I felt the stares of all the foreigners eying the lone ginger.

My summer in Fairbanks I learned how to find a cabinmate on craigslist and how to use a capstan, realized the extent of tourists’ cluelessness, rolled an ankle that has maybe been not quite right ever since, and made some new 2- and 4-legged friends.

Then I threw away my favorite cabin and left on what would become a somewhat annual tradition of fall forays away from Alaska. Yet Alaska always draws me back for the long-term.

Although I’m all about new experiences, sometimes it’s necessary to revisit the old to experience the new. I don’t know how Ryan knew, but he was spot on with his comment that I’d be back. Some places just have a power that make them worth returning to.

This came to mind a few days ago when I had a unique life experience for the second time in my life: butchering a reindeer that was shot from the herd here on St. George. Talk about déjà vu.

If I’d been asked five years ago where I would see myself today, I never would have guessed that I would be walking home to the Wash House after a day-long least auklet population count.

Then again, after everything St. George gave me on round 1, I probably owe this little island a few more hours of work.