It takes a village ...to gain perspective

When you hear the word "village," if you're anything like me, America is probably not the first thing that comes to mind. Yet in the Seward Peninsula, villages are almost the only form of community that exists here, aside from the bush towns of Nome and Kotzebue. 

Unlike these towns, villages all seem to have less than 300 people, 1 or 2 schools, maybe a store, and maybe a post office; there is also usually a village council or IRA (a tribal headquarters -- not the Irish Republican Army!), and a community center. Most people seem to lead a subsistence-based lifestyle, hunting seals, whale, moose, walrus, and birds; fishing; herding reindeer, and crafting. 

Teller Trading Co.

One of our jobs as the National Park Service is to work with the local villages to teach kids about Bering Land Bridge and give them the opportunity to become Junior Rangers -- and that's just what we were doing this past Monday in the village of Teller, about 70 miles west of Nome. 

The beach

The experience was unlike any I have ever had. The little seaside township appeared dead when we first rolled in; no people, cars, or any signs of life, save for a couple dogs chained outside some run-down homes. We all nearly jumped out of our skin when a barge blared its horn at us for driving over their fuel line pumping gas to the village. After that, it seemed that everyone knew we were there.

Eventually we found where we were supposed to go, and a woman from the IRA let us into the community center/bingo hall where our Junior Ranger program would be held. We had been notified that children in these villages come to programs on their own -- no parents or supervisors, which also meant I couldn't get release forms to get their photos (or at least, their faces in photos). 

Part of the town

Sure enough, when the time came, the door was pushed open by a flood of small children between the ages of about 2-11. Some were shy, others talkative, over half of them related to each other in some way, and they ran around as if they owned the town. More and more kept coming in, until we had about 25 kids all sitting around the table.

Fortunately, our interpretive rangers are phenomenal here. They kept the kids pretty well focused and interacting, teaching them about the local ocean ecosystem. We played some nature-themed indoor games with them, and took them outside to explore the beach and play more active games.

Ranger working with the kids

Even though I wasn't running the program, just helping out required every ounce of patience and energy I had. A few of the kids were just outright mean; it was clear most had grown up with very little guidance -- especially those who hadn't yet entered school -- and would bully each other to an unsettling extent. They weren't "bad" kids, but they obviously lacked some discipline at home, and seen some pretty nasty stuff in their families or around town.

Adorable little ones

As is common with the Inupiat culture though, the kids loved to tell us stories, ranging from the fascinating to the heartrending. Many would run along beside me as we were walking to and from the beach, telling me about their cousins and aunts and uncles; about seal-, moose-, and whale-hunting with their fathers; about swimming in the sea.

The harder ones to hear were those who talked about relatives who had been imprisoned for alcoholism or violence, as if this were a topic of everyday conversation. And on a lighter note, one boy enthusiastically told me about the scary "little green men" who roam the tundra; according to him, his uncle had stumbled upon their house while moose hunting, and they had chased him away (he half-acted this out, twisting his face up to emphasize the scariness of these little green men).

Heading back inside

The whole day, I was just perplexed by the village and the children, by 7-year-olds taking care of their 2-year-old siblings; by kids telling me stories about hunting and fishing and how tasty seal jerky is; and by the few elders who came in trying to sell us ivory carvings. The fact that places like this exist in our own country is beautiful to me, even with all the harsh realities that come with it.

Random dogs running around

Kids racing down the beach to the ranger

Ranger program for the older kids

I guess the hardest part is coming into a community like this as an "outsider."  You can't help but stand out in your NPS uniform, or carrying a huge camera, or being obviously non-native. And on top of that, trying to impart a larger global perspective to kids whose world consists of 3 roads and whose community is made up of their own siblings and cousins is not an easy task.

Yet, in the end, I think we got through to at least a couple of them. I could see some of them making connections between things they had learned in school and what we were teaching them here, and a look of pride in some of their eyes as they swore the oath of the Junior Ranger and received their honorary badges. Ultimately in an effort to bring new perspectives to their community, I think they brought new perspectives to me.

A taste of success

Whole wheat, no-milk, fresh-picked-blueberry muffins

Okay, I gotta brag just a little here, mostly because I've totally surprised myself. So if you know me at all, you probably know I'm terrible in the kitchen. I have yet to master the art of cookie-baking, or even venture into much creativity with my regular meals.

