We celebrate my birthday in Anchorage to the taste of Arctic char from Kaktovik

On the evening of my birthday, I drove into Anchorage where most of the rest of my family already was. Margie had been staying with Jacob and Lavina since the day that I left for Kaktovik, as Jobe had been a little under the weather and she needed to take care of him while Lavina worked.

Soon after I arrived, Lavina threw a few of the Arctic char that I had brought back from Kaktovik onto the grill.

These particular char were given to me by Marie Rexford. Elizabeth Rexford also gave me a generous number from the cache of she and husband Fenton.

Oh, boy, was it tasty! Char is one of my favorite fish - right up there with salmon, halibut and trout.

Thank you, Marie, Fenton and Elizabeth - your generosity made my birthday extra special.

I will still try to work a few char fishing pictures in here, maybe tomorrow, maybe Sunday, maybe Monday.

I am told that Kalib still wields the spatula - usually on a weekend morning when he is cooking eggs, but I have not personally seen him carry the spatula for awhile.

It had been rainy and cool when I drove out of Wasilla, but when I got out of the car at Jacob and Lavina's house, the sun shone brightly upon me and I was surprised by how hot it felt - just like I remember from the southern Arizona desert.

Well, maybe not quite that hot.

We ate on the table that graces the back deck of Jacob and Lavina's house. When I sit here, I am always amazed at the typical American suburban environs my son and daughter-in-law have planted themselves in and how comfortable they seem within.

After dinner, a few of us sat in the living room and talked while others readied something out in the kitchen that I was not supposed to see just yet.

It was Lisa whose stories dominated the conversation, and they were mostly about the dogs that she had been caring for while their owners were away. One day, she came to the house to find that one of the dogs had pooped on important tax papers. She had to save those papers, and the process involved rubber gloves and drying and sterilizing things and it was not pleasant.

Charlie said the dog had only done what everybody wants to do.

After she told the story, Jacob came out with Jobe. Jobe tackled Jacob.

Look up there, on the wall. It's Jobe's Apache cradleboard, the one made especially for him by one of the most skilled cradleboard makers on the White Mountain Apache Reservation - his Aunt LeeAnn.

Jobe will never sleep in it again.

That makes me kind of sad, yet I so greatly enjoy watching him grow, learn and experience.

Margie came out, pulled the curtains and turned out the lights. Then Melanie entered from the kitchen, followed by Kalib, Margie and Lavina. She carried the object that I had not been allowed to see until now. It was a flaming cake that she had made, just for me.

Count the number of candles and you will see that on my birthday, I turned younger than I had been for five decades.

The little ones watched intently as grandma inhaled a deep breath. Could he do it? Not quite!

So Kalib, the expert candle blower-outer, finished the job.

Once again, I drove home by myself. Jobe was doing quite a bit better, but Lavina's good friend, Sandy, has hit her due date and could go into labor at any minute. She wants Lavina with her when she delivers and Lavina has promised that she will be. 

Jacob had to leave for Kipnuk early in the morning, so Margie stayed to be on hand to care for the little ones should another little one choose the next day to be born.

This is what I saw as I neared Wasilla, just a few minutes before midnight.

Midnight won't look like this for much longer.

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An ugly/beautiful fish gets plucked off the glass and is put to work; Roy Ahsoak and Ben Hopson at the beginning of a long drive

Those who knew my blog back during the time that Jacob, Lavina, and Kalib lived with us, before there was a Jobe, will remember that Kalib loved my fish. Every night, he had to feed them. So, when the family moved into a home of their own, I gave Kalib one of my 55 gallon tanks to take to his new home.

He was very fond of "Bobby" - the name he gave the big plecostomus that lived in my 90 gallon tank, so I gave Bobby to him as well.

And for all that time since, there has not been a plecostomus in the 90 gallon tank. The water inside has been kept clean and good, but there had been a bad algae buildup on the inner tank walls, which kind of mucked up the whole viewing experience.

So I finally went and bought a pleco from my local fish dealer, Alaska Reef and Freshwater. At first, Sergey, the owner and founder, tried to catch it with a little net, but couldn't. He gave up, plunged his hand into the tank, grabbed hold of it, pried it off the glass...

