Just as the wandering Athabaskan tribes, who together blazed an intricate network of trails, were at home in the northern forests, the Eskimos who settled generally along the arctic coastline were equally at home along the ice-choked waters of the Bering Sea and the Arctic Ocean. Anthropological literature is filled with praise for the ingenuity and accomplishments of the Eskimos. In Wendell Oswalt's phrase, the Eskimos were "imperialists of the North," who held the distinction as "the most widely dispersed aboriginal people in the world." Richard Nelson credited them as "one of the most successful peoples in all of human history...They had pushed the human animal to the northernmost limits of its endurance. They had learned to live on the sparest resources, in the virtual absence of external warmth, where the sun vanished for months on end and where no moment of life was brought without the fullest use of the human genius."
Not all Eskimos made their traditional homes in the high Arctic or on the treeless tundra; this was especially true in western Alaska, where the Eskimos often lived along coastal rivers hundreds of miles from the Bering Sea shore. However, thousands of Eskimos did permanently reside on lands in the extreme north where no other people on earth had the skill or knowledge to survive, on lands where it was too cold or too windy for any but the smallest of trees or bushes to grow.
The Eskimos actually favored an environment that most other humans would consider unbelievably harsh and desolate. Tundra-dwelling Eskimos literally preferred not to see the forest or the trees. Unlike the Athabaskans, coastal Eskimos believed the forest to be evil, and imagined the woods were alive with the sounds of tormented spirits. When the Danish explorer Knud Rasmussen made his legendary trek by dogsled across the Arctic in the 1920s, an Eskimo chief described the dangers that lurked in the trees. "It is our belief that the trees in a forest are living beings," a man named Igjugarjuk told Rasmussen, "only that they cannot speak; and for that reason we are loath to spend the night among them. And those who have at some time had to do so, say that at night, one can hear a whispering and groaning among the trees, in a language beyond our understanding."
Besides their remarkably different attitude toward trees, many aspects of Eskimo culture differed from that of the northern Athabaskans in other obvious respects. Even confused European explorers, guilty of the biggest geographical blunder in history by labeling every native group they encountered in the Americas since 1492 as "Indians," recognized from their first encounters in Greenland that the Eskimos were a people apart from all others in the New World, if only because of the environment in which they lived.
Elements of what would later come to be identified as Eskimo culture—especially the production of skin-covered kayaks and specialized harpoons to hunt marine mammals such as walrus, seal, and later whales—began to emerge on the shores of the Bering Sea about four thousand years ago. "Beyond this," the anthropologists S. A. Arotiunov and William Fitzhugh point out, "the trail of Eskimo origins vanishes in the Bering Sea fog."
What most distinguished the Eskimos from other groups was their ingenuity. Some anthropologists claim that among all of the hunting-and-gathering people on earth, the Eskimo exhibited by far the greatest technical sophistication and "technological elaboration." Near the top of any list of Eskimo innovations is the kayak. These small, lightweight skin boats were remarkable for their speed and maneuverability. Exploring Greenland in 1612, William Baffin observed that "they will row so swiftly that it is almost incredible; for no ship in the world is able to keepe way with them..." A pair of Eskimo sunglasses, a wooden mask with small eye slits, protected travelers exceedingly well against snow-blindness, and "ice creepers" attached to boots let a hunter cross the slickest ice in a high wind.
The classic igloo, the dome-shaped house of snow with windows made of ice, is probably the most famous Eskimo adaptation to the arctic environment. Warmed by body heat and small stone lamps, a well-built igloo could be relatively warm and comfortable, even if the outside temperatures were 40, 50, or even 60 degrees below zero. Snowhouses came to stand to the outside world as the symbol of Eskimo culture. In reality, however, the vast majority of coastal Eskimos never lived in a snowhouse and never even saw one. They were common in central Canada where snow conditions were just right, but in Alaska, iglus —the word simply means "house"—were made of sod and the snow igloo was completely unknown. The Danish author and arctic explorer Peter Freuchen came to Alaska in 1932 with an MGM film crew to shoot the movie Eskimo, the first feature film ever made in the Inupiaq language. To his grave disappointment, none of the local Eskimos he found in Alaska, unlike those he knew from his years in Greenland and Canada, had ever seen an igloo, let alone knew how to build one. As a result he was forced to construct a village of igloos for the movie shoot all by himself.
