Taktuk's email regarding Interior's decision to allow Shell Oil to drill exploratory wells in the Chukchi Sea

Please note: My regular daily post, including the final installment of Kalib Moves Out, will still appear Thursday, just a little later than normal. It is scheduled to come up at 10:00 AM.

Long time readers will remember Taktuk - Roberta Ahmaogak of Wainwright and her daughter, Cara, from when they danced at Kivgiq this past February.

On Monday, the US Interior Department announced it's decision to allow Shell Oil to drill three exploratory wells in the Chukchi Sea, which, to Taktuk, her family and community, is the garden that feeds them.

See that flag flying behind her?

That is the flag of Iceberg 14, the bowhead whaling grew started by her grandfather - her Aapa - the late Ben Ahmaogak, Sr. - the whaling captain who, in 1995, took me in and made me part of his crew and family. This year, due to poor weather and ice conditions, this was the only flag to be raised over a bowhead in Wainwright during the entire whaling season.

I took this photo shortly before midnight on June 27, towards the end of the whale feast that Iceberg 14 hosted that day.

Yesterday, I received an email from Taktuk that she sent to a number of people, asking all to pass it on, so that's what I'm doing.

In the Anchorage Daily News, Senator Lisa Murkowsi, top Republican on the Senate Energy and Natural Resources Committee, said this about the decision to allow Shell to drill:

"This is progress... an encouraging sign that Alaska's oil and natural gas resources can continue to play a major role in America's energy security."

This is what Interior Secretary Ken Salazar was quoted as saying:

"Our approval of Shell's plan is conditioned on close monitoring of Shell's activities to ensure that they are conducted in a safe and environmentally responsible manner. These wells will allow the department to develop additional information and to evaluate the feasibility of future development in the Chukchi Sea."

This is the quote from Marilyn Heiman, the U.S. Arctic program director for the Pew Environment Group:

"Obviously we're disappointed. A spill could happen from an exploratory well just as easily as it could from a production well. They have not yet demonstrated they have the ability and the expertise to clean up an oil spill, especially in the darkness, the extreme weather and the icy conditions."

According to the Daily News, "Shell Alaska Vice President Pete Slaiby said that company executives believe their exploration plan addresses concerns they've heard in North Slope communities, 'including concerns around program footprint and pace. Shell believes the Chukchi Sea could be home to some of the most prolific, undiscovered hydrocarbon basins in North America.'"

To me personally, none of the above voices mean anything. The one voice that matters to me is that of the Iñupiat, because the Chukchi Sea is their home, their dinner table, their life. Their culture is thousands of years old and it was shaped by this sea. No development should take place in this sea without their consent.

But that is not how the power structure works.

It should also be noted that, right now, a difficult cleanup operation is ongoing for a "one of the worst" onshore oil spills at Prudhoe Bay. If it can happen onshore, it can happen offshore. Given enough development, enough time, it even seems inevitable. What happens when that oil spills, not onto frozen tundra but into the ocean, with the bowhead whales, the beluga, the polar bear, walrus, the big bearded seal and the small spotted seal, the eider ducks, the murres and all the seabirds?

Here is Taktuk's email, which she titled,

Pray for Our People

OK- So if you're a maktak eater, whale steak lover, paniqtaq lover, if you sew beautiful skins to make beautiful jackets or boots, an artist who scrimshaws on ivory of the walrus, if you eat urraq, fish, go duck hunting during the spring, if you eat that beautiful taste of nanuq meat.... Keep this message going! 

WE ARE INUPIAQ! We hunt for a living and for a lifestyle! This is our culture, and this is who we are. We hunt and we survive, this is what makes WHO WE ARE!

Who is Shell? Who WAS Shell? Do they have ears? Why us? Why our people? Why THIS precious culture?

To the people who work for Shell: If it were possible for you to live with us on a daily basis, go to work, make a living, go out hunting to feed your family, think like us, eat like us, live with us for an entire year- YOU WOULD UNDERSTAND WHY THIS HURTS US SO MUCH!!! But you can't understand, and you will never understand! You think that a brand new snowmachine every winter will fix our problems, a brand new truck will keep us above the snow banks, a new boat with a faster engine!!! You're WRONG! We can fix our broken snowmachines! We can pull you out within minutes! Our camping grounds aren't going anywhere and we'll make it to our camping grounds safely!

