Katannilik Journal Part III

We were met at the landing at the south end of Soper Lake by two pickup trucks from Kimmirut (pop. 365, 95% Inuit). They picked us up with our gear and transported us into town. On the way down the steep hill into town I asked the man who was driving the truck about the massive white rock in the harbor at the foot of the hill. He seemed pleased that I had asked. He said it was called Kimmirut, "looks like a heel," and was the origin of the Inuit name for the hamlet. After we arrived we divided up into twos and were to stay with an Inuit family in their home for the night and part of the next day.

The town was built on the side of a steep, rocky hill, and a lot of fill was used in places to accommodate the houses, most of which were quite new. They rested on wooden blocks and wedges, so when the frost shifted them, they could be realigned by adjusting the wedges that made up the foundation. The houses could not be directly on the ground, because the frost would push them around. We learned there were other unique features of the houses as well. Each home had a massive water tank inside, probably a thousand gallons or more. This was filled by a red truck with a stainless steel water tank which came around every day looking for the little red light on the side of each house which when it was lit indicated the home needed more water. The truck operated seven days a week from 8:00 in the morning until 10:00 at night. "In the summer everyone likes to take a lot of showers," I was told. Likewise, sewage and drain water went into a holding tank, to be pumped out periodically by another truck. Electricity was supplied by the hamlet with diesel generators which were behind the hill on the opposite side of the harbor.

Andrew and I were dropped off at the house where we were to stay and were told to just knock on the back door and go in. We did. Immediately we saw that protocol demanded that we take off our shoes or boots in that back vestibule; all of the household's shoes were there. (This rule was followed in all the houses we visited, as well as the Visitors' Centre, which was still being completed.) We went in and introduced ourselves to the family, who were very friendly and immediately offered us coffee. Here was real culture shock. We had just come off the tundra. Although the house was at 72 degrees, we felt hot and stifled by the heated house.

The greatest shock, though, was that as we entered, the first thing we saw was a very large television set tuned to the Olympics in Atlanta. Somehow we were not expecting all these civilized (read "Western") amenities. There was a washer, dryer, microwave, toaster, electric can opener, automatic coffee maker, as well as Kenmore refrigerator, freezer, and electric stove--a complete "modern" kitchen, all the way down to the Rubbermaid dish drainer and tray (green). There was also a cordless telephone which rang many times during our stay. The phone, especially in winter I imagine, appeared to be a very important part of their lives. We could have been in any house in any suburbs in the hemisphere. However, Ruthie, the mother (age about fortyish?) and her husband spoke only Inuktitut; their daughters translated for them. One daughter (about 16?) had two earrings in each ear, like a western teenager. They all seemed to like to wear colorful tee shirts or sweatshirts, ones with all the Western symbols, from Adidas to rock groups. They could buy these in the Co-op, along with posters for the current Hollywood hits, which they could also rent on tape for their VCR's. The hamlet was totally "dry" (as are several other hamlets on the island), so I found it particularly offensive when a liquor ad appeared from time to time on their television. In many ways the television was a window into a world that is very unlike their own, but parts of which they were imitating--but maybe this is true around the world. Although very little grew outside the house--the land was mostly rock and tan sandy dirt, they had a number of houseplants in the living room, two quite large avocado plants, a split-leaf philodendron, a poinsettia (all green), and a rubber plant.

There were differences, however. When I went into the bathroom to get a long-needed shower, I saw that the toilet was an airplane-style toilet (because of the holding tank), and the bathtub was raised on a pedestal about a foot high and was vented to keep the pipes underneath from freezing. The bathroom was on the first floor, and right behind it was the furnace/utility room where the big water tank was. On the other wall of this room was the plumbing for the kitchen, which backed up to it. The vestibule for the unused front door was converted into a storage area and pantry. There were four bedrooms upstairs, many of which had televisions. On the wall coming down the stairs were five fox skins in varying shades of red and brown and the last one white, representing the various color phases of the Arctic fox. Outside the house, in the back, there were three seal skins drying on stretchers. In front were three snowmobiles. In summer they used a 4 X 4 ATV (Yamaha). There were no cars in town.

