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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Monday
Jun132011

A new pair of mukluks for Royce

Young Royce Rock assists his aaka (grandmother), Ramona Rock, by holding down the pattern that will make the shapes to cover his foot as she traces it onto a section of polar bear hide. She is making making mukluks for him.

A couple days later, the mukluks are done. Royce lifts up his foot as Aaka Ramona prepares to encase it in the left mukluk.

Royce takes his first stroll in his new mukluks. His aaka is Athbascan, raised in Nenana as the daughter of a river boat owner and pilot. Although her father is gone now, The Ramona, the river boat that he named for her, still plies the Tanana and Yukon Rivers.

Ramona adjusted well to life on the Arctic Coast and for years has been the Point Hope high school Tikigaq Harpooners girls basketball coach, often co-coaching with her son, Rex Jr., Royce's dad.

 

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Reader Comments (7)

Royce looks sharp in his new mukluks! Kalib will love his PJs. :)

Another awesome post Bill!

June 13, 2011 | Unregistered CommenterNancy Grant

The mukluks are gorgeous, but why do they kill the polar bears? Do they eat them? Please excuse my ignorance; hard to picture eating a polar bear if you have lived in California your whole life.

June 13, 2011 | Unregistered CommenterWakeUpAmerica

Knowing your love affair of cats, I thought you might like this funny video of an owl and a cat. Best friends!!

http://www.bing.com/videos/watch/video/the-odd-couple-cat-and-owl-are-best-friends/20lif9wr?rel=msn&cpkey=349f0953-0274-4adc-b80b-e664e54bcbe9%7Cstupid%20videos%7Cmsn%7C

June 14, 2011 | Unregistered CommenterWakeUpAmerica

Mom of grandsons - Yes, those are Kalib's kind of jammies.

Nancy - thank you.


WakeUpAmerica: Yes, I graduated from high school in California and while that was quite awhile ago, there was nothing in the way we lived or in the expectations that were implanted in us to give us much understanding of distant people and cultures. We had the impression that the rest of world, in essence, wanted to become “us” – to live as we did and eat as we did.

The Iñupiat culture is a hunting culture. For thousands of years, they have live and survived as a hunting culture, obtaining food, clothing, tools and even home construction materials from the animals they hunt. Hunting is ingrained in Iñupiaq culture and without hunting there would no Iñupiat people. Hunting is what has enabled the Iñupiat to survive in the place they have. Yes, the Iñupiat do eat polar bear, and when one is taken, which happens only on rare occasions, a call is usually put out to the elders to come and partake.

I was struck by this comment left on the NYT Lens site by a reader:

“I was saddened and at the same time, rejoiced at the honor and honesty the Native Alaskans exhibited through their truthful embrace of tradition in the hunting of whales and other native animals of the region.”

In the words “honor and honesty,” that reader grasped it. That’s the thing about the Iñupiat way of life and diet – it is honest. People know where their food comes from. In the larger American society the average person has little comprehension of the truth behind the food he eats for his own survival. This includes vegetarians, because even to grow vegetables, habitat must be taken from the wild animals and the population of those that remain must be kept in check to prevent them from eating the vegetarian diet that the vegetarian needs.

As to polar bears, today’s Iñupiat hunter poses no threat to their survival – but everyone in California who drives a car does. And there are a lot of car drivers in California.


Thanks for the video! I always like a good cat video - better yet with an owl buddy.

Thank you for your response as to the Inupiat way of life.

June 14, 2011 | Unregistered CommenterGrandma Nancy

Thank you for the lesson on Iñupiat culture. On the one hand, I embrace nature and mourn for what we do to the environment. On the other, I irrationally regret the killing of any animal (I draw the line at flies and mosquitoes), and I do drive a car.

June 14, 2011 | Unregistered CommenterWakeUpAmerica

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