SMITHSONIAN JOURNEYS QUARTERLY
TRAVEL QUARTERLY FALL 2016
N R E U Y O S J SE EING TH E WORLD IN A N E W LIG HT
Mystical Eskimo culture • Aboard a flag-stop train • Great parks guide Bears up close • Photographing the northern lights • Native arts
FALL 2016 AL ASK A
Alaska
BEYOND THE LEGEND
FALL 2016 SMITHSONIAN JOURNEYS 13
By Seth Kantner Photographs by Brian Adams
O
n the edge of Point Hope I climb a jumbled pile of sea ice. The giant cubes are tilted and heaped, forced up by a
storm sometime before I arrived, and later drifted over with snow. It’s early March, a few degrees above zero, and to the southwest the afternoon sun shines faint warmth. From the north a stiff breeze has bite. I watch carefully where I put my feet; I could fall in, wrench a knee, jam my crotch, or pinch a boot down in a fissure. Small tracks show that a fox has climbed up here. The tracks are set, firm but fairly fresh, probably from last night. I come to older, bigger tracks and occasional brown splats. They tell me a human has been here too—one who wore Sorel boots and chewed tobacco. ¶ At the top, I marvel at the unseasonably warm day. I expected minus 20 and a howling ground blizzard. Now in perfect visibility I stare out across the stunning flatness of land and sea. At the horizon, the sky and earth meet in shimmering shades of silver, gray, white, and blue. The ocean is still but shows a struggle in process— the Chukchi Sea is trying to freeze and very much not succeeding. It’s late winter. Point Hope is 125 miles above the Arctic Circle, near the top western corner of Alaska. I should be looking at white pack ice. Instead I’m looking at the thinnest of pressure ridges, skims of floating slush, and dark open water.
14 SMITHSONIAN JOURNEYS FALL 2016
(Previous pages) Marie Rexford, member of a whaling crew in Kaktovik, separates muktuk as it freezes in order to prevent it from sticking together in storage. Thompson Pass (opposite) runs through the frosty peaks of the Chugach Mountains.
Close encounters of the bear kind An Alaska expert on the dos and don’ts of sharing wilderness with black, grizzly, and polar bears By Nick Jans
“Do you think there are any bears around?” asked my wife, Sherrie, gazing from the kitchen window into the frosttinged autumn woods. We’d just spent the first night at our new homestead, in the mountain-rimmed wilds outside of Haines, in the northern part of the Alaskan Panhandle. I shrugged. “Sure, this time of year, you could run into one anywhere.” ¶ Right on cue, a glossy-coated male grizzly strolled into view and sniffed the grass a dozen EYE TO EYE This brown, or grizzly bear (Ursus arctos) was photographed with a remote camera at Lake Clark National Park. To avoid getting dangerously
feet from our back steps. He’d followed the same brushlined trail I’d walked from the outhouse less than five minutes earlier. After a brief, wide-eyed stare, I opened the door and sent our neighbor on his way with the timehonored salute, “Hey, bear!” And we went on with our day.
close, it’s always best to alert bears to your presence, giving them a chance to retreat. PHOTO: INGO ARNDT, MINDEN PICTURES
FALL 2016 SMITHSONIAN JOURNEYS 29
Bears are generally shy, peaceful, intelligent creatures that, despite their potentially lethal power, almost always go to great lengths to avoid trouble with us.
Alaska and bears: The two words are almost synonymous. Most of the nearly two million
ever-loving dookie scared out of me? I’ve lost count of that too.
visitors who stream into the Great Land each year
If this sounds like an arm-waving alert to
hope to glimpse these iconic creatures, and they’ve
remain on constant edge during your Great Land
come to the right place. The state’s subcontinental
sojourn, it’s not—not at all. Here’s my takeaway,
sprawl is home to an estimated 100,000 or more
even after that drama-riddled summation of
black bears (Ursus americanus); 30,000 browns,
encounters: Bears are generally shy, peaceful,
or grizzlies (interchangeable names for the same
intelligent creatures that, despite their potentially
species, Ursus arctos); and on the northern coasts
lethal power, almost always go to great lengths to
and sea ice, perhaps 3,000 polar bears (Ursus mari-
avoid trouble with us. Unless you’re lucky or make
timus). That’s roughly one bear for every six of the
a trip to a prime viewing area, you might not even
state’s 740,000 residents. Naturally, bears often
glimpse one. And if you do, it’ll be quietly munch-
prowl around us, seen and unseen—not only in the
ing on grasses, berries, or salmon, not slavering
wilderness but also through the spaces we call ours.
after humans.