Houses, or iglus, in Alaska were more often semi-subterranean wood- or whalebone-framed dwellings covered with sod. Like today's skylights, a seal-intestine window let the light in and, when opened, served as a chimney to let smoke from the burning stone lamps escape. The dome-shaped living area was connected to a long underground tunnel entrance. Living underground was the best protection against the climate; outside cold air, trapped by the low passageway, never reached the raised living room. Seal-oil lamps, carved from soapstone into an oval shape as if to cup the palm of a hand, burned with wicks of dried moss, providing warmth and light. Food, harnesses, sleds, hunting equipment, and clothing were stored along the length of the entranceway in small compartments. These semi-subterranean houses were only for winter months; come summer, when the frozen ground thawed and the houses were flooded, the Native families moved on to their annual summer fishing camps.
The Eskimos elaborated the craft of fur and skin sewing into an art, a science, and a religion. Fur and skin clothing not only enabled them to move about comfortably in the coldest of temperatures; it also served a variety of social functions as well, demarcating tribes, social standing, gender, and spiritual beliefs. Because all of their clothes came from the animals they hunted, and the success of the hunt was seen as dependent on the willingness of the prey to sacrifice themselves for the benefit of humans, the preparation, maintenance, and wearing of animal clothing took on crucial importance.
Women in the Eskimo community were the seamstresses; no job was more important for the family's survival. Without properly sewn and maintained boots, pants, and parkas, no hunter could hunt, so making the clothing for her family was the measure of a wife's worth. The work literally was never done, because the clothes had to be inspected, repaired, and maintained every day. The slightest tear while out hunting could lead to death.
Training as a skin sewer began at an early age. A young girl practiced on dolls made by her father. Once the girl married, a caring husband might carve and personalize the necessary tools to specially fit the contours of her hand, items such as ivory and bird-bone sewing needles, stone knives, caribou bone-skin scrapers, and caribou-antler snow beaters to keep the clothing dry. A healthy set of teeth was also among a woman's most important tools, as she would have to chew skins and boots to make them soft and pliable. While excavations of prehistoric graves have revealed that male skeletons show clear signs of damage akin to "tennis elbow" from overuse (probably from repeated throwing of spears and harpoons), female skeletons have been found with teeth worn down to bare stubs from years of skin chewing.
The Athabaskans had an elaborate system for preparing the skins, including rubbing them down with a paste made from decayed caribou liver or decayed brains, but the Eskimos generally achieved better results than their neighbors in the Interior with only a fraction of the time and effort. Tools used for dressing the skins typically included a stone scraper, a wood-frame skin stretcher, and a tub of urine, which was used as an all-purpose soap, shampoo, and solvent.
After the flesh and fat were scraped off, the skins were rolled in a bundle with the hairs inside, and kept in the house, as one early ethnologist said, "until they become sour and the hair loosens." The hair was then scraped off
the skins and they were lashed onto a driftwood frame stretcher and placed outside to dry. Most clothing and boots had the hair left on. Typically, these skins were soaked in urine after the flesh and fat were removed, and only then went through the final scraping, stretching, and drying.
Caribou or reindeer skins made the best fur parkas, pants, and mittens because the fur is thick but the individual hairs are hollow, rendering the garment both lightweight and extremely warm. Sealskin was typically the material of choice for waterproof clothing of any type. In some areas, caribou pants were worn with the hair facing inward during cold weather, which would trap air for added insulation, and then facing outward during warmer weather. The key to the system of staying warm was to dress in layers with differing thicknesses in fur, in order to regulate the temperature next to the body, never getting too warm or too cold. Sweating was as potentially dangerous as freezing, so overheating was to be avoided at all costs. Layering also allowed moisture to be wicked away from the body, to condense on one of the outer layers, keeping the skin warm and dry. While outer garments, such as the parka, were traditionally made with the fur facing out, the inner layer of undergarments, often made from newborn or sometimes unborn fawns, was usually worn with the fur on the inside.