But the 48 oz. tupperware of blueberries sitting in my fridge has been burning a hole in the shelf, so tonight I figured it was time to do something about it.

I was limited on ingredients. Rained in by a violent storm off the sea, I didn't feel like walking to the store, so I invoked the powers of the almighty Google and miraculously found a blueberry muffin recipe that contained all the random ingredients I could dig up in the kitchen.

The result? Absolutely delicious whole wheat, no-milk blueberry muffins. For being my first attempt at making muffins, I am blown away. In case you ever find yourself with a massive tub of blueberries and some random ingredients, here's the recipe (adapted from what I found online):

• 1/2 cup Crisco, plus a tablespoon of water (recipe called for 1/2 cup margarine, so this was the substitute I found)
• 1 1/2 cups white sugar
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 2 eggs
• 2 cups whole wheat flour
• 2 teaspoons baking powder
• 2 cups fresh blueberries 
• 1/2 cup almond milk 
• A squirt of lemon juice

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees and line muffin pans with paper liners. Mix together Crisco, sugar and salt then beat in the eggs one at a time. Combine the flour and baking powder in another bowl and then add blueberries to this mixture, making sure all blueberries are coated.

Fold the flour mixture into the mixture of eggs/Crisco/sugar carefully while alternately adding in the almond milk and the squirt of lemon juice.

Bake for 25 minutes or until muffin tops are just golden brown. Recipe was supposed to make 18, but mine only made 16, which is fine.

YUM! I wish I could send them to everyone back home!

A berry fruitful weekend

The salmon run might be about over for the summer, but berry picking season is about to come into full swing. 

I had always heard Alaska had a large variety of edible berries, but I never realized how MUCH is out here. On just about any hike in the tundra, you're guaranteed to come across crowberries, blueberries, low-bush cranberries, and cloudberries. And supposedly it's only the beginning of the berry season.

It was a little windy in the back of the truck

With the sun out and the temperature finally reaching over 60 degrees, two of my coworkers and I joined an acquaintance from town and drove up into the nearby slope tundra in an old Ford pickup truck. Scanning the landscape, we finally pulled over on the side where we thought we might find some good blueberry patches.

Crowberries

Blueberries!

At first I didn't really know what to look for. I've seen blueberry bushes around, but it took a while to start recognizing the shape and color of the bush among all the other low-growing shrubs that cover the tundra. Once I did though, it was very relaxing and almost zen-like to find a bush covered in the little berries and gently pluck them off and toss them in a Tupperware.

Blueberry

Berry picking

The four of us picked berries for about 2 hours, slowly migrating uphill until we started seeing fewer blueberry bushes. It seems there's only a certain stretch where they grow, under a certain elevation. I was quite happy with my harvest -- probably came out with about $30 worth of blueberries if you were to buy that same amount in the grocery store!

Our harvest (mine is on the far right)

The next day one of my coworkers and I decided to bike up a little further than we had been the day before (about 12 miles round trip) to hike the mountain and pick whatever blueberries we found. As it turned out, there were even more blueberries in this area than we had seen the day before!

Second day's harvest

I had only brought a small container, but managed to fill it up completely to the brim. I never thought I'd be tired of blueberries, but I may be getting close! I now have a huge tub of them in the fridge and need to find some good recipes to use them in. Not that I'm complaining -- if anything, I think I like blueberry season even better than salmon season!

Yesterday a weasel, today a whale

This morning one of our interpretive rangers came back from teaching the weekly Tundra Tots program and announced they had stumbled across something very interesting on the beach.

"A seal?" someone guessed.

Nope.

"A walrus?"

"Bigger," he he said.

"A WHALE?"

Yup. It was all I could do to contain my excitement for the rest of the day through work. As soon as I got off, we walked down the block to the usual area of the beach where we sometimes take kids on ranger programs. 

Whale carcass

Sure enough, the hulking mass of pale flesh and blubber stood out like a sore thumb in the middle of the beach, right where I had been helping with a junior ranger program not even 3 weeks ago. (Sorry for the graphic nature of the photos -- I hope you can appreciate the awesomeness enough to overlook the gross-factor!). 

The tail

Surprisingly, the smell wasn't bad at all unless you stood on one side of it (then it could knock you to your knees!). We inspected it for a little while, and I figured out it was a male, about 18 feet long and laying on its back.

