Flying in the general direction of the sun

When my scheduled time to depart Barrow approached, I did not want to go. I wanted to stay put. There were two reasons for this - one, because in the midst of all this darkness, cold and sorrow, I had felt the warmth, the light and the love that Barrow is capable of producing. Never misunderstand me - Barrow bears more than its fair share of turmoil and hurt - as do all Native American communities that I have ever spent time in - but at its core, its base, wrapped in the heart and soul of the people who have lived here for so long and borne so much there is something strong, loving, giving and spiritual. This warmth and strength can truly manifest itself in the time of no sun, in a time when beloved ones have been lost and people have come together to nurture and support each other.

And so it was on this trip.

Two, in the darkness itself I found a degree of solace that I could not have had I been in a place where the sun rises each day. The darkness of the day itself was like a blanket of warmth and comfort draped upon me.

I am a person who likes to walk, regardless the weather or the presence of polar bears, of which daily sightings were reported in town. If I walk on the roads, people always stop to give me a ride, so, as much as I could, I stayed off the roads and walked across the lagoon - two, three, maybe even four times a day. I would walk, under that dark or dim sky, all alone and it felt good to me. Depending on the direction that I walked, the wind might bite into my face with the sting and threat of frostbite but even so it felt good to me.

And there, alone, walking under a sky free from sunlight, I would talk aloud to Soundarya. It wasn't always a pleasant conversation. When someone that you love so dearly dies at their own hand, even though you know she was suffering such bitter, painful, grief herself, it leaves you with many questions and additional hurts.

But it was always a good conversation, a loving conversation, one that I needed to have. Even though the rational side of my brain knew she was not really there, somehow, it always felt to me that in some way, she was present and that she wanted to communicate with me as badly as I wanted to communicate with her.

So I spoke out loud and then in silent pauses listened for words I could not hear, but could only feel, or imagine that I felt.

I did not wish to leave this environment, where I could walk upon the lagoon in the dim and dark and converse with Soundarya and then go sit amidst the warmth of friends who would feed me caribou, whale and fish -people not related by blood to me but who are my family, none-the-less.

Perhaps this sounds crazy and perhaps it would be best if I were to just keep all this to myself, but this is how it was and I did not want to leave Barrow.

I knew my loving family awaited me at home but still I did not want to go. 

I took this picture as I walked off the lagoon, about 8:30 or 9:00 AM, enroute to Pepe's for breakfast.

And here I am at Pepe's - taking a portrait of Joe The Water Man, son of Fran Tate, owner of Pepe's. Joe became famous in Barrow in the days when no one had running water piped into their homes and he drove a water truck, to fill their tanks and barrels.

He never wore a parka or even a jacket or sweat shirt, but always just a t-shirt, no matter what the weather. Twenty below, 30 below, - 40, - 50... there was one day that the official weather bureau thermometer is said to have broken after the mercury plunged right through the bottom of it, but a number of thermometers around town, including one that I myself laid eyes upon, registered - 63.

And there was Joe The Water Man, delivering water in his t-shirt.

On days with wind chills of - 90, - 100: there was Joe, in his t-shirt, delivering water.

Joe does not drive the water truck anymore. He keeps my coffee hot and makes certain that I get two packets of raspberry jam with my wheat toast - unless there is no wheat bread to be had, and no raspberry jam either.

This happens sometimes. 

He does not really wear this hat to work. A fellow from Anchorage who calls himself The Mad Hatter and who likes to frolic in Cuba and Thailand had come to Barrow to sell hats and had let Joe try this one on.

I thought he looked pretty good in it.

Up the street from Pepe's is a water tank, with a Nativity scene in front of it and the guiding star of the east above.

Now here I am, at just a bit after 11:00 AM, sitting in the Alaska Airlines flight that will fly me to Anchorage. What you see beyond blowing a mini-blizzard into the air is a snowplow, clearing the runway. I had checked to see if I could postpone my departure and leave on another day, but every single seat out of Barrow had been booked into January.

I did not want to miss Christmas with my family, so I decided that I had better leave as scheduled.

And here we are, lifting off, departing Barrow.

We wing our way south, toward the sun, toward the glow of dawn/twilight. I was raised to believe that the sun always rises in the east and sets in the west.