Later in the afternoon we were given a tour of the hamlet. We saw the omnipresent Hudson's Bay Store in its traditional white and red garb. It arrived in 1911, the first HBC Post on Baffin Island. Now used just for warehouse space, it has been replaced by The Northern, which bought HBC's northern operations in the 1980's. We stopped at the Anglican Church, which was established as a mission in 1909 and built around 1915. In the pews each person had a sealskin-covered pillow to sit on. We wound up at the Co-op where we went in the back room and examined their collection of carvings. I found one I liked, a shaman carved in bone, only to find out it had already been purchased. That was the only one I really liked, so I didn't buy any.

That afternoon and the next day we visited several carvers. [Illustration]  The first was the father of the woman who was giving us the tour. He was in a little workshop built under the house, working in almost-dark. He turned on a light bulb to show us a photo of one of his works that was on the cover of a publication about Inuit Art. It was a dancing bear--quite graceful, lively, cheerful, and humorous all at the same time. He has been carving for fifty years. I asked his daughter whether her father preferred to work in the semi-dark, and she said yes. The reason is, she confirmed, that originally they carved in winter in poor illumination, and that the real virtue of an Inuit carving is tactile; they were meant to be handled and "warmed" by the hands. Her father saw with his hands. I have two carvings by Aisapick, from Povungnituk, who, as a kind of trademark, carved his thumbprint as a depression on the bottom of the stone, so when I pick it up the right way, my thumb just fits where his was. It makes a powerful statement. The next day we visited three more carvers and looked at their works in progress. One was carving a dancing bear.

The whole trip-group was to gather for supper at the home where Andrew and I were staying. We had Caribou stew and a stew made with Arctic Char. Most of us tried both, and both were delicious. After supper we were treated to a demonstration about making kamiks (boots), with Ruthie showing us her handiwork and explaining, through an interpreter, how they were made and the various furs that she used. She showed us a pattern she had made for the bottom piece of the boot. It was cut from a Kellogg's cereal box. We were amazed with her tiny, careful stitching and the great amount of work that went into the boots. They were sewn with the sinew from along a Caribou's backbone using a modern needle and thimble. She also showed us inner boots, mittens, and pants all made in the traditional way, using a variety of skins and furs, each with its own particular purpose and virtue. All of these fur items had to be kept in the freezer over the summer so the heat would not damage them. Next her husband showed us some of the skins he had gotten, a large Arctic wolf and a polar bear. The skins had been removed with great care to preserve the fur of the head, ears, and paws. He told us a number of hunting stories as well. You know, tales of courage, valor, and all that--certainly all true, however. There were three generations present.  The youngest children, their adopted son, Tommy, who was about two and a half, and Thomas, a grandson, were having a great time with all the company. They were extremely well behaved, even though they stayed up quite late (10:30). Tommy had great fun playing with my beard.

The next morning after breakfast, the plan was for us to take a boat trip out the fjord to the sea (Hudson Strait). However, the wind was howling again and the water was too rough, so alternate plans went into effect. Before we get to that though, a little about the harbor. The tides rise to almost fifty feet. The tide-line can be seen on the rocks around the harbor. Another curiosity is that in the next fjord, which the Soper Lake empties into by a waterfall, twice a month at high tide the waterfall reverses and sea water flows into Soper Lake. At that time they can take their boats from the sea into the lake by careful timing and careful navigation around some rocks at the end of the lake. They prefer to keep their boats over the winter in the Lake rather than in the harbor. The lake has a mixture of fresh and salt water, the salt water being heavier sinks to the bottom, and they do not mix.