Spending money is so easy! Making people happy, you think? Read your numbers! Money kills! Money destroys!

We love our quiet village. We love sobriety! We are ALL Inupiaq! Soon there'll be MORE Inupiaq teachers in our schools!

Who's with Shell? Tell me what goods will come out of it! How many spotters will you pay? How many marine mammal observers will you have to look at their changing migration routes? Give me your plan! I want to see what's going out in our view!

What you're doing to us is Murder! My culture, my people has no choice but to face you! Don't you get enough bad looks?

Put your money into wind turbines for the whole nation, make energy efficent vehicles that work in the sub-zero temperatures...

Put your money into something that doesn't spell SPILL or DISASTER!

Why us? What power don't you see that's within our communities? What can we do to STOP you besides holding hands, forming a line with posters "OVER MY DEAD BODY!", or driving us to jail!?!? You're walking all over us. You look down at us. You're higher than us.

We know there is OIL out there. Why can't you simply put a stop to this? Simply, help our culture by keeping off "OUR" land and sea! It is rightfully ours because we hunt the sea animals and sea mammals. Forget the federal lands and oceans. Think about this culture that you're trying to kill!

Read it again and again and again.

What will happen if there happens to be an oil spill? What precautions will we see? What happens to the mammals of our sea? Die? How will you stop the oil spill? What happens to our next generation? Would they continue to hunt in our ancestors routes?

Don't tell me, "We'll do our best!"

- My name is Taktuk, and I'm a student at UAA (University of Alaska, Anchorage), a resident of Wainwright, Alaska, lover of all sea mammals!

Feed me, not your kind words nor your answers.

Listen to 1 more person! 1 can make a difference!

Another reminder: Our only option now is to say a prayer- to keep them at bay!

Russia, as seen from Alaska: Ten views, including one through a living room window and another from a front porch

While roaming my computer, I came upon a shoot that I did in Little Diomede in late March, 2005. As one resident of my hometown managed to turn the very real truth that you can see Russia from Alaska into a national joke, I decided to run this series of photos that I took in Alaska, with Russia in the background.

View #1: Flying into Little Diomede, Alaska, from Nome. The smaller island in front is Little Diomede. The larger island in the back is Big Diomede, Russia.

View #2: Russia through the wind screen. The pilot banks hard to avoid flying into Russian airspace, as that would upset the Russians.

View #3: Russia as seen from the Iñupiat village of Little Diomede, where a polar bear skin hangs to dry.

View #4: Russia, as seen from a front porch in Little Diomede.

View #5: Russia, behind a sled dog tethered to Alaska.

View # 6: Orville Ahkinga Sr. looks out his Little Diomede window toward Russia.

You can't even see Russia in this picture, but where are these kids headed to? Could it be Russia? They would only have to travel about two-and-a-half miles.

View #7: The kids head off to Russia. No! I jokes! The Russians don't allow that. When you are on Little Diomede, you can look at Russia, but not touch Russia. There are military men stationed there to make certain that you don't and they will detain you if you try.

The kids are going to catch a plane that will take them to a basketball tournament down in Gambell on St. Lawrence Island - another Alaskan community from which I have photographed mountains that stand in Russia. In Gambell, the day must be very clear to see those Russian mountains, as they are 40 miles away.

In 1994, I flew to Russia in a North Slope Borough helicopter. Our route was Barrow-Nome-Gambell-Providenyia. After that, although our pilot had cleared us to fly to other places, Russian officials changed their minds and made us leave the helicopter on the ground. So we flew around in a Russian helicopter that was, essentially, a big, flying, bus.

Perhaps, one day, I will recount that trip here. It was amazing and caused me to fall in love with Russia, or at least the far east tip of the country. Everywhere I go, I seem to fall in love with the place, but I always come back to my first love - Alaska.

By the way, there is no permanent airstrip at Little Diomede, which rises sharply from the water. This is the ice of the Bering Strait.

