Iñupiat Knowledge of Selected Subsistence Fish Near Barrow, Alaska

Karen Brewster, Research Associate, Oral History Program, University of Alaska Fairbanks

Craig George, Wildlife Biologist, North Slope Borough, Department of Wildlife Management

Barrow Elders: Martha Aiken, Arnold Brower, Sr., Mollie Itta, Noah Itta, Mary Lou Leavitt, Oliver Leavitt, Warren Matumeak

With Special Assistance from Lawrence Moulton, MJM Research, LLC

Funded by the Bureau of Land Management through an Assistance Agreement to the North Slope Borough Department of Wildlife Management Dedicated to the memory of three expert Iñupiaq fish biologists who believed in preserving Iñupiaq knowledge for future generations, helped guide this project, and whom we lost along the way. Quyanaqpak.

Noah Itta (1919-2008)

Arnold Brower, Sr. (1922-2008) Martha Aiken (1926-2009)

ii TABLE OF CONTENTS

List of Figures v Acknowledgements xi Collaborator Biographies xiii I) Introduction 1 Traditional Ecological Knowledge 2 II) Methodology 5 III) Physical Environment 9 North Slope Fish 10 IV) History of North Slope Iñupiat and Fishing Activity 13 V) Seasonal Round of Fishing 19 VI) Selected Fish Known and Used by the North Slope Iñupiat 22 Aanaakjiq (broad whitefish) 22 Iqalusaaq (least cisco) 26 Qaaktaq (arctic cisco) 28 Pikuktuuq (humpback whitefish) 29 Sulukpaugaq (arctic grayling) 30 Tittaaliq (burbot) 32 Iqaluaqpak (lake trout) 34 Iqalukpik (dolly varden char) 37 Paikjuk (arctic char) 37 Siulik (northern pike) 39 Kakalisauraq (ninespine stickleback) 40 Amaqtuq/Iqalugruaq (Pacific salmon - pink, chum, chinook) 41 Ilhuagniq (smelt) 42 Milugiaq (longnose sucker) 44 Nimibiaq (arctic lamprey) 44 Iluuqieiq (Alaska blackfish) 45 Savigunnaq (round whitefish) 46 Uqsruqtuuq (Pacific herring) 46 Unidentified Fish 47 VII) Life Cycle of Fish 48 Migratory Routes 48 Route 51 Break-up 52 Spawning and Rearing Areas 54 Food Habits 62 Distribution 62 Overwintering Areas 65 Stages of Growth 68 Parasites 69

iii VIII) Fishery 70 Gear Types 73 Catch Rates 87 Harvest Timing 91 Locations of Harvest Sites 98 Good and Bad Years 117 IX) Cultural Aspects of Fishing 120 Who Goes Fishing 123 Division of Labor 124 “Ownership” of Fishing Areas 125 Distribution/Reciprocity 127 Storage 128 Preparation 131 Relative Importance of Fish in Diet 135 “Fish Lore” (prescriptions, ramifications) 140 X) Fisheries and Development 147 XI) Summary 151 XII) Literature Cited 152 XIII) Appendices Appendix I: Interview Instrument 169 Appendix II: Common Subsistence Fish of the North Slope 172

iv List of Figures

Cover Photo: Doug Edwardsen’s fish drying rack at his camp on the Chipp River (Chipp 2).

Figure 1: Map of the National Petroleum Reserve-Alaska.

Figure 2: Examples of fishing areas mapped by John Burns with Barrow informants in 1988.

Figure 3: Arnold Brower, Sr. and Craig George going over maps.

Figure 4: Itta’s camp at Shuqjak on the Mayuabiaq River.

Figure 5: Overview map of the Barrow area.

Figure 6: Mollie and Noah Itta being interviewed by Craig George and Benjamin Nageak.

Figure 7: Mary Lou Leavitt and Oliver Leavitt being interviewed by Craig George.

Figure 8: Martha Aiken being interviewed by Karen Brewster.

Figure 9: Warren Matumeak looking at fish photos with Craig George.

Figure 10: Arnold Brower, Sr. marking fish locations on a map.

Figure 11: A fyke net set near Teshekpuk Lake.

Figure 12: Map of the North Slope Borough region and major river systems.

Figure 13: A tundra lake in the Barrow area.

Figure 14: Tundra environment in the Barrow area.

Figure 15: Broad whitefish (Coregonus nasus) (aanaakjiq).

Figure 16: Humpback whitefish (Coregonus pidschian) (pikuktuuq).

Figure 17: Least cisco (Coregonus sadinella) (iqalusaaq).

Figure 18: Arctic cisco (Coregonus autumnalis) (qaaktaq).

Figure 19: Arctic grayling (Thymallus arcticus) (sulukpaugaq).

Figure 20: Round whitefish (Prosopium cylindraceum) (savigunnaq).

Figure 21: Dolly varden (Salvelinus malma) (iqalukpik).

v Figure 22: Arctic char (Salvelinus alpinus) (paikjuk).

Figure 23: Northern pike (Esox lucius) (siulik).

Figure 24: Rainbow smelt (Osmerus mordax) (ilhuagniq).

Figure 25: Man ice fishing using a baleen scoop to keep the hole open.

Figure 26: Map of the Meade and Chipp-Ikpikpuk rivers drainage with Iñupiaq names.

Figure 27: Map of lakes that are important during starvation times.

Figure 28: Boys with fish.

Figure 29: Locations of Barrow and Atqasuk Camps and Cabins.

Figure 30: Stringing a net through holes under the ice.

Figure 31: Pulling fish from a net under the ice in late fall.

Figure 32: Standing on the ice jigging for fish in front of a snow block windbreak.

Figure 33: Ice scoop made of baleen strips on a wood frame.

Figure 34: Nuiqsut fishermen pulling fish from a net on the Colville River.

Figure 35: Roy Ahmaogak and family traveling in their boat.

Figure 36: A fisherman at his ice fishing hole.

Figure 37: A simplified diagram of broad whitefish movements.

Figure 38: A fyke net set in a small tributary river near Shuqjak.

Figure 39: Luke George and Kyle Bodfish in the ice cellar at Shuqjak.

Figure 40: Arnold Brower, Sr. showing an iqalusaaq from his freezer.

Figure 41: Map of area around outlet of Pittalugruaq Lake.

Figure 42: Burbot (Lota lota) (tittaaliq).

Figure 43: Solomon Okpeaha with a freshly caught tittaaliq (burbot).