Ranger standing next to it for scale

As for the species, this was a little harder to deduce. It appeared to have a large throat pouch, which would mean it could either be a humpback or a bowhead. Based on the body size and the shortness of the fins, I think it's a bowhead, unless I'm forgetting some other local species.

Partially decomposed pectoral fin

As for whether it died of natural causes or was hunted (which is also very common around here), that I don't know. I suspect it died naturally, because it would be unusual for someone to kill it and not take its parts, but who knows? I'll be interested to see how long it stays there or what will happen to it.

Weaseling around

You know how you always see the best stuff when you don't have your camera? Well, that just happened to me today in the most epic way.

So, the sun FINALLY came out after its 3 week hiatus from the skies over Nome, warming temperatures to a balmy 56 degrees. Immediately after work I ran home, changed out of my work clothes, and hopped onto a bike for a ride around town, happy to not be weighed down by cameras and a backpack for once.

I started off on a back street that I rightly suspected wouldn't have too much traffic. It was a good choice; it quietly cut around the back of the eastern side of town and I only passed a couple cars and pedestrians, but for the most part I had big open views of the tundra on one side, and the backs of houses, playgrounds, and sports fields on the other.

When the road finally spit me out on the main street, I continued east away from town, towards the Nome River. Here the riding was a bit harder, as I was faced with a stiff sea breeze and more traffic on the dusty road. I had half a mind to turn around when suddenly I saw the little black tip of a tail darting around between the boulders that separate the road from the beach.

a rough illustrative rendering

There's no way that's a ground squirrel, I thought. And then there it was. Possibly the most adorable creature I have ever laid eyes on: a tiny ermine! Standing on its hind legs on a rock, it's little wide, weasel face staring up into mine, huge front paws poised over its yellowish belly, and the dull sunlight glinting off its chestnut colored back.

We regarded each other in shock for a moment, and then, to my wonder, it approached! I was motionless -- I don't think I even breathed. Then a car roared by and the little weasel did a funny bucking/darting motion and was back in the rocks. But a second later, there it was again.

For about the next 15 minutes, the ermine and I had this ridiculous game going on. It would creep up to my bike in funny little bursts of zigzagging speed, and then it seemed to get too excited to handle itself, and it would bounce around and scurry back in the rocks. At one point it came to almost touch my bike tire and then spastically hopped away like a little miniature ferret (it was less than 6" long). Cutest thing I've ever seen.

Well, eventually the ermine seemed to remember whatever it had been doing before and lost interest in me, hurrying down the road as if it were late for an appointment.  I figured that was the coolest thing I could possibly see all day, so I turned around and headed back into town. My day has been made.

Saturday Ranger Hike

Yesterday was the "actual" public ranger hike, for which we had been scouting out the 3870 trail on Thursday. Technically I didn't have to go, since it was Saturday and I have the weekends off, but I forced myself to get outside again, despite wanting to be lazy in the dry warmth of the bunkhouse all day. In the end, I'm super glad I went.

Joining us on the hike were a couple who work for Bering Air (a bush pilot and his wife) and their 2 dogs, as well as a family of 5 from Delaware who reminded me a lot of my own family a few years ago when we were all teenagers/preteens.

Road straight into the clouds

Once again, the weather was in its characteristic state of Awful, and we drove the 40 miles to Grand Singatook in and out of the clouds, sometimes with only a few hundred feet visibility. When we arrived, it was pretty foggy and the wind was driving rain sideways at us from the southeast, so everyone geared up in full rain gear, gloves, and hats.

Hikers and rainbow

The hike was a lot slower with a group than it had been when it was just 2 of us, but I didn't mind too much. The weather went in and out from being in a dense cloud of fog, to totally clear with a big rainbow arching across the road below.

Single rainbow

Rainbow in the mist

We got a little over 1,200 feet in altitude before the group came to a consensus that they were ready to head back, mainly due to being freezing cold and wet. As we were heading back down though, the Bering Air pilot pointed out some tiny black dots on the tundra across the road -- Reindeer! As we looked closer, we realized there were hundreds of them, all moving in a giant amorphous mass in one direction.

Someone stopped on the road to take pictures

Hiking back down to the reindeer

Herd behind our cars

By the time we got to the bottom, most of the herd had moved over the hill, but fortunately they had gone the direction we needed to go to get back to Nome. Sure enough, as we came over the hill, there they were, like some sort of great migration you'd see on a National Geographic special.

Herd with a calf in back (aka wolf bait!)

