Leaper at The Bend

Photograph of Barbra hooked up with a high-leaping Coho Salmon on the Chignik River in early September, the landscape still mostly in green.
Leaper at The Bend – Ten Pounds of Silver two feet in the air at the juncture where Chignik Lake, to Barbra’s left, necks down and becomes Chignik River, to Barbra’s right. The village of Chignik Lake is on this near shore, less than half a mile up the lake. Approximately six miles from this spot, the river enters the salt waters of the estuary at Chignik Lagoon. Here at the early peak of the Coho Salmon run in early September, though most of the flowers are finished and summertime nesting birds are gone, low along the water alders are still wearing summer green; higher up the slopes, vegetation is autumn gold.

Friends Don’t Let Friends…

Friends Don’t Let Friends Eat Farmed Fish
Alaska is home to a number of iconic bumper stickers. It is my understanding that in former times, this Suburban served as Chignik Lake’s ambulance. That was awhile ago…

Frost Fox – of the Chignik Lake Foxes

FrostOur first year at The Lake, we got to know seven different Red Foxes well enough to name them. Each had different facial features and individual personalities. Here is Frost, named for her whitish face and brightness of the white parts of her coat and tail. It’s often difficult to distinguish sexes in foxes, especially during the winter season when their coats are full, but we referred to Frost as “she.” Of the seven foxes, she was the smallest, perhaps in her first year, and the most likely to bark at other foxes, or for attention from us. I made this portrait a little after sunset on December 31, 2016.

Point Hope, Alaska from the Air

Our first view of Point Hope, Alaska – 125 miles north of the Arctic Circle (August 1, 2011)

Modern-day Point Hope is located on a narrow peninsula hooking into the Chukchi Sea. In the not-so-distant past, the village was further out on the peninsula, but erosion caused by an encroaching sea has wiped away a good bit of the peninsula, and the old village, called Tikigaq (which means index finger – for the peninsula’s shape), was relocated further inland due to seawater inundation. With evidence of habitation going back at least nine thousand years, Tikigaq Peninsula is regarded as one of the very oldest continuously inhabited sites in North America.

The very essence of an Alaskan bush village is its isolation and remoteness. The only road leading out of Point Hope, Seven Mile Road, ends abruptly a good bit less then seven miles: 250 miles from Barrow, 572 miles to Fairbanks, 694 miles from Anchorage. Thus Point Hope exists as a neatly lain out grid of homes and other buildings surrounded on two sides by water and on one by the vast Arctic tundra. Polar Bears and Arctic Foxes are regular visitors. To experience life in a place so thoroughly separated from the rest of the world is perspective changing – and in an unexpected way, exhilarating.

Large ocean-going barges freight in everything from the school bus – which keeps children safe from both frostbite and Polar Bears – to heavy equipment and building supplies; planes bring in smaller items, including groceries and mail. Hunting and gathering provide a great deal of additional food. This subsistence take includes Bowhead and Beluga whale meat and blubber, caribou, ducks, geese, ptarmigan, salmon, char and grayling along with cloudberries (Rubus chamaemorus) a few blueberries and in some families, seaweeds.

Photographs in coming days will show more of the village and perhaps lend some insight into life there. Thanks for reading.

Dog Sled Races, Shishmaref, Alaska

Black and white photograph of an unknown musher and his team dog sledding during a race in Shishmaref, Alaska.
A number of families kept teams of dogs, and during the wintertime holidays there were dog sled races. These were short races of perhaps a few miles. The speed and skill demonstrated was incredible. December 27, 2010

Blueberry Days: and thoughts regarding Alaska’s bush education system

Blueberry picking on the Arctic tundra. This photograph was used in a Ted Talk about Climate Change. Sarichef Island, September, 2010

As is the case anywhere one might go, there are multiple realities in Shishmaref – or in any bush village. Some of these realities fit together neatly in a positive and even happy manner, like smiling faces after berry picking on a pleasantly crisp fall morning. Some realities exist more as collective memories, and you’d have to dig and observe closely to find their vestiges. Other realities contradict and clash and it can be difficult to understand how they are connected to the broader cultural, and still other realities go mostly undiscussed – pretended away – as they seep into village fabric like a sludgy toxin.