The parka was pulled over the head like a tunic and fitted loosely, to allow air to circulate. Stranded travelers could easily take their arms out of the sleeves and hold them against their chests to provide more warmth. A paper-thin waterproof garment made from strips of dried seal intestine was often worn over fur clothing in the winter or in wet weather during the spring. Drawstrings closed off the wrists and neck to prevent water from entering the jacket, and the bottom of the jacket covered the mouth of the kayak so that a hunter rolling in heavy seas was protected against water entering his vessel.
Eskimo fur boots, or mukluks, had caribou-fur tops and caribou-skin or waterproof sealskin soles. These were among the most durable and effective items in their clothes closet, equal or superior to any boots now manufactured. No other item of clothing was more important than a pair of boots. When confronted with dropping temperatures, the traveler could always remove his outer mittens to rub his hands and restore circulation, but boots remained on the feet at all times to keep the traveler warm and dry.
In making mukluks, the Eskimo women tried to use only one thread, with small stitches. They were careful never to make any unnecessary holes with the sewing needle. Tapering sinew thread was the key to perfectly waterproof boots. The thread was twisted so that it had a smaller diameter on one end than the other; when wet, the sinew expanded and plugged up the holes. Caribou socks or boot liners made of woven grass would absorb sweat or any additional moisture, and were taken out to dry at the end of each day.
Keeping dry was not only the secret to staying safe and comfortable on the trail; it was also essential to protect fur clothing from deteriorating. If fur clothes became damp, it wasn't as easy as hanging them by the fire to dry out, because that would make them shrink, and ill-fitting clothes could prove fatal. One trick was to beat off any snow or frost collected in the clothing before entering the heat of a house. As the inside layer wicked away the moisture from the skin, frost might likely have gathered on the inside of the outer coat, which needed to be scraped before going indoors.
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The killing of animals and the skinning of their flesh to provide clothes for the hunter and his family were part of an endless cycle in which death was the source of all life. Eskimos believed the natural world was alive with spirits—some kind and some malevolent—that influenced or controlled their everyday lives. Humans and animals shared a spiritual continuum that defined their universe; humans were not created to dominate the world, but to collaborate with all of the other creatures in it. In such a world, there were no hard and fast boundaries between people and animals, or even between animate and inanimate objects. Ravens and humans, salmon and seals, caribou and bears, ivory and wood, wind and rain, all possessed an equal spiritual essence, which might be transformed under the right circumstances. As a result of this ambiguous dividing line between the human and the non-human world, all creation deserved the utmost care and respect, or there would be angry spirits to pay.
The elaborate hunting traditions were in many ways ritualized offerings to animal spirits so they would continue to come to the hunter. After killing a seal, a hunter was sure to pray to its spirit and offer thanks for its sacrifice; his wife would offer its "thirsty soul" a sip of water, saying, "See, our water here is tasty, very inviting," in the fervent hope that such hospitality would encourage seals to continue coming to the village. The hunter's clothing had to be beautiful, and its stitching perfect, to please the animal spirits he was hunting. A poor seamstress with irregular stitching might drive the animals away. To further ensure a successful hunt, a seamstress never worked on clothes while her husband was out hunting, believing her inactivity would make the prey inactive.
Young women were often warned against looking a hunter in the eye so as not to deplete his power to hunt. While in bed, a wife was not to sleep facing her husband, "lest the braid of her hair appear hanging in front of his face and subsequently block his vision." Likewise, Eskimos showed respect to the wise old man in the moon who watched over the world by not looking him in the eye. Hunters often carried amulets carved out of ivory in the shape of the animals the family depended on for its survival. These charms could call the animals to the hunter, or increase the hunter's powers to hear the clicking of caribou feet far off in the distance. The seamstress also carried charms that hung from her needlecase or caribou teeth strung from her belt that could protect her family from sickness and harm.