...and pulled it out.

He opened a bag...

...and put the pleco in it. He then put this bag into another bag, filled with air, just in case the pleco should poke a hole in it.

And here is the pleco, finally cleaning the algae from my 90 gallon tank. The pleco is observed by my ten or eleven year-old parrot fish who I bought as a baby all those years ago.

I love that parrot. He is friendly and smart and I will be sad when he dies. He is getting old.

In about two days, I expect the walls of this tank to shiny clean, free of algae.

This morning, Ben Hopson and Roy Ahsoak stopped in Wasilla at the beginning of a three-day drive that will end in Barrow, hopefully Sunday afternoon. We had breakfast together at Subways, courtesy of Roy.

I know - some of you are wondering... how can they drive to Barrow? No roads lead to Barrow. There is a road that goes to the Prudhoe Bay oil fields and there is a temporary ice road that is made by spraying water onto a Rollagon path across the tundra that leads all the way to Barrow.

Temperatures along the route are still dropping to as cold as -30, but the thaw is coming and so the road will be closed for the season April 20.

It is not a good idea to make such a drive alone, so Roy and Ben will be meeting Clancy Itta in Fairbanks and he will drive to Barrow with them. I think there might be a third vehicle in the caravan as well.

The new truck and boat belong to Roy. He was planning to leave the boat in Prudhoe Bay and then come back and pick it up in the summer after the ice goes out, but, if the weather and driving conditions look good, he just might take it all the way to Barrow.

By air, 850 miles separate Barrow from Anchorage - where they began. The drive, of course, will be more than that, but I do not know how much more.

If I had this blog to where I would truly like to get it - if I could make this blog my livelihood and do with it what I want to do, I think I would have jumped into the truck with them and then blogged the whole experience.

That would have been fun.

Safe travels, Roy and Bennie.

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The big crash strikes; Eight studies of the young writer, Shoshana; fish greet us at Sakura Sushi

Two posts ago, I mentioned how I have reached a state in which my body just seems to have forgotten how to sleep - I go night after night with very little sleep until suddenly I just crash and sleep.

Such a crash happened that very night. I don't know what time I went to bed - somewhere between midnight and 1:00 AM, I believe. I felt so tired that my eyelids seemed to be falling to the floor and I could not think to compose even the simplest email or to return a Facebook message or comment.

So I went to bed and just zoned out. Cats came in and piled on top of me, adding a pleasant warmth to the blankets that covered me. I did wake up a few times, but only briefly and then went right back to sleep.

I did not wake up for good until afternoon.

AFTER NOON!!!

Just by a few minutes, but still afternoon.

And I woke up feeling somewhat pleasant, which felt very odd and not quite right. No. It did not feel right at all and it didn't last but that's how it was for several minutes.

I had a great deal of work ahead of me but I didn't do any of it - except to put up yesterday's blog post on Clark James Mishler, which went up much later than I had intended - not until 4:04 PM.

Immediately afterward, I jumped into the car and headed to Metro Cafe to buy my NPR - All Things Considered listening and driving coffee.

Shoshana greeted me at the window and I told her that I had not taken a single picture all day long and that I had better shoot some frames of her right now because darkness was setting down heavy and if I didn't, I might somehow not take a picture this entire day and that would not be good.

She was game for it, so I shot this series of Eight Studies of the Young Writer, Shoshana.

The above image, in case any reader has not already surmised, is Study # 1.

Eight Studies of the Young Writer, Shoshana: Study # 2

Eight Studies of the Young Writer, Shoshana: Study # 3

Eight Studies of the Young Writer, Shoshana: Study # 4

Eight Studies of the Young Writer, Shoshana: Study # 5

Eight Studies of the Young Writer, Shoshana: Study # 6

Eight Studies of the Young Writer, Shoshana: Study # 7

Eight Studies of the Young Writer, Shoshana: Study # 8

It is my hope that one day, far in the future, a researcher of some sort will be delving into all that took place in and concerning Wasilla, Alaska at this time in history and will conclude that while on the national scene Wasilla was a noisy place, what proved to be the most important event to concern this town was that a young writer named Shoshana quietly performed her job at Metro Cafe.