Figure 44: Lake trout (Salvenius namaycush) (iqaluaqpak).

vi Figure 45: Five large lake trout and some small least cisco taken in gillnets in Teshekpuk Lake.

Figure 46: Josh Bacon holding a large frozen lake trout.

Figure 47: A brightly colored fall-harvested lake trout. Craig George

Figure 48: A typical fyke net catch from the Mayuabiaq River.

Figure 49: Dolly varden (iqalukpik).

Figure 50: Color variation seen in arctic char (paikjuk).

Figure 51: Map of fish rearing and spawning areas discussed by Arnold Brower, Sr.

Figure 52: Ninespine stickleback (Pungitius pungitius) (kakalisauraq).

Figure 53: Chinook (king) salmon (Oncorhynchus tshawytscha) (iqalugruaq).

Figure 54: Chum (dog) salmon (Oncorhynchus keta) (iqalugruaq).

Figure 55: A chum (dog) salmon in typical spawning colors (iqalugruaq).

Figure 56: Josh Bacon (left) and James Matumeak with a large chinook salmon.

Figure 57: Pink salmon (Oncorhynchus gorbuscha) (amaqtuuq).

Figure 58: Longnose sucker (Catostomus catostomus) (milugiaq).

Figure 59: Arctic lamprey (Lampetra japonica) (nimibiaq).

Figure 60: Alaska blackfish (Dallia pectoralis) (iluuqieiq).

Figure 61: Round whitefish (Prosopium cylindraceum) (savigunnaq).

Figure 62: Pacific herring (Clupea harengus pallasi) (uqsruqtuuq).

Figure 63: Capelin or candlefish (Mallotus villosus) (pagmaksraq).

Figure 64: Arctic cod (Boreogadus saida) (iqalugaq).

Figure 65: “Classic” broad whitefish (aanaakjiq) habitat.

Figure 66: Ublutuoch River during spring break-up and in the summer.

Figure 67: Deep channel in the upper portion of the Mayubiaq River.

vii Figure 68: Map of rearing ponds and spawning lakes near the Chipp River discussed by Arnold Brower, Sr.

Figure 69: John Rose and Luke George measure fish caught in a fyke net.

Figure 70: Deep channels at the outlet of Teshekpuk Lake.

Figure 71: The original Sakeagak cabin along the Mayuabiaq River.

Figure 72: Map showing the location of Pulayaaq on the Inaru River and Qaviarat on the Meade River.

Figure 73: The external parasite Coregonicola on a least cisco.

Figure 74: Taluyauraq, a small conical fish trap.

Figure 75: Netting from a fish trap made of baleen strips.

Figure 76: Setting a fish trap in a stream lined with willows.

Figure 77: A fisherman driving fish into the mouth of a fish trap.

Figure 78: Fish trap collected in Barrow in 1881.

Figure 79: Arnold Brower, Sr. and his son Johnny Brower holding a gill net.

Figure 80: A Nuiqsut fisherman checking a net in the Colville River.

Figure 81: Setting a gill net under the ice in Teshekpuk Lake.

Figure 82: Examples of net floats and weights.

Figure 83: A section of net made with thin strips of baleen.

Figure 84: The basic form of a typical kuvraq net.

Figure 85: Net gauges made of baleen (top) and bone (bottom) used to measure mesh size when making a net.

Figure 86: Netting shuttles.

Figure 87: Arnold Brower, Sr. discussing how to use a net gauge.

Figure 88: Jigging for fish in the early fall when the ice is thin.

Figure 89: A jigging stick with line and a hook.

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Figure 90: Modern fish lures with bent nail barbs and hooks.

Figure 91: Store-bought Mepps fishing lures currently used for jigging.

Figure 92: Kakiak, the three-pronged fish spear.

Figure 93: Driving fish into nets set under the ice.

Figure 94: Map locating Aviullaavik on the Chipp River.

Figure 95: William Morris inserts a radio transmitter into a broad whitefish.

Figure 96: Map of the Tupaabruk River region.

Figure 97: Map noting the location of Iqsiññat on the lower Ikpikpuk River and Shuqjak on the Mayuabiaq River.

Figure 98: Map of fish habitat discussed by Mary Lou Leavitt and Noah and Mollie Itta.

Figure 99: Fish flash freezing.

Figure 100: General area reference map with place names mentioned by Arnold Brower, Sr.

Figure 101: Map noting the location of Aviullaavik.

Figure 102: Map of habitat areas discussed by Arnold Brower, Sr. in the Teshekpuk Lake region.

Figure 103: Maps of the Meade and Inaru rivers and Chipp-Ikpikpuk region with Iñupiaq place names.

Figure 104: Map of the major drainages between Barrow and the Ikpikpuk River with historic sites identified on the Meade River.

Figure 105: Ruth Nukapigak of Nuiqsut with her harvest of whitefish.

Figure 106: Typical fish camp cabin with ice cellar and shed.

Figure 107: Errol Okakok with a lake trout pulled from a net during fall fishing.

Figure 108: Fish of various species stored in the ice cellar at Shuqjak.

Figure 109: A Canadian style of storage cache made of ice blocks.

Figure 110: Looking down from ground level into an underground ice cellar at Shuqjak.

ix Figure 111: Making pivsi (dried broad whitefish - aanaakjiq).

Figure 112: Broad whitefish pivsi glistening in the summer sun.

Figure 113: Typical tall drying racks at a camp along the lower Colville River, circa 1900.

Figure 114: Children showing their fish harvest, Kaktovik, circa 1930.

Figure 115: “The Burbot” string figure.

Figure 116: “The Fish-Net Torn by Polar Bears” string figure.

Figure 117: “Fish Nibbling at a Hook” string figure.

Figure 118: “A Fish” string figure.

Figure 119: “A Flounder” string figure.

x Acknowledgements

Thanks go to our Iñupiaq collaborators: Martha Aiken, Arnold Brower, Sr., Mollie and Noah Itta, Mary Lou Leavitt, Oliver Leavitt, and Warren Matumeak. And those who participated in the Chipp-Ikpikpuk and Upper Meade River Oral History Project and the 1988 Burns Fish Project. Without their collaboration and great patience, this study would not have been possible.

Lawrence L. Moulton, MJM Research, LLC, Lopez Island, Washington provided valuable review and commentary regarding the current state of knowledge of fish biology on the North Slope.

The North Slope Borough Iñupiat History, Language and Culture Commission saw the cultural and educational value of preserving the local knowledge recorded in this project and supported its publication.