Animal skins empowered those wearing them with the characteristics of that animal; the hunter became part caribou, seal, wolf, or walrus by adorning himself in their clothing. With skin from a caribou's legs on his boots, he was sure to emulate the speed of a running caribou, while a wolf or wolverine belt with the tail hanging down his back would give him their strength and courage as a hunter. A wooden hunting hat with baleen enabled a kayaker "to pass safely through the currents like a whale," while the wood from the land ensured he would return safely again to solid ground.
Emulating the manners and habits of wild animals had a practical as well as a spiritual side, because successful hunters were those who knew best what they were hunting for. The various species of seal— particularly the Ringed and Bearded Seals—were perhaps the most widespread and useful animals in the entire Eskimo world. In addition to being a reliable and widely available food source for both men and dogs, these ubiquitous marine mammals supplied Eskimos with skins for boots and kayaks, and oil for heating, lighting, and cooking. Seal meat, seal oil, seal blubber, and sealskin could supply most of a family's needs for food, fuel, clothing, and shelter.
The Eskimo hunted seals with a variety of different methods both on the ice and in the water. One traditional technique was to stalk a sleeping seal as it napped on the ice pack, requiring the hunter to approach within harpoon distance—about 15 feet—of his prey. As the seals were not afraid of other seals, the hunter crawled forward pretending to be a seal himself, sliding and scratching, moving his arms like flippers and his head like an anxious seal scouting for polar bears, as he moved in for the kill.
Living off the land, the ice, and the sea, a man naturally grew expert at reading and studying animal behavior, as well as terrain, ice conditions, and weather patterns. Though it is not true, as a well-known myth claims, that the Eskimo language has an extraordinary number of words for snow, it is true that the Natives did have a remarkably detailed and specific knowledge of snow and ice conditions. This was essential for their day-to-day survival, because the arctic environment poses innumerable hazards, and too often the smallest mistake in judgment could mean death. In a land with no readily available shelter and no easily distinguishable landmarks—the flatness of the arctic coastal plain makes Kansas look like Switzerland—it was remarkably easy
to get lost or disoriented. Sometimes the only way a lost traveler could tell what direction he was going was to feel the contours of snowdrifts in the dark, trying to find the patterns left by the prevailing winds. An experienced traveler knew which way the winds blew, and used them not only to predict future weather but to serve as a beacon to bring him home.
The hardest going of all was across the ice. No camp on the floating ice was ever completely safe, no matter how stable it appeared. Driven by winds and currents the moving ice is a churning, shape-shifting platform, in a constant state of flux, expanding and contracting with the seasons. The top of the world is covered every winter by nearly 7 million square miles of ice, an area about twice the size of the entire United States, of which close to 2 million square miles is destroyed each summer, to grow back again the following winter. The constant cycle of fragmenting and congealing at the mercy of the winds leaves behind long cracks, pressure ridges, and piles of icy rubble. The World War II Army Air Corps Arctic Manual warns that the surface of the ice resembles "something between a system of miniature mountain ranges and the interior of a granite quarry."
Whether on land or ice, the power and fury of an arctic winter storm, like a biblical plague, dwarfs all human capacity to withstand it. Extremely cold temperatures may be unpleasant, yet the greatest arctic hazard is not the cold but the wind speed. Wind is the great dictator of northern life. On the trail, almost nothing protects a man from the wind, and in the face of an arctic gale it is easy to understand why some Natives believed the wind to be a malevolent spirit. A trail-hardened pioneer missionary would later claim that he could travel with relative comfort at 65 degrees below zero in calm air, but he always feared and detested the winds on the Bering Sea coast. "One grows to hate that wind," he wrote, "with something like a personal animosity, so brutal, so malicious does it seem."
The Cruelest Miles: the Heroic Story of Dogs and Men in a Race Against an Epidemic Page 13