Perhaps The New Yorker will still be around, or there will some other publication of some sort or another that fills the same niche.

That publication will run these pictures and they will state, "Eight images of the noted author, Shoshana of Wasilla, Alaska, photographed by the erstwhile blogger, Bill Hess, when she was young and working at Metro Cafe."

Just before 2010 ended, I received an exceptionally generous donation from a reader who specified that I was to use to to take Margie out to a fine dinner. I figured this was the night to do it.

There is a new restaurant in Wasilla called Sakura Sushi. It took over the spot previously occupied by Wasilla's only Indian restaurant. I was a little dismayed by that, because I like to get Indian food now and then so that I can sit there, breathe in the familiar aromas, eat and remember India.

But I love Sushi, too, and so we decided to give it a try. We entered the door and were greeted by fish. 

Beyond the fish, people were gathering.

It was a very long wait, but so what? The company was good. I have never been able to convince Margie that raw fish is good, so when we go to a sushi place, she orders something else - on this night, teriyaki chicken and tempura shrimp and vegetables.

My sushi was served first, but I resisted and waited until she got her meal before I ate mine.

My first bite was of the roll on the upper right hand corner of the dish - dipped in wasabi and soy sauce.

Oooooooohhhh my! 

Heaven! Heaven! Heaven!

Heaven...

And every bite that followed was like heaven and this proved true for Margie, too.

It was well worth the wait.

To have a sushi restaurant of such quality, right here in Wasilla, Alaska...

If I were rich, I would eat here 30 times a week.

Or maybe twice.

Perhaps just once, so as not to render the experience commonplace.

But I would want to eat here 30 times a week.

Here is the master chef, O.B. I learned nothing of his history, but he did speak with a strong Japanese accent. I hope he loves Wasilla, because I do not want him to leave.

And here is our host and waitress, as I pay the bill. I did not catch their names.

On the way out, we passed by the fish, who seemed unaware, contented enough.

Thank you, Michael P, for a wonderful dinner out with my wife.

Also let that future researcher also note that on this day, a master chef sliced up some excellent sushi in Wasilla, Alaska, and someone broke down on the side of an icy road, where someone else stopped to help.

As to sleep, now that the crash has come and gone, I am right back to the same place. I went to bed at 4:00 this morning and could not sleep a wink past 7:00 - and I didn't sleep all that great in between.

I did stay home, where I cooked oatmeal and ate it with berries and walnuts.

And this one from India:

A vendor in Ooty as photographed through the open window of our taxicab as our driver drove the newly-weds Soundarya and Anil, Vasanthi, Buddy, Melanie and me through the bustling street, where goats, horses and ox mingled with people driving motor bikes, cars, trucks and auto-rics.

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Goodbye, Warren Matumeak - part 5: Singspiration slide show; when Tommy saved his aapa's life

I am going to do things a little differently with this, my final post in this series. Anyone who has followed this blog for the past month or so will probably understand when I state that, at the moment, I am drained. I am exhausted.

So, instead of presenting my 14 image singerspiration post in the usual way - with images that alternate with narrative, I am inserting this one photo into the post and I present the rest entirely as a slide show. This means there will not be captions or any kind of explanation, but I think you will get the idea.

I do want to say a little more about two images, however. Very near to the end of slide show, you will see an image of Warren's daughters Alice Akpik and Darlene Matumeak standing just behind the pulpit. As they were bringing the singspiration for the their father to an end, they were suddenly struck with such emotion that they had to step back from the pulpit to fight off the tears.

As they stood there, the congregation spontaneously began to sing - softly, tenderly and lovingly, "Praying for You." So in that photo, Alice and Darlene are wrapped in that song of prayer offered by those gathered with them in the Utqiagvik Presbyterian Chapel.

While all the people of Barrow and just about anywhere on the Arctic Slope will recognize the gentleman standing with his guitar in the final two shots as Peter Matumeak, Warren's son, I want to be certain that readers who do not know him understand this as well.