I came to Alaska 37 years ago, hoping to live
Most of my up-close brushes with bears have
around bears, and I got my wish. I’ve watched
been directly related to my outdoor habits—lots
bears—three grizzlies and a double handful of
of quiet solo walking along salmon streams, fish-
black bears—as I stood inside four of the five Alaska
ing rod in hand, and sitting in places crisscrossed
homes Sherrie and I have owned. I once surprised
by bear trails as I watched and photographed bears
a black bear on the narrow deck of our second
going about their business. Even so, I’ve never
house, in the shadow of the Mendenhall Glacier; he
been so much as scratched, and not once did I feel
brushed against my leg as he bolted past. Only a few
the need to either shoot or use bear spray in self-
days before we saw the male grizzly at our new place
defense. And never, in hundreds of nights of sleep-
north of Haines, I drove down our Juneau suburban
ing in wild Alaska, did I have a marauding bear en-
cul-de-sac in a soon-to-be-loaded rental van, right
ter my camp. Most of my woods-wise friends have
past a big black bear sauntering down the road—one
had similar experiences—though we all know peo-
Sherrie had met just minutes earlier at the edge of
ple who were swatted around or chewed on, and
our driveway. It was as if one bear had bid us farewell
one or two who were killed. The truth is, no matter
and another had welcomed us to our new home.
how guilty you are of carelessness or bad judgment,
As for the bears I saw or met in my travels as a
you have to be cosmically unlucky to be attacked by
writer, photographer, and general wilderness bum,
a bear. Your probability of being mauled ranks as a
I lost count long ago. I saw my first Alaska bear in
statistical blip, somewhat higher than the odds of
1979 and can recall times in especially bear-dense
being hit by a piece of space junk. Sure, it happens.
areas where the daily count was higher than ten,
Just not very often.
and once 40 in just a few hours. I’ve inadvertently
Fewer than a half dozen bear-caused injuries
found myself within touching range of wild bears
occur annually in Alaska, and we have an average
of all three species, been charged four times, and
of one fatality every other year—this despite tens of
been subjected to all manner of ursine threats
thousands of close human-bear interactions, many
and displays, including woofing, jaw clacking,
of them involving clueless people breaking multi-
brush thrashing, roaring, and purposeful, head-
ple rules of common-sense bear etiquette. In most
low advances. So how many times have I had the
attacks, the bear is reacting to a perceived threat to
30 SMITHSONIAN JOURNEYS FALL 2016
THREE SPECIES A grizzly leaps through water chasing salmon in Katmai National Park and Preserve; A curious polar bear (Ursus maritimus) peers through a truck window along the coastal plain of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge; A black bear cub (Ursus americanus) hangs in a tree along Anan Creek in Tongass National Forest. Altogether, Alaska is home to roughly 133,000 bears, at least one for every six of the state’s residents.
PHOTOS: (CLOCKWISE FROM TOP) ANDY ROUSE, NPL/MINDEN PICTURES; STEVEN KAZLOWSKI, NPL/MINDEN PICTURES; MATTHIAS BREITER, MINDEN PICTURES
FALL 2016 SMITHSONIAN JOURNEYS 31
LIKE A LOCAL
Lesson one in mushing class: Don’t let go! By Debbie Clarke Moderow Photographs by Katie Orlinsky
J
anuary 1990: Salt, my recently adopted sled dog, is sitting beside me as
we drive into the parking lot for Anchorage’s mushing trails. I can sense his excitement and wonder if it’s connected to my own roiling mix of elation and anxiety. When we pull up and Salt sees his former Iditarod teammates tethered to a truck parked alongside us, he starts howling. Then he paws the car door and bites the frosted window. The two of us clamber out of the car, greeted by my new friend and Salt’s original owner, Jeannette Willis. “Why hello, Salt,” she says to her old buddy. “Aren’t you excited.” Then she smiles at me, “Hi, Debbie. Are you ready?” I don’t know then that
Long-distance mushers,
I’ll eventually become an
including veteran Brent
accomplished dog-musher—that
Sass, pictured here at the
one day I’ll own dozens of huskies
2014 Yukon Quest 1,000,
and race in two Iditarods. In 1990, I
take great care of their
know nothing. I’ve never even been
sled dogs, wrapping paws
on a dogsled before.
in booties and massaging
I blurt out questions that kept me awake all night: “Is there a way
sore canine muscles at rest stops.