In Alaska, this is not always true. The sun can rise in the south and set in the south. It can rise in the north and set in the north.

It can rise and set not at all.

See that little stream down below? Before I crashed it, I would sometimes fly my airplane, the Running Dog, right over that stream, between those low mountains.

It looked very different down there than it does from up here, but even so, I recognize it.

You can see that although we are still a couple of hundred miles from the sight of the sun, the amount of light is on the increase.

Now we pass over the northern flanks of the Brooks Range...

...now the southern.

We reach a point where the sun still fails to shine directly upon the ground, but it does shine on a couple of clouds below us at an altitude that I can only guess at. I won't even try.

As we near the Yukon River, very near to the place where the Tanana flows into it, the sun manages to strike the ridge tops, but not the valleys.

The White Mountains.

At one point I turned around and saw that there was a sunbeam, traveling with me, right there in the plane. It was the little son of Olemaun and Thelma Rexford, owners of Aarigaa Java and Aarigaa Tours, in the arms of his dad.

Oh, I have forgotten the name of this little one!

But someone can remind me, I'm certain.

And in front of me - another sunbeam, fast asleep.

By the time we reached the Alaska Range, the sun was up, but it was overcast and we could not see it. Soon, we were descending, and then were flying low over Cook Inlet - on final to landing in Anchorage.

Margie picked me up at the airport and then we drove to Taco King for lunch. Except for Rex, who had just driven from California to Anchorage with Ama and had then caught an airplane to New York or Newark and from there on to New England, all of the Anchorage family met us there.

Kalib came with his spatula and blanket.

Next, we were driving home to Wasilla.

I am now days behind. I will try to catch up tomorrow, when I will bring you back to Wasilla with me.

View images as slides

The Brooks Range; Mysore elephant

I am back in Wasilla now. For today's post, I had prepared a series of images of the transition between Barrow and here, of my departing a place where the sun shines not at all this time of year to one where it shines but a few hours, weakly.

I had planned to create a narrative to go with these pictures that would explain why I did not want to leave Barrow, why I had no desire to see the sun but instead felt as though I wanted to remain wrapped in the comforting cloak of winter's darkness.

But I have encountered some technical glitches and my time for blogging today has been eaten up. I have things I must do. So I will save those pictures and that narrative for tomorrow.

In the meantime, this is what it looked like as we flew over the Brooks Range a bit before noon. No sun would rise here, either, although the light filtering in from below the southern horizon was much brighter on the Brooks than in the city of Barrow.

And here is one from India:

Mysore Zoo.

She is not forgotten. Not for one minute. Not for one second.

The wedding of Rainey and B-III, part 4 - final: the wedding party - flowers are tossed, praises given, bubbles blown, guns are fired

I have had to deal with many things today and once again I am way, way, waaaaay behind in putting up this post. And I have many things to do yet before this day ends. So, once again, I will move swiftly through the words, write very little and leave the photos to carry the message.

So, here we have the bride, Nasuġraq Rainey Hopson, posing with her bridal attendants.

And here is the groom, posing with his boys.

Rainey had been carrying her bouquet since before she entered the bridal hall. Now, she tosses it away.

The young ladies all lunge for the bouquet, but it is Nita Ahgook who lunges furthest and fastest to catch it. So, who will the lucky man be? Do they already know?

I don't know.

While it is not unheard of, a fresh cherry is not something one sees everyday in Anaktuvuk Pass. B-III's brother Andrew with his son Harlan.

The time came for making speeches, for saying good things about the bride and groom. Angela, Maid of Honor and sister of the bride had very good things to say, as did Byron Hopson, Best Man and brother of the groom.

After hearing the praise, B-III and Rainey did a high-five.

Elsewhere, three little girls were blowing bubbles - just as little girls tend to do at weddings all around the world. 

Community elders Lela Ahgook and James Nageak spoke of how glad they were to have Rainey as part of the community of Anaktuvuk Pass; how pleased they felt that B-III had brought her home.

Lela congratulates B-III for having done so well.

Among the gifts were many especially made to take out camping. The bride and groom are an outdoor couple, after all.

