Back in Black

So, strangely, enough people enjoyed reading my ramblings and have encouraged me to continue writing. People also seem to keep coming to the site despite my lack of posts for many days. Since I have enjoyed sharing my adventure, I figure I'll give it a try. The topics will not be as focused (they will be "as the Spirit moves me" if you will) and I suppose I'd better come up with a more appropriate name. Any suggestions?

Home, Sort of

As most of you know, I am finally back in Tucson after almost two months in Alaska. The trip/work ended plesantly with Jana joining me in Nome for a few days before we headed to Anchorage to visit family. We saw a record 11 musk ox while Jana was there, and were even surrounded at one point by a herd of more than 100 reindeer. The fish were scarce, but we returned home with some, thanks to family in Anchorage.

It was nice to be in Anchorage again, but it has changed much since we left. I visited with the Family Practice Residency up there and was more than impressed with the residents, faculty, and facilities. We are very excited about our return someday.

I am sorry this is such a brief finale, but I am heading north to the Navajo and Hopi reservations for a cardiology clinical rotation this afternoon. I have enjoyed writing, and I am glad to see a few of you enjoyed listening to my tales. I'm not quite sure what to do with the blog from here on out, lacking the fantastic subject matter I have shared. Thanks for all of your comments, as that was probably my favorite part of the whole process. So, "Adieu from Alaska" as the Eskimos say (or perhaps that was the French), and stop by once in awhile to see if I keep this up.

Rob Church
Medical "Studnet" (official title given by the Norton Sound Health Corporation)

Hasta la vista, Shishmaref

So Alma invited myself and Dr. Daniel over for dinner for social discussions and the possibility of fermented igurook (seal) flipper, aka “stinkmeat”. If those of you would like to cross reference, you might re-read my article on botulism in Northwest Alaska. This is a real delicacy to those who enjoy the traditional native foods, and I couldn’t pass it up. Dr. Daniel decided he had enough work and had to decline the invite, so I went alone. Unfortunately my dance with the devil of botulism wasn’t meant to be. We had good conversation, and I was able to spend an evening with a Shishmaref family, but the closest we got to seal was the salmonberries coated in seal oil and sugar. Sorry to disappoint. Maybe next time.

After dinner, and after the axel was repaired on the families one vehicle, a 1987 Nissan pickup, Alma, myself, and her daughter-in-law (both women full figured in the 250lb range) squeezed ourselves into the cab and headed off for a tour of the island. I was shown the tannery, the sea wall, the Washeteria – where everyone does their laundry and showering, and driven out to the families drying racks which were loaded with the mystery meat now known to be seal. As with all things in Shish, the tour wound up at Herbie’s house once again, and I parted ways with the Nayokpuks for the evening.

I had an unexpectedly pleasant time considering the horror stories I had heard regarding sanitation, family dysfunction (ranging from alcohol to incest and beyond), and the threat of no running water. I unfortunately did not come home with the carved bone and ivory souvenirs that I had hoped for, but it gives me incentive to return.

My ride to the airport (a loosely used term at best) arrived the next morning, a 4 wheeler and trailer with 5 other passengers, one of whom was a 3 month old baby tucked carefully in her mothers parka. We caught our plane and headed back to Nome by way of the cape and cluster of islands following the coast, and Wales, a small village of about 150 on the tip of the Seward Peninsula. Wales is also one of the walrus/subsistence communities. It was beautiful from the air with a mountain coming right down to the sea and a single road with houses on either side. I hope to return here some day, as it is one of the more interesting places I have seen. I would have walked off the plane if it weren’t for Jana’s impending arrival within the hour, and that my children will be tomorrow’s exciting conclusion to the story of Nome.

Sea Wall

I was going to mention a little bit about the Sea Wall. The village of Shishmaref is slowly being swept into the sea. This has been an obvious process for the past 30 years or so, but the loss of land is finally beginning to have an impact. I’ve seen a couple old aerial pictures of Shish, showing the 300 yard or so from town to the sea. Currently the town is on the edge of the sea, and several houses have already been moved to dry ground. The old air strip is being washed away at the ocean going end, and is now used as solid land for placement of houses. A huge sea wall was built using granite from near Nome to soften the impact of the fall storms that pass through. This has had minimal impact, and the village has actually voted to relocate after more than 2000 years in this location. They have a 6 year plan to find a village site, and set up shop, but as of yet, there is no new site. The financial constraints are an entirely different matter. I have heard figures ranging from $10 million to $100 million for the move, and I have heard far more evidence in the $100 million range. These are funds from the state and or federal government which are currently non-existent. A conundrum, undoubtedly. Words cannot say more than pictures in this respect, and I believe the BBC article has some photos attached. Please peruse at you leisure.