Stacie McIntosh, Cultural Anthropologist with the Bureau of Land Management, Northern Regional Office in Fairbanks, initiated this project in 2004, assisted with the first interview with Arnold Brower, Sr., and provided valuable final report review and preparation.

Ronald H. Brower, Sr. of the Alaska Native Language Center, University of Alaska Fairbanks, Estella Leavitt of North Slope Borough, GIS Division, and Katherine Ahgeak of the North Slope Borough’s Iñupiat History, Language and Culture Commission provided correct Iñupiaq word spellings.

Edith Nageak, Oral Historian with the North Slope Borough, Iñupiat History Language and Culture Commission translated during interviews and meetings, and assisted with Iñupiaq spellings.

Roberta Leavitt, North Slope Borough, GIS Division, produced the overview map of the North Slope Borough and the Barrow-Atqasuk Camps/Cabins map with the appropriate content and in the right size for this report.

Benjamin Nageak, Natural Resource Program Coordinator with the Bureau of Land Management in Barrow, translated during the Itta interview and reviewed the manuscript.

Josh Bacon and Brenda Congdon of the North Slope Borough Department of Wildlife Management participated in some of the interviewing.

Additional review of this report was provided by: Sverre Pedersen, Subsistence Resource Specialist with the Alaska Department of Fish and Game, Division of Subsistence; William Morris, Habitat Biologist with the Alaska Department of Fish and Game, Division of Habitat; and Grant Spearman, former curator of the Simon Paneak Museum in Anaktuvuk Pass, Alaska.

xi This project was funded by the Bureau of Land Management through an Assistance Agreement to the North Slope Borough Department of Wildlife Management.

Publication is in collaboration with the North Slope Borough, Iñupiat History Language and Culture Commission.

xii Collaborator Biographies Martha Aiken (Naiyuq) was born in 1926 and is the oldest daughter of Vincent and Bernice Nageak. She has five brothers from this marriage and nine siblings from when her father later married Rhoda Akootchook. She grew up at Oliktok Point along the Beaufort Sea until she was seven years old when her family moved to Barrow where she attended school through the fifth grade. Martha traveled the country with her father, but did not really get to know the Meade and Topaabruk rivers areas until she married her husband Robert Aiken, Sr. in 1949 and they began to go inland for fishing and caribou hunting on breaks from their jobs. Martha is highly regarded as an expert Iñupiaq language specialist. She started the North Slope Borough School District’s bilingual program in 1971, where she taught bilingual courses and developed bilingual curriculum. She helped translate the Bible and hymns into Iñupiaq, was the Iñupiaq programmer at KBRW, the local radio station, and is currently translating the Old Testament. Martha has also served her community as the first female member of the Arctic Slope Regional Corporation board of directors in 1971, and on the school board. She has been active in the Presbyterian Church as a member of the choir, a Sunday school teacher, and served on the General Assembly of the National Council on Church and Race. Martha raised ten children, and has been a member of the Barrow Eskimo Dancers since the group’s founding. Martha passed away in June 2009, before this report was published.

Arnold Brower, Sr. (Tibitquuraq) was born in Barrow in 1922 to Assiafataq and Charles Brower, a well-known commercial whaler and trader. Arnold grew up reindeer herding at Alaqtaq and learned the land and resources of the Chipp, Ikpikpak and Alaqtaq rivers area. After serving as a paratrooper in the Air Force in World War II, he returned to Barrow and worked for the Naval Arctic Research Laboratory (NARL) and on early oil exploration expeditions. He married Emily Hopson and together they raised seventeen children. Arnold was a whaling captain and was recognized as an expert whaler, hunter and fisherman. Until his death in the fall of 2008 at age 86, he continued to spend significant time at his fish camps on the Chipp River (Chipp 4 and Chipp 9) and traveled the tundra and rivers in all seasons.

Mollie Itta (Aluniq/Tibigluk) was born in Barrow in 1921 to Andrew and Cora Ungarook. Her father was a reindeer herder and she grew up living at Alaqtaq and Barrow with her three sisters and six brothers. She attended school only until the sixth grade. She married Noah Itta around 1940 and they had eleven children. Mollie worked as a cook in Barrow’s school kitchen for thirteen years, taught home economics classes, and worked as a cook at Prudhoe Bay when it first opened, around 1976/1977. Mollie is well regarded for her sewing talents, having made many parkas and mukluks for her family and for sale, as well as doing knitting and crocheting. She and Noah started traveling to the Mayuabiaq area in 1977 after he retired, because she had heard co- workers talking about how wonderful the area was and they wanted to see it for themselves.

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Noah Itta (Isaubana) was born in 1919 at Cape Halkett to James and Lydia Itta, where his father was a reindeer herder. Noah and his six siblings grew up among the reindeer herders along the Beaufort Sea coast. He met his wife, Mollie, at Alaqtaq, a center for reindeer herding activity and they traveled by dogteam back and forth between Cape Halkett, Alaqtaq and Barrow until they had their first child. After settling in Barrow, Noah worked for twenty years as a carpenter at the Naval Arctic Research Laboratory (NARL). He loved to hunt and was well known for his hunting, fishing, trapping and whaling skills. He grew up whaling with his father and older brother, Harold, and started his own whaling crew when he moved to Barrow. After retirement, Noah spent much of his time out on the land hunting and trapping. He and Mollie began to travel to the Mayuabiaq area where he built a cabin at Shuqjak. Noah was well known for his observational skills and depth of knowledge about the animals and environment of the Barrow and Teshekpuk Lake areas, and his willingness to share this with both the younger generation and visiting researchers. Noah passed away in the spring of 2008 before this report was completed.

Mary Lou Leavitt (Qabbun) was born in Barrow in 1920 to Johnny and Lucy Aiken. When Mary Lou was six years old, the family moved to Qalluvik, a small settlement on the coast north of Teshekpuk Lake near Point Lonely. Mary Lou was the oldest of eight children, so went hunting and fishing with her father in the Tasiqpak, Shuqjak and Mayuabiaq areas, which is how she learned the lakes and where good fishing was. Mary Lou mentions how she walked long distances across the tundra in the summer. When she was eighteen years old, she married Herbert Leavitt and raised four children. She worked as a cook at the Barrow hospital and was a custodian at NARL for ten years. She spent a lot of time camping with her husband at Cape Halkett, and hunting and fishing at Qaviarat and Topaabruk. After Herbert retired from NARL and the school district as a carpenter and heating system expert, they also did a lot of fishing at Pulayaaq.