By the time guests left the wedding hall, the cold, windy, rainy, snowy, icy weather of the morning had broke and gave way to weather that was merely cold and breezy, meaning it was pretty nice.

So the couple posed outside, the mountains behind them.

Then it was time for the wedding party. There would be no orchestra, no dancing, no boozing. Instead, guests climbed into a variety of eight-wheeled Argos and at least one four-wheeler and headed out to tent city.

As we made the final creek crossing, the Argo that B-III drove and I sat in as a passenger along with B-III's Aunt Brenda Santos and Uncle Dennis Melick got stuck coming up the bank. The back part started to fill with water, so we three who were back there jumped ship. The women paniced just a little bit. Rainey says she likes to go boating on the ocean near Point Hope to hunt whales, but boating across rivers in little Argos scares her.

Very soon, with a little help, B-III had us unstuck.

After we got going again, Brenda excitedly recounted her harrowing adventure as she watched the water pour into the place where she had been sitting.

Clyde and Nuk got to work making a fire. Every year in the spring, before the snow melts, Clyde and his father drive their snowmachines forty miles to the south, to the tree line. They cut wood and then haul home sled load after sled load.

That's where this firewood came from.

Casey Nay offered her cabin as base camp for the party. There, she has a caribou antler that seems to have grown a human hand. That's poet Cathy Tagnak Rexford in the background. She is one of the four Native authors of the book, Effigies and is a 2009 recipient of a Rasmuson Award.

Casey's young son, Billy, did a little target shooting with a BB gun. He is learning to become a hunter.

Carl Kippi, a highly respected hunter in Barrow, wedding gift to B-III was a hand gun that shoots a .50 calibre bullet. B-III tries it out. He let everybody who wanted take a shot. Given the fragility of my titanium shoulder, I was a little worried what the kick might do to it, but it didn't bother it all. My wrist and forearm absorbed all the kick.

Then we all gathered around to look at the target. See that hole right in the center? I'm pretty sure that one's mine. It is true that when I pulled the trigger the gun jumped up just enough to block my vision from seeing where the bullet struck, but where else could it have gone, but right to the center?

B-III also brought out a semi-automatic AK-47 from his collection. His sister, Kayla, squeezed off five rounds.

I am not certain, but I think this is Casey's boy, Richard. If I am wrong, I will correct the name once someone corrects me. I think this boy is going to become a hunter.

A rabbit - snowshoe hare, technically - was spotted in the distance, so a few folks went off to see if they could get it and bring it back. They didn't, so we roasted hot-dogs and melted marshmallows instead.

It was a fun night.

Angela in the back of the Argo, after we got back to the village. The wedding certificate needed to be signed. She would sign as a witness.

Late into the night, people visited and ate more of the wedding food. Payuk provided the dinner music.

Payuk plays his harmonica.

Update, 9:07 PM: I forgot to put in my usual disclaimer. I AM NOT A WEDDING PHOTOGRAPHER. I am not for hire to shoot weddings. I just don't do that.

The wedding of Rainey and B-III, part 1: getting there - I almost miss my flight; smiles, laughter and good food abound

I almost missed the wedding. At 3:23 AM on May 31, shortly after I arrived home in Wasilla from Arizona, I put up a post in which I noted that a spider had just bitten me and that I planned to go to bed for four hours, then get up, go pick up some distressed kitty cats, take care of some tasks, and afterward drive to Anchorage to catch a 1:00 PM Alaska Airlines flight that would begin my trip north, to Anaktuvuk Pass.

I arose at 7:40 and sat down at my computer at 7:50 to check my emails. I then decided to double-check my flight itinerary, just to be safe.

I opened it and damn near suffered a heart-attack. My Alaska Airlines flight out of Anchorage was scheduled not for 1:00 PM, but for 10:15 AM. It was my Wright Air flight out of Fairbanks to Anaktuvuk that was scheduled for 1:00 PM.

I dropped everything, grabbed my suitcase, still fully packed from Arizona, jumped into the car, made a quick stop at the place where the kitties were, gave them a pat on the head and told them not to worry, that Caleb would pick them up later in the day and then I would see them in just a couple of days more.

I then dashed off to Anchorage. I checked in for my 10:15 flight at exactly 9:15 - pretty much the last minute, if you have luggage.

