Nature Observation in Alaska - Footprints in the Last Wild Place (Cont.)

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Outside Magazine February 2003

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Footprints in the Last Wild Place (Cont.)

LEAVING THE AIRSTRIP AT DEADHORSE, south of Prudhoe Bay, the pilot followed the silver tube of the trans-Alaska pipeline and the service route known as the Haul Road. To the west lay

In Gwich'in mythology and creation stories, an elder said, Caribou has a piece of man's heart in its heart, and a piece of Caribou's heart rests in the heart of man, so that each will always know what the other is doing. "I don't want to lose our animals," he said. "That is our Indian power."

Service City, a defunct camp where the oil gave out in 1986. Service City and the Sacred Place Where Life Begins: The names tell us more than we might care to confront about our culture's increasing alienation from what native peoples know as Land and Life.

Ten days earlier, in Arctic Village, I had listened happily to Trimble Gilbert, a tall elder with thick glasses and a big smile in a mouth with few front teeth, and a former village chief who serves as spiritual leader. In Gwich'in mythology and creation stories, Mr. Gilbert said, Caribou has a piece of Man's heart in its heart, and a piece of Caribou's heart rests in the heart of Man, so that each will always know what the other is doing. "Those elders who followed the traditional way knew a lot about animals," he continued, "and they would know when our caribou were coming. They would dream that they would be here in a few days. Many caribou used to cross our river—not anymore. In the last 20, 30 years since the pipeline came along, things have changed. The birds don't come. We don't hear their singing. When I was growing up, I couldn't wait till spring, to see them, hear them! Every spring! Not anymore. If we don't stop this oil development, everything will go. It might take 20 or 30 more years, then everything will be gone.

"I don't want to lose our animals. Those little birds [phalaropes] that go round and round on the water, every pond: I haven't seen one in 20 years. And swallows! You'd see them all over, whirling up and down—it's fun! Now, my wife, Mary, she says, 'Where did the swallows go?'" He paused. "That is something taken from our lives that we can't put back.

"We try to keep our community together. That is our Indian power. That is our way," Mr. Gilbert said, smiling his great toothless smile. "I see my father's fishing place, my grandfather's camp, then I am at peace again. We respect our land, and the refuge is our land. This is our home."

This article was adapted from an essay by PETER MATTHIESEN in Arctic National Wildlife Refuge: Seasons of Life and Land (The Mountaineers Books), to be published in March.

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