I have created my own Arctic winter day of night, right here in Wasilla; the new Uiñiq - front cover

I think I must be homesick for Barrow and the Arctic Slope, for those long nights that extend all the way through the day with no sun ever rising; those all-day nights during which, if one wants, one can slip into the comfort of a warm cacoon of darkness, hidden and protected there from the glare of world.

I think I must be homesick for this because, to the degree that is possible, I have converted Wasilla into a place where the winter sun never rises. Actually, it does, for just a few hours, but I go to sleep before those hours begin and wake up after they have passed.

So I do not see the sun. It is as if it never rose at all.

Today, I arose at 3:38 PM, pretty much right at the moment of sundown. It was time to head out for my regular afternoon coffee break, even though I had begun no task that I needed to take a break from, and to head to the drive-through of Metro Cafe, which is exactly what I did. I took this picture along the way. Admittedly, this is not a very good picture - I missed the good picture by a few seconds. It happened while I was too far back to get it, although I could have if I had had a bigger lens on the camera.

In the good picture, the one that I missed, the school bus had stopped and all of a sudden a whole passel of kids shot out and in a line sprinted through this little patch of light.

Oh, did it look neat!

By the time I got close enough to take that excellent shot, it was gone. A straggler got off and headed through the light, so I took this picture, so that I could tell you all about the one I had missed.

A couple of hours later, Margie was about to fix dinner. For some strange reason, I felt very hungry and decided that this a night to go out for steak - something we do maybe once every couple of years or so.

So we did, and here were are, at Denali Family Restaurant, where we had never tried dinner before. Margie had a chicken fried steak. They had a special that covered their New York steaks - $3.00 off but still pretty darned expensive, so I ordered one. The baked potato was very good, the roll was delicious - tasted like it might have been fresh out of the oven - and the once frozen half-ear of corn on the cob tasted the way corn on the cobs that have been frozen tend to taste.

The New York steak - it was okay. Not great, but okay and being okay it still tasted good. One would not call it "superb," "exquisite," "mouth watering" or anything like that. It was okay. Good enough.

Afterward, our waitress asked us if we wanted dessert, but we declined and went home, where I scooped up some Rocky Road out of the carton and made myself an ice cream cone.

I am happy to report that my shingles are diminishing. They are still there, but to a much lighter and more bearable degree than just two days ago. Maybe by this time next week, they will be gone altogether. My need for copious amounts of sleep still remains, however. 

Now I need to see if I can a little work done, so that I can finish up today's tasks in time to go to bed before the sun rises.

And here is the cover of my latest Uiñiq:

This is whaling captain Billy Oyagak of Nuiqsut, standing in the middle with members of his crew on Cross Island, balleen from their whale behind them. Other successful captains and crews that fall season of 2010 were Herbert Ipalook, Thomas Napageak and Edward Nukapigak, who hosted me.

That season happened very fast. The crews left Nuiqsut almost at the very end of August and arrived at Cross Island to find the weather perfect and whales passing by in good numbers. I could not come until September 2. Originally, I thought they might possibly have landed a whale or two by then, but that there would still be at least two, maybe three strikes left for me to follow.

As it happened they had landed all four before I even got there. They were still cutting and putting up the whales, and there were polar bears wandering about. I had a good time, took lots of pictures, but still fell far short of what I had hoped to do.

So I want to go back, get in a boat at Nuiqsut and ride out to Cross Island with them. Stay for a month, come back at Naluktak and a few other times, too. I had hoped to go back this year, but irony of ironies, I could not because I was working on getting this Uiñiq done. Nuiqsut/Cross Island was the first story that I laid out and originally I laid it out huge - my first layout filled up almost the entire 120 page magazine. But then, as I worked other storeis in, I had to keep cutting it back and cutting it back and so in the end it wound up at 17 pages.

