 Marshall
Cultural Atlas
This collection of student work is from
Frank Keim's classes. He has wanted to share these works for others
to use as an example of Culturally-based curriculum and documentation. These
documents have been OCR-scanned. These are available
for educational use only.
White
Out!
I'd been in white outs before but this one was
the wildest of them all. The wind was howling at 50 miles per hour
with horizontal snow and I couldn't see more than three feet ahead of
me. I was carrying one of my students behind me and his dad had
somehow disappeared into the swirling maelstrom ahead. Then suddenly
my machine went dead and we were left in total darkness with only the
rushing sounds of the storm whistling across our parkas. We both
wondered if we'd make it home to Scammon Bay alive.
It all started on New Year's Day in 1987 when
Francis Charlie invited me to come along with him and his two sons,
Glen and Richard, on one of his regular treks over to Black River to
check his mink traps and, while he was at it, to visit with John and
Carin Barber. The Barbers were mutual friends who had been living
there in their sod hut since 1982. We had known them since we had
come to live and teach in Scammon Bay. I didn't see them more than a
few times a winter and I was looking forward to being with them again
So I took Francis up on his offer and we set out ear!y in the
morning.
Now early in the morning in January meant about
11 o'clock. Scammon Bay is located at 62 degrees latitude and does
not have much sunlight at that time of the year. It is also located
on the edge of the Bering Sea not far from the mouth of the Yukon
River and is in the middle of one of the biggest weather producing
areas in the world, especially in winter. So I was hesitant to go off
by myself. With Francis who had been trapping in that neck of the
tundra all of his life though, I felt totally confident about
travelling over there in any type of foul weather.
I prepared my gear and heated some tea water,
then started up my trusty little water-cooled John Deere snow machine
and left it running while I went in to dress.
I had
just finished sewing a corduroy overjacket on my parka, so I figured
I would be warm enough in any kind of weather that blew our way.
After filling my pack with all of the gear and food
I would
need, including a healthy supply of dry fish, I was ready to say
goodbye to Jen and Steven and head on down to the Francis'
place.
When I arrived at the Charlie's, Glen and
Richard were just getting their sled ready with all their gear and
grub box and covering everything with a tarp to keep things from
falling out over the rough terrain. They invited me in for a last
minute cup of tea and some fry bread. Inside the house there was a
hubbub of activity since Francis and his wife, Theresa, had a very
large family composed of both their own kids and a number of others
they had generously adopted. Not long after sitting down to munch on
Theresa's bread though, Richard was standing in the door saying his
dad was ready to start.
We set out across the airport which was located
just to the northwest of the village and then drove north up the Khun
River a ways where we turned west and followed a tidal slough in the
direction of Black River and Barber's sod house on the Kayanglivik
("place where birds' eggs are found") Slough. We travelled slowly,
stopping here and there to check mink traps that had been set either
by Francis or Glen or Richard or another son, Elia, who wasn't with
us. I was constantly amazed that Francis could find these traps with
the limited visibility the way itwas. It must have taken him years to get to
know this flat land the way he knew it. And
it would
probably take his sons even longer what with
their
interruptions from school.
Along theway we checked 19 of the chicken wire trap
sets. None of them had mink in them since by now they had stopped
moving through the narrow channels the weir traps were placed in.
After checking and cleaning them of detritus and mud and accidently
trapped Black fish, Francis stamped the traps flat and then stashed
them on high ground in a nearby willow for safekeeping until next
year.
After four or five hours of checking mink
traps, we decided to head in the general direction of Black River
where the Barbers had their place. If we hit it right, we would make
it there just about dusk. And so we did. They had started up their
gas generator and put up a bright light in their window to guide us
in, and we reached their little sod oasis of warmth and friendship
just in time for dinner.
And what a spread they set out for usl With the
moose soup and half-dried salmon they served us, and the goodies
Jennifer had sent along, we feasted to our stomachs' content. Added
to these were the store-bought delicacies that Francis had brought
over from his little store in Scammon Bay to pay off his debt to the
Barbers for feeding the dogs he had left with them several months
back.
