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Some years ago, when I was still single, I spent a winter in Ilullisat, on the west coast of Greenland. You may know it by its Danish name of Jakobshavn. I'd spent the month of August at Thule, the U.S. Air Force base in northern Greenland, installing and calibrating some new electronics for their satellite telemetry. Some of the equipment had demanded repeated fine-tuning, and my nervous employer—the company that made the electronics—had wanted me to stick around and babysit as long as possible, just in case. It was a big contract for us.

They would've been happy at headquarters if I'd been stuck at Thule for months, but I balked at that. Ilullisat was a compromise, still 200 kilometers above the Arctic Circle and a fairly easy flight away in case I needed to make a house call, but less isolated. In the summer, Ilullisat actually gets some tourists. It has a population of maybe 4,000 or 5,000, respectable for Greenland and about twice the population of the airbase. Milder climate, too, though that's relative. So I settled into the little town by a fjord and monitored my electronics remotely as September, then October slipped away.

Then the company asked me to stay over the whole winter, and offered me a fat bonus to do so. I agreed but knew I'd earn it. By November it was essentially dark all the time, just a few hours of twilight around noon. Fortunately, during the couple months I'd spent in Ilullisat, I'd cultivated a relationship with Nicole, a thirtyish, very pretty French climatologist. She wore rectangular eyeglasses in tortoiseshell frames, ...

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