Instead of the boat trip, some of the Inuit women set up a large tent, and we all gathered inside for a demonstration of how to prepare a sealskin for drying and then for use. First she used an ulu, a crescent-shaped knife, all purpose tool, to shave off all the remaining fat and flesh from the back of the skin. Then she washed it and began the softening process, which ultimately includes long and careful chewing of the skin. All of this she demonstrated. The skin was then stretched on a frame for drying. After several days of drying and more washing, the softening by chewing process is one of the final steps before the skin is used for boots, mittens, or whatever. She also showed us the strip of sinew that the threads were pulled from. Very fine, strong threads can be separated from it to be used for sewing the furs. While Annie was doing all this, Ruthie was making fried bannock, a way I had never had bannock before. She made them like little donuts and fried them in hot oil. Good! All of the demonstrations in the tent were translated for us by the younger generation, as the older ones did not speak English. At various times during the demonstrations we were invited to try the task, and some did.

Because of the high winds the plane that was to pick us up couldn't fly. It finally did arrive, several hours late, and we retraced our route back up the Soper River and then over the height of land and into Iqaluit. Although at the beginning I had been somewhat leery of the idea of the bed and breakfast, the entire time we spent in the village turned out to be quite rich. Richer, in fact, than can be set down here very satisfactorily. Maybe Caroline's journal will do better with this than I have.

That night at the Discovery Hotel in Iqaluit, where we were staying, I had the special for dinner: medallions of caribou in blueberry sauce! A spectacular meal! Caribou tastes a little like beef, but is richer and denser and has little or no fat. The sweet blueberry sauce was an excellent, and very Canadian, complement to the meat. For my next two meals I had smoked Arctic Char. Superb! The following day we took a brief tour of the town and, in addition to the previous form, we saw a new type of construction in which the house or building was placed on steel piles driven twenty to forty feet into the ground to get past the effects of the permafrost. Obviously this is a very expensive way to build. A display in the visitors' center indicated that the cost of living in the Arctic was about 250% of that further south. As in Kimmirut, the shower at the hotel was raised on a platform--actually the whole bathroom was raised. One went up two steps to enter.

I was able to visit a gallery while I was in Iqaluit. It was just across the street from the airport. Carvings are considerably less expensive in the north than they are farther south, fortunately. I recognized my choice as soon as I set my eyes on it, but I completed my tour of the display before purchasing it. It is a large standing owl with wings spread, and below each wing tip is a dancing shaman with a drum. Clearly they are calling up the protective spirit of the owl, and it is there, towering over them. The owl has inlaid eyes. The beak and claws use the real claws from some bird or animal. The drums and drumsticks are made of carved bone. It stands just under ten inches high and fourteen inches wide, made from a light-colored stone. The carver is Luke Aervit from Igloolik. It is here peering over the top of my computer as I write.

Postscript

It is now a week since I flew out of Kimmirut and the Katannilik Territorial Park Reserve, yet the hold of the Arctic is still on me. When I look out at the forest around me I am amazed by its density, its richness, and its fecundity. I look up at trees towering over a hundred feet above me

and think that for the most part the vegetation in the Arctic, where there is any, is not much higher than an inch or two high. The green world here in the south becomes a marvel. Also a marvel is the tenaciousness of life in such a difficult environment as the Arctic and also its incredible fragility. The woody stem of the Lapland rosebay will be no more than a half an inch in diameter, and have 400 annual rings! Where I saw a latrine trench had been dug at some time in the past, the tundra was wrecked, not to recover for centuries possibly. The Inuit have lived for over four thousand years in harmony with their environment; the white man can mess it up in a matter of hours. To the south the truth is the same, but not always as dramatic. In any event, the green world here in the south will never look quite the same to me. The presence of the Arctic will remain etched on my soul.

c Jim Flosdorf, 1996.

On to the Poems

For more information follow these links:

On Nunavit
Illustrations from Katannilik Park/Baffin Island

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