WHALE STRIKE IN KAKTOVIK - A VILLAGE CELEBRATES

I was at the school in Kaktovik on Thursday afternoon offering flu shots to the staff there.  Mid conversation with some of the teachers in the lounge, we heard excited announcements that a whale had just been caught and that the whaling crews would be bringing it into shore soon. 

Kaktovik is allotted three whales a year by the Whaling Commission, based on the size of their community, just under 250 residents.  They’d gotten two small whales, just over 29 and just over 27 feet during the past two weeks and were hopeful this week to catch their final one of the season, allowing for time to harvest and store it before winter comes.  School normally lets out at 3:30 pm, but because whaling is a community event, it closed soon after the announcement.  People donned parkas, boots and gloves and left quickly for the beach to help the crews and their families. 

I left the near-empty school with my immunization bag and walked to the small post office where the mother of one of the children I’d immunized works.  I wanted to let her know that I’d examined her son at school and the swelling caused by an immunization in his thigh looked as though it was resolving itself.  The little boy said there was no pain and seemed very happy.  I felt as comforted as the mother did.  She, along with several other people, was not able to leave her job to participate in the whaling activities.  Something about rain, snow, sleet, hail and whaling came to my mind when saying good bye and knowing that she’d be counting the hours until she was able to go to the beach where the others would be gathered, working and celebrating.

When arriving at the clinic, I found staff there preparing to leave.  One young woman stayed behind to answer telephones in case an emergency came up.  I felt for her as she looked slightly forlorn about not being able to join the others.  I had immunizations scheduled that afternoon but everyone assured me that the clients wouldn’t come, that they’d be down with the whalers, so it was safe for me to go as well.  I joined Mary, one of the health aides, in a very excited ride to the beach and was touched by what I saw there.

Although I don’t like the thought of any creature losing its life, there are absolutely no vegetables or any form of agriculture naturally occurring here that people can subsist on.  The whale, tutu (caribou), seal, walrus, duck and fish are what they eat to stay alive.  This whale measured 27 feet, 7 inches long and found itself a very welcome and valued guest in Kaktovik that day. 

Children stood on its shiny surface while happy parents took pictures.  Akka’s, aapa’s, auntie’s, uncles, mothers, fathers and cousins all shared in the joy of the afternoon.  The successful whaling crew was part of the large Brower family.  When one crew strikes a whale, a message goes out to the other crews who all meet to pull it in.  Because this was the third whale of the season, it wasn’t allowable to continue hunting past reaching this quota.  I heard people talking that because all three whales were small ones, that they would ask the Whaling Commission to be able to hunt for one more in order to feed the community for the upcoming winter.

Men began systematically cutting the whale, visually measuring each piece.  Women in the whaling shack began preparing cauldrons of water, bringing them to a boil, while more women outside covered long tables with cardboard so as not to dull their ulus (curved flat knives used by the Inupiat and other Eskimo groups) when cutting.  Young men carried large pieces of the whale, using hooks, up to the cutting table.  Soon, smaller pieces of whale were taken into the shack and boiled, then served steaming hot, to the whaling crews who had been out on the cold water since early morning.

Next, large containers of the just boiled whale, called unalik, when it’s first harvested and prepared this way, was passed around to cold bystanders.  I’d had and enjoyed maktak (also called muktuk) in Barrow, although it was very tough and required a strong jaw for chewing.  I was unprepared for the difference between it and the unalik.  I’m not stretching the truth at all by saying that I’ve never (never) enjoyed anything more.  I completely understood the village’s excitement today, filling myself until over full with this hot, oily, melt-in-your mouth food all the while thinking “I wonder how I’m going to feel in the morning?”  After consuming several good sized pieces, another landed on my paper plate, with a little bit of an unusual shape.  One of the villagers saw it and said, “You got the belly button!” “Hurray!” I think as it sounded like a prime piece.  I know all of this sounds almost primordial for me to be feasting on this poor animal, but you really had to be there. 

