Snap back to reality.

On Monday I went upriver for the first time. I rode in a flat-bottomed jet boat called a Phantom… I mean, come on, how cool is that? I fished with a Dude, goes by the call sign “Warlock” – out of a boat called the Phantom. I caught a Kivalina Trout but that’s only what it’s known by from the locals. Technically it’s a Dolly Varden and I caught one – and rode in a Phantom Jet Boat with a guy named Warlock! Monday was good.

Saturday was better.

Yesterday, the Reverend took Jon and me upstream. The Reverend isn’t a cool nickname like “Warlock” it’s an occupation. For work Rev. Enoch Adams is the Episcopal Minister at one of the two village churches. For enjoyment, the Reverend is an outdoorsman and subsistence hunter birthed right from the tundra. Before being ordained, Enoch was actually a teacher at the school here in Kivalina. He attended the University of Virginia and came home every Christmas and in the summer. Now raising his own family as a man of the cloth, Enoch provides for them from the land.

I truly had an incredible day. I saw 800-1000 head of Caribou. It seemed everywhere we stopped the boat and climbed a small ridge to glass for caribou we found some. Off in the distance, caribou. On the next hill side, caribou. Around the 4^th bend in the river, Caribou. To the north by the wind tower, caribou. Groups ranging in size from 4 or 5 to hundreds. This wasn’t the time or place for a spot and stalk hunt. We were looking for animals within reasonable distance of the river or animals that might be moving towards the river. That proved to be the challenge.

Ptarmigan scurried around in the brush. Salmon were leaping out of the water as if their skin was on fire because of the water that they were swimming in. Only the air, not the water, could put the fire out. I caught my first Arctic Grayling and then caught a few more. Jon caught his first Dolly Varden and matched it with his first Grayling as well. Later in the evening, I caught a male late run Chum Salmon that weighed close to twenty pounds and while at the end of my line, he jumped like his skin was on fire.

As the evening wore to a close, we spent a couple of hours trying to wait out a herd of approximately 150-200 caribou as they grazed in a place called Tignaq. In Inupiaq, Tignaq means Big Bend – aptly named after the widest reaching bend in the Wulik River. When we first saw them, they were behind one of the hills in an area called “Two Hills”. I forget the Inupiaq word and couldn’t spell it correctly in the first place. Forgive me. We decided to give them a little space and headed a short way downstream to fish. Less than 10 minutes later, Enoch said we had to hurry back because he could see that the herd had moved.

They had cut the distance between them and the river in half. Now a large herd of caribou was about 400 yards away and inching their way towards us. Within minutes of us landing and scurrying up the north bank, a cow and a yearling came prancing in to about 75 yards, spotted Enoch and walked off. This appeared to be the Advance Party and in hindsight, if we could have avoided their detection, I might have a different story to tell. Anyway, with the Advanced Party making their way slowly north and rejoining the larger herd, Enoch, Jon and I belly crawled through some soggy Tundra and got to the edge of some three foot willows. From there we glassed the herd for almost an hour in hopes of a chance to harvest a few. While looking over the group and paying attention to their slightest movements, I noticed a grand daddy of a bull that easily stood out, even amongst the bigger bulls of his herd. This dude had palmated antlers that resembled a moose. His body was distinguishable with the naked eye and I wish I had had a chance. The shot never materialized and eventually the herd dashed off to a distance that they felt more comfortable at. I will never forgot that first sight of a herd of 200 large animals retreating to safer grounds…

With that my tank was refilled. I saw big game. I saw small game. I saw the beauty of the mountains from a different perspective. I had great conversation with Jon and Enoch and truly enjoyed my nine hours in the bush…

But tomorrow there’s work to do.

Ya see, there’s a weird feeling I get when sharing here in the Blogoshpere and on Social Media/Facebook… I want to keep people in the loop of what’s happening with me above the Arctic. I want them to enjoy the beauty of this vast place. I know that some are living vicariously through my travels and others just want to know I’m alive and well… my family needs photographic evidence.. and some just want to see how the beard is coming in…and so I share.

But what I haven’t shared with too many is that this place is tough.

Teaching here is not a walk in the park like it had become for me in Small Town Minnesota.

There are some serious challenges that no manual or workshop could ever prepare you for.

Because Bush Schools typically struggle to meet the high demands of Standardized Testing, we are under the watchful eye of our District and the State and therefor are responsible for an unfair amount of paperwork and an irrational review process.

My students are generally a grade level or two behind their Lower 48 peers.

The village dynamic is difficult to explain but equally challenging. I sometimes feel like I am in a third world country.

There is not running water in the homes of the children I serve.

There is drug and alcohol abuse in gravely disproportionate amounts.

Priorities for the villagers are sometimes different from what I’ve come to know.

And so on a Sunday night after experiencing a week of one of the most unique hunting and fishing opportunities of my life, I can’t help but feel like I’m “Paying the Piper.”

Don’t get me wrong – there are plenty of good things that can and will come out of my teaching experience at McQueen School. I have built many solid relationships already. I am only trying to be open and honest enough with you fine folks that are following my mindless wanderings here on the Kirby Krew…

It’s not all Rainbows and Unicorns.

There is a bitter reality about this place.

But I accept that.

July 2015 - Chamisso Island.
At that point - no idea what Kivalina would have for me.