Oliver Leavitt (Aveogan) was born in Barrow in 1943 to Mary Lou and Herbert Leavitt. He grew up living a subsistence lifestyle of hunting and fishing and then attended high school at Mt. Edgecumbe School in Sitka, Alaska. After graduation, he went to the Lower 48 for specialized training at electronics school, and served in Vietnam with the US Army. In the 1970s, Oliver played a major role in the passage of the Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act and establishment of the Arctic Slope Regional Corporation (ASRC). He served as vice-president and a member of the ASRC board of directors until his retirement in 2008. For many years, Oliver also served as a member of the North Slope Borough Assembly. He is highly regarded for his leadership skills and role in Barrow’s political history, but also is a successful whaling captain and hunter. He focuses much of his hunting and fishing

xiv activity in the Mayuabiaq River and Shuqjak area, which he learned about from his mother who grew up in the surrounding area.

Warren Matumeak (Ovluaq) was born in Barrow in 1927 to Paul and Beulah Matumeak. His father was a reindeer herder, and Warren spent time as a young boy following him around the Ukpiksuu area of the Meade River and jigging for fish with his grandmother, Rebecca Ahgak. His mother died when he was eleven years old and his father married, Mamie. Warren attended school in Barrow through the fifth grade and studied hard to be at the top of his class. He served in the Alaska Territorial Guard when he was fifteen years old, became a member of the National Guard, and later worked as a recruitment officer in Barrow for the National Guard. Starting at age sixteen, Warren worked at Barrow’s Native Store and then as a maintenance supervisor for the North Slope Borough School District. Warren married Martha Gordon in 1951, and after her death from TB he married Martha Elavgak in 1959. He has three daughters. Warren helped develop the North Slope Borough’s land management, zoning and permitting regulations, and supervised the issuing of permits for development at Prudhoe Bay. He was director of the North Slope Borough Planning Department where he oversaw implementation of the Borough’s comprehensive plan, and also served as Director of the Department of Wildlife Management. In addition to being recognized as a knowledgeable whaler, hunter and fisherman, Warren is known for his singing and dancing. He helped start the Suurimmaafichuat Eskimo Dance group in 1988, and has been a long time member and former director of the Presbyterian Church Choir. He has also served as a trustee for the Presbyterian Church.

xv I) Introduction The high density of lakes, river and streams within the National Petroleum Reserve-Alaska (NPR-A) provide substantial aquatic habitat that supports diverse and abundant fish populations (See Figure 1). Despite this abundant habitat, limited biological research has been done on fish, especially as related to subsistence use (Craig 1989b; Burns 1990; Philo et al. 1993). Most

Figure 1. Map of the National Petroleum Reserve-Alaska. Bureau of Land Management

biological studies have focused on surveying fish populations and habitats and have been conducted in response to potential oil development activities (Netsch et al. 1977; Bendock and Burr 1984 & 1985; Philo et al. 1993; Moulton 1999; Morris 2003; Morris and Winters 2004a and b; Morris and Winters 2005; Morris et al. 2006; Moulton et al. 2007; Morris and Winters 2008a and b). Some cultural studies focused on land use and subsistence have included information about fish and fishing, but these subjects were not the main focus of the research (Pedersen 1978a,b; Schneider et al. 1980; Wolfe et al. 1986; Arundale and Schneider 1987; Pedersen and Shishido 1988; Braund et al. 1993; Pedersen 1995). Generations of Iñupiat living within the region have relied on fish as a staple food source. This reliance on fish has fostered long-term observations and an understanding of the resource, especially whitefish. Some expert fishermen have acquired detailed biological knowledge of fish distribution, diversity and habitat. These men and women have the potential to add significantly to western scientific information, including the location of fish bearing lakes, species distribution, changes in fish distribution through time, migration corridors, migration periods, spawning times and locations, and overwintering areas. While some scientific investigations have included local observations about

1 fish (Gallaway et al. 1983; George et al. 2007; Moulton et al. 2007), scientists and resource managers often have failed to recognize the full value of Iñupiat fish knowledge. Often this knowledge has been dismissed as “anecdotal” (Neis et al. 1999b:231). The Bureau of Land Management (BLM) is responsible for managing the land and resources of the National Petroleum Reserve-Alaska. Increasing pressure for oil and gas development in the Reserve has led to lease sales in the northeastern sector near the village of Nuiqsut and facilities at the Alpine Field, and possible future activity in the Teshekpuk Lake area. This increased oil activity has put pressure on BLM to make new types of management decisions, while continuing to base them on the most current and best available information. This fostered a need to better understand the primary fish resources, which included documentation of traditional knowledge and cultural aspects, and compiling existing scientific and local information that previously had not been written about or available in a single location. BLM and other agencies mandated to manage and monitor fisheries on the North Slope have limited socio- cultural information to draw upon, while local communities have an extensive bank of knowledge with limited opportunities to have that knowledge heard or count in management of resources upon which they depend (Pomeroy and Rivera-Guieb 2006; Krupa 2008:7). As primary users of fish and wildlife resources, the Iñupiat are concerned about the continued abundance and availability of and access to populations, and threats that could adversely affect them. The North Slope Borough, Department of Wildlife Management (NSB-DWM) was established to collect data about these locally important living resources in order to develop better scientific understanding and effective management programs. Seeing a need to plan for and mitigate potential impacts from oil development in NPR-A, which was looking increasingly like a real possibility, NSB-DWM developed a project in 1988 to study subsistence use resources in the NPR-A (“Development of Comprehensive Management Plans for Subsistence Use of Animals within NPR-A,” State of Alaska Contract No. NPR 87-31-14). John Burns, of Living Resources Inc. in Fairbanks, was hired to conduct interviews with subsistence fishermen in surrounding villages and hold a technical workshop that brought together local fishermen and scientists to discuss the state of knowledge about northern fish species at that time (Burns 1990). The results of the workshop were compiled into a final report (Burns 1990), which included prime documentation of the biology of fish on the North Slope as understood in the late 1980s, as well as an assessment of information gaps and future research needs, but the interview information has remained unprocessed. A total of seventy-two interviews were conducted in Barrow (21), Atqasuk (14), Wainwright (7), Nuiqsut (20), and Point Lay (9). The material is difficult to analyze. Many of the recordings are of poor quality, so the conversation is difficult to hear. The interviews were often map-based (see Figure 2), so the discussion can be confusing without being able to follow along with the accompanying map. And finally, the information is often fragmentary and hard to interpret. (Original 1988 recordings and maps are in possession of the North Slope Borough, Department of Wildlife Management, Barrow, Alaska.)