There were several other Caucasians there, teachers from the school, a whale biologist collecting samples and several men with large cameras.  I found myself shivering, standing next to a tall man with one of the cameras and asked where he was from.  He, a fellow film-maker and their crew who would be flying in soon, were from Cheddar, outside of London.  They’d heard about Kaktovik and were here in the Arctic on their first trip to explore doing a PBS documentary of life in the village.  What a wonderful day for them to arrive.  He said that he hoped to meet some of the local people while there and return next year to do the filming.  At all points during the harvesting, cutting and cooking, the other film maker was taking footage, sometimes perched, standing above where villagers sat to eat in the whaling shack. 

One of the qualities I love most about the Inupiat people is their acceptance of anyone who is interested in their culture.  I could see a happy flow of work being done, not seeming to mind being filmed and no irritation that I could see of outsiders, including myself, being present.  I felt honored to be with them there on the beach and happy to be invited into the shack to warm up.  I tried some duck soup, thinking that it might be tutu (caribou), one of my favorites, and didn’t care for it quite as much as the unalik or the tutu.  I should have been a little more observant, seeing that the person next to me had the head of a duck in her bowl. 

I found the mother of the teenagers who were scheduled for immunizations that afternoon and we agreed that we’d meet at the clinic at 5 pm.  I’d be flying out the next morning and wouldn’t be back until early February.  I’m so impressed by the parents in the villages.  They understand how immunizing can protect their children from diseases that took lives and disfigured people in the not too distant past. 

As I was leaving, I could see polar bears swimming close to the shore.  Parents began shouting at their children who were near the water’s edge, playing, to run further up.  “Come closer!  Run! Watch out for the polar bears!” they called in loud voices. 

I saw photographs later of bears that had overtaken the whale and were enjoying their turn at harvesting.  Stephanie told me that the whalers had held them off as long as possible, finishing up as much as they could.  They left the whale and walked up shore as the hungry and anxious bears became more determined.  Some of the photographs on her phone were truly amazing with people standing just yards away from where the bears feasted.  I guess there is no contest between a whale and a person for a bear as far as a meal goes, maybe especially when the people have been kind enough to serve the whale up, ready to enjoy.  There might be something to this.  They catch and eat seal on their own, but aren’t able to kill a whale.  They depend on the villagers for this sort of feeding.  I wonder if this is part of their thought process in not harming the villagers.  The bear biologist I met at the school said that there were 54 bears in the vicinity this year.  Last year, in Bertrand’s trip report, there had been 84 and he wrote that the biologist said that the bears had a very symbiotic relationship with the villagers. 

Photo taken by Flora Rexford

The weather the next morning was foggy, but it lifted soon, allowing me, the eight other passengers and our bags to make the flight from there to the small village of Nuiqsut.  From there, we flew and landed in Prudhoe Bay, spending an hour on the ground.  It was like a summer day, sunny skies stretching out in all directions forever.  After an hour of flying, we approached Barrow and hit large banks of dark rain clouds.  Fortunately, Magnus, the Swedish pilot was flying.   Poor weather doesn’t seem to daunt him and I was grateful for his confidence coming and going, allowing me to do my work, to learn more about life in Kaktovik and to return home on schedule.  Several times, while in the dark clouds, the plane hit strong turbulents and the plane moved in unnatural ways, making me think about how it would be to end the good life I’ve had, summersaulting from the sky.  Being in the air is such a freeing experience, like being held in a giant hand, so I didn’t feel any fear at all, knowing that I’d still be in that giant hand whether high above or on the ground, but a familiar question did come to mind, one I’d heard quite a few times just before poking little arms at the school, “Is this going to hurt?” We, of course, landed safely, and were welcomed by a downpour of cold rain and potholed streets filled with water.  I’m not alone in having high hopes that winter will arrive soon.

It was an interesting, meaningful and exciting five days in Kaktovik…one I’ll have memories of for a long time to come.