Wainwright

I returned from Wainwright at about 8:30 last evening. Wainwright is a long-established Inupiat village located about 30 air minutes west of Barrow. I spent Thursday and Friday working in Wainwright. While there, another colleague, Bonnie, and I, were invited to dinner by friends, Linda and John. Linda and John are “winter” teachers at Alak School in Wainwright. They are “summer” residents of Billings, Montana. Linda and John have been teachers on the Slope for a number of years, working in several of the villages, as well as Barrow. Bonnie and her husband Eric “winter” in Barrow and “summer” at their home in Spokane. They have also been teaching in “Bush” Alaska for a number of years. Bonnie is an itinerant “Bush Rat”, like myself.

I “first” met Linda and John on a trip to Wainwright a few years ago. On that occasion, Linda and I had spent about four hours discussing Linda’s students and families and other job related details, before engaging in less formal conversation about people, places, and ourselves. Well, to make a long story short, it turned out that we had both attended high school in the same town, Havre, Montana. In fact, further inquiry revealed that we had been in the same graduating class, but had not recognized one another after thirty-something years! Needless to say, this was somewhat embarrassing for both of us. The planet is shrinking! Since our first “reunion”, we’ve spent bits of time catching up on “Who’s where, and doing what?” It was a real treat to spend Thursday evening with Linda, John, and Bonnie.

There was a funeral in Wainwright on Thursday. Funerals in the Native villages of Alaska are celebrations of life. “Bush” Alaskans come from surrounding villages, hundreds of miles apart. Most arrive by air, but a few hardy types make their way by ground on snow machine. “City Natives” arrive from Fairbanks, Anchorage, and Juneau. “Outside” relatives make their way north from lower 48 places like Los Angeles, Las Vegas, Chicago, Washington D.C., and Seattle. As the family gathers at -30 to pay respect, it is much the same as a funeral gathering anywhere…one day of sadness and tears, followed by another day or two of moderate celebration. The celebration may include some drinking, but is more likely to be a “period of renewal” where family and friends go off with one another to engage in fishing, hunting, or berry picking. This time of year caribou hunting, or “jigging” for smelt through the ice, are the options for “post burial” activities.

Bonnie and I were scheduled to get back to Barrow by 6:00 last night, but our plans were complicated by funeral traffic. The aircraft that we fly on have limited seating available. This generally means nine or less passengers on the Slope. The number of seats available is determined by how much cargo is being carried on the plane, as well as other factors, such as the “mood and competence” of the airline agent in each village. Our first flight was delayed by an hour or so, due to a “blown tire” on the aircraft when landing in another village. This immediately put all future flights for the evening into an “overload” condition. This means that any previously “confirmed” flight becomes invalid. This also means “standby” for all incoming flights.

While waiting for another plane, Bonnie and I decided to go to the restaurant for some food. We both ordered burgers and tater tots. The restaurant in Wainwright serves one of the best burgers I’ve had anywhere. When you add about “a pound” of tater tots and a Coke you get more than a full tummy, and your money’s worth for $12. Of course the cost of the meal is somewhat prohibitive if you consider the price of the roundtrip ticket from Barrow at about $350, the roundtrip from Anchorage/Barrow at $700, and whatever you might pay to get to Anchorage if you live “outside”. Having experienced the burger in Wainwright, I will now be able to take this stop off of my “bucket list”. The rest of you are on your own. Be sure to call ahead to make sure they’re not out of ‘burger. Muktuk, though it’s a local favorite, doesn’t seem to do the “trick” when presented on a toasted bun with tomato, onion, and lettuce.

After dinner, Bonnie and I made our “run” at the first plane. We were aced out by a small “herd’ of rather aggressive Native females, who were not confirmed for the flight, but were given “preferential treatment” by the Native agent. The pilot didn’t help matters any by saying he had no flight manifest and that “it was first come, first served”. Bonnie and I were the first in line, but that didn’t seem to matter. The agent looked right past us and ushered the Native gals onto the plane…so much for the “Native Values” of “Respect” and “Fair Treatment”. It has always amazed me that many of those who complain the loudest about discrimination, fail to see when they are in violation themselves. My readers may not view my next comment as PC, but I have found that when in similar situations in past years, I've often encountered passive discrimination. If you’re white, even if you’re from the village, you’ll likely be “overlooked”. The most “memorable” experience I have is from nearly twenty years ago when I was dropped at an airstrip in an “upriver” village out of Bethel. The temperature was -35. I had my standard 70 to 80 pounds of gear, and I was three miles from the village. The Native agent refused to take me to the village, saying he’d send someone from the school to pick me up. After an hour I decided to abandon my gear and walked to the school. The agent had failed to contact anyone. More penance for the misdeeds of our forefathers. Oh well.

We returned to the school for another 45 minutes to wait for a second plane coming from Atqasuk. Bonnie phoned Barrow to determine how many seats would be available. We now knew there were nine people on standby. We also found out that there were only five seats available on this “final plane” of the night. Neither of us was looking forward to another night on the floor at the school, so we “conspired” to be more aggressive in our attempt to get on this plane.

Arriving at the airstrip for the third time, we watched patiently for the arriving aircraft. As soon as the plane parked and engines shut down, Joe, our Native maintenance guy and driver, quickly drove the pick up to the plane. Bonnie and I were out of the truck before it was stopped. I grabbed my stuff and yelled at Joe to get Bonnie’s bag. Bonnie ran up the stairs and into the plane. I threw my bags at the co-pilot/baggage handler and flew through the door behind Bonnie. We were on!

Now, I must say that there are many wonderful and polite Native people out in the villages of Alaska who will treat you as one of their own. Our driver Joe is a prime example. If you treat them with respect, and show a sincere interest in the culture, they will generally reciprocate. But when it comes to getting on a plane, or being the next one served, your place in line won’t count unless you’re blood. You are always a visitor in this world.

The sun peeked over the horizon for the first time in 2009 four days ago in Wainwright ...then yesterday, in Barrow. The sunrise/sunset photos are from Wainwright.

All pics are from my “out and about” in Wainwright yesterday afternoon. The hanging caribou meat is an example of why Eskimos don't need freezers. The "village dog" photo will give you a better feel for what is considered to be "acceptable pet care" in the Arctic. The "ice and sky" pic is what oceanfront property looks like up here. Enjoy!