2

Figure 2. Examples of fishing areas mapped by John Burns with Barrow informants in 1988 for “Development of Comprehensive Management Plans for Subsistence Use of Animals within NPR-A.” Colored lines indicate locations of different fish species. John Burns, Living Resources Inc., Fairbanks, Alaska and the North Slope Borough, Department of Wildlife Management

It was apparent that resource managers needed better documentation of Iñupiat knowledge, so beginning in 2004, BLM collaborated with the North Slope Borough Department of Wildlife Management to build upon the work begun in 1988 by Burns and record more about Iñupiaq knowledge about fish, especially in a cultural context. There is evidence for the efficacy of interviewing resource users as part of qualitative fisheries research and management (Neis et al. 1999a,b). Use of an integrated approach to fisheries research in which local agencies and stakeholders work together to document pertinent knowledge and information has been on the rise around Alaska in recent years (Anderson and Fleener 2001; Georgette and Shiedt 2005; Robinson 2005; Simeone and Kari 2005; Spearman 2005; LaVine et al. 2007; Krupa 2008). As Krupa notes: “Collaboration between management agencies and local stakeholders in the design, conduct and reporting of subsistence-related research facilitates better communication and cooperation and may lead to new insights about how best to manage resources”(Krupa 2008:7). This report is the result of one such effort, which provides a forum for intellectual exchange, and is a way to expand the biological, social, and cultural understanding of important subsistence fisheries on the North Slope.

Traditional Ecological Knowledge (TEK) It is important to recognize that there are different kinds of knowledge that can be brought to bear in understanding the environment. Traditional ecological knowledge (TEK) has been defined as “…a cumulative body of knowledge and beliefs, handed down through the generations by cultural transmission, about the relationship of living beings (including humans) with one another and with their environment”(Berkes 1993:3). Or as long-time resident of

3 Anaktuvuk Pass and ethnographer of the Nunamiut people, Grant Spearman adds, “it represents nothing less than the totality of knowledge about the environment, both physical and spiritual, in which a people live”(Spearman 2005:15). TEK is specific cultural knowledge associated with a particular group of people based on long-term observation and experience of individuals living in a place. It is an informal and dynamic system for obtaining information essential for continued survival that is passed on through oral communication. This differs from the western scientific approach’s formal system of standardized methodology for hypothesis testing and written proof of results. While traditional knowledge by definition relies upon wisdom of the past, it is important to recognize that it also is shaped, refined, and applied in the present. As the environment changes, people adapt and create new understandings. But they do not start with a blank slate. Instead, they build new understanding based upon their own previous experiences and knowledge, as well as on the still relevant pieces of information that have trickled down through the generations. In this way, traditional knowledge is ancient and modern, consistent and changeable. As a hunting and gathering people, Iñupiat survival has demanded they be keen observers of the environment in which they live and of the animals upon which they depend. But as Spearman notes:

The application of traditional ecological knowledge to the pursuit of fishing is a practice that goes far beyond the knowledge of good fishing holes and the skillful use of a handful of homespun but highly refined technologies. It is, fundamentally, a process that is broad in scope and that brings together a wide array of highly detailed and sometimes divergent knowledge involving the weather; snow and ice conditions; topography; lake, creek and river morphology; vegetation and habitat; fish habits, movement patterns, and even their nature (Spearman 2005:16).

However, it is impossible to “capture the full extent of people’s encyclopedic knowledge about fish” (ibid.:19). The knowledge is too vast for such a short-term project as this. Instead, we demonstrate the depth and sophistication of Iñupiat thinking through the use of examples such as fish species, localities, seasons, and behavior. A primary objective of this project is to document aspects of traditional ecological knowledge about fish and to foster collaboration between scientists and local experts (see Figure 3). Each group’s body of knowledge contains different types of information, and each “researcher” has varied ways of drawing upon their own experience, observation, and training. Ecological knowledge systems of both scientists and local experts are influenced by their specific social, technological, cultural and ecological contexts (Neis et al. 1999b). TEK offers insight into an organizational structure, thought process, and knowledge system that goes beyond specific observations (ibid). Traditional ecological knowledge documentation also provides information about consumptive uses of subsistence resources, not simply numbers and types of uses but the cultural values attached to such uses. It is important to remember the different nature of traditional knowledge and the challenges faced in trying to elicit it.

4

Figure 3. Arnold Brower, Sr. and Craig George going over maps during an interview at Arnold’s house in Barrow, Alaska on February 26, 2004. Stacie McIntosh

As Georgette explains:

Respondants generally are unaccustomed to articulating their vast store of knowledge in a way that is precise, thorough and easy for a researcher to follow. Most people simply do not think about the world and their experience in this way. …Many questions simply do not have a clear-cut answer, despite scientists’ desire for one. Subsistence fishermen’s holistic view of the natural world makes it difficult to partition their knowledge into discrete topics, as befits a report. Each respondent tends to offer different bits of understanding and explanation, and the researcher must then assemble all these pieces into a coherent summary, often having to judge the quality of pieces of information based on the respondent’s knowledge and experience (Georgette and Shiedt 2005:14).

Synthesis of local and scientific investigations is challenging, but creates broader understanding by allowing perspectives to parallel and build upon one another (Neis et al. 1999b). Traditional and local knowledge is a renewable resource only if it is documented and framed in ways that have meaning both in the community or culture from which it derives, as well as in the realms of scientific and political discourse where management decisions are made (Freeman 1992:3-4). In addition:

Indigenous knowledge can provide valuable input about the local environment and how to effectively manage its natural resource. Also, by incorporating indigenous knowledge into projects, it can contribute to local empowerment, increasing self- sufficiency and strengthening self-determination. Its use to the community can increase cultural pride and thus motivation to solve local problems with local ingenuity and resources (Pomeroy and Rivera-Guieb 2006:101-2).

Iñupiaq knowledge is based on long-term observation, so the location where one has fished influences ones understanding. Fish camps or cabin locations are associated with particular

5 individuals or families (see Figure 27: Barrow and Atqasuk Camps and Cabins Map). Since these cabins usually are the base of operations for subsistence activities, knowing where they are located helps in interpreting any discussion about fish or other subsistence resources. Cabins are key references for understanding which rivers and/or lakes someone is familiar with and referring to as prime fishing spots. This is especially the case in some of the 1988 interviews where maps are being discussed and only an audio recording was made. If you know the fisherman and where his cabin and thus primary use area is, you can at least get a general sense of the area he is talking about. Without this cabin knowledge or the map used in the interview, it is difficult to relate the conversation to the reality trying to be expressed. It is important to know where the local knowledge information being presented is coming from. For instance, Noah and Mollie Itta have a cabin at Shuqjak on the Mayuabiaq River which flows out the western side of Teshekpuk Lake (see Figure 4). They have used this as their main subsistence area since 1977, but are very familiar with the general area between Barrow, Alaqtaq and Cape Halkett having both grown up and traveled there.

