Last Thursday, on Thanksgiving, I really learned what this community is about.  I had been told that traditional Iñupiat culture is based on sharing.  I had also been told that the harvested muktuk and meat from the whales is shared with the whole community.  Yet I didn’t really understand the scope of the sharing until I helped “serve.”  A new friend of mine, and whaling captain, Herman Ahsoak, invited me to join him in “serving” the community at the Presbyterian Church on Thanksgiving.  I didn’t really know what this meant, but without any other plans for Thanksgiving, I thought, why not?

I arrived around 11am Thanksgiving morning and men were hauling box after box from truck beds into the church.  It was dark and cold and car exhaust was swirling in the red and white of idling cars. In the church kitchen I had to wear my down jacket as the room filled with a piles of frozen boxes.  Women streamed in with huge pots of caribou, duck and goose soup.  Coffee was brewed up by the gallon.  And as the church began to fill, I was put on coffee duty, serving those entering the pews with their coolers, settling in for a long day.

All the servers worked in the back, emptying frozen boxes of muktuk into rows of bins.  Around 1pm, when everything was finally ready, the servers all paired up, one man and one woman, and were given a number.  The number designated the section of rows that team was responsible for serving.  As number 2, Herman and I lined up at the beginning of the servers, and carrying a pot of caribou soup, we made our way up the aisle to begin.  One by one I ladled a scoop of soup into families bowls they had brought from home. The people sitting in my section were excited for the serving to begin and they all dug into their steaming caribou soup.  Next we served blocks of muktuk, three large pieces per family.  And then we served more muktuk, this time 4 per family.  And finally on the last serving of muktuk, we gave out 12 per family!  We followed the same process for whale meat, whale fin, fish, and finally stewed fruit.  Between each round, the servers head to the back room and refill their bins again to the brim with meat to be passed out.

So where does this meat come from?  A certain section of every whale harvested in the spring and fall is set aside to be passed out to the community on Thanksgiving and Christmas.  The crews and their families work hard to cut and prepare the whale, soup and other foods that are passed out to the community.  And this happens at every church in town.  Each whaling crew passes out boxes of meat to every church.  After 5 hours of serving, families left the church carrying coolers full of food for the winter season.  Now that’s sharing!

Then, only two days later, on Saturday, a friend of mine, Jenn, and I joined Herman’s family to help them cut up more muktuk for Christmas.  After spending 5 hours serving, and who knows how many hours preparing to serve, Herman and his family were already preparing to do it all over again on Christmas.

While this Thanksgiving was by no means the traditional American Thanksgiving I was used to, I am so very thankful to Herman and his family for inviting me to help serve the community and be a part of their Thanksgiving tradition.  (I have to admit, however, that I did have a very nice traditional Thanksgiving turkey after serving, so I feel like I got the best of both worlds!).

As I prepare to leave tomorrow morning, I am so grateful for all of the wonderful times I have experienced here in Barrow.  So many people have opened their hearts, stories and homes up to me and I will never forget the hospitality and kindness that I have been shown.

The sun set yesterday and won’t come up above the horizon line again until late January.  Now that doesn’t mean round-the-clock night, but pretty close.  As I write this at 12pm, the moon is up and the sky has a gradient from purple to orange to blue stretching up from the horizon. I have been told that during twilight on the winter solstice, there is almost enough light to read outside (not that you would want to do that, since the book might freeze to your hand).

The last couple weeks as daylight rapidly decreased, the combined sunrise and sunsets have been magnificent. The sun put on a marvelous farewell show before it dipped below the horizon.  Frost covered electrical lines, houses, sheds, snow mobiles, old cars and fences took on new life as the colors of the fading sun danced upon them.

Now as Barrow settles in for two months of darkness, everything begins to slow down.   I can feel it in my own body; the need to curl up in warmth and sleep.  So as the temperatures continue to drop and the ice thickens up just in time for the holidays, I will join the rest of Barrow in taking refuge inside warm houses with food, family and new friends.

One mile north of my hut, three miles south of the northernmost point of land in the US, there is a stretch of land about the width of three football fields (width of the football field, not length).  Barren and completely exposed, a fancy blue and yellow turf football field occupies one of those “widths.” This is Cathy Parker Field, the home of the Barrow Whalers High School Football Team.