The weather here often gets so bad that planes do not come in for days, even weeks. After the ice starts to seriously melt, the planes will not come at all.

In the summer time, the weather and waters are treacherous, making it very risky to try to come in with a float plane. There is sporadic helicopter service, weather permitting.

View #8: Returning home from the maternity ward of the Alaska Native Medical Center in Anchorage, Jamie Ahkinga places a hand over little Marcus Kobe Okpealuk, the baby that she now keeps sheltered under her Parka. While in Anchorage she also went shopping at Wal-Mart with the man who holds her hand, Lane Okpealuk, father of Marcus.

View #9: Standing on the Bering Strait, waiting to fly to Nome.

View #10: Freight is taken off the plane and luggage loaded on, with Russia looming in the background.

Just minutes ago, she stood on the Bering Strait with Russia standing behind her. My time at Little Diomede was much too short and I wanted to go back. I imagined that the next winter or spring I might come and hang out for awhile, but it didn't work out that way. Now, where is that wealthy philanthropist that is going to drop half-a-mil or so on me so that I can do this blog right? So that I can hop off to places like Little Diomede at will? In my own airplane?

FOR HELL'S SAKE! PHILANTHROPIST! Patron! WHERE ARE YOU??????

Cocoon mode* - day 16: Three check the mail, Daniel hunts for moose, a dog stalks me, the leaves go fast

As I drove down Gail Street, I saw a grandmotherly woman and two small children check their mail. 

I was pedaling my bicycle, when I saw this young man walking alongside Church Road with a rifle slung over his shoulder. "What are you hunting?" I shouted.

"Moose," he answered, just as I knew he would, for what else could he have been hunting?

I parked my bike, climbed the little hill and shot two frames in two seconds, as that's about as fast as I can do it with the pocket camera.

His name was Daniel and he had not seen a moose at all, but he had saw a man who had shot one.

"Good luck," I said, as I returned to my bike.

I should have got his phone number and address, so that if he brought down a moose, I could have gone over and got a chunk.

And as I traversed Brockton on foot, I spotted a dog stalking me through the trees. I stopped, pointed my pocket camera at it and it fled deeper into the trees, but still followed. I thought of its wolf ancestors. I imagined that it was a wolf and I was a woodland caribou with a sprained ankle, worried for my life.

Eventually, it went into a nearby yard, and then watched me warily from behind this tent. It followed me no further.

The caribou had survived. It's ankle would heal.

The poor damn wolf would starve.

At least this one would, for I think it was rather incompetent, and a bit cowardly.

The pack had booted it out and wanted nothing more to do with it.

The leaves are coming down fast. Soon, ravens will shout at each other and at me, from the bare branches of the birch trees. It is supposed to snow tonight, but the snow is not supposed to stick.

*Cocoon mode: Until I finish up a big project that I am working on, I am keeping this blog at bare-minimum simple. I anticipate about one month.

I spent my day pretty much right here, in my office in my house in Wasilla, but sometimes I forgot and thought I was on the Arctic Slope

Except for a couple of brief breaks to eat and walk, I spent the day right where I sit right now, in front of my computer screen, my mind deep into the Arctic Slope. This is how it will be for quite some time to come - until I feel good enough about Margie's progress that I can return to the Slope. 

Due to her fall, I am way behind where I had thought I would be by now, but I am going strong, editing my take from the five weeks that I just spent up there as one step that I must take to put my special issue of Uiñiq Magazine together.

As always when I must do almost nothing but sit here and work, Jimmy, my good black cat buddy, has been right here with me, all the time, helping me along. Today, I worked on the caribou hunt take and if you are curious about all those black dots on the screen, they are mosquitoes. Here, Jimmy uses his tail to suggest how I should crop this image. I am going to reject his suggestion, however, and you will understand why once you see the picture unobstructed by his tail and butt.

The truth is, cats are not good picture editors. And you should never listen them when they suggest crops. They are lousy picture croppers.

The onscreen picture was taken at 12:02 AM, July 14, my birthday, in the light of the midnight sun.

As I was unable to find the time to edit and post very many images at all while I traveled, but would like to share the stories with my blog readers who will never see Uiñiq, I think that once the special is out, I will break it down into several posts and run it here, just for you.