42 SMITHSONIAN JOURNEYS FALL 2016
FALL 2016 SMITHSONIAN JOURNEYS 43
on skis—a sport called skijoring—
LL
over miles of trails in the nearby Chugach Mountains. In short order I harness my four. When I position Salt at the lead, he stands still and holds the
to slow down?” “Does ‘gee’ mean
gangline tight, doing his job. Next
right and ‘haw’ left?” “How should I
I put Charlotte alongside him. She
talk to my dogs?”
gently nuzzles my leg, but when
Jeannette laughs. “Believe me,
I step away she leaps skyward.
they know what they’re doing,”
Not once, but again and again she
she says. “You’ll figure it out.”
manages to catapult four to five
Then she points to my sled, with
feet above ground. Her acrobatics
its lines stretched out, and to
prompt Salt to lunge and yowl.
several huskies standing by her
I hurry to connect Velvet and
truck. “There’s your team, Debbie.
Copper behind them. They bark
Charlotte can lead with Salt. Velvet
with glee while digging in the snow.
and Copper will run behind them. Go
All are frantic to run.
ahead—get them ready.” At least I know how to harness
Meanwhile Jeannette clips her team in position. Shouting above
a dog. Since adopting Salt, my
the fray, she says, “I’ll go first.”
gentle white husky has pulled me
Then she points to a slipknot
44 SMITHSONIAN JOURNEYS FALL 2016
Iditarod racer Debbie
securing my sled to a post. “After I
behind four charging sled dogs, the
snow. Together my dogs and I zip
Moderow enjoys a
take off, pull that knot—your dogs
words “don’t let go” ringing in my
through an elegant stand of birch
moment with Crouton
will follow mine. Just remember:
ears.
and alongside cattails in a frozen
(opposite top), one of 28
Don’t let go.”
Alaskan husky sled dogs
In a matter of seconds
“Whoa,” I cry, but my dogs run
marsh. We pass willows laced with
faster. Soft snow billows in my
hoarfrost, and slip into the fragrant
face and goes down my neck. I’m
shadows of a dense spruce forest.
wondering how long I can hold
As Charlotte and Salt, Copper
she currently trains at
Jeannette and her team are gone.
the Salty Dog Kennels
For a moment I hesitate. The
(opposite middle and
prospect of unleashing the canine
on—when we finally stop. I look up
and Velvet streak through the
below). She readies them
energy ahead of me is both thrilling
to see Jeannette, standing on the
morning’s filtered light, they take
for racing by undergoing
and daunting. Then Salt turns and
runners of her sled, my four rascals
me with them—the trail steeped in
frequent winter runs into
gives me an irresistible look of
wrapped around her legs.
promise.
the wilderness outside
expectation: It’s time.
(above).
“Better get upright,” she tells
I’m absorbed in the romance of it
me. As soon as I do, she’s off, and
all when the parking lot comes into
I yank the knot, and my dogs spring
so are we. This time my huskies
view. With an unexpected jolt, my
into an all-out gallop.
lope close to her heels.
high-spirited dogs pass Jeannette.
Denali National Park
Clawing my handlebars, I manage
Slowly I find my balance.
They barrel through the rough ruts;
to stay upright as my sled careens
I practice bending my knees
I tip over again. While I’m being
into a lopsided rut. Then I notice a
and loosening my grip on the
dragged facedown behind them, my
sharp upcoming turn. It all happens
handlebars. I relish the cool air in
huskies return to the post where
in a blink: my attempt to step on
my face, and the profound quiet:
our escapade started.
the brake and the sled flipping over.
