When on the ice, always look before you pee

I now take the reader back a bit over one month ago, either to the final minutes of May 10 or the opening minutes of May 11. I am unsure which day it was, I only know it was right about midnight, so it could have been either one. It is true that my camera stamps the time shot into the metadata of each image, but it is also true that I have only had this camera for about four years and so have not yet found the time to set the time.

Anyway, it was right about midnight, May 10 - 11, the final full night of my last trip up north. I was in the Saggan whaling camp of Edward Itta, Mayor of the North Slope Borough, and I realized that it was time to visit the latrine.

The people who know the ice will tell you that when on it, you must always be alert and prepared for polar bears. You, or someone nearby, must always have a good rifle or slug-loaded shotgun handy, just in case. I did not have a weapon with me, but this was not really a problem because everyone else in camp did and their eyes are sharp and they are always looking.

As noted, I had to go, so I left the spot at the blind where I had been with the others, watching for bowhead, and walked to the latrine, which was located in the cracks at the base of one of a multitude of ice upheavals. I didn't think much about anything, but just got straight to business.

About three-quarters away through my task, it suddenly occurred to me that had I done all this without even bothering to look about for polar bears. So I raised my head. What you see above is what I saw.

The thing at the bottom of the picture is the windscreen of a snowmachine.

I was in no real danger, because as noted, those whom I was with are sharp-eyed, well-armed, and always looking and even though their attention was focused primarily in the opposite direction, from which a whale might come, they, too, had spotted the bear and began to call out to me, just to be certain that I knew there was a photo opportunity in front of me.

The bear spent some time studying us from various vantage points, pooped, and then moved along to the northeast.

Within an hour or so of when I took these pictures, the wind had turned to the southwest. Ice was advancing, the lead was closing and we had to pull back.

The happenings of the next 30 hours or so are among the most frustrating happenings of this year for me ever in my career. In the hope that a whale would come to this camp, I had already delayed my departure by a couple of days over my plan. I needed to get home, prepare a few things and then head to Tok and Fairbanks to cover the honoring of Ahtna elder Dr. Katie John, but I had held off pushed my departure back to the last moment.

Twelve hours after I had left Barrow, the lead had reopened, conditions had become good, a bowhead came to the Saggan crew and they accepted its gift. For them, for the Iñupiat community of Barrow, I was happy and grateful.

For me, I was devastated. Absolutely. Devastated. Crushed, you could say. No one can know when a whale will come or what crew it will go to. Sometimes, several seasons can pass by without one coming to where you wait. Yet, this time, if I had stayed one more day, I would have been there when the Saggan whale came.

Then, of course, I would have missed Katie John receiving her honorary Doctor of Laws degree and that would have left me devastated as well. 

Sometimes, there is no winning, even when you do win - because I absolutely did win. To be there for all of Katie's honoring was a win... it was a special, once in a lifetime - a long and great lifetime - event, and I had to be there. I just had to.

But I still feel sick inside to have missed the Saggan whale.

What a beautiful, special, event that would have been and how honored I would have felt to have stood as a witness of it.

Originally, I had planned to post coverage of what I saw and experienced that trip to Barrow to the same degree that I posted Point Hope. Although I missed the final event, I none-the-less got several pictures that I believe many readers would have found amazing.

But I did not anticipate how long it would take me and it is just too late, now. Soon, I will be back in Barrow and at the rate I have been going I would still posting my last trip and people would think the snow never ever melts in Barrow, which it does, as you will soon see, right here, on this blog, if I but move along and stay in the present.

So, except for this bear and at least one people story I will yet work in, I am going to drop that coverage for now.

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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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Images will appear larger and look better - nanuqs are big, the images need to be big, too.

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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They will appear larger and look better

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??????