That still left it as the largest single spread in the magazine, but 17 pages wasn't enough to even begin to do Cross Island-Nuiqsut justice. I couldn't even leave my polar bear shots in, and I had a couple of magnificent polar bear shots and a fun story based on polar bears coming into and passing by camp. Elsewhere in the magazine, I had a double-truck polar bear shot I took on the sea ice off Barrow, and that took up all the space I could afford to give to polar bears in this Uiñiq.

So I hope to go back and somehow find the way to produce either a Uiñiq or a Uiñiq sized or bigger publication wholly on Cross Island and Nuiqsut. In fact, I would like to do that with every village on the Slope - and some off the Slope, too, like Fort Yukon and Arctic Village.

But how do I all this? The decades are flying by. I still think of myself as a young man, fit and strong enough to do anything, but in fact I am on the verge of becoming old - and this bout with shingles that I have just about but not quite won is kind of a telling sign. And this work is not easy to do. It is hard - both in the field and back home, when it becomes necessary to put in 20 hours, 24 hour, 30 hour and even 40 hour days to ever get it done.

I do not wish to listen to this sign the shingles have given me. Yet, if I don't, and just keep living in the manner that I have so far lived, I might just get taken down and not get anymore done at all.

And there was a great deal of material that I gathered from all over that I did not manage to get in at all. I don't why, after all this time, but when I set out to make a 116 page publication (which is what it was budgeted for but I pushed it up to 120 at my own expense) I think that gives me enough space to cover the whole world.

So I shoot this, and I shoot that; I go here, I go there, I interview this person and that person and all the time I am thinking I can work it all in and then when it comes down to it, I can only work a fraction of it in.

That's one of the reason I plan to create on online magazine. I could work it all into an online magazine. I remain at a bit of a loss on how to go about it. I have a colleague who is expert at online publishing and he says he will help me set it up. He's booked solid until January. Once he helps me set the format I want, then how do I fund it?

It ain't cheap to travel around Alaska, you know.

Still, we will see what happens then.

For sure, I need a new airplane. I don't merely want one, I need one. It seems impossible right now, but I know it's not.

Well, I've been rambling, writing more words than most visitors will ever read. Guess I'll stop now.

I've got some things I must do and I had better get at it if I want to get to bed before sunrise.

Cross Island - where polar bears can come knocking at your door - or window - or just go through the wall

A nanuq on Cross Island.*

A polar bear punched this hole in the wall.

Mother and child.

Please note the unfinished wood behind Maniksaq Nukapigak. It was placed there as part of a major repair job after a nanuq smashed through the wall when no one was home and helped itself to all that it desired. It moved things around and trashed the inside of the cabin.

Handsome young one.

The fellow in the mirror fragment is Maniksaq's dad - whaling captain Isaac Nukapigak. After the bear went through the outside wall and entered the cabin it came face to face with itself in a mirror on the opposite wall. It smashed the bear in the mirror.

There she is - Ms. Nanuq with her two, nearly grown, cubs.

This is James Tuckfield, "Jamie." In the early morning of this day, he was inside the cabin, sitting against the wall opposite this window when he saw something round and black appear at the spot where his finger is. It was a polar bear nose.

Nanuq siblings.

The nose began to slide up the window. Jamie demonstrates the facial gestures and paw movements that he saw the bear make as it rose up behind the window.

The siblings seem to get along well.

Jamie continues to describe what he saw.

Momma nanuq, once again.

That bear got pretty animated. On the inside, Jamie and others in the cabin also got animated as they put on a frightening show, hoping to scare the bear away.

Cub follows mom.

The bear left. All was good. There was a new story to tell.

Jamie invites me in to visit. He is famous for his maktak soup and is cooking up a pot right now. I will have a bowl later - and another after that. Jamie's fame is well deserved. 

As Jamie cooks, a young hunter peers through the window and spots more polar bears.

It was these three, who I first showed you last week, as they walked nonchalantly down the beach, ignoring the humans who they knew were watching them.

Now, suddenly, one of the cubs takes an interest.

