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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Transitions: Wasilla to Cross Island; same state, totally different worlds

I now back up two weeks, to September 1 - a horribly discouraging day for me. It was a day that I contemplated just giving up, to just say the hell with it, to admit that after 35 years of hard, intense, work for which I have accumulated nothing but debt, I'm finished, exhausted, done, wiped out, my career is destroyed - you plunderers at Well's Fargo bank, just take the house and I will take Margie and go live under a bridge somewhere.

But I didn't think Margie would like to live under a bridge, so I decided to rethink the situation.

The thing that had gotten me so down was that I had been planning to cover the Nuiqsut fall bowhead whale hunt based on Cross Island, 79 miles east of the village and about ten miles offshore from the Prudhoe Bay oil fields. At the end of each summer, the Nuiqsut hunters load up their boats, drive them down the Kuukpik River into the chilled waters of the Beaufort Sea and then journey to Cross Island, where they move back into their cabins from where they launch their hunts. 

Under the bowhead quota, Nuiqsut had four strikes to land four whales. Typically, the hunt will last into mid-September and it has been known to extend through the entire month. On Thursday night, August 26, I learned that the crew of Edward Nukapigak, Jr. had invited me to join them and they planned to leave for Cross Island on Sunday, August 29. If I could reach Nuiqsut by Saturday, I could hop on the boat and go with them.

But I couldn't get there by Saturday. I was flat broke, all my credit cards were tapped out and I had no way to pay for my plane ticket - plus, most of my good, Arctic cold weather gear had disappeared and I needed to shop for more. Even in late August/early September, one can easily get chilled into hypothermia out on the Arctic Ocean and so one must be properly dressed.

I had an invoice out that I knew would be paid soon and then I could buy my ticket, pick up a bit of gear and go - I figured by the first or second of September.

If the weather turned good, I reasoned that the Nuiqsut hunters might land one or two bowheads right away, but that would still leave two or three for after I arrived.

As it happened, when the hunters reached Cross Island, they were greeted by a rare, three-day stretch of absolutely perfect weather conditions with whales in the water and they took advantage of it. This year's hunt took place in record speed and all four whales were landed in three days - the last one on September 1, the same day that I photographed this school bus, secured my ticket north, and pulled together cold-weather gear sufficient to the task I had hoped to complete.

I was very happy for the hunters, but discouraged for myself and very disgusted with myself as well, for I should have been there. Although I knew it would take them several days yet to take care of and put up the four whales, I had missed the hunt itself and for awhile it seemed pointless for me to still go.

I decided to go anyway and to see what I could make of it.

I am extremely glad that I did, because once I reached Cross Island, I cast off my depression, immersed myself in the experience and had a truly wonderful time. Plus, as I missed the hunt itself, I now have a good excuse to return for another, so that I can round out and complete my photo essay on Nuiqsut/Cross Island bowhead whaling.

Cross Island is a cold, windy, place where, just to take a walk one must either carry a gun or walk in the presence of others who are armed.

But it is a fantastic place and when the time came to leave I was sad and did not want to go.

Anyway, this is how I got there:

On the morning of September 2, I boarded an Era de Havilland Dash 8 at Anchorage's Ted Stevens International Airport, bound for the Prudhoe Bay airport at Deadhorse, with a brief stop in Fairbanks. The plane was nearly empty, with only six passengers to fill the approximately 40 seats.

We flew past Denali on our way to Fairbanks. So many tourists come here each summer hoping to see this mountain but never get to, as it spends so much of its time shrouded in clouds.

But on this day it was out, and even the murky, plexiglass, window of the Dash 8 could not conceal its magnificence.

One of my five fellow passengers observes the mountain.

As we cross the Tanana River on the approach to Fairbanks International, the pilot has lowered the landing gear. I see a shadow plane coming our way.

It looks to me as though we are on a collision course with the shadow plane.

We are! We are going to collide with the shadow plane! There is no way to avoid it now!

And yet, it is a gentle collision.

We spend 20 minutes on the ground in Fairbanks and then leave for Deadhorse with even fewer passengers than when we landed. I worry about this, because I don't know how an airline can long operate with this kind of passenger load and I want Era to keep this flight going.

"Don't worry," the Stewardess tells me. "We will be full coming out of Deadhorse."

All three of us passengers then pay rapt attention as she delivers the preflight briefing.

When I first got a bike as a young boy living in Missoula, Montana, I hooked up with some friends and we spent the day riding our bikes all over Missoula together. It was one of the most fun days I had yet to experience in my life.

Not long after I first purchased my now crashed airplane, the Citabria that I called Running Dog, I stopped to spend some time in the village of Anaktuvuk Pass, located elsewhere down there in these same Brooks Range mountains.