A couple years ago a writer from ESPN came up to Barrow and did a story on the Barrow Whalers ( The Real Frozen Tundra).  At the time the Whalers were playing on a big patch of dirt in town.  Apparently the piece was so popular that it not only received an Emmy, but it also inspired Cathy Parker, a mother and football enthusiast from Florida, to raise over $500,000 to fund a turf football field in the arctic ( Save the Whalers).

One of my first weekends in Barrow, I made it out to a Saturday afternoon game.  Amidst cold winds and snow flurries, the Barrow Whalers lost to the Rams from Monroe Catholic High School in Fairbanks, AK.  Then, on October 8^th, I watched the state semi-finals to see the Barrow Whalers take on Monroe for a second time and this time defeat them to head to the state championships for the first time ever!  Less than a mile up the road, whaling captains were pulling ashore the first harvested whales of the season.  Quite a day for all the whalers in Barrow!

A member of a whaling crew waits at the boat as they prepare to launch

The Saturday before last was a day I had been eagerly anticipating for over a year: the first day of the fall whaling season. Weeks ago, the Alaska Eskimo Whaling Commission decided upon October 8^th as the first day of the fall season.  Just hours after the boats launched early in the dark morning, I watched from the shore as the first whale was brought in.

Crews line up early in the morning to launch their boats

The successful crew

The whale carcass sways along the shore as the tractor readies to pull it out

You may have seen the recent New York Times article about this very day: “With Powerboat and a Forklift, a Sacred Whale Hunt Endures.” I have to admit, I was a little nervous about sticking out from the crowd with my big camera, but when I pulled up in the truck, I realized my camera wasn’t big enough!  I was filled with camera envy as I met the New York Times journalist who wrote the above article and many other journalists and photographers who came up to Barrow just for the day.  But it wasn’t just outsiders crowding around to get a glimpse of the first whale of the season, a huge crowd of locals came out to watch and take part in the celebration.

To fill in a little background: In Barrow and across the North Slope of Alaska, Iñupiat Eskimos partake in subsistence hunting of Bowhead whales as the whales’ migratory routes pass through the Chukchi and Beaufort Seas in the spring and fall.  While the Bowhead whale is endangered, the Iñupiat receive a quota from the International Whaling Commission for the number of whales they can take per year.  This number is based on population data collected right here in the Beaufort and Chukchi Seas.

A new friend of mine who works down the hall from BASC in the North Slope Borough’s Department of Wildlife Management, Biologist Craig George, has been in charge of the Bowhead whaling census since the Borough took it over in the early 80s.  The data that Craig and his team have collected show that, as of 2001, the bowhead population appears to be increasing at a rate of 3.4% per year and in 2004 the population size was estimated at 12,634.  The team credits the growth of the population to “a well-conducted subsistence hunt, low human effects from fishing and shipping, and the relatively health nature of the Arctic Ocean” (for more information visit the Department of Wildlife’s page about Bowhead research).

The fall whaling season is a time of excitement here in Barrow, and when a whale is caught, the whole community celebrates.  You can hear families and friends wishing their crews luck over the VHF radio in town.  I borrowed a scanner from BASC for the weekend so that I could listen in for when a whale was caught. It’s hard to miss with the eruption of cheers and congratulations over the radio.

When a whale is harpooned and killed, it is then towed back to land to the beach near the old abandoned naval runway north of town.  Just as the Times article shows, the whale is pulled ashore by a tractor and then transported with a forklift to the site on the runway where the butchering takes place.  In a matter of hours the runway transformed from fresh white snow to large puddles and patches of red as blood gushed from the carcass of the whale.  At 12:30 pm a 27-foot Bowhead whale lay on the runway and at 3pm the whale was completely dismantled, with all pieces spread out in an orderly fashion to be distributed by the Captain.  Practically the whole whale is used, including the muktuk (the skin and blubber), the baleen (the “teeth” used by the Bowhead to filter krill), and many of the organs.  Only the bones and a few of the inedible organs are discarded.