Not far out of the frame, another adult bear shows up as well.

The people take an interest in the bears. He is not bringing the gun out to hunt, but, if need be, to frighten off the bears and, if absolutely need be, to down a bear in defense of human life.

The Iñupiat hunt bears and they hunt them on this island, but right now they are taking care of their whale harvest and want to save their energy for that. They do not want to be forced to shoot a bear.

They get checked out pretty closely.

He closely checks out the bear through the scope. The young hunter wants to take a closer look, too.

Buddy Napageak has decided these bears are not a threat - but he will remain ready should anything change.

I go back in to visit as Jamie continues to cook. Whaling captain Carl Brower, who owns this connex cabin, looks out the window and sees more bears. Willie reads a Louis Lamour western.

More bears. As the reader can see, the hour of deep darkness draws nigh. I have to push my ISO up to 6400.

Another mother has come with two smaller cubs, including this one.

The cubs. The one at the right will wander about 100 feet or so away from the other and a bit farther than that from the mother. Ivory, the dog who I recently introduced in a previous post, will chase after that cub.

And then the cub's mother charges Ivory. It was an amazing thing to witness the speed, power and determined force with which the sow charged after Ivory - and it was a little frightening, too. I did not succeed at photographing it - other than this blurry image. Given the low light, my camera just could not zero in on the focus in the brief moment.

Ivory comes running back.

Mom and cubs leave.

Buddy with Ivory, who is safe. Buddy loves the dog greatly, but is quick to point out that Ivory is as much the dog of his brother, whaling captain Thomas Napageak, Jr., as his.

The bears gather to pick scraps off of some bowhead skulls. It is now so dark that I can only shoot at a very slow shutter speed.

I should note that I have a special polar bear story and photo essay from this trip that I am saving exclusively for Uiñiq, so it won't be seen on this blog until well after Uiñiq has had a chance to circulate through its readership.

*A special thanks to Whaling Captain Edward Nukapigak Jr., my host and the man who made it possible for me to take the opening series of close photos. Up until the time we left, I had only been able to get distant shots, almost all in very low light. When it came time to go home, Edward's crew was the last to leave Cross Island. After we had traveled about a quarter mile offshore, Edward spotted six bears on the beach, very close to the place from which we had launched. He turned around and took me right to them.

I could have spent all day photographing those bears, but I am exceptionally grateful for the several minutes that Edward gave me.

I have thought about the Cross Island bears many times since. I want to go back and hang out with them some more. I just want to go back to Cross Island. It can be a cold, bitter, lonesome, dangerous place, but I want to go back.

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The story of an Eskimo drum, part 1:* When she gets sung to on her birthday, Nannie Rae hears the drumbeat of the bowhead whale

Nannie Rae Kaigelak on her 22nd birthday. Originally, after I posted Friday's preview, I said that I would post this story on Monday, yesterday, but I am running behind.

The last image in my entry of September 15 was this one, of Nuiqsut Iñupiat whalers pulling hard on some ropes as they butchered one of the four whales they had landed on Cross Island. This is what the ropes were attached to - sections of maktak that whalers, such as Brian Nukapigak, were cutting away with flensing knifes.

The Iñupiat have hunted bowhead whales since what is known in these parts as "time immemorial." When Jesus walked the earth, the Iñupiat hunted whales - and they prayed before, during and after each hunt. When Christopher Columbus set sail for India and wound up in the Americas, the Iñupiat hunted whales. When the Russians first sailed along the shores of Alaska... well, you get the picture:

The Iñupiat have been hunting whales for a very long time. Tools and methods have been adapted to the times, but the bowhead remains the most important element in Iñupiat diet, culture and way of life. The Iñupiat teach that a whale gives itself only to a worthy crew, one that will freely share it with his community.

This whale gave itself to the crew of Billy Oyagak, who will keep a relatively small share of it for himself, his family and crew and will give the rest of it away. Other than their physical help in the landing, butchering and distribution of the whale, no one will pay him for their shares. And those who are too old, ill, or incapacitated to help will still receive their shares, just as if they had worked hard.