Figure 4. Itta’s camp at Shuqjak on the Mayuabiaq River. Craig George

Eighty-six year old Arnold Brower, Sr. focused the bulk of his subsistence activity on the Chipp-Ikpikpuk rivers area having learned it as a reindeer herder based at Alaqtaq, and his descriptions of fish are based on what he observed specifically in the Alaqtaq, Chipp and Ikpikpuk region. Warren Matumeak also has fished mostly in the lower Chipp-Ikpikpuk rivers area, first going there in the early 1950s with his wife who grew up nearby at Qalluvik and liked the area, although he also has some experience on the Meade/Inaru river system from his boyhood. Eighty-one year old Martha Aiken’s fishing activities have been focused in the Tupaabruk area, which she first started to get to know in the early 1950s with her husband, Robert. They first went to the Meade River area, but decided it was too far away and Tupaabruk was closer. It was also an area known and used by some of her husband’s relatives, who they often camped and hunted with. The Aikens built their cabin at Tupaabruk 2 in the early 1970s.

6 Oliver and Mary Lou Leavitt’s experiences are predominantly in the Tasiqpak (Teshekpuk) Lake and Mayuabiaq River area. Mary Lou grew up at Qalluvik north of Teshekpuk Lake and walked much of the region as a young girl while hunting and fishing with her father. Oliver mentions learning the area as an adult by listening to the stories his mother told and then going out exploring by himself by boat and snowmachine. Charlie Edwardsen focused his fishing on the Chipp River; Walter Akpik lived in Atqasuk and grew up along the Kuulugruaq (Meade) River; Ernest Kignak grew up in the Ikpikpuk area and later was a reindeer herder between Wainwright and Alaqtaq; Adam Leavitt grew up on the coast east of Barrow at Cape Halkett and fished east of Teshekpuk Lake and near the mouth of the Colville River; Nina Nayukok traveled in the inland region as a child, especially the Ikpikpuk, and became familiar with the area east of the Ikpikpuk as an adult since her husband was from there; and Thomas Brower lived at Alaqtaq in the lower Ikpikpuk area as a reindeer herder in the 1940s. And finally, the people interviewed in the 1988 fish study in Barrow have a variety of experiences ranging from the Meade and Inaru Rivers to the Chipp and Ikpikpuk Rivers and over to Teshekpuk Lake, depending upon where their camps and cabins are (see Figure 5).

Figure 5. Overview map of the Barrow area discussed in the interviews. Karen Brewster/North Slope Borough GIS Division

7 II) Methodology Information sources ranged from historical written documentation, archived oral history interviews, published scientific literature, and interviews with a small sample of key elders. . The project followed standard methods for TEK documentation and was conducted in accordance with Principles for the Conduct of Research in the Arctic established by the Interagency Arctic Research Policy Committee (http://ankn.uaf.edu/IKS/conduct.html) and Guidelines for Respecting Cultural Knowledge established by the Assembly of Alaska Native Educators (http://www.ankn.uaf.edu/Publications/knowledge.html). The interview protocol was approved by the University of Alaska Fairbanks Institutional Review Board for Human Subjects Research. Seven new interviews were conducted by Karen Brewster of the University of Alaska Fairbanks Oral History Program and Craig George of the North Slope Borough Department of Wildlife Management in February 2004 and March 2007 in Barrow, Alaska with Arnold Brower, Sr., Warren Matumeak, Martha Aiken, Noah and Mollie Itta, and Mary Lou and Oliver Leavitt. Stacie McIntosh of the Bureau of Land Management participated in the first interview. These participants were selected because they are acknowledged community experts with extensive knowledge of subsistence fish and fisheries, and they were available and interested in the project. An effort also was made to include women’s perspectives in the project, since women play a key role in subsistence fishing. All of the interviews, except with Noah and Mollie Itta, were conducted in English. Benjamin Nageak, Natural Resource Program Coordinator with the Bureau of Land Management, translated during the Itta interview (see Figures 6 -10).

Figure 6. Mollie and Noah Itta being interviewed by Craig George (far left) and Benjamin Nageak (foreground) in their home in Barrow, Alaska on March 16, 2007. Karen Brewster

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Figure 7. Mary Lou Leavitt and her son, Oliver Leavitt, being interviewed by Craig George in Mary Lou’s home in Barrow, Alaska on March 14, 2007. Karen Brewster

A small number of focused interviews were considered more appropriate than a larger number of more generalized interviews. It meant being able to spend more time with a few key experts collecting as much detailed information as possible to build upon existing knowledge, instead of repeating generalized information previously collected. Previous survey-type work has already been done in the area (Pedersen 1978a,b,c,d; Braund et al. 1993). In addition, more interviews would have meant that much more material to be gone through and synthesized, which could not have reasonably been handled within this project’s timeframe and budget. There already was a large amount of information to work with from just seven new interviews and a pool of pre-existing archived interviews. Interviews utilized a semi-directed format guided by a general list of topics, not a specific set of questions (see Appendix I: Interview Instrument). This format allows for the discussion to be adapted to each individual based upon their expertise and geographic focus, and to be able to follow appropriate tangents as they develop. This meant that not all topics were discussed in each interview. The researchers’ personal knowledge of the participants also helped shaped the direction of the interviews. The interviews covered the following types of information: location of fish bearing lakes; species distribution and abundance; critical habitats; seasonal movements of fish species; spawning and wintering areas; changes in fish populations, availability, and fishing practices; traditional and contemporary harvest methods and timing; food storage and preparation; traditional stories; and effects of development. Given the difficulty of eliciting traditional knowledge information and working in a cross- cultural setting, each interview was conducted by a team comprised of a social scientist familiar with Iñupiat hunting and fishing patterns and a fish biologist familiar with Arctic fish. As Georgette explains:

The interviewer must often clarify, for instance, whether a respondent’s statement applies to spring but not fall, or all whitefish or only broad whitefish, or to the present or the past. …In addition, in any community there is considerable environmental and cultural knowledge that is assumed to be held by everyone. This knowledge is so

9 ingrained that it often does not occur to respondents to mention it, and researchers can therefore inadvertently miss key pieces of information. For this reason, it is immensely valuable for researchers to have some personal familiarity with the setting, the resource, or the community to bridge this spoken information with the unspoken (Georgette and Shiedt 2005:14).