While we adults gossiped about what was
happening on the two sides of the Yukon Delta, the two boys played
with Rubik's latest 'Magic Puzzle." They had the greatest time with
that little game. And so did we, since we were all so tightly packed
in the little sod house. In between conversation we played with it
ourselves. And we ate. And I ate.... especially Carin's half-dried
salmon which had been prepared a lot like limburger cheese. It had a
fine white powder mold on it that bit my tongue like picante sauce,
and I couldn't resist its delicious oily flavor. Finally, after
chattering and smiling and snacking the whole evening away, we went
outside to check the weather. We noticed it had cleared off a bit and
the moon was visible, although there was a ring around it which did
not augur well for the next few days. Yupik elders always said bad
weather was just around the corner from a moon halo and to prepare
for the worst. I went back inside with that on my mind but decided
not to worry since I was traveling with probably the best compass in
the Delta, Francis Charlie. By midnight we had exhausted our gossip
and folded ourselves into our sleeping bags, that is, all except
Carin who was still in the mood to chat and went on and on until I
nodded off to sleep.
In the morning we were up at the crack of dawn,
which in black River meant about 10 AM., then had a breakfast of
scrambled eggs and dry fish. After enough chat to kill the rest of
the darkness, Francis and his boys took off to check another bunch of
their traps. He told us they would be back by nightfall, adding that
it was necessary to gather up their traps to make sure no other
animals or fish got caught in them outside the prime mink
season.
Meanwhile John and Carin and I continued to
visit and share war stories about recent events in the Delta about
Martin Adams' attempted murder of his uncle Edward Adams on Christmas
Eve in Sheldon Point about our mutual friend, Jim Gaskin's tragic
death in Emmonak a recent suicide, also in Emmonak about our
ex-principal, Fred Wolf's knock-down drunken drag-out with his wife
Joan in front of their quarters one night the previous December, and
their "fortunate" banishment to Sheldon's Point (fortunate for us in
Scammon Bay but unfortunate for the students in Sheldon Point) how
the current principal in Sheldon Point, John Hayden, and his wife,
were going bananas there, partly because of Fred and about how good
it was going for Jen and me in Scammon Bay with our new principal,
Pat Brady. Carin mentioned how she had put up more fish that year
than ever before, especially King salmon and Cisco white fish
(referred to in Yupik as "lmarpinaraq") in the form of strips and
"half-dried" and a whole range of other varieties. John also told me
about his carving and writing and further building plans, especially
his new maqi (steam) house which he was going to build of drift logs.
It sounded like he and Carin were going to be out here for some time
to come. And that was good, I thought, because they were certainly
tough enough for it, and they deserved the high quality life style
they had in Black River. In the afternoon they had me take a picture
of them in front of their sod house so they could use it for next
year's Christmas cards. Carin explained that her own camera had been
smothered in seal oil during yet another of their recent adventurous
trips around these immense flat lands of the lower Yukon
Delta.
During a walk out into the snow-drifted tundra
with John, he showed me a new discovery of his. They had recently had
a north wind with freezing rain and it had frozen everything pointing
south, including willow leaves and grass stalks. It was something he
could use as a natural compass, he said, when he was out in bad
weather. I had heard of this many years before from some of the
elders in Hooper Bay, and on the way over Francis Charlie explained
it to me again, but here was the real thing for both of us to marvel
at. Which brought us naturally back to the topic of Francis himself
and how knowledgeable he was about this part of the Delta.
The day had turned rather foggy and when
darkness had sealed us into night and Francis and his boys had still
not arrived, John put his bright light up again on the window ledge
above the kitchen table. Just then it seemed we saw a smudge of light
in the gloom and we went outside to double check. Sure enough, it was
Francis and the boys returning from their day's outing. They had
taken up 18 traps in all and had caught only two mink for a whole
day's work. It was indeed time to store away their traps.