My last night in Shishmaref, I received a message that Alma wanted me to return her call. Alma…I know that name…ah, yes, one of my patients…Herbie’s sister from Anchorage. I returned the call and received a lecture on how Shishmaref was not a healthy place. No one should have to live with honey buckets, and toilet rooms lacking ventilation. Fourteen year olds should not be drinking alcohol in a village that is legally “dry.” A local elder with a touch of the Alzheimer’s is being taken advantage of by her family, and should be at the nursing home in Nome. These issues and more needed to be discussed with myself and Dr. Daniel, as we were the closest thing to a public health officer in the region. I have no argument to make with these concerns, but whose place is it to police the health of an entire village. The doctor who comes twice a year can only do so much, and a village that is unwilling to take this task on itself won’t benefit from anyone’s interference. What to do.

Anyway, Alma wanted us to come over for dinner and discuss these issues about which she had very strong opinions. Have I talked about Alma yet? 5’3” and 250 pounds of laughing Inupiat elder with two canes and a life outside the village, but with continued strong ties. A phenomenal woman, boisterous and loud, and a huge heart for the future of a village that was far from the picture of optimal social health.

I promised a shorter serial. More on Alma and the social health of small villages tomorrow.

56kbs...Short But Sweet, a new series buy Rob Church

Glad to be back. I’ve missed you all. Gather ‘round the warm glowing warming glow of your monitors and listen to my tale. Where did we leave off…Ah, yes, Shishmaref, the Isle of Wonder and Honey Buckets (Trademark 1998 Shishmaref Island Corporation). So two days later, I still smell of smoked salmon. I believe it has entered the pores in my hands (do hand’s have pores? I should know that.) and will not come out. Maybe it is just the ever present smell of fish in this village that creates the illusion of me smelling like fish. Anyway…

I have met a lot of very interesting people in my walks around town. I usually carry my camera, a large, old school Canon 35mm, which creates the illusion (enough with the illusions already) that I know how to take pictures. This has led several people to ask me if I was a photographer. They seem to get a few around here due to the global warming and impending doom of this village that I suppose I should mention to those of you who haven’t read the BBC article. But I digress, the funniest group who mistook me for a photographer was a group of second grade girls. They dragged me over to where they had been playing and wanted their pictures taken. When I repeatedly told them that I was working in the clinic and was not here with a magazine, they refused to hear me, and proceeded to escort me around the village. I had planned to head out to the beach and look for more dead/interesting things and they followed me for nearly ½ a mile. Competing for my attention and pointing out the houses where the “boyfriends” of each other lived, as if it were some dark secret. They also asked if I had a “Honey,” the local term for wife, girlfriend, significant other, etc. The opposition of terms with similar roots “honey” and “honey bucket” making me wonder if there was a connection. They say the Eskimos have over a hundred words for snow.

Jana

So most of you know I have been up here in Alaska by myself, leaving Jana behind to pay the bills in Tucson. I am not one with the public mushiness and all, but I have missed her terribly, and she is coming to Nome tomorrow. Hooray! Pretty much all of this has been written with her in mind (even though I like you guys too) and this is likely to be my best weekend in Alaska simply because she is with me. Anyway, that being said, there might be fewer posts as I tour her around the next few days. I still have lots to tell from Shish, so I hope you are interested to hear more. Have a great weekend, and keep checking back, as I will be posting pretty randomly for a little while (it also gives me an ego boost when those numbers on the counter rise. How do I get on some of the bigger google lists? Perhaps I should say something about "free porn" or "make money fast!!!").

Sorry this is so long. My story is almost over.

This might have to be broken up into a couple of parts. Novelettes or serials, if you will.