I will even be able to run pictures that a lack of space will not allow me to put in the magazine.

Of course, the day did not begin at my computer, but with me lying in bed, wondering whether I should make this the fourth day in a row that I disciplined myself to eat oatmeal, or if I should get out of bed, head to Family Restaurant and have somebody cook an omelette for me as someone else waited on me.

I decided to do the undisciplined thing and go, but first I fixed oatmeal for Margie. I wanted to bring her along but she found the thought too frightening and so did I.

As I ate my omelette, I was surprised to see Jim Christensen walk in with his daughter, Jennifer. Back in the days when I published Uiñiq on a regular basis, Jim was a North Slope Borough Public Safety Officer - a cop. He also flew a Citabria, just like me.

Now he lives in Wasilla. He wanted to stay on the Slope, because he finally had all that he needed to go out and enjoy the good life that can be had there - boat, snowmachine, rifles, shotguns, fishing gear, etc., but his wife insisted they leave and come down to Wasilla's more mild climate.

Funny thing is, his wife is Iñupiat and Jim is taniq, like me.

As Jim and I visited, I was even more surprised to see another Barrow face walk through the door - Adeline Hopson, here with her grandson, Rashad. Adeline still lives in Barrow with husband Charlie, but was visiting.

I should not have been surprised, as I frequently run into North Slope people in Wasilla. And when I go to Anchorage, I almost always do.

Rashad looks at me through the Family window as I leave.

A boat ride on the Kuukpik River, a harmonica at the Singspiration

Immediately after I snapped this frame, I decided that it would be my one picture for the day, no matter what else I shot. It is Jimmy Nukapigak of Nuiqsut, who has just picked white fish from his subsistence nets and is heading up the Kuukpik (Colville) River to Niglig. 

Also visible is Fred Brower, also from Nuiqsut, and Darin Morrey, from Anaktuvuk Pass in the Brooks Range mountains.

Jimmy lived in Barrow when I first met him, but Nuiqsut sits in his ancestral homeland and he moved back several years ago. He does not miss Barrow. He prefers village life, and enjoys being able to get out on the river and to head into the country, just like that.

Morrey was very impressed with the size of the river and of the fish, because the waters that flow through Anaktuvuk, which sits atop the continental divide between the Arctic Ocean and the Bering Sea are streams - shallow, cold, swift and pure.

Me, I was most impressed with the fresh-grilled whitefish that I ate at Nigliq. It had been cooked with bacon and...aaaaahhhh... food in town never tastes that good, not even when cooked by the finest chef in the world.

I know - this makes it two pictures. My discipline has been lost. It's just that after I placed the river picture, I got to thinking of another of Jimmy that I took Wednesday night as he played his harmonica at the Singspiration held at the Nuiqsut Presbyterian Church, even as others sang, played guitars and spoons, too.

I wish that I could tell you what gospel song was being sung at this moment, but I can't remember.

I can tell you this, though, in every song there was power and spirit. The one that moved me the most - right to the point where I could not stop tears from coming down my face - was How Great Thou Art. 

Elvis Presley may have made this song famous, but until you have heard the Iñupiat sing it, you have not yet heard it.

I am not proselyting here, because the fact is when it comes to religion, God, and death, it is all a great mystery to, an unkown for which I do not claim to know any answer. For those few of you who may have known me way, way, way, way back when I was a missionary myself, this statement may come as a shock, but it is the truth. 

It is all a mystery to me.

And to the rest of you who know me but did not know me back then, the revelation that I was once a missionary probably comes as a shock to you.

Sooner or later, I will get into this subject.

But when I hear the Iñupiat sing Gospel, I believe - 100 percent - in the power and strength that comes straight out of the heart and spirit of those who I hear sing.

Tomorrow, I go home. As always, with mixed feelings - so eager to see my wife, family, cats and Muzzy, too.

So sad to leave the Slope.

I hate to sound silly and sentimental, but in this hard, tough, cold place where nature is so brutal, there is something special, something warm and it belongs to this place and people and it cannot be found anywhere else.

Just here. And when I leave, I will miss it.