“The chief was a cruel man. I had avoided him until the day I stood before him and shouted angry words at his face. I could see that he was twice as angry as I was, but I could not stop myself. Even though I knew that the chief disliked me, I argued on, not listening to him as he tried to answer my accusations. His action was wrong, and I meant to make it right. As I continued to talk, I was unaware of the shock that awakened the group from its malnourished lethargy. A fearful look fell upon the chief’s face and he put his large hand over my mouth. ‘All right, strange young girl,’ he said in a loud voice that I knew was meant to humiliate me. I could feel my chin go up farther so that he could see that I remained proud and unafraid. ‘You will stay with the old one,’ he said. I could hear my mother gasp, and my own heart sank. Yet I would not yield as I stared unblinkingly into his eyes.
”My family was deeply hurt, but pride and shame kept them from protesting. They did not want a daughter who would take such a stand against the strong leaders of the group. I did not think the leaders were strong. The chief acted as if I did not exist after that, and I was ignored by everyone else except my family, who begged me to apologize to the leader. But I would not give in. My pride grew with each moment the others pretended I was not there, and I continued to plead for the old woman’s life.” Sa’ broke into laughter at her impetuous youth.
“What happened after that?” Ch’idzigyaak wanted to know.
Sa’ paused as she deeply inhaled the pain from those long-ago memories. Continuing in a subdued voice, she said, “After they left, I was not so brave. There were no animals to be found for miles around. But I was determined to show what could be done by my good intentions. So the old woman—I never did know her name, for I was too busy trying to keep us alive—and I ate mice, owls, and anything else that moved. I killed it, and we ate it. The woman died that winter. Then I was alone. Not even my pride and usual carefree ways could help me. I talked to myself all the time. Who else was there? They would think I was crazy if The People returned to find me talking to the air. At least you and I have each other,” Sa’ told her friend, who nodded in wholehearted agreement.
“Then I realized the importance of being with a large group. The body needs food, but the mind needs people. When the sun finally came hot and long on the land, I explored the country. One day as I was walking along, talking to myself as usual, someone said, ‘Who are you talking to?’ For a moment I thought I was hearing things. I stopped in my tracks and turned slowly to find a big, strong-looking man with his arms crossed, smiling at me in a bold manner. Many feelings ran through me at that moment. I was surprised, embarrassed, and angry all at once. ‘You scared me!’ I said, trying to cover up my real feelings. Because my cheeks were burning, I knew I did not fool him, for his grin grew deeper. He asked me what I was doing out there alone, and I told him my story. I felt at that moment that I could trust him. He told me that the same thing happened to him. Only he was banished because he was foolish enough to fight over a woman who was meant for another man. We were together a long time before we became a man and woman together. I never saw my family again, and it was years later that we joined the band.
“Then he tried to fight with a bear and died. Foolish man,” she added with grudging admiration, as a deep sadness weighed down her face.
It was the first time Ch’idzigyaak saw her friend so sad, and she broke the silence by saying, “You were luckier than I, for when it became apparent that I was not interested in taking a man, I was forced to live with a man much older than me. I hardly knew him. It was years before we had our child. He was older than I am now when he died.”
Sa’ laughed. “The People would have chosen a man for me too, had I been with them much longer.” After a momentary silence, she continued. “Now here we are, truly old. I hear our bones creaking, and we are left behind to fend for ourselves.” The women fell into silence as they struggled with their emotions. They lay on their warm beds as the cold earth trembled outside. They thought about the experiences they had shared. As they fell into an exhausted sleep, each woman felt more at home because of her new knowledge of the other and because each had survived hard times before.
Days shortened as the sun sank deeper under the horizon. It grew so cold there were times when the women jumped as the trees around them cracked loudly from the cold pressure. Even the willows snapped. But as the women settled down they also became depressed. They feared the savage wolves that howled in the distance. Other imagined fears tormented them as well, for there was plenty of time to think as the dark days drifted slowly by. In what daylight they had, the two women forced themselves to move. They spent all their waking hours collecting firewood from underneath the deep snow. Though food was scarce, warmth was their main concern, and at night they would sit and talk, trying to keep each other from the loneliness and fears that threatened to overcome them. The People rarely spent precious time in idle conversation. When they did speak, it was to communicate rather than to socialize. But these women made an exception during the long evenings. They talked. And a sense of mutual respect developed as each learned of the other’s past hardships.
Many days went by before the women caught more rabbits. It had been some time since they had eaten a full meal. They managed to preserve their energy by boiling spruce boughs to serve as a minty tea, but it made the stomach sour. Knowing it was dangerous to eat anything solid after such a diet, the two women first boiled the rabbit meat to make a nourishing broth, which they drank slowly. After a day of drinking the broth, the women cautiously ate one ham off a rabbit. As the days passed, they allowed themselves more portions, and soon their energy was restored.