And all who show up for the feasts of Nalukatak, Thanksgiving and Christmas will also be fed generously and will take home shares, whether they participated in the original hunt or not.

As they worked on the whale, I saw Maniksak Nukapigak, left, begin to cut the skin of the liver away from the meat. Others joined in to help. Soon, the liver skin had been removed from the whale and taken to a safe place.

Eric Leavitt had brought this Eskimo dance drum to Cross Island during last year's hunt, but had forgotten to take it home. Now, it needed a resonant new skin to cover it.

After cutting away a properly sized section of the liver skin and placing it on cardboard, Vernon Elavgak, who came from Barrow to whale with the crew of Edward Nukapigak, Jr., double-checked the fit.

Vernon then scraped the skin with a plastic spatula, so as not to tear holes into the skin. 

Vernon and Eric check out the scraped skin. They decide to scrape it some more. Afterward, Vernon takes the skin out into the darkness of the night to wash it off in the salt water of the Beaufort Sea.

Then Eric molds the skin to the drum frame.

Vernon double-checks the fit.

They bind the liver skin to the frame with twine.

Vernon pulls the bind as tightly as he can.

The drum is nearly done.

Vernon examines the inside of the drum skin in the beam of a flashlight held by Eric.

The drum is skinned. As Eric checks it out, Thomas Nukapigak, brother to Edward Jr, passes through with one of the darting guns used in this year's harvest. Eric Leavitt, Jr, "Sonny Boy" observes.

The drum is hung to dry overnight. Everyone who stays in the Nukapigak cabin is expected to leave their autograph on the wall. I would leave mine in two places.

In the morning, Eric checks the drum. The skin has dried. He is ready to put it into action.

Throughout the hunt, every hunter in every camp, every boat and at the Com Center are linked to each other via radio. Captain Edward Jr. puts out a call to Nannie Rae up in the Oyagak cabin. Everybody wishes her happy birthday - but Eric goes a little further.

He sings the traditional American "Happy birthday to you..." song, but accompanies it with the beat of the newly skinned drum.

So when Nannie got her song, it came in part from the bowhead whale that for so long has supported her people.

Remember this, next time you see the Iñupiat of the Arctic Slope dancing to the beat of drums made in the traditional way - that powerful, powerful, drumbeat that you hear is literally the sound of the bowhead whale.

In the evening, I ate a big meal with the Nukapigak crew and then hiked up to the Oyagak cabin, thinking that it was time for Nannie to blow out her candles. I arrived a little bit early. Everyone had just sat down to dine on caribou soup. Nannie ladles out a bowl.

I ate again, and found a huge piece of delicious caribou tongue in my soup. I do not joke or exaggerate - it tasted so, so, good. I have eaten at some fine restaurants in places like New York City, Washington, DC, Cabo San Lucas, Mexico; Bangalore, India and I have enjoyed every bite.

But there is nothing in this world better than Alaska Native food, caught and prepared right. Many people who don't know better shy away from it, but that is just because their palette's have not yet learned. After I finished the first, I downed a second bowl.

When I overeat the kind of food that I generally eat when I hang out down here in Wasilla and elsewhere in the "mainstream" world, I always feel rotten the next day.

On this trip, I overate again and again... whale, caribou, moose, salmon, white fish, polar bear, seal, duck and geese... and not once did it leave me feeling anything but good the next day.

Finally, it was time to light the cake. Nannie joined in the lighting. 

The banner above Nannie's head was hung last year... Cross Island has become the place where she celebrates her birthday. The gentleman standing to the far left is whaling captain Billy Oyagak, who accepted the gift of the 51-foot bowhead that provided the drum skin used on this day to sing "happy birthday" to Nannie Rae.

And then she blows out all of her candles. I wonder what she wished for? I didn't ask, because such wishes are supposed to be kept secret.