Each interview was videotaped with notes taken by the interviewers. The original twelve hours of recordings are archived at the Elmer E. Rasmuson Library, University of Alaska Fairbanks, with DVD copies at the North Slope Borough, Department of Wildlife Management in Barrow, Alaska.

Figure 8. Martha Aiken being interviewed by Karen Brewster in Martha’s home in Barrow, Alaska on March 14, 2007. Karen Brewster/Brenda Congdon

Iñupiat fishermen predominantly use Iñupiaq taxonomy when discussing fish and the researchers were familiar with this terminology, so much of the discussion utilized the Iñupiaq fish terms. However, each interview was accompanied by photographs of the primary subsistence fish that were used when clarification was necessary.

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Figure 9. Warren Matumeak looking at fish photos with Craig George during an interview at his home in Barrow, Alaska on March 13, 2007. Karen Brewster

There has been significant work already conducted in the Barrow area mapping subsistence fishing areas (Pedersen 1978a,b,c,d; Pedersen et al. 1978; J.C. Burns unpublished data; Braund et al. 1993). Since there was already an active research project along these lines going on at the time of this project’s interviewing (S.R. Braund unpublished data), we decided to reduce our focus on map-based interviews. Nevertheless, topographical maps were used in the interviews to document key fish and fishing locations, especially spawning and overwintering sites. Locations were identified with a respondent’s initials and a unique number and marked on USGS standard topographic maps of the 1;250,000 and 1:63,360 scale.

Figure 10. Arnold Brower, Sr. marking fish locations during an interview at his home in Barrow, Alaska on March 16, 2007. Karen Brewster

The project plan had been to assemble this data in a GIS database. This did not work out as anticipated due to a lack of staff in the North Slope Borough GIS Division. Photographic images of the marked topographic maps are included in this report where appropriate. Map data can be difficult to interpret without its corresponding narrative and vice versa, so an effort was made to

11 keep the map discussion as clear as possible by keeping a list of numbers and descriptions and videotaping the interviews. All the original maps are housed with the North Slope Borough, Department of Wildlife Management in Barrow, Alaska. It is hoped that more can be done with this geographic data in the future. The original project plan had been to conduct eight interviews in Barrow, Wainwright, Atqasuk and Nuiqsut. The focus of the project was narrowed to only cover the primary subsistence harvest area for Barrow, which includes the Meade and Inaru rivers, the Chipp- Ikpikpuk rivers, and the area west of Teshekpuk Lake. It was determined that the entirety of the NPR-A was too vast and there was too much information to collect and process in a meaningful way within the timeframe and project goals as originally laid out. In addition, this area was selected because people in Barrow believe it is the next region most likely to experience oil- related development. To build upon existing knowledge, archival oral history interviews were consulted for content related to fish and fishing. When combined together, this corpus of new and older oral history material demonstrates the wealth and variety of Iñupiaq knowledge about fish. Oral history interviews conducted by William Schneider and Wendy Arundale in 1982 and 1983 for the “Chipp-Ikpikpuk and Upper Meade River Oral History Project” with Walter and Greta Akpik, Ernest Kignak, Charlie Edwardsen, Arnold Brower, Sr., Thomas Brower, Sr., and Nina Nayukok were utilized. Also, observations and statements were collected from the following sub-set of interviews done in 1988 in Barrow by John Burns and Jack Winters (with translation assistance from Charlie Brower and Billy Adams) for the Borough’s subsistence fish project: Baxter Adams, Whitlam Adams, Jonathan Aiken, Sr., Robert Aiken, Sr., Walter Akpik, Harry Brower, Sr., Alfred Leavitt, Daniel Leavitt, Herbert Leavitt, William Leavitt, Sr., Sadie and Nate Neakok, Silas Negovanna, and Tommy Pikok. The remaining 1988 interviews from the other NPR-A communities were not included in this report, because they were outside the bounds of this project. Finally, published historical and anthropological materials also are incorporated throughout this narrative. Due to project budget and timeline constraints it was not possible to produce full transcripts for all of the 1988 and 2007 interviews (transcripts already existed for the 1982/1983 Chipp- Ikpikpuk Project interviews). Instead the interviews were listened to, with information organized according to the category headings outlined in this report. Only the relevant quotations to be used in this narrative were transcribed. Quotations related to the project themes and topics also were selected from the Chipp-Ikpikpuk transcripts in a similar fashion. Many quotations were applicable to multiple subjects, so it was necessary to use some of them more than once within the report to ensure full coverage of the topics discussed. Statements and observations about fish near Barrow were consistent among both the 1988 and 2007 interviews. The small group of 2007 interviews verify to a greater level of specificity the general information recorded from the larger number of participants in 1988 (7 in 2007, and 21 Barrow interviews in 1988). The similarities extended to the main species harvested, good fishing locations, population abundance, impacts from development, etc. Only bits and pieces of the 1988 recordings are quoted in this report, because the style in which the information was documented made it difficult to utilize and make understandable to a general audience. Quotes from 1988 participants have been included as much as possible, where appropriate.

12 The scientific information referred to in this report comes from a significant corpus of biological literature, and from research conducted over the last twenty years by the North Slope Borough, Department of Wildlife Management. Field methodology included sampling with fyke nets (see Figure 11) to collect samples of all species and size classes of fish in an area, extensive field notes, and reporting on results.

