Point Hope

Day one of fieldwork was in Point Hope on Thursday, July 12, 2012. An early morning flight from Anchorage to Kotzebue was fairly typical, then about an hour hop to Point Hope. The sun was shining, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky --- as our pilot said, it doesn't get any more perfect than this.

Upon arrival in Point Hope we were greeted by a small group of people in trucks and on ATVs, eager to collect the cargo that outweighed us on the flight. Everything that comes into these small communities must arrive by flight, which can be exceptionally expensive, or via boat, the slower if more cost efficient route.

Point Hope is one of the western-most points in the U.S., though it moved a bit to the east in the 1970s. Located on a gravel bar that protrudes into the Chukchi Sea, continual erosion forced the relocation of the entire town. The new location is characterized by modern and rather unappealing government housing, but vestiges of the old town still remain west of the airport. The traditional, semi-subterranean housing (often made with whale bone "studs") seems like it would be much more comfortable for the -50 degree Fahrenheit winters that are common in this part of the world.

Aside from the fieldwork, we had an opportunity to eat at the local restaurant, the Whaler's Inn, operated by a wonderfully friendly guy named John. The community is also home to some artisan craftspeople who practice traditional carving and jewelry making. Visitor's are obviously a relative rarity, as no fewer than half a dozen villagers approached us with baleen plaques, fossilized ivory earrings, hand carved walrus tusks and ram's horns. We also spoke with a traditional mask maker whose work has been featured in art museums all over Alaska and in the Lower 48. In general, the village was extremely welcoming, and made us feel very much at home for the brief period we were there.

By 4pm, about the time we were headed back down to the airport, we looked to the south and noticed a fog bank rolling in. I had been warned that the weather can be at best unpredictable, but the expediency with which the entire town was blanketed was amazing. By the time we reached the airport the town - both old and new - had completely vanished into the mist. Our plane barely made the landing through the fog, though the take off was remarkably smooth. Just a few feet above the earth we broke through and were able to see the thick white blanket below us, and the beautiful blue of the sky everywhere else. Back to Kotzebue, a hop to Nome, and we arrived back in Anchorage exhausted and looking forward to doing it all again in less that 6 hours.