I was going to tell you about Herbie and Joey. We decided to head over to Herbie Nayokpuk’s house the other night and get the tour of his trophies and meet the family. People here are tremendously welcoming and without hesitation invite you into the midst of their family gatherings. We walked up to his house (Address: “The blue house in front of the church”) and the first sight that met us was the head of a reindeer/caribou detached, propped up on the antlers, and still dripping blood. The Nayokpuk clan had just returned from berry picking and hunting, and they were dressing out the freshly killed animal on the front porch. It was very cool and gruesome at the same time. Not anything like the initiation to the Wolverine pack in Red Dawn (Wolverines!). We were waved inside into the pungent odor of a home that serves fish or seal for every meal and met the family sprawled out across the living room and kitchen. Herbie’s four daughters, all from outside of Shishmaref (Fairbanks, Boston, Anchorage, and the Northwest I think) were up visiting for the week. Also there was Joey Redington who, as I mentioned in the son of Joe Redington, Sr. the father of the Iditarod. He brought the Great Race to life in the early 1970s. He also managed to summit Mt. McKinley with a dog team. His sons all still run dog teams, and Joey has 70 dogs near Tanana. He brought with him a huge bag of the oiliest, best tasting smoked king salmon bellies with him. They were taken from the Yukon river, and were about the best gift he could bring. We sat, ate, visited awhile, and took a couple of pictures with Herbie and his trophies. The thing that struck me most, however, was that the dozens of trophies were almost totally obscured by pictures of family and grandkids and nieces and nephews. Things that are truly important. Ahh, perspective.

As a part of the health care we are providing here, we are also leaving the clinic and going to the homes of some of the elders and other who aren’t able to make it in for a visit. We visited the home of a woman named Katherine who lived with her granddaughter and what appeared to be several other people in a house with a main room and 3 small nooks with curtains separating them from the rest of the house. No running water, no bathroom, and the distinct smell of dried fish. This was an 80 something year old lady who didn’t leave her bed for anything but the occasional 4 wheeler ride, and still sewed with a hand crank sewing maching on the edge of her bed. She was surrounded by mukluks, gloves, hats, and assortment of sewn fur accoutrements which she still makes and sells. She had a wonderful sense of humor and the loudest heart murmur I have ever heard.

We also visited the house of a woman, her name was Lola, she was a dancer, just kidding, she was a little old lady who was stone deaf and getting by just fine on her own. She actually had one of the few houses with indoor plumbing and running water, which was this monstrous contraption in the front room, much like the one in the Simpson’s Australia episode which made the water swirl the correct way when flushed. Like everyone else, her house was covered with pictures of family. After our visit, we hopped back on the 4-wheeler for the ride back to the clinic cruising through the sand dunes that made up the roads. I was told by a woman who grew up here that when she was young, there was no sand. There was just the grass, thick on top of the dunes, and a single path running through town to the church. It is hard to imagine, only a few years, but a world away.

So many more stories, but I will tell one more tonight. Yesterday was the sunniest day we have had here on the island, so I decided to circumnavigate the northern end. I don’t know how far it is, but I walked for a couple of hours. I didn’t find near as many dead things this time, as the storms of the past week may have washed them away. I did find lots of jellyfish in shallow pools, and a number who wee left high and dry when the tide went out. They formed the most amazing geometric patterns as they dried. I know we are all somewhat symmetrical beings, but these jellies looked like they had been planted there. I thought they were some man-made thing that had washed ashore before I took a closer look. At the northern-most end of the island I found a whale skill. It had been partially dug out of the sand, and must have been 3-4 feet in diameter. Very prehistoric looking. I half wondered if it was the skull of a mammoth. I walked past blowing dunes and my footsteps were almost immediately obscured by the moving sands, and returned to town a little weary from the long walk and amazingly no less intrigued by this island village.

Shishamaref Part Deux

There is fresh water here. At least there is a well. We are staying in the clinic, which is actually pretty plush, considering that it is one of only four places in town with running water and an indoor bathroom. Everyone else here uses what they call “honey buckets”, similar to an outhouse for the rest of us. Aside from the fresh water, a collection of ramshackle houses (don’t get to use the ramshackle very often) a little grass and some peat, this is no more than a sand bar.

