A blog by Bill Hess

Running Dog Publications

P.O. Box 872383 Wasilla, Alaska 99687

 

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Wasilla

Wasilla is the place where I have lived for the past 29 years - sort of. The house in which my wife and I raised our family sits here, but I have made my rather odd career as a different sort of photojournalist by continually wandering off to other places to photograph people and gather information, which I have then put together in various publications that have served the Alaska Native Eskimo, Indian and Aleut communities.

Although I did not have a great of free time to devote to this rather strange community, named after a Tanaina Athabascan Indian chief who knew Wasilla in the way that I so impossibly long to, I have still documented it regularly over the past quarter-century plus. In the early days, my Wasilla photographs focused mostly upon my children and the events they participated in - baseball, football, figure skating, hockey, frog catching, fire cracker detonation, Fourth of July parade - that sort of thing. 

In 2002, I purchased my first digital camera and then, whenever I was home, I began to photograph Wasilla upon a daily basis, but not in a conventional way. These were grab shots - whatever caught my eye as I took my many long walks or drove through the town, shooting through the car window at people and scenes that appeared and disappeared before I could even focus and compose in the traditional photographic way.

Thus, the Wasilla portion of this blog will be devoted both to the images that I take as I wander about and those that I have taken in the past. Despite the odd, random, nature of the images, I believe they communicate something powerful about this town that I have never seen expressed anywhere else. 

Wasilla is a sprawling community that has been slapped down hodge-podge upon what was so recently wilderness of the most exquisite beauty. In its design, it is deliberately anti-zoned, anti-planned. In the building of Wasilla, the desire to make a buck has trumped aesthetics and all other considerations. This town, built in the midst of exquisite beauty, has largely become an unsightly, unattractive, mess of urban sprawl. Largely because of this, it often seems to me that Wasilla is a community with no sense of community, a town devoid of town soul.

Yet - Wasilla is my home and if I am lucky it will be until I grow old and die. Despite its horrific failings, it is still made of the stuff of any small city: people; moms and dads, grammas and grampas, teens, children, churches, bars, professionals, laborers, soldiers, missionaries, artists, athletes, geniuses, do-gooders, hoodlums, the wealthy, the homeless, the rational and logical, the slightly insane and the wholly insane - and, yes, as is now obvious to the whole world, politicians, too.

So perhaps, if one were to search hard enough, it might just be possible to find a sense of community here, and a town soul. So, using my skills as a photojournalist and a writer, I hope to do just that. If this place has a sense of community, I will find it. If there is a town soul to Wasilla, I will document it. I won't compete with the newspapers. Hell no! But as time and income allow, it will be fun to wander into the places where the folks described above gather, and then put what I find on this blog.

 

by 300...

Anywhere within a 300 mile radius of Wasilla. This encompasses perhaps the most wild, dramatic, gorgeous, beautiful section of land and sea to be found in any comparable space anywhere on Earth. I can never explore it all, but I will do the best that I can, and will here share what I find and experience with you.  

and then some...

Anywhere else in the world that I happen to get to, such as Point Lay, Alaska; Missoula, Montana; Serenki, Chukotka, Russia; or Bangalore, India. Perhaps even Lagos, Nigeria. I have both a desire and scheme to get me there. It is a long shot. We shall see if I succeed.

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Tuesday
May172011

Katie John, champion of traditional Alaska Native fishing and hunting rights and culture bearer, becomes Dr. Katie John: Part 1 - getting there

The graduation ceremony in Tok was scheduled to begin at 2:00 PM. I figured it would take close to six hours to drive there and so I figured that I had better give myself seven hours, just in case. My travels and time on the Arctic Slope, coupled with the many nights of limited sleep that I had experienced visiting whale camps offshore from Point Hope and Barrow, had left me close to exhausted.

Plus, Jimmy, my good black cat, was so glad to have me home that he kept waking me up all through the night and so I did not get much sleep at all. 

Still, a bit after 6:00 AM, although it felt impossible, I forced myself to rise from my bed, stumble to the shower, then drive to the gas station, fill my tank, buy a breakfast burrito, muffin and coffee. Then I drove and I was happy to drive, for it was a day of brilliant beauty in the Matanuska Valley.

As I neared Eureka, a young moose darted onto the highway in front of me. I applied my brakes and so the moose made it safely to the other side of the road.

Now I found myself headed toward the Wrangell Mountains. Ahead of me, blue sky was giving way to overcast.

And then, as I worked my way north up the Copper River Valley, I found myself in a mild snowstorm amidst temperatures in the 20's.

A little road cuts into these mountains not far from here and leads to the village of Mentasta, where Katie John lives and where I crashed my airplane, the Running Dog. I drove on by, headed for Tok.

As the tourist season had yet to begin, there was very little traffic on the road and no active construction sites that I had to stop or slow down for so, even though I was on the ground, I virtually flew to Tok and arrived in not much more than five hours. This gave me plenty of time to eat lunch and then to head over to the community center, where Katie John - about to become Dr. Katie John - would be honored for the first of three times.

She would not be alone. Tok is the home of the Interior-Aleutians Campus of the University of Alaska, Fairbanks, and this was graduation day. Inside, I found a cake with Katie's name on it - along with the other 14 students who would graduate with her here on this day.

And in a reception room just beyond the cakes, I found Katie, waiting for the ceremonies to begin. I have mentioned that in Alaska, the role Katie played in standing up to the State of Alaska to fight for the traditional fishing rights that Alaska Native people have held since time-immemorial have caused many to liken her to Rosa Parks.

It is a good analogy, but when I saw her, sitting there at the age of 95 with a ceremonial staff and eagle feather, I could not help but also think of the many warriors and tribal leaders of the original nations of the Lower 48 who had fought for the rights of their people.

From there, I followed the sound of the excited voices of young people. This led me to where the Ahtna Heritage Dancers, many of them direct descendants of Katie, who had come to honor their grandma and those who would graduate with her this day, were making the final adjustments to their hair and regalia.

Then I returned to the reception room, where Katie had been joined by her granddaughter, Kathryn Martin, who on this day would receive her bachelor's degree. Both now wore their robes and caps - plus the red sashes worn as a token of honor by all UAF Native graduates.

Before this day ends, I plan to put up all the posts covering the honoring of Katie John, both in Tok and Fairbanks, so check back later.

 

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Reader Comments (2)

Great post, thanks for covering. 95?! She doesn't look it in the photos.

May 17, 2011 | Unregistered Commenterdahli22

Congratulations, Dr. John!

May 17, 2011 | Unregistered CommenterKathryn

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