This may stun you, but I can prove that television reality shows are not real.

When life sent my son to Homer, Alaska, I had to investigate this foreign land. Naturally, I turned to the source of all modern knowledge: reality TV. For some reason, Alaska is a mecca of reality shows.

I then visited Homer, where I coincidentally stumbled on horseback into the state's most famous reality show.

Vigilant for bears or any angry wildlife, I rocked and bounced in the saddle as the horse jerked and slid his way down the steep, gravelly trail that wound like a snake endlessly down to the valley floor. I fully expected that soon we would reverse roles and the horse would be on top, riding me to the bottom. I was prepared to demand a full refund plus a considerable aggravation fee.

After an eternity, our line of novice horsemen emerged intact onto a wide open plain at the head of Kachemak Bay, home of the Discovery Channel's premier reality show "Alaska: The Last Frontier".

Far across the flat plain rose the Kenai Mountains, twin glaciers glowing white between the rugged peaks. The view was breathtaking.

Cowboy Mark Marette, owner of Trails End Horse Adventures and a great teller of tales led the way. Cowboy Mark is a real cowboy. I think. I recognized him from TV so I was slightly suspicious. During our six-hour ride, he talked about the show with good-natured humor, leaking how certain events were sort of, well, made up.

Like the time he had to be "rescued" from his winter home buried deep in the woods with no running water where he contentedly spends long winters. He played along to help his friend, Otto Kilcher, star of The Last Frontier.

I know Kilcher is a real Alaskan because his father's name was Yule. Kilcher is a knowledgeable rancher, building structures, fording cattle across deep rivers, burying his arm elbow-deep in the back end of a cow to assist in a birth or showing us precisely how to castrate a large animal while avoiding serious injury. On television, this all occurs with a high element of danger and emotion.

But a cowpoke's confessions were just part of the evidence. I explored the region for a week, even driving down Kilcher Road, essentially the family's long driveway.

The "Last Frontier" depicts the Kilcher family as living in isolation, struggling for survival. They fret about stocking the freezer before winter while danger lurks behind every tree. Ominous music underscores their perilous predicament.

There are many houses in the area but the cameras only show the Kilcher home and remote wilderness, enhancing the charade.

The show does not mention or show downtown Homer, scant miles from the Kilcher home, which has grocery stores and gas stations. I had no trouble finding ingredients for spaghetti and meatballs nearby.

The famous Homer Spit is a long peninsula that juts far into Kachemak Bay. Full of tourist shops, restaurants and marinas, it's pretty much visible from Kilcher's "isolated homestead."

Yet the clan deserves respect. According to celebrityworth.net, Otto Kilcher is worth about $4 million while brother and co-star Atz Lee Kilcher is worth about $5 million. That's a lot of meatballs. They're probably more concerned about serving the proper wine than surviving an Alaskan winter.

Reality ends when the cameras start rolling. Money and ratings encourage unreal behavior and ironically destroy the very thing reality shows are trying to capture. Once-real people quickly become lucrative actors.

Welcome to Hollywood, where nothing is further from the truth than reality.

JOHN STEWARD OF WATERFORD, A RETIRED AIRPORT FIREFIGHTER WHO WORKS AT ELECTRIC BOAT, CAN BE REACHED AT TOSSINGLINES@GMAIL.COM.