Clinic was very hectic yesterday, as they scheduled both Dr. Daniel and I with back to back patients, despite the fact that he has to see all of mine as well (the glory of being second guessed as a med student). We were exhausted last night. The second person I met yesterday, however, none other than the “Shishmaref Cannonball” himself, Herbie Nayoktuk. Iditarod royalty. He even invited us over to see all of his trophies. That story, a little later. The people here have been very friendly, being the new folks in a 98% Inuit community of 500, we stick out like a pink flamingo.

The town is made up of plywood houses stacked right next to each other with sand pathways and embankments made by 4 wheelers running between. Speaking of 4 wheelers, I forgot to mention our transport from the “airport” was a 4 wheeler with a trailer carrying the aforementioned boxes of chips. Two of us rode on the back on a caribou hide covering the luggage rack. The seaward side is falling off into the sea, and the side of the island facing the bay looks like a grassy beach running into a quiet lake. Sounds so peaceful until you throw 50 years of rusting metal, snow machines, and any junk you can possibly imagine in the worst trailer park into the mix. What ever comes to Shishmaref, stays in Shishmaref.

We walked the beach on the north(?) end of the island last night, and I have amassed quite the collection of dead animal sightings. Lots of seals, a walrus, gulls, some whale bones, and some random caribou and musk ox parts. Everything seems to wash up on the beach here. Both ends of the island are capped when the grass just kind of runs out and become the biggest sand bars you’ve ever seen.

Enough for tonight. We did go to Herbie’s house and also met Joey Reddington (son of the father of the Iditarod), but that’s a story for perhaps tomorrow. Good night sweet children.

Shishmaref

I made it. And I have computer access. This is going to be a long one.

We left town in a break in the rain this morning about 9:00 am. Oddly enough, in the Bering Air lobby (a generous term at best) four out of the six people other than myself and Dr. Daniel were from Arizona. Weird. They were going to St. Michael, another village somewhere up here, approximately…I have no idea where it is, but within flying distance. Fishing was their main goal, along with avoiding the Arizona heat. Again, nice to be in the cold for a little while.

The three of us who were heading to Shishmaref followed our pilot out to the plane, a twin engine Navajo, and climbed in past boxes of “mail” and supplies that was being taken to the village. The inside of this thing is very similar to the inside of a VW Microbus without all of the headroom, leg room, and groovy vibrations. There are technically four rows of seats, two abreast. The nonhuman contents of our flight (labeled with “This End Up” arrows, pointing in every other conceivable direction) took up the entire left hand side of the plane, obscuring any view in that direction. Not that anything was really obscured. As we heading north from Nome, we flew straight into the clouds and stayed there for a remarkably long period of time. I found myself understanding how planes ran into mountains and buildings and tall people. The pilot didn’t even bother to look out the windows, instead staring straight down at his instruments.

Climbing to an altitude of 8000 feet and traveling at 170 knots, I began to feel my ears pop as the plane cabin was not pressurized. I wasn’t ready for the continued popping sounds when my ears had cleared. The pilot didn’t seem to flinch every time I heard a sharp “pop” coming from the left side of the plane. Before too long, I realized that sound was associated with the instant smell of potato chips, and looking at the “mail” next to me, I realized it was a Frito Lay shipment to the Native Store, and the popping was the bags opening one by one as the outside pressure decreased with out altitude.

Unfortunately most of the trip was cloudy, but they did give way as we reached the coast. Mountains went to low lying hills, then to soggy tundra, and finally the water below us opened into a bay. Off in the distance, a group of barrier islands not much more than a sand bar stretched across the mouth and beyond that, the Chukchi Sea. Are we approached Sarichef Island, one of the center most strips of sand, I could begin to see the rows of houses spanning the short gap between calm and open waters. Why did they pick this island for a home? People have lived on this patch of sand for 2000 years. They must have a reason.