With wood piled high around the shelter like a barricade, the women found that they had more time to forage for food. The hunting skills they learned in their youth reemerged, and each day the women would walk farther from the shelter to set their rabbit snares and to keep an eye out for any other animals small enough to kill. One of the rules they had been taught was that if you set snares for animals you must check them regularly. Neglecting your snareline brought bad luck. So, despite the cold and their own physical discomforts, the two women checked their snares each day and usually found a rabbit to reward them.
At nightfall, when their daily chores were completed, the women wove the rabbit fur into blankets and clothing, such as mittens and face coverings. Sometimes, to break the monotony, one would present a woven rabbit-fur hat or mittens to the other. This always brought wide smiles.
As the days slowly passed, the weather lost its cold edge, and the women savored moments of glee—they had survived the winter! They regained what energy they had lost and now they kept busy collecting more firewood, checking the rabbit snares and scouting the vast area for other animals. Though the women had lost the habit of complaining, they grew tired of the daily fare of rabbit meat and found themselves dreaming of other game to eat, such as willow grouse, tree squirrels, and beaver meat.
One morning, as Ch’idzigyaak awoke, she felt something was not quite right. Her heart pumped rapidly as she slowly got up, fearing the worst, and peeked out of the shelter. At first, all seemed still. Then suddenly she spotted a flock of willow grouse pecking at some tree debris that had fallen not far away. With trembling hands, she quietly got a long, thin strand of babiche out of her sewing bag and slowly crept out of the tent. Selecting a long stick from the nearby woodpile, she fashioned a noose at the end and began to crawl toward the flock.
Nervously, the birds started to cluck as they became aware of the woman’s presence. Knowing that the birds were about to take fight, Ch’idzigyaak stopped for a few minutes to give them time to calm down. They were not too far from her now, and she hoped that Sa’ would not awake and make a noise that would scare away the birds. With knees aching and hands slightly trembling, Ch’idzigyaak slowly pushed the stick forward. Some grouse excitedly flew away to another patch of willows nearby, but she steadfastly ignored them as she continued to lift the stick slowly as th
e remaining birds walked about faster. Ch’idzigyaak concentrated on the grouse closest to her. It made small movements toward the noose, its head nodding back to front. As the birds started noisily to run and fly off, Ch’idzigyaak shoved the noose forward until the bird’s head slipped right into it. Then she jerked the stick upward as the bird squawked and twisted until it hung motionless. Standing up with the dead grouse in her hand, Ch’idzigyaak turned toward the tent to find her friend’s face wreathed in smiles. Ch’idzigyaak smiled back.
Looking into the air, Ch’idzigyaak took note of a warmth in the air. “The weather gets better,” Sa’ said softly and the older woman’s eyes widened in surprise. “I should have noticed. Had it been cold, I would have frozen in my position of a sneaky fox.” The women found great laughter in this as they went back into the shelter to prepare the meat of a different season to come. After that morning, the weather fluctuated between bitter cold and then warm and snowy days. That the women did not catch another bird failed to dampen their spirits, for the days gradually grew longer, warmer, and brighter.
MAP
The routes on this map were taken from a regular map of the Yukon Flats area, with the help of my mother. The winter trails are not historically accurate in detail but do show the general areas through which the Gwich’in people traveled for many years before the coming of the Western culture.
Many winter and summer paths were used by the Gwich’in people but through the years, these trails either have been forgotten or changed by younger generations seeking shortcuts, or by natural events.
CHAPTER 5
Saving a cache of fish
Soon winter was gone and the two old women spent more time hunting game. They feasted on the feisty little squirrels that bolted from tree to tree and on the flocks of willow grouse that seemed to be everywhere.
With the warm days of spring came the time for muskrat hunting. The women long ago had been tutored in the skills and patience required. First, special nets and traps had to be made. A willow branch was bent into a circle and bound securely at the ends. The women wove thin strips of moose leather into the frames until each formed a crude but sturdy net. Then, on a sunny day, they set out in search of a muskrat tunnel.
They walked a long way before they came to a cluster of lakes with signs of muskrat life. They picked out a lake with little black lumps of muskrat houses still showing on the rotting ice. After locating the muskrat tunnel, the women marked each end of the underground pathway with a stick. When the stick moved, it meant a muskrat was coming through the tunnel and when it emerged from the opening, one of the women would snatch it with her net and end its life with a blow to the head. The first day, the women caught ten muskrats. But they were worn out by the stress of bending down and waiting, so the walk back to camp seemed long.
The spring days brought little time to talk or to reflect on the past as the women kept busy catching more muskrats and some beavers, all of which were smoke-dried for preservation. Their days were so full they hardly took time to eat, and at night they slept deeply. When they decided they had caught more than their share of muskrat and beaver, they packed everything and hauled it back to their main camp.
Still, the women felt vulnerable. The area was rich in animal life now, and they felt in time other people might come. Normally, other people meant their own kind. But since being left behind on that cold winter day, the women felt defenseless against the younger generation and had lost trust that they knew they never could regain. Now, suspicion left them wary of what might happen if anyone were to come upon them and find their growing store of food. They talked about what they should do, and in time they agreed they should move to a place less desirable—a place other people would not wish to explore, perhaps a place where it would be hard to manage the mighty swarms of summer insects.