Click here for full, 14-image Singspiration for Warren Matumeak slide show.

Before I went to Barrow, I mentioned that I had rounded up a number of pictures that I had taken of Warren in life, but that there were many more that I could not find - including my very favorite. I have found that photo, of Warren with his grandson, Tommy Akpik, which I present below, along with the story. I believe that I took it in the fall of 1986, not long after I had begun Uiñiq magazine:

Beneath a full, October moon that hung in a pale blue sky, Warren Matumeak and his nine-year old grandson Tommy came upon three caribou. Warren shot the first, and Tommy the other two. As they dragged the dead caribou onto the sled, Warren felt a pain in his chest. He began to sweat. His muscles grew weak, his breath short.

He realized he was suffering a heart attack. “Tommy,” he said, “I am going to go to heaven now. You take me to your grandmother. Now, drive toward the moon. Going that direction, you will see your aaka."  Warren did not expect to be alive to see her himself. Tommy was frightened, but he helped situate his grandfather on the sled. Then he started up the snowmachine, turned it toward the moon and began to drive.

He cried as he pulled the sled upon which he expected to deliver the body of his aapa to his aaka.

Aapa Warren had taught Tommy how to shoot, to hunt and how to live on the land and sea. Tommy would not let Aapa down in the moment of his death. Tommy drove slowly over the bumpy tundra, until the snowmachine became stuck in a drifted-over ravine. Tommy tried with all of his strength, but could not push it out.

“Let’s pray" Warren suggested. They did. Warren then found the strength to help Tommy push the snowmachine out.  An hour later, Tommy pulled up to the tent. He and his grandmother lay Warren down upon some caribou skins, then snowmachined to a nearby camp with a radio which they used to call Search and Rescue.

When the helicopter arrived, Martha joined her husband on board, but there was no room for Tommy. He went to the camp of his aapa's sister and brother-in-law, Thomas and Myrtle Akootchook, but lingered outside. Finally, Myrtle went looking and found him sitting outside, crying. Myrtle brought Tommy in, and gave him a can of soda pop.

That seemed to cheer Tommy up a bit.

Paul Herbert, "Snook," cuts the fish he caught in his wheel - Part 2 of 2

The fish that Paul Herbert, "Snook" caught in his fishwheel have been put on the cutting table, directly in front of his smokehouse.

Snook has sharpened his knife. He feels the edge. It is smooth and sharp, ready to slice through salmon flesh.

Just as he learned to do as a boy while living with his grandmother, Belle Herbert, Snook cuts his fish. He works swiftly and expertly.

He fillets a salmon, leaving the two halves connected at the tail.

He cuts the end off at an angle, to create a shape that will facilitate the drying process.

Pushing down hard, Snook runs the knife over the cut fish in a way that will squeeze out the blood. Too much blood left behind could ruin the meat.

Snook makes angle cuts through the flesh at regular intervals. 

Each cut leaves a clean strip of white on the inside of the skin. This will allow the skin to stretch so that the segments of cut meat are separated through the drying and smoking process.

Applying considerable pressure, Snook runs the knife over the salmon skin to begin the stretching process.

He soaks the cut fish in brine for a spell.

After the fish soak, Snook places them on a rack where they will hang briefly.

As they hang, he stretches the skin some more. He wants to be certain that segments that he has cut do not come in contact with each other, as this could cause them to spoil.

After the fish hang for a spell on the outside rack, Snook transfers them into his smokehouse.

The fish that Paul has cut hang in the smoke.

Snook had been a little worried that the big red king might have been too far along on its spawning journey, but when he cut into it, he found that the flesh was still good. He will cut this one up into sections for freezing.

He places the cuts sections in a large bowl for washing.

His wife Alma washes the cut sections.

Snook had also cut salmon strips, which he will now transfer from the outside rack into the smokehouse. Yellow jacket hornets gather around, hoping to get a share.

Harold Frost who had come from Old Crow, Yukon Territory, to play his fiddle at the Gwich'in Gathering stops by. Alma gives him a box of salmon that she had jarred the day before to put in his boat and take home with him.

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