More rain

Things I did in the rain this weekend:

Hiked down the East Beach late last night after coating myself in mud splatter from unwisely riding my bike. The rain was going sideways by the time I got there. Very difficult to look ahead. Found myself looking down at the ground most of the time, which is what I usually do anyway, looking for cool things on the beach. Which I did find. First find was a 2L plastic beer bottle from Russia. Choaobh biere, or something like that. It brought home how close we actually are to Russia up here. The second find was a smelly dead thing that was very likely a walrus carcass. Unfortunately (or fortunately, maybe) it was far enough out in the surf that I didn't investigate it as closely as I would have liked, in order to see if there were tusks still attached. Ivory is fair game if you find it washed up on the beach, and the best of all finds is a complete walrus skull with tusks (smelly as it may be). Hopefully I will come across some in Shishmaref this weekend.

Went on a "hike" today which actually wound up being more of a van trip due to the inclement weather. We got out and soaked ourselves up within a few minutes, enough to be wet the rest of the day, and saw a couple of things on the road to Council that I hadn't seen yet. We found some old foundations for 2000 year old sod houses, and visited the Safety Roadhouse, the last checkpoint for the Iditarod Dog Sled Race. Not the hike I had hope for, but much better than sitting in the living room, watching the rain.

I'm off to "Shish" in the morning, so I don't know if there will be many (if any) posts this week due to lack of facilities. We allegedly have computer access, a microwave, stove, and one of only four accomodations with running water in the village of 500 people. Should be interesting to say the least. Look at the maps of where this place is on one of the links I provided. I will keep you posted. Knee is much better, by the way.

Almost forgot...

Check out the lick to Homestar Runner's Li'l Brudder email. This site still kills me, but this week's was almost inspirational.

Rain

Yesterday was my last day in the main clinic here in Nome. Not a tremendously sad day (you get used to moving on in med school), but I have truly enjoyed my time here. As I mentioned a day or two ago, I will be heading to Shishmaref, home of Herbie Nayokpuk, the "Shishmaref Cannonball" (coolest dog musher/Iditarod nickname ever) on Monday morning. Looking forward to it. My weekend here was full of plans until the rain, and a slight glitch in my knee came along (I didn't even get to play soccer last night. It happened while I was warming up). I will hopefully go hiking up Skookum Pass, about 20 miles out of town, tomorrow if recovery goes well. Sadly, this little set back has caused me to abandon my Air Attack jumping program, and I may never reach the heights promised before my departure.

Two good things did happen yesterday...I made some wicked good cinnamon rolls for my coworkers at the clinic. They were something of an experiment, but it went well enough that I will again repeat this feat on my return to Tucson. The second was a compliment by a man that I work with. A PA (Physician's Assistant - they are about the same level as a Doc out in the bush communities), who has a very dry sense of humor, and has heckled/challenged me over the past few weeks told me I was going to make a good doctor. It is amazing how much more gratifying an unexpected compliment from someone who has not been particularly complimentary can be. Much like that grizzled old professor who made us work twice as hard as the others to make us appreciate what we were learning.

With the rain and leg issues, and my proclivity for watching bad movies I have watch a couple of doozies recently. "The Devil's Rain" with Ernest Borgnine, William Shatner, and some guy who looked just like Charles Bronson, and "Halloween 3: The Witching Hour" with nobody I recognized except another guy who looks like Chuck Bronson. Terrible movies, both of them. My only questions are: Where do all of these guys who look like Charles Broson come from and where did they go? and Why does Halloween 3: The Witching Hour have absolutely nothing to do with the first two, except the inclusion of footage from Halloween (the one with Jamie Lee Curtis) running on televisions within the movie? The isn't any mention of Michael Moore, no crazy house, nothing. Just an old toy maker who happens to be a witch who stole a part of stonehenge and then made robots and halloween masks with the powers of stonehenge to shoot lazers and make crickets come out of dead people so that the hills will run red with the blood of children and animals like they did three thousand years ago.

(...catching my breath, sorry)

For further interest in my adventures, per Kyle, watch the Hallmark Channel's presentation of the acclaimed series Northern Exposure. I didn't even know Hallmark had their own channel. The series is almost exactly like my day to day life up here, except not quite as funny. Much like when I was a Forensic Scientist, and the acclaimed series CSI captured the excitement of my job, although it was not as sexy as the real thing. I've lived it. Did I ever tell you how I started the grunge trend in Seattle in the early 90s and HUMVEEs?

I have to write a personal statement for residency applications. Can you believe I have writer's block? Perhaps I will just point them to this site. That should get me in. Right.