A reality in the “sludgy toxin” category in most bush communities we are familiar with are the schools. For anyone who was fortunate enough to be educated in a fairly decent k-12 system, or who has taught in such schools, the level of professional misfeasance and malfeasance – the combination of indifference, incompetence and outright corruption in Alaska’s bush schools – would probably defy belief. Before coming to Alaska, Barbra and I taught in good schools in the lower 48. So we know what that looks like. Nothing in that experience prepared us for what we encountered in the Alaskan Bush. The blame, when one talks to many teachers and administrators in bush Alaska, is placed on the children themselves and their parents. These educators and administrators spin their tales to state legislators, the governor’s office, department of education officials, university education departments and anyone else who asks, and Alaska’s state legislators, the governor’s office, department of education officials and university personnel nod along, agreeing that little can be done to improve matters.

But the reality is that any of the schools we taught in, visited or heard about from others could have easily… and I emphasize easily… been improved with a bit of competent administration. The acquiescence to self-serving fictions among Alaska’s leadership – the phony wistful sighs followed by reassurances among themselves that the problems can’t be fixed, so therefore they aren’t obliged to try – continues year after year.

Because it is easy to dismiss these bush schools and the Native communities they serve. After all, these are other people’s children.

Thank you for allowing me to finally get that off my chest. Comments, as always, are welcome. JD

Pedal Bike

In bush communities such as Shishmaref, virtually everything comes into the village either by plane or by barge. Trucks, boats, hondas*, snowmachines*, pipes, building materials, food, clothing, clothing washers, bags of chips, cases of pop, birthday presents… It’s not practical to ship out empty detergent bottles, worn out dryers, broken down vehicles or broken toys. So most of the refuse goes to a local dump. In these modern times, when most of what is consumed takes a very long time to return to its elemental or mineral form, whatever isn’t burned remains there – buried or piled high. And there it will remain till the sea comes one day. (Photograph by Barbra Donachy, October 31, 2010)

* “Honda” is the Alaskan term for quad or ATV. “Snowmachine” is Alaskan for snowmobile. Out in the bush, bicycles are often called pedal bikes to distinguish them from hondas/ATVs, which are also often called bikes.

Ravenous Sea

This camp along the shore of the Chukchi Sea almost looks like an ocean going vessel, the cabin itself the wheelhouse, a flag marking the vessel’s bow as it faces a fall sea. Snow but no ice, you can see how the ravenous ocean eats at the shoreline of tiny Sarichef Island. All this will be gone one day… perhaps in not so many years. October 31, 2010

Disappearing Island

An abandoned home in Shishmaref faces an encroaching sea.

It is reported that since 1969, the ocean has eaten away 200 feet of land along the coast of already tiny Sarichef Island where Shishmaref is located. In the past, a sheet of ice forming in fall and lasting through spring kept the Chukchi sea blanketed and calm. Warming sea temperatures in the Arctic mean the ocean is freezing later. When fall and winter storms occur, packing winds that have traveled uninterrupted over thousands of miles of open sea, the surf thus generated claws at the barrier island without mercy. Particularly violent storms can rip away massive chunks of land. Entire homes have been washed away, a fate this abandoned house appears to be facing. Photograph: October 10, 2010

Photo of the Day: Main Street, Shishmaref, Alaska

To imagine Shishmaref, begin with Sarichef Island where the village is situated. Sarichef is one of several low-lying barrier islands running for about 70 miles along the northwest shore of Alaska’s Seward Peninsula. If you’ve ever been to North Carolina’s Outer Banks, you have some idea of such islands. Sand is everywhere. The above photo depicts a section of the main thoroughfare traversing this village of about 570 residents. There are no roads connecting Shishmaref with the larger world. Vehicles and building materials arrive primarily by ocean barge. Groceries are freighted in by plane. Because of the added freight costs, everything in the small local store is quite expensive. Pink salmon and Dolly Varden Char which migrate along the beach, seals taken from the nearby sea, and Musk Oxen, Caribou, an occasional Moose and waterfowl along with blueberries and Cloudberries taken from the mainland supplement most diets.

In 2010-2011 when we lived there, virtually the entire community was without the kind of city plumbing considered necessary in most of North America. The white plastic container near the middle of the street is where “honey buckets” are emptied into. These containers are then taken to a settling lagoon. Most houses have large water tanks of up to about 300 gallons which must regularly be refilled. The closest village is Wales, population about 145, over 70 roadless miles down the coast.