As it happened, there were two other men living in the village who also had Citabrias. One day, we all hooked up together and we went flying in our separate Citabrias all about these mountains, cutting through various valleys.

I felt just like I did on that day when I was a boy and rode my bike with my friends, all about Missoula, Montana. But now it was the Brooks Range Mountains, Alaska.

Do you begin to understand why I miss that airplane so much? Why I dream of it night after night?

Coming in on final to the Deadhorse airport, a pipeline beneath us.

Touch down at Deadhorse - the airport that serves the Prudhoe Bay oil fields.

I catch a ride to the North Slope Borough's Service Area 10, where Dora Leavitt of Nuiqsut operates a radio communications center for the Nuiqsut whalers, as well as for those at Kaktovik, 100 more miles to the east. She radios Edward Jr., who sends a boat to pick me up, along with some needed supplies, at West Dock, a slow, strictly restricted-speed, forty-minute drive by pick-up truck from the Com Center.

West Dock.

It is Eric Leavitt who comes to get me. He has packed some freshly-boiled uunaalik from the Nukapigak whale for Dora into a cooler to keep it hot. He hands me a piece.

Oh, my! I had not eaten fresh uunaalik in a long time. Tender. So good.

We pass under the bridge and then head out into the ocean. The absolutely perfect conditions that allowed the hunters to land their four whales in three days - record time - are gone now. It is windy and the water is rough. The boat bounces hard across the waves. I do not take pictures, because I have to give my full attention to protecting my cameras and laptop computer from being pounded into oblivion. 

I do this by pulling them close to me. I use my body as a schock absorber.

We reach the island just as everyone takes a break. I go into the Nukapigak cabin and make myself at home. That's captain Edward Jr. on the left, his brother, Thomas, and Eric.

Soon, the work of butchering the last of the four whales commences again. I go out and put myself in the middle of it.

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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 3: Rainey and B-III exchange vows; their first kiss as husband and wife

Naturally, there was a procession of bride's maids and groom attendants that preceded the couple and I wanted to run pictures of all of them, but I pulled aside far too many images for this post than I could practically use, so I decided just to get right to it. Following the entry of their entourages, the bride and groom entered together.

I know this is not how it is traditionally done in the US, but the father of the bride was unable to come down from Point Hope for the ceremony. As the couple saw it, they were giving themselves to each other and so they walked in together. As they walked, Clyde Hugo, sitting just beyond the far edge of the congregation, played "Here Comes the Bride" on his acoustic guitar.

I am running more than half-a-day behind in getting today's post up, so I will hurry right along.

Soon, with their entourages behind them, they stand in front of Reverend Warden, who reads the appropriate script as she leads them toward their vows.

They bow their heads as Reverend Warden offers the first of several prayers.

As the Reverend speaks about the special sacredness and partnership of marriage, they hold hands and look at each other.

They smile a lot.

It is just about time to exchange vows.

Rainey promises to love and cherish her husband.

B-III promises to love and cherish his wife.

Reverend Warden offers another prayer to sanctify this marriage.

B-III prepares to place her ring upon Rainey's finger.

He slides the ring onto her finger.

Now Rainey brings B-III's ring to his finger.

She slips it on to his finger. Now it is time for husband and wife to kiss.

They do. It is not a quick, shy, kiss, but one with feeling and passion, one that lingers a bit.

Even when the kiss ends, the couple continue on in a loving embrace.

Reverend Warden addresses the crowd to tell them that B-III and Rainey are now husband and wife.

Rainey's sister, Angela, cries, just as she did throughout the ceremony.

They pray again.

The ceremony is over. Everyone applauds.

Rainey and B-III hug the woman who wed them.

The people of the village come to embrace them.

As do visitors, who made them feel at home and welcome during the time they lived in Barrow and who are now welcome in Anaktuvuk.

Now Clyde Hugo vigorously plays his guitar as he sings, "You are my Sunshine."

Casey Nay also wept on and off throughout. Now, she lets it all go.

I want to add that this wedding felt exceptionally special to me. Exceptionally.

I will return tomorrow with Part 4, which will be the post-wedding celebration, the part that took place in the gymnasium and the part that happened at the foot of the mountains.

The wedding of Rainey and B-III, part 2: final preparations - the food looks appetizing, the bride, groom and wedding party look sharp in their Iñupiat clothing

The plan had been to hold the wedding in a valley up in the mountains, where the cooks would gather early and prepare much of the food over cooking fires. They tell me that it was 85 degrees in Anaktuvuk Pass the day before I arrived. Some readers may find it hard to imagine that an Arctic community in the mountains can get that hot, but when a high pressure system settles in and the sun shines 24 hours a day, some would be amazed at how warm it can get.

