Andy's Lost ... Or, Sharing and Survival By Don Kissil Published in NEW JERSEY FOLKLIFE 15 (1990) SEVERAL YEARS AGO, an oil spill in Prince William Sound, Alaska produced an environmental disaster larger than the state of Rhode Island. Since then angry, blame- seeking accusation, denial and litigation continue as do thankless, unrewarding years of clean-up work. The lonely weeping of everyone and everything that was affected stills for a while only to grow louder again as the media manipulates us. The sanctimonious environmentalists' cry of, "We told you so, even before you built the pipeline ... " often all but drowns out the whimper of the locals who continue to face spiritual as well as financial bankruptcy. There is much unharnessed energy up there in Alaska, and often more heat than light is generated, but I wish to tell you another type of Alaska story. Some might call it a religious story, while others would deny that, but no matter what you call it, you can be certain .. .it's all true. Andy is the son of a New Jersey Quaker family who, at least to us, were good Friends as well as good friends. As a recent college graduate, Andy went off to teach High School to the Siberian Yupik speaking Eskimo people in Alaska. He chose to live in a village called Gambell, on St. Lawrence Island which is about 100 miles long by 30 miles wide and lies in the Bering Straits of the Bering Sea. Gambell (pop. about 400) is geographically about 200 miles west of Nome, Alaska and about the same distance south of the Arctic Circle. On a clear day Gambell residents can see the Siberian coast which is only 38 miles away. After living in Gambell for five years, Andy married Holly, an island native, and at the time of this story, they had one daughter, Denise. While Andy taught, he also learned from the Yupik people. He learned that they take their incredible survival skills seriously. For one day, when Andy awoke he realized that he and six Yupik friends were probably lost at sea. As he brushed the sea from his eyes and his mind cleared a bit, he remembered that for almost twenty days now they had been adrift in two small, open, aluminum skiffs, and pulling the hood of his parka down over his face he cried a little, quietly, to himself. Andy said that most of the time in his heart he felt that all would survive and return home-"because Eskimos know how"-but there were other times .. They could read the weather... After so many generations of surviving they have a very strong belief in it. .. They've done it for thousands of years and they can do it some more ... They shot birds, they knew which parts you could eat raw and which parts had the most water content. We were able to cook walrus and seal meat. It keeps for a really long time. We burned plywood that we ripped off one of the boats ... One night we saw a ship. We signaled it with seven flares. The ship seemed to stop so we paddled like crazy. When we were about one mile away the boat left. That broke my spirit. Or, after their tenth day lost, when Andy, with a nail, scratched this into his plastic camera case ... “6/12/88 Dear Holly, Denise, I love you both with all my heart and soul! I pray that I will get to see and hold you in my arms. Love, Andy/Daddy” Usually, however, Andy's feelings were more positive ... None of us brought sleeping bags and we slept curled up in the bottom of the boats, trying to keep warm and dry. We dreamed a lot to pass the time. I dreamed about fruit juice and Holly and Denise. There were times when it felt like it must be the last day and it dawned on you that if you lasted that day, you could do another. We were very frightened at night. Everyone was so tired, we took turns staying awake and manning the rudder. We were sailing any way the wind would blow us, and someone was assigned to bail as we tried to keep the swells behind us so they would not swamp the boat. Published National Guard reports provided dry, bare-bones facts, but newspaper interviews fleshed out the story: We survived storms, fog, and ice by eating walrus, seal and ducks and by drinking water from pools on top of icebergs where we would haul up for rest. Once, I stepped on the wrong piece of ice and fell into the icy water. When we left our last iceberg we had to drop the boat off the ice ledge, 15 feet into the water and then jump into it. One minute you are standing at sea level, the next you'd be looking 15 feet down into the water. Once we got off the ice floes there was nothing but water and ice in all directions. We didn't see land for days. After a while it kind of felt like we were really alone out there, but ittums out we really weren't. We never gave up and our friends didn't either. II On this Spring hunting trip, Andy accompanied his friends the walrus hunters, to photograph and document their annual event. Some hunters were Andy's relatives like Mike, his brother-in-law. These Spring hunts provided meat to be shared by many families. Eight boats were provisioned for only a one day trip and by the third day, all but two of the skiffs had returned. Andy and six hunters (including two teenaged boys), in two boats, had separated in the fog and thus began a 21-day sea saga and odyssey upon which many long Alaska winter nights' tales will be based. The Summit, New Jersey, Quaker Meeting became actively involved when Andy's parents (Deb and Pete) telephoned from Maine to ask the Meeting to hold their Andy "in the light," because he was lost somewhere in the Bering Sea. Holly had phoned them from Gambell, saying that two of her blood relatives, along with Andy, were on the lost boats. Holly said being lost at sea for a few days was not uncommon among her people. "They usually show up, sometime." But she thought that her in-laws ought to know ... just in case. After days of anxious waiting, Deb and Pete flew up to Gambell to try to help with the search. Pete said that we in New Jersey could most efficiently help if we would continuously telephone the Alaska Coast Guard Search and Rescue Station to "encourage" them to continue their search. As we began our international and geopolitical network, things developed rapidly over the next few days. We spoke via phone or directly corresponded with family, friends, acquaintances, friends of friends, politicians and legislators on both sides of the aisle and at the federal, state and local levels. The U.S. State Department bureaucrats, officers, and their counterparts in the Soviet Union (and remember, in 1988 there was a Soviet Union), came to know many of us Quakers quite well. Somehow, someone in our network was even able to contact the Soviet Maritime Service, MOREFLOT, at Vladivostok, USSR. U.S. Coast Guard personnel, the office of the Governor of Alaska and several of his staff often began their phone conversations with "Oh, it's you again ... " The Quaker Mission to the United Nations, the American Friends Service Committee offices in several cities, the local, national and international print and TV news media, were "in the manner of Friends," clearly and persistently made aware of our concern. In fact so many were made aware, by Quakers as well as non Quakers, that we soon lost count, due to the quick action taken by so many who simply wished to share in this rescue. (Left to Right) Mike Slwooko and Joe Slwooko, Jr. "Mike's boat with our poncho sail." (Photo by Andrew P. Haviland) The long Alaska days (more than 20 hours of daylight at that time of year) helped the U.S. Coast Guard to search the 83,000 square mile area. Local Eskimos were used as spotters because they know how the ice and currents move. The Alaska National Guard tried to fly over Siberian coastal waters but Russian interceptor planes quickly intervened to stop them. When the Quaker network was told this, we contacted our State Department to encourage them to convince the Russians to permit Siberian over-flights to aid in this search. After some initial bureaucratic intransigence on both sides, the Governor of Alaska encountered a surprisingly warm reception from the Russians and obtained that permission. "Why shouldn't we be allowed to search that area," the Siberian Yupik Mayor of Gambell asked: ''There is no border [between Russia and the U.S.] out there in the ocean, just ice and water." This was the first time since before World War II that the Soviet government allowed over- flights of foreign aircraft into that highly-restricted Siberian airspace. Now, years later, we know why they were so restrictive. But U.S. Coast Guard reports of July 1988, clearly indicate that Russian ships and planes had also aided in the search. After the search was over Pete (Andy's father) wrote a beautiful letter to Mikhail Gorbachev, thanking him for his help. Reading a copy of Pete's letter made me re- examine my own priorities.