Quiet

Snake River, Nome Alaska

I'm not quite certain when I last sat someplace so quiet. For a moment I thought something was wrong with my ears. The sound of a Cessna 182 taking off from the north-south runway reminds me that the stream in which I am fishing runs past the airport, and is only five minutes from my apartment. I have caught any fish today. Not a bite. Perfect.

The secret to fishing is that it appears as if you are working, while you are not actually doing anything at all.

Finally settled today, I am going to Shismaref. This is a village of around 500 people situated on a sandbar of an island on the northern part of the Seward Peninsula. I've been told it is kind of dirty, as people leave the contents of their honey buckets along the street waiting for pickup. It is also very unique in it collection of ivory carvers and its continuation of an almost completely subsistence hunting and fishing lifestyle. See the links at the right for more info.

Health-wise, I am on the mend, but two nights of no sleep is catching up to me. Good night.

Stricken

So, for the second time in the past week, I am actually sick. I called in sick (truly sick, not just a "mental health day") for the first time in my adult life. I even had to get prescription cough syrup because my self prescription of: 250mg of "suck it up" didn't do the job. Needless to say, my adventures and exercises have dropped off in the past couple of days, and I layed on the couch for an entire day watching movies, coughing up phlegm, and drifting in and out of consciousness. I did miss the work of having to admit a psychiatric patient (what we in the business call "crazy") who I had seen yesterday, so there is something of a bright side.

The dark side, however, was the commercials. Nome isn't exactly the haven for fast food or chain restraunts (although there is a Subway), but I have been tortured by the Dairy Queen Brownie Batter Blizzard. You know, the one where the guy gets his tongue caught in the beaters? The absence of a DQ has made this a Holy Grail of sorts, only sweeter and more sticky. The other commercial (or should I say "comercials" because they always come in twos) I want to complain about are the Enzyte commercials for "natural male enhancement". Bob and his happy wife give me the creeps. These commercials look just like real drug commercials with disclamers and everything, but they are some type of herbal concoction. And what is "natural" male enhancement anyway. What are these commercials alluding to?

Mad props to Lisa for the Bruce Campbell/Kevin Bacon answer. See the comments from my last post. I need to go to bed. Must sleep. Must get well. Maybe I will have more Alaska stuff to talk about tomorrow. Thanks for listening.

Can anyone link Bruce Campbell and Kevin Bacon within 6 degrees of seperation?

So, my hike was a bust yesterday, but the BBQ on the beach was awesome, particularly the part that involved driving 4-wheelers up and down the beach, and finding two walrus carcasses (carcassi?). Alas the ivory had already been scavenged, but what a foreign looking skeleton. Sort of like a cow with little tiny legs. Also, the good company of some of the work folk was nice, as my social life has been less than stellar. I work with some good people, and it was nice to be not-working with them for an evening. Plus the 4-wheelers were awesome.

The earlier part of the day was spent watching Army of Darkness, and Footloose ("Jump back") two movies that are in their own categories of greatness.

Most importantly, my ride today was phenomenal. I rode about a 20 mile loop heading out of town and cutting across a pass between two of the main "highways". The middle section was about five miles long, with the first two being a grueling "Lances rides the French Alps" kind of ride (except that I am not like Lance, and it was probably significantly more painful for me than it would ever be for him. Lance rocks.) and the next three being all down hill. There is a lot of wind today, and I was riding into it from every direction except for the downhill portion. That also happened to be the only place where the sun broke through and lit up the magnificent valley through which I was riding. About half way through my trip I pulled off the road, climbed the hill and sat to eat a snack and refuel for the ride home. The sun breaking through the clouds, the Nome River snaking through the valley below (not to be confused with the Snake river noming through the next valley over), and me finding myself plopped down in an endless field of blueberries. My snack was greatly enhanced as I consumed all the berries that were within reaching distance, and then scooted over a couple of feet to continue my grazing. There is something about these little tiny blueberries. They aren't as plump and pretty as outside Alaska, but they are solid flavor, skip the pulp. Anyway, that made up for the next ten miles of uphill, into the wind riding that returned me to town. Throw in my mile walk down the beach, and a little more Tomb Raider, an it was a good day.

Only a couple more weeks to go. Did I mention how cool 4 wheelers are?