Meanwhile, on the coast, in Barrow, it had been snowing and was cold and the tundra was still covered mostly in white.

But, as we have already seen, by the time I arrived, the weather in Anaktuvuk had cooled down considerably. The wedding day itself began with a hard wind blowing and a cold rain falling. That rained turned to snow which in turn hardened into a thin layer of ice upon the roof tops.

All the food preparation had to be done inside - not only in the home of B-3 and Rainey, but in other Anaktuvuk homes as well.

Here, Neva and Joe Hickman prepare lake trout caught up in the mountains for baking. In the background, Rainey consults with her sister, Angela on the final construction of the salmonberry wedding cakes.

Angela works on the cakes. Everyone is busy.

Angela spreads a salmonberry glaze upon the bottom layer of a salmonberry cake.

Not only guests, but fruit grown in much more southerly latitudes also came in on the planes that brought people and provisions to the wedding.

Elizabeth Marino uses a traditional Iñupiat ulu to cut watermelon.

No whales swim anywhere near inland Anaktuvuk, but the Iñupiat people share and trade all of their foods among themselves and so it happened that bowhead maktak - the black skin with a bit of blubber still attached - had come down from the coast. Cathy Rexford of Barrow uses an ulu to cut the frozen maktak.

For those who may be horrified at the thought of eating blubber, please note that it looks very different and is of a completely different consistency than is the fat of the farmed animals that most Americans are used to.

Whereas the cholesterol in farmed animals is the bad kind that clogs arteries and leads to heart attacks, the cholesterol in maktak is the good kind that cleans arteries and helps to prevent heart attacks. Maktak is also high in vitamin c. This is the food that The Creator put in the north for the people of the north.

And when one is in the north, when one gets past the food prejudices that one grew up with, one can discover that maktak tastes delicious and when the weather turns cool will actually grave it, for maktak warms the body in a way that lentils do not.

Jana Harcharek of Barrow also cut maktak. 

Elvira Gueco, originally of the Philippines but now of Barrow, not only brought an Asian touch to the food, but a tropical one as well. She also prepared some chicken and caribou dishes in her Asian way and it would all prove excellent.

The bride mixes blueberries and salmonberries, picked from the tundra. She added a touch of freshly squeezed lemon juice.

Even now, when I think back to the wedding feast, I want more!

After it was prepared, the food was taken to the school gymnasium, where, in lieu of the mountain valley, the wedding would now be held. There is a Presbyterian Chapel in Anaktuvuk, but it is tiny and did not have enough space for the wedding.

The population of Anaktuvuk Pass, by the way, is a bit over 200.

As such, it is the largest human community located within in the entire Brooks Range, which stretches from the west coast of Northern Alaska all the way across into Canada's Yukon Territory.

Once the food was all prepared, the time came to prepare the bride and groom. There would be no tuxedoes or fancy gowns at this wedding - it was Iñupiat clothing, lovingly sewn. Casey Nay and B-III's sister Kayla do some touch-up's on the groom.

The wedding party has now moved into some school-teachers quarters across the street from the school, empty now for the summer. Rainey puts on her wedding mukluks, which she made from white wolf leg skins, moose hide, leather, and beads.

This is only the second pair of mukluks that she has made in her life.

Angela takes a look at her sister, dressed now in her wedding clothes. "Beautiful!" she proclaims. Sarah Hopson, a sister to the groom, agrees with a big smile.

Rainey removed her mukluks before crossing the street to the school so that she would not get mud on them. At the school, she puts her mukluks back on as B-III pulls on the pair that she made for him from caribou leg skins, black and white calf skin, red deer leather, and native tanned moose hide.

"Not bad for my first pair!" she writes on her own blog, Stop and Smell the Lichen.

As for the tradition that the bride and groom must not see each other on the day of wedding prior to the ceremony, that is a western formality that Rainey and B-III decided not to follow. Presbyterian Pastor Mary Ann Warden had come down from Barrow to perform the ceremony. 

Reverend Warden always likes to have a prayer before the ceremony and this was the first time that she had been able to have one with the bride and groom together, rather than separate.

She liked it.

Members of the bridal entourage hold hands during the prayer.

Members of the groom's entourage hold hands during the prayer.

Now it is time for the procession to enter the gym turned wedding hall.

Yesterday, I stated that I would post the actual wedding today, but I was wrong, both because I had unexpected company (some of it still here in the form of Jacob, Kalib and Jobe) and because it is a pretty big task.

I will post the wedding tomorrow, barring any other significant distractions.

So be certain to come back.