Here I am, sitting in my seat, looking out the window at Denali, enroute to Fairbanks. Given the cloud cover, tourists down on the ground would not be able to see our great mountain.

I caught a cab from the main terminal at Fairbanks International to Wright Air on the other side of the airport and it cost $20. The driver turned out to be James Albert, the little brother of my friend, Rose Albert.

At 1:00 PM, I boarded the Wright Air flight along with half-a-dozen other passengers - everyone of whom was on their way to the wedding.

Those seen here in front of me as they pay rapt attention to the pilot's preflight briefing include Rainey's friends, Beth Marino, Joe Hickman and Neva Hickman.

I was kind of wishing that I had been the first passenger to board, so that I could have taken the right-hand seat. That way, if the pilot passed out or something, I could have flown the plane.

I really wanted to fly the plane.

I thought about asking, but then the pilot would have told me, "no!"

I would have felt silly and embarrassed.

Payuk Nay, cousin to B-III, was ready with his in-flight Wonder Classic White Sandwich Bread.

Soon, Payuk pulled out his harmonica and provided us with some in-flight entertainment. Elvira Gueco of Barrow grins from the next seat.

Beth Marino, a friend of Rainey's from college, looks out the window at what little she can see of Alaska's great interior.

She couldn't see much, because many wildfires were burning. As we flew north, it only got worse - so bad that we could not see the ground, not even the Yukon River.

After about an hour-and-a-half, the pilot flew into the pattern in preparation to land at the AKP airport.

The pilot brings us down on final.

After the wedding guests exit the airplane, Rainey hugs her friend, Beth Marino

Elvira Gueco gives an enthusiastic hug to the groom to be, Ben Hopson, III, who also goes by "B-3" and "B-III," both of which are pronounced exactly the same. Elvira is originally from the Philippines, but lives in Barrow now. She and her husband Ralph have befriended many Iñupiat. She is well-known for her cooking skills and would bring a touch of Asian to the wedding feast.

I should know the name of this little character welcoming Payuk home, but you know, my brain gets older every day.

The groom to be - B-III.

Just like Payuk, we all caught rides to our destinations in eight-wheeled Argos, the main form of summer transportation in Anaktuvuk Pass and countryside. 

The road system in Anaktuvuk Pass is pretty short - to the north, it reaches for approximately two to three miles to the dump and to the south it follows the runway and ends maybe a bit more than a mile from the village.

Even so, on a windy, 50 below day, a ride in a car, even just for a few blocks, is welcome.

Soon, I enter the house of Rainey and B-III, where I will spend my two nights in Anaktuvuk. That's Rainey's younger sister, Angela, to the right. Angela works out of Anchorage for the Arctic Slope Regional Corporation and used her frequent flyer miles to get me to Anaktuvuk. Thank you, Angela!

The fellow standing in the background is Rainey's brother, Sonny. Altough she occupies but a tiny spot at the left side of the screen, Casey Nay had done and would do a great deal of work and cooking to help make this wedding a success.

Payuk stirs come caribou stew. Soon, I would have a bowl. Superb, par excellence, exquisite. Not even in the finest restaurants of New York City can one find cuisine such as this.

Some readers may think that I exaggerate, but I don't.

No food is better than natural, wild, food, prepared right - and this was prepared right.

At this wedding, there would be no fancy, multi-tiered skyscraper cake with a plastic bride and groom standing in the frosting at the top. Instead, there would be wild salmonberry cakes, with salmonberry glaze, being made here by Sonny and Angela.

Even with all this cooking going on, there were war games to be played.

Rainey got out a pile of my old Uiñiq magazines to show me. The one on top is an issue I did in 1991 on Point Hope, the village where she was born and raised. Both she and B-3 were living in Barrow six years ago, when Rainey found herself pursued by many suitors.

One day, B-3 showed up at her house with two caribou that he had just shot. Then he took her for a snowmachine ride on the tundra. It was no contest after that. B-III was her man.

A year ago, they moved here to Anaktuvuk Pass, B-3's home village.

I should have used this picture in yesterday's post, when I explained what I see as the rather amazing connections that have brought Rainey, Dustinn and the family of Vincent Craig and myself all together as friends.