After a dinner of moose stew and dried beluga
whale meat, we chatted about the day's trapping activities, the
meaning of certain Yupik language terms, and about how Francis first
learned English in Sheldon Point when he was 13 years old. Then we
listened to the weather on KNOM Radio. The forecast was not favorable
for the next day when we would be returning to Scammon Bay. But we
decided we'd try for it anyway. By getting an early start, maybe we
could beat the worst of the coming storm and get home sometime in the
afternoon. Little did we know how bad the storm would be.
Early the next morning I woke up a little
apprehensive. I could hear the wind beginning to pick up outside and
somehow sensed this was a mild prelude to what was to come later in
the day. As the morning advanced, the plaintive sound of the wind
became even louder as it bounced and careened off the earthen walls
of the Barbers' sod house. I was getting more and more anxious to
leave for home. I had confidence that Francis would find our way back
but the combination of wind and snow on the flat tundra of the Delta
I also knew to be a daunting force to deal with and I only wanted to
hedge our bets against the tremendous odds. When we finally did hit
the trail around noon the wind had picked up a little more, and
blowing snow began to obscure our visibility. Even though John and
Carin invited us to stay with them till the storm blew itself out,
Francis decided it was best to get back so the kids wouldn't be late
for school.
As we wended our way over to the summer fish
camp at Black River to fill up with gas at Francis' store, we could
feel the wind speed increasing by the minute, and the air filling
with sharp driven particles of icy snow. "Natquvigtuq," he told me,
as he pointed to the blowing snow across the surface of the ground,
and it would have been a serious situation for me alone. Visibility
was very quickly shutting down and by the time we got to his store it
was only 50 yards. After we gassed up and started for home it was
even less. But we set out anyway, even checking four of Francis' mink
traps in spite of the poor visibility. Much to our surprise, two of
these traps had mink in them, and Francis seemed in no hurry in
caring for the carcasses after extracting them from the underwater
wire traps. He first shook the dead animals of most of their water,
then he pressed their fur carefully in the drifted snow, using it as
a form of blotter for the remaining water. In this way there was less
chance the frozen fur would be damaged while being transported in
cold weather. Needless to say, I was fascinated at Francis' ability
to find these traps in such weather. One of them was marked only by
bent grass.
After checking and storing his traps for the
winter, Francis decided it would be a good idea to head for home. The
wind velocity had by now increased to gale force, still from the
north, and visibility was down to about 30 feet. At this point we
still had about 25 miles or more to cover over featureless tundra.
But I had no doubt we would make it back with Francis as our compass.
I only hoped our snow machines would hold up. At around 0 degrees,
the ambient temperature was warm enough but with the wind blowing at
between 40 and 50 mph the chill factor took it down past -50
degrees.
As it was, every time we stopped, my clutch
belt almost instantly froze up and my gas line was beginning to foul
with ice. I guessed that the gas we had filled up with at Black River
was laced with water. It would have been easy enough to fix in calm
weather, but in a storm like this, impossible. So every time the
engine hesitated, I just choked it as hard as I could. Only once did
it lose
power entirely, and even then it was back in operation again after
about three minutes. I was a little anxious though because Francis
continued on ahead, not noticing that my machine had conked out.
After getting us (Glen was still traveling with me) back on the trail
again, I had a hard time following Francis' trail because of the
blowing snow. Also the wind had changed direction and was now
careening at us from the east and cutting across the trail and
obliterating it faster. Meanwhile Francis had discovered we weren't
with him anymore and had doubled back to search for us. When he found
us headed true along his old trail, he picked up the lead again, with
me and Glen dogging close at his heels.
It wasn't long afterward that Francis found the
almost totally obscured coastal firewood trail and we began to follow
it. At that point Glen and I felt a little closer to home. But then
suddenly Francis's snow machine and sled stopped dead on the trail.