Great Migration shot

We drove slowly along with the herd for a while, marveling at their massive numbers; you could hear them grunting quietly as they plodded along.

Buck shedding its velvet

Some had unusual colors

Just like herd I saw back at Ikpek, this one is also undoubtedly owned and managed by someone from one of the local villages. Some of the reindeer had tags, and others had unusual colors and markings, making them stand out from wild caribou.

Two bucks fighting

Short-eared Owl flying

Eventually we had to move on, but on the way back we saw quite a few different birds, including short-eared owls, rough-legged hawks, and even a sandhill crane, which isn't very common around here.

Sandhill Crane

So all in all, the hike was totally worth it for all the wildlife and great scenery we saw, despite the weather. And now that today hasn't been any sunnier, I'm glad I got out for a bit yesterday.

3870 and so much fog

Ever since I got back from Serpentine, I don't think I've seen a single day of sunshine (save for an hour or two here and there). There's been thick cloud cover, casting Nome under a grey, soggy wet cloak that seems to seep the warmth out of everything in its shadow. Everyday to and from work, I find myself joining other Nomites in a sort of hopscotch between the muddy patchwork of puddles across town, huddling down against the biting wind that throws a heavy mist in your face head-on.

Needless to say, I wasn't entirely enthusiastic about going on a hike in this weather to a mountain known as "3870," named for its height. But hey, it's my job, so who am I to argue? In preparation for our center's Saturday hike, I joined one of the interpretive rangers for our routine scouting of the trail.

View up the creek

As expected, the glacial valley between 3870 and its neighboring peaks was totally shrouded in fog. We weren't going to hike the entire mountain, but rather an area adjacent to it that would theoretically offer a spectacular view on a clear day. As it was however, all we could really see was a few hundred feet ahead, and a loud, rushing creek that ran down through the valley.

Icy cold water

Heading into the thick of the fog

Cool mushroom thing

Visibility was clear enough under a certain elevation, but as we climbed higher into the mountains it grew thicker and thicker until we could only maybe see 100 feet ahead. If it weren't for the varied terrain and the roaring of the creek down below, the scene would have been entirely disorienting.

Fog. Just Fog. Lots and lots of fog.

Redpoll, in the fog

We hiked up a gentle slope for about an hour and a half before deciding to descend again where the visibility might be better. The hiking was slow going up, but after our week in Serpentine, it didn't seem difficult at all. As we got down near the riverbed again, we noticed a thick blanket of icy snow over the creek. Snow! In August!

Part of the river still frozen

Scrambling down the steep grade, we came down to check it out, and found it was about 3 feet thick in some parts, and you could hear water rushing underneath it. We walked down the side, upriver, careful not to walk on any weak parts.

Melting snow

Cool crack

Beginning to break

After we got past the snow, there was a lot of river to cross to the other side, but along with the melted area were many wildflowers and birds flitting around. It wasn't easy navigating the wobbly stepping stones across the rushing creek, while trying to take photos of all the cool stuff around!

Cute little wildflowers

An American Pipit!

Beautiful moss in the river

Cool wildflower

Eventually we made our way across and back to the road on the other side of the river, weaving up and down the steep, rocky slope as the fog began to lift by mid-afternoon. Ground squirrels chattered at us from their holes, and the creek down below roared constantly, sounding much bigger than it actually was. 

In the end, I was glad I went on the hike, despite the still-unfavorable weather. By the time we left the fog had begun to clear and the sun peeked out for a few minutes on our way back to Nome, but unfortunately it didn't stay, and today was just as dark as ever. 

On another up-side, I've gotten the schedule for my next backcountry trips! The week of August 20 I will be traveling out to Imuruk Lake and the Kuzitrin to experience volcanic lava flows and the archaeological sites there. Two weeks later, Sept. 3-7, I will be heading back to Serpentine Hot Springs for some more maintenance work and hoping for better weather for photo ops. 

Regardless of the many challenges here, my work seems to have been well received by the NPS, now that I'm finally producing photos and writing for the park. Many of my photos have been featured on BELA's Facebook Page and shared by groups such as Alaska Magazine; the BELA website, and on their new staff blog, for which I am also now writing. 

I can't believe the summer is already almost over here. Three of our summer staff have already ended their terms and by next month we'll be down to about 3 interp staff (including me!) for a while. We have maybe another month and a half before it starts getting actually cold and we settle in for whatever climatic atrocities the Alaskan winter has in store for us.