*As noted in the title, this is part one of this Eskimo drum story. There might be one more part, maybe two, possibly even three - I am not certain. But for now, I am not going to post them, but will save them for Uiñiq magazine.

One day, well after the next Uiñiq has been published, I will post those parts either here or in whatever this blog has evolved into by then - so, to those who do not have access to Uiñiq, stick with me until then and you will get to see the full series - plus much more that for now I will hold back.

I do plan to put at least two more Cross Island related stories on this blog over the next two or three days.

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Preview of Nannie Rae's Cross Island birthday party; Kalib and Jobe return to the blog

In about one hour, I must leave for an overnight trip to Nikiski, where I will spend the day tomorrow, so I am just plain out of time to put together the Cross Island post that I had planned to do today. The fact is, while I had hoped to have done a complete initial edit of my entire Cross Island/Nuiqsut take by now, so far I have gone through less than one percent of that take.

Once I do go through it, there are huge sections of it that I will not post at all, but will save exclusively for Uiñiq magazine. As for Nannie's birthday, I plan to put it in both the blog and Uiñiq, but in Uiñiq I will probably have to limit it to one or two pictures, whereas here I can post a few.

Here, at least, is a preview of what I plan to post Monday, when I will return this blog to Cross Island/Nuiqsut for two or three more posts:

It is Nannie Rae Kaigelak, with a few of those who gathered in the Cross Island cabin of successful whaling captain Billy Oyagak to celebrate her 22nd birthday.

So I will dedicate my Monday post to a spread that will focus not only on Nannie's birthday, but on a particular Eskimo drum that happened to play a role in that birthday.

If you love Cross Island and you love Nannie Rae - and a great many people do - or even if you have never met Nannie Rae and all that you know of Cross Island is the tiny bit that you have so far seen on this blog, be sure to come back Monday.

In the meantime, come Sunday, I will let Barrow Whaler fans know how the team fared in Nikiski.

So I finally got to see my grandsons and their mom again, yesterday afternoon, when I drove into Anchorage to pick Margie up from this week's babysitting stint.

Here they are, in their driveway.

Little Jobe ALWAYS has a big smile for his grandpa, everytime I see him. 

Martigny was there, too. She never smiles, but she does purr.

As I Margie and I prepared to drive away, Lavina brought Kalib to the window to wave goodbye to us. He did not want us to go. He wanted us to stay. He cried to see us go.

And now, once again, I must go.

That's how my life is. I seldom have time to ever settle down, except for when I was hurt, or Margie was hurt. I am always going.

Go... go... go...

Always.

One day I will be dead and then I will go no more.

I wonder how much I can get done between now and then?

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Cross Island: Young hunters play in the wind; Nanuq family rides in with the ice, takes a stroll down the beach

For days, all the hunters on Cross Island, young and old, male and two females, have been working hard to cut up and prepare the whales. Now it is time for a break. The older hunters retreat to their cabins to get out of the cold wind, to eat, drink coffee, visit and relax.

But the young hunters - their energy is boundless. They eat quickly, then run out to play with the wind. They climb upon a roof, scramble across it and, with the wind at their backs, leap off.

The wind howls in excess of 30 knots. It is the kind of wind that cuts through clothing, skin, fat, blood and meat to chill the bones. 

The young hunters don't care.

To them, the wind is fun. It transforms their coats into sails and pushes them about.

Young hunters, at play with the wind.

For a moment, I worry that the wind will lift him right off the island, hurl him out over the Beaufort Sea and drop him down amongst the icebergs, or perhaps carry him over the top of the North Pole and all the way to Russia.

Won't the Russians be surprised to see a boy from Cross Island drop into their country?

"How did he elude our fighter jets?" Putin will rear his head and grill his military advisers.

It didn't happen that way, though. All the young hunters had fun, but stayed on the ground.

Even as the boys played with the wind, this nanuq family rode in with the ice, then stepped onto the beach and took a stroll.

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