It happened so abruptly that my right ski slammed right into the back
of the sled and punched a hole through the plywood. No damage to the
ski, but I would have to replace the piece of wood later. It didn't
take long to figure out why everything had come to a halt. On closer
examination Francis found that one of his rear idler wheels had
burned out its bearings and was now hanging there by only a thread of
charred plastic. So that's what I had been smelling on the trail for
the past quarter hour!
It didn't take long to fix though since Francis
had another idler wheel in his repair sack. It wasn't exactly the
same size as the old one, but it would have to do till we got home. I
remember the expression on his face when he finished. In spite of the
cold cruel sting of the racing snow, he managed what can only be
described as a cherubic smile. With that, he said simply, "Now we can
go."
Then we were on the trail again, a trail by now
totally blanketed with drifts of thick snow
.
This began to seriously slow down
the sled which was heavily laden with the Charlies' four dogs plus
all of the gear and Francis's other son, Richard. Twice we had to
push and pull for all we were worth to extract the sled from the
depths of the drifts. And then my own machine started to act up
again. But just as it seemed it was going to go down from all the
clogging choking ice in its carburetor, the welcome glow of the
lights of Scammon Bay suddenly appeared before us. We were home! And
none too soon, I thought out loud. Six and a half hours of this wind
and snow was long enough for anybody!
The next day when someone asked me how I found
my way home without a compass, I replied only that "Francis Charlie
was my compass." And, I might add, the best compass anybody could
ever find out there in that kind of weather!
Frank Keim
Authentic
Student Stories
Stories
by Parents
and Community
Stories
by Elders
Stories
by the Elementary
Creative
Student Stories
Christmastime Tales
Stories real and imaginary about Christmas, Slavik, and the New Year
Winter, 1996 |
Christmastime Tales II
Stories about Christmas, Slavik, and the New Year
Winter, 1998 |
Christmastime Tales III
Stories about Christmas, Slavik, and the New Year
Winter, 2000 |
| Summer Time Tails 1992 |
Summertime Tails II 1993 |
Summertime Tails III |
| Summertime Tails IV Fall, 1995 |
Summertime Tails V Fall, 1996 |
Summertime Tails VI Fall, 1997 |
| Summertime Tails VII Fall, 1999 |
Signs of the Times November 1996 |
Creative Stories From Creative Imaginations |
| Mustang Mind Manglers - Stories of the Far Out,
the Frightening and the Fantastic 1993 |
Yupik Gourmet - A Book of
Recipes |
|
| M&M Monthly |
|
|
| Happy Moose Hunting! September Edition 1997 |
Happy Easter! March/April 1998 |
Merry Christmas December Edition 1997 |
| Happy Valentine’s
Day! February Edition
1998 |
Happy Easter! March/April Edition 2000 |
Happy Thanksgiving Nov. Edition, 1997 |
| Happy Halloween October 1997 Edition |
Edible and Useful Plants of Scammon
Bay |
Edible Plants of Hooper Bay 1981 |
| The Flowers of Scammon Bay Alaska |
Poems of Hooper Bay |
Scammon Bay (Upward Bound Students) |
| Family Trees and the Buzzy Lord |
It takes a Village - A guide for parents May 1997 |
People in Our Community |
| Buildings and Personalities of
Marshall |
Marshall Village PROFILE |
Qigeckalleq Pellullermeng ‘A
Glimpse of the Past’ |
| Raven’s
Stories Spring 1995 |
Bird Stories from Scammon Bay |
The Sea Around Us |
| Ellamyua - The Great Weather - Stories about the
Weather Spring 1996 |
Moose Fire - Stories and Poems about Moose November,
1998 |
Bears Bees and Bald Eagles Winter 1992-1993 |
| Fish Fire and Water - Stories about fish, global warming
and the future November, 1997 |
Wolf Fire - Stories and Poems about Wolves |
Bear Fire - Stories and Poems about Bears Spring,
1992 |
|