The women did not relish having to face the many blood-thirsty mosquitoes that awaited them in the thick willow bushes and trees. But their fear of people was greater. So they packed all they had and began the unpleasant trek to the hiding place. They decided to work in the heat of the day when mosquitoes seemed to hide. At night, they sat near a smoky fire to protect themselves. It took days to transfer the camp, but at last, the women stood by the creek and took one last look around, wishing a wind would blow away any hints of their presence.
Before deciding to move, the women had torn large amounts of birch bark from the trees. Now they recognized their mistake. Although by habit they took pieces of bark from trees spaced far apart, the women knew that any alert eye would take notice of this detail. But they also knew that nothing could be done about it, and in resignation they left the camp for their less desirable place within the thickets.
The two women spent the remaining days of spring trying to make their new camp more hospitable. They put up their shelters under the deep shade of tall spruce trees and hidden among many willows. Then they found a cool spot where they dug a deep hole that they lined with willows. There, they laid their large cache of dried meat for the summer. They also placed a few traps atop the ground to scare off any sharpnosed predators. The mosquitoes were everywhere, and as they worked, the women relied on long-used methods of shielding themselves to keep from being eaten alive. They hung leather tassles around their faces and their thick clothing to keep the small insects from biting into their skin. When it seemed as if they would be carried away, the women covered their skin with muskrat grease to repel the masses of flying pests. Meanwhile, they charted a small hidden path to the creek where they got their water and, with summer nearly upon them, made their fish traps. Once the traps were set, the women had no trouble catching fish and found they had to move nearer to the creek to keep up with the task of cutting and drying. In time, a bear began helping himself to the fish the women had stored. This worried them, but in time they reached an unusual agreement with the bear. They carried the fish guts far from the camp where the greedy bear could laze about and eat at his leisure.
Too soon, the sun lay orange and cool on the evening horizon, and the women knew summer was dwindling. About this time, the spawning salmon began to find their way up the little creek, much to the women’s pleasure, and for a short while they were busy with the reddish fish meat. The bear disappeared from the area, but still the women disposed of fish innards far down the creek. If the bear did not eat them, the ever-present ravens would devour them soon enough. The women also were frugal, and they preserved many inside parts of the fish for other uses. For instance, the salmon intestines could be used for containing water, and the skin was fashioned into round bags to hold dried fish. These tasks kept them so busy they were up from early morning until late at night, and before they knew it, the short Arctic summer passed, and fall crept upon them.
When the season changed, the women retired from fishing and hauled their large supply back to the hidden camp. There they found a new problem. They had collected so much fish that there was no place to store it, and with the approaching winter there was no shortage of small animals searching for winter food. Eventually, the women made standing caches for their fish, and they placed great bundles of thorns and brush beneath them to discourage animals from bothering the fish. Perhaps this method worked, or perhaps it was just their luck, but animals kept away from their caches.
Far behind the camp was a low hill that the women had not had time to explore. One day, with their summer hunting finished, Sa’ found herself wondering what bounties might lie on that hill or around it. So she took her spear and bow and the arrows the women had made, announcing that she would visit the hill. Ch’idzigyaak did not approve but could see that her friend would not be deterred.
“Just keep the fire going, and your spear nearby, and you should be safe,” Sa’ said as she set out, leaving Ch’idzigyaak behind shaking her head in disapproval.
It was a day of abandon for Sa’. She felt lighthearted for the first time in more years than she could remember, and like a child, she grasped greedily at the feeling. The day wa
s beautiful. The leaves were turning a brilliant gold and the air was crisp and clear as Sa’ all but skipped along an animal trail. From a distance, one would not be able to see that Sa’ was an older woman, for she looked lithe and energetic. When she reached the top, she gasped in surprise. Before her lay vast patches of cranberries. Sa’ dropped to her knees and began to scoop handfuls of the small red fruit, stuffing them into her mouth. As she gorged on this delicious food, a movement in the nearby brush made her freeze instantly.
Slowly, Sa’ forced herself to look toward the sound, imagining the worst. She relaxed when she saw that it was only a bull moose. Then she remembered that this time of year a bull moose could be the most fearful animal on four legs. Usually timid, the bull moose in his rutting stage was no longer afraid of man or of anything else that moved or stood in his way.
The moose remained still for a long time as if he were just as surprised and undecided about the small woman who stood before him as she had been about him. As her pulse slowed almost to normal, Sa’ imagined the delectable taste of moosemeat during the long winter months ahead. In another moment of unthinking craziness, she reached for an arrow from her pack and placed it in her bow. The moose’s ears flipped forward at the movement, then it turned and ran in the opposite direction just as the arrow landed harmlessly on the soft ground.
Two Old Women: An Alaska Legend of Betrayal, Courage and Survival Page 4