only the jingle of collars and dogs
Now I’m being dragged on my belly
panting, everything muffled by the
The dogs are triumphant. I’m in the snow, laughing. Before I
FALL 2016 SMITHSONIAN JOURNEYS 45
‘The Siberia of Siberia’ Alaska was once an outpost of St. Petersburg, and echoes of that Russian heritage can still be heard
Russian Orthodox crosses in the timeand-weather-worn cemetery of Ninilchik’s Holy Transfiguration of Our Lord Chapel are a testament to the heritage of the village. PHOTO: NATHANIEL WILDER
50 SMITHSONIAN JOURNEYS FALL 2016
By Fen Montaigne
E
very summer a conga line of tour-
hair. Leman is a descendant of Ninilchik founder
ists in campers and RVs chugs the 220
Grigory Kvasnikoff, a somewhat obscure figure who
miles from Anchorage, Alaska, to the
may have been a lay missionary and an employee of
town of Homer, a picturesque fish-
the Russian-American Company, the tsars’ colonial
ing port with panoramic views of Kachemak Bay.
arm in Alaska. Leman and the other men and wom-
About three-quarters of the way into the trip, the
en who still speak Ninilchik Russian are of Russian-
travelers descend a hill and cruise into the hamlet
Alaskan native heritage, and so I was accompanied
of Ninilchik, population 880. A few visitors turn
on my rounds by Tiffany Stonecipher, the elders
off the highway to photograph the village’s Russian
outreach coordinator for the Ninilchik tribe.
Orthodox church—a graceful, white wooden
Leman smiled when he saw Stonecipher at the
structure with a green metal roof, five golden
door and invited us in.
onion domes, and a commanding view of the icy,
“Zdrastvuite,” I said.
10,000-foot volcanic peaks of Mount Redoubt and Mount Iliamna, 50 miles across Cook Inlet.
“Zdrastvuite,” Leman replied, beginning a conversation that mixed English with both modern
Most tourists, however, drive on, not realizing
and archaic Russian. He recalled an early-20th
that Ninilchik’s unremarkable facade—a conve-
century boyhood that was as much Siberian as it
nience store and gas station, a couple of restau-
was Alaskan—a life in which the Russian Orthodox
rants, a motel, several low-slung office buildings,
Church played a central role, Russian foods like
and a collection of modest houses—belies the
salmon pie, or pirok, were frequently on the table,
village’s extraordinary place in Alaska history and
and the village’s oldest residents could remem-
culture. That hidden history lives on in a handful of
ber a time when Alaska was governed not from
elderly residents who speak a Russian dialect that
Washington, D.C., but from the imperial capital of
has been passed down from generation to gener-
St. Petersburg.
ation since the village was founded in 1847, when Alaska was part of the Russian Empire. Ninilchik Russian is, in some respects, a language frozen in amber, with vocabulary and
N
ext year will mark the 150th anniversary of Russia’s sale of Alaska to the United States
on October 18, 1867, for $7.2 million, or about two
expressions dating to an era when Russia was
cents an acre. Although Russia’s colonization of
engaged in a tenuous colonial enterprise in the vast
the territory remains a relatively obscure chapter
territory that would eventually become America’s
in world history, the acquisition of Alaska by the
49th state. This tsarist-era version of Russian—
administration of President Andrew Johnson has
along with other Russian customs and habits—
had enormous economic and strategic value for the
remains in use because until the Sterling Highway
U.S. In the history of American land deals, it is sec-
connected Ninilchik to the outside world in 1950,
ond in importance only to the Louisiana Purchase.
Russian descendants here were largely cut off from
For Russia, the sale was the logical conclusion of
other communities. They lived an isolated, subsis-
a colonial venture that had begun with the first
tence life in which a trip to the nearest trading post
Russian landing on Alaska’s shores in 1732. This
meant a 40-mile mush on a dogsled.
endeavor, based on a lucrative trade in the luxurious
During several days in March, I visited some of
pelts of sea otters, had become shaky by the early de-
Ninilchik’s Russian speakers—people such as Joe
cades of the 19th century, when 700 Russians, strung
Leman, 96, a slight man with a full head of gray
largely along the coast, were trying to exert
52 SMITHSONIAN JOURNEYS FALL 2016
DE AGOSTINI PICTURE LIBRARY/BRIDGEMAN IMAGES
A 19th-century engraving shows New Arkhangelsk, Anchorage
former headquarters of AREA D E TA I L E D
Ninilchik
the Russian-American Company, now the city of Sitka.
Kodiak Island
Kruzof Island Sitka
FALL 2016 SMITHSONIAN JOURNEYS 53