Growing up as a child in the city, the only type of meat I knew was the kind that came in neat little packages from the grocery store. So I was a little uncertain about how my stomach would feel watching an enormous whale be butchered.  But I have to say, taking in the view on the runway Saturday, as 6-foot pieces of muktuk were cut from the side of the whale and blood gushed from the innards, I was really impressed by how the community joined together and rallied around the kill. In Iñupiat culture, they see the whale as giving itself to the community.  Not only is the whale a source of food for the people, but it is cultural sustenance as well.  Whaling is a way for the Iñupiat to carry on the traditions of their ancestors, strengthen bonds within the community, and put food on the table.

A quick note about the New York Times article:  While I do think it is neat that they are taking an interest in the North Slope and this special tradition, unfortunately I feel like they could have been a bit more respectful in their approach with the article.  It’s very hard to convey the true atmosphere of this experience when images of a forklift and the whale carcass overwhelm the eye.  It is true that whaling has changed and adapted to new available technology. However, what doesn’t appear to have changed over the thousands of years that the subsistence hunt has been practiced is the importance of this activity for the community and the way that it brings people together.

Freshly cut muktuk

A woman prepares unalik, fresh boiled blubber and skin, for the crew and crowd at the whale to enjoy

There is something about the cold.  Breathing it in that first fall morning, the air seems to have acquired a new weight and density. The tingling of crisp, cool oxygen filling my chest.  I live for this sensation.

About two weeks ago, Barrow transformed overnight into a winter wonderland.  The brown dirt is now covered by 6 inches of snow, the roads are slick and dangerous, and I have to wear a puffy coat for my two-minute walk from my hut to work.

With no trees here in Barrow, the first snow came as a bit of a surprise to me.  In Seattle and New Hampshire I always had a long fall of bright orange, red and purple hues warning me of the cold months to come.  It’s as though with the flick of a switch, it has become winter.

Little did I realize, this is fall in Barrow.  The temperatures are still well above 0 degrees Fahrenheit and there is still about 10 hours of daylight (but that is decreasing by about 9 minutes a day).  This is my kind of winter and we are only in the first weeks of October!

Every fall in the Pacific Northwest and New England, the cold would ignite in me a sense of anticipation and excitement.  Frosty breath, warm sweaters and dark afternoons meant the near arrival of the snow and ski season.  Even here, without the mountains and promise of skiing, the arctic air still carries with it that sense of anticipation.  The seasons have changed.  And with white all around, it’s my favorite time of the year!

For all drivers that might miss the Chukchi Sea dead ahead, this Barrow stop sign is here to help.

Trip aboard the Annika Marie (note the excited look on the face of the little boy dead center).

Then today I took three high school seniors and their teacher out to the Barrow Environmental Observatory (see last post) to dig a soil pit!
WHAT!  Another soil pit!!

A shot of the tundra before we dug in!

I certainly didn’t expect to be digging soil pits again so soon, but it turns out my summer as an assistant PANDA in the Professional And Non-violent Digging Alliance taught me enough about digging soil pits that I could lead a small field trip talking about carbon and the active layer depth (the layer from the surface down to frozen ground)! Fortunately for me, this time I made the high-schoolers do the digging!

So far my project with BASC (the Barrow Arctic Science Consortium) developing after school science field trips for kids has received a lot of support from teachers, the school district, researchers and the students themselves.  I have only done three trips so far, but I already have 6 more planned during the next two weeks! It’s amazing how much research is being done up here in Barrow and its really exciting to learn about the broad range of subjects being investigated.

What’s left of a bluff overlooking the Chukchi Sea.

What is even more exciting is connecting students with the scientists and research practically taking place in their backyard.  When you drive around the outskirts of Barrow you can’t help but notice all the towers, satellite dishes and funky looking research buildings.  But even as such prominent landmarks, its surprising how so few students actually know what those towers, dishes and buildings are and more importantly, what is so interesting to scientists about their home!

The Chukchi Sea

I’m hoping that through these small, hands on field trips, students in Barrow will begin to understand how science can be used as a tool to investigate local and global issues.  And if I’m lucky, they’ll learn a bit more about their unique home in the process!

A Street in Barrow