Just before 5:00 PM, we all left to walk to the cemetery to take part in the village Memorial Day service and feast.

Please do not suspect that I exaggerate the happiness that everyone felt this day. This is how it truly was. Smiles and laughter abounded. I saw no one get angry, I saw not one scowl nor sour face.

Life is not always this good, anywhere, but today, here in Anaktuvuk Pass, it was.

It would be tomorrow as well - despite the fact that Mother Nature would not exactly cooperate with the original wedding plan.

Later that evening - the two sisters, Rainey and Angela.

The wedding of Nasuġraq Rainey Higbee to B-III would take place the next day. If all goes according to my plan, readers can view that wedding tomorrow, right here.

Anaktuvuk Pass: remembering loved ones who have passed on

This is the post that I had planned to put up Tuesday morning, but I could not get online. 

I arrived in Anaktuvuk Pass on Memorial Day afternoon with several friends and relatives of Ben (B-III) Hopson the Third and Nasuġraq Rainey Higbee, who would wed the next day.

There was much good food in the house - caribou stew, caribou meat, fresh rolls and such and I had already fed myself a good sampling of it when I learned that the community was going to gather at the cemetery at 5:00 PM, to remember loved ones buried there and to feast in their honor.

When the time came, I joined several members of the wedding party and we walked over together.

When we arrived, I saw a group of people gathered just off the southern edge of the cemetery, the mountains of the Brooks Range rising behind, in front of and all around them. They were praying.

The man leading the prayer was Dr. James Nageak, an Iñupiaq hunter, scholar, retired university professor and Presbyterian preacher. That's James to the left, wearing the green coat.

He thanked the Lord for the lives lived by all those buried here, and for the beautiful land and the animals that had sustained them and that continue to sustain the people of Anaktuvuk Pass today.

After he finished, the Reverend Keith Johnston, right, who now serves as pastor for Anaktuvuk's Presbyterian "Chapel in the Mountains," read scripture.

Then the feasting began. Although I had already eaten, I ate again. I had more caribou soup, I had fish, wild berries, Eskimo donuts; I made certain to get some of the bowhead maktak that had been boiled into uunaalik, seen here just to the right of the spaghetti.

The spaghetti, by the way, is caribou spaghetti. It was superb.

Rachel Riley asked me how my shoulder was healing up. Rachel was in the Barrow High cafeteria on June 12, 2008, when I took my fall, shattered my shoulder, got loaded into a Lear Jet ambulance and was flown on a $37,000 + ambulance ride to Providence Hospital in Anchorage, where I went through two surgeries and had my natural bone replaced by an artificial, titantium, shoulder.

I told her that it had healed well and I was doing good, but that it would never be what it was before. For all it's technical medical wonder, this titanium just cannot match my natural bone. Yet, I am greatly thankful to have it.

Rachel then explained to Ada Lincoln exactly what she had saw that day when I fell off the rolling chair while taking a picture (and Rachel, by the way, is in the last frame that I shot just before the chair rolled out from under me).

A boy walks through the cemetery, looking at the graves of relatives and friends.

Raymond Paneak took me to the grave of his brother, George, who died on September 19, 2009, at the age of 60. George had been Mayor of the village and was an active leader in the Healthy Communities movement, a grass-roots effort to stem the harm and damage that the abuse of alcohol and drugs has caused in the Far North.

Freida Rulland, left, showed me the grave of her father and my friend, Paul Hugo. A good twenty-years ago plus, Paul took me to many places in these mountains, by snowmachine, eight-wheeled Argo, depending on the season, and on foot in search of caribou. 

We found a few, too.

He had also kept me as a house-guest in his home. We had eaten pancakes in the morning, caribou in the evening.

Although I of course knew that he had died, it none-the-less shocked me to see his name stenciled into the cross that marks his grave.

He passed away on October 9, 2009, at the age of 49.

I told Frieda and her sister that I would stop by and say "hi" to their mother, but my trip was short and I was busy every waking minute of it and I never got a chance.

I expect to be back in Anaktuvuk before too long, though, and I will then.

Freida's sister, Amanilla Hugo, stands to the far right.

Two little ones, growing up in Anaktuvuk Pass.