Figure 11. A fyke net set near Teshekpuk Lake. Fish biologists use fyke nets, a form of trap net, for sampling fish. Fyke nets are less selective of species and size classes than are gill nets and allow fish to be released alive. Craig George

The history of map making has meant that the spellings of place and river names on the USGS maps for the North Slope often differ from those of the Iñupiaq language utilized by local residents. Since this is a report focused on Iñupiaq knowledge, the Iñupiaq names and spellings are used for places and rivers when at all possible, with the English equivalent appearing in parentheses upon first mention. For instance, the Mayuabiaq River is an outlet from Teshekpuk Lake and appears as the Miguakiak River on the map (also known as Mayoriak River (Orth 1967)). Iñupiaq words appear in italics throughout this report. It is not always easy to find “correct” Iñupiaq spellings of words. Iñupiaq only has developed as a formal written language since the mid-1940s when the New Testament of the Bible was translated by Rev. Roy Ahmagoak and linguist, Donald Webster. Since then, a different orthography was adopted to more closely reflect the Iñupiaq sounds. The result has been variation in how words are spelled. In this context, it is important to note that we have chosen to respect the elders’ choices in how they spell their own name, while we have attempted to use standard modern spellings for other things, such as names of fish, places, and objects. These spellings were obtained from or reviewed by the North Slope Borough, Iñupiat History, Language and Culture Commission and the Alaska Native Language Center, University of Alaska Fairbanks. A final stylistic note relates to the transcribed quotations from oral history interviews. Items added by the transcriber as points of clarification or questions are written in a different font and are enclosed in brackets. A draft of this report was circulated for review to community members with specialized expertise in Iñupiaq language and subsistence issues, and to professional colleagues in the fields

13 of anthropology, biology, and subsistence research. Instead of expecting our elder collaborators to read such a lengthy document in what for all of them is a second language, we chose to do a power-point presentation highlighting the results of the research and explaining what we learned. This provided an opportunity for the elders to correct our interpretations of the information and was a forum for continued discussion of the topics. Each elder also had the opportunity to read the entire document and provide detailed feedback, if they so desired. All review commentary has been assessed and incorporated into this final report.

III) Physical Environment Barrow (2007 population approximately 5000) is located at the northern tip of a vast wetland plain dotted with interconnected streams and lakes and criss-crossed by seven major river drainages and their tributaries (see Figure 12). Most subsistence harvest for Barrow occurs in the Dease Inlet/Admiralty Bay area (Philo et al. 1993) to the east and south of Barrow where five major river systems (Chipp, Alaktak, Topagoruk, Meade, and Inaru) drain into the Bay. Teshekpuk Lake, the third largest lake in Alaska, bounds Barrow’s main subsistence area to the east and is connected to the Dease Inlet/Admiralty Bay system by way of the Ikpikpuk/Chipp River system. The Mayuabiaq (Miguakiak) River, is the sole outlet for Teshekpuk Lake, and flows into the Ikpikpuk River.

Figure 12. Map of the North Slope Borough region and major river systems. North Slope Borough GIS Division

A complex web of interactions among streams, sloughs and lakes dominates the region and varies seasonally. For example, high water flooding after spring break-up temporarily links

14 otherwise isolated habitats and near shore areas and offers few barriers for fish movement. This means fish using the system of connected channels, lakes and near shore regions in the 830 km2 (320 mi2) area of Teshekpuk Lake in the spring have access to an area encompassing over 32,600 km2 (12,600 mi2) (Moulton et al. 2007). After the water recedes, river channels may have changed and many lakes are left isolated (see Figure 13).

Figure 13. A tundra lake in the Barrow area. Craig George

The area between Barrow and Teshekpuk Lake is a dynamic environment (see Figure 14). The channels of these northern rivers shift in seasonal conditions and change with time. Banks erode. Heavy flow may break through a bend to form a new main channel. Old channels dry up or become lakes. Lakes expand when a stream breach adds an inlet. Lakes dry up, becoming clogged by grasses or by losing in and out flow.

Figure 14. Tundra environment in the Barrow area. Craig George

The North Slope is a polar desert with annual precipitation on the coastal plain averaging eight to ten inches, with more than 50% of the total falling as snow. The mean annual temperature in the coastal region is about ten degrees Fahrenheit (Zhang et al. 1997). There is often a steady breeze, predominantly from the northeast, blowing the light snow into drifts. The amount of snowfall and winter drifting patterns establish the groundwork for what will occur with the amount of water flow in the rivers and lakes during the spring thaw. In addition, the

15 timing of ice formation on rivers and lakes in the fall time and thawing in the spring are critical to the success of the Iñupiaq fishery. Fish populations survive harsh conditions with low air and water temperatures, limited wintering habitats, and a need to obtain a year’s food supply in the short three month summer period. The fish have developed migration patterns to take advantage of the most favorable seasonal conditions for spawning and food supply, they have an ability to find deep water overwintering habitat, and they have a resiliency to short-term adversity (Craig 1989a). “The fish have had over 200,000 years at their present location since Pleistocene glaciations to adjust genetically to the specifics of the arctic environment” (Ibid:27).

North Slope Fish - Overview of Primary Subsistence Fishes Fishing patterns of North Slope fishermen are adapted to the life histories of the species being sought. Approximately twenty-two species are harvested, with their availability in different areas influenced by spawning, overwintering and feeding behavior (George et al. 2007:1). “For any species of edible fish people know where to reliably look for them, if not always reliably find them, and how to reliably harvest them. For some key species they know a great deal more than that” (Spearman 2005:19). The main fish species utilized for subsistence that occur in the study area are broad whitefish (Coregonus nasus), arctic cisco (C. autumnalis), least cisco (C. sardinella), arctic grayling (Thymallus arcticus), burbot (Lota lota), lake trout (Salvelinus namaycush), arctic char (S. alpinus), dolly varden (S. malma) and three species of salmon (chum - Oncorhynchus keta, chinook - O. tshawytscha, pink - O. gorbuscha). Broad whitefish are one of the most common fish in the study area and are the preferred fish to eat by many Iñupiat (ibid.:7). A three-year subsistence harvest study conducted in Barrow from 1987-1989 recorded that whitefish comprised over three quarters of the total fish harvest (77%), averaged over the three study years (Braund et al. 1993:144). Braund also reported that the river variety of broad whitefish (aanaakjiq) was the most significant fish in the Barrow subsistence economy contributing over 38,000 pounds (ibid.). The broad whitefish (aanaakjiq) in the Chipp/Ikpikpuk/Teshekpuk region range in size from about 2-4 kg (~4.5-9 lbs) and mature late (~12 yrs) (Moulton et al. 2007) (see Figure 15). They spawn from late September to October and are gill netted in rivers during spawning runs and subsequent migrations to overwintering areas (George et al. 2007:2). During different life stages, broad whitefish exist in and travel between rivers, streams, lakes and coastal areas. They are less tolerant of high salinity than some of the other whitefish (Burns 1990:31).

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Figure 15. Broad whitefish (Coregonus nasus) (aanaakjiq). Canadian Department of Fisheries and Oceans; Craig George

Humpback whitefish (pikuktuuq) are found in lakes, streams and coastal areas of the North Slope (see Figure 16), but are not a major subsistence species. Scientists have little information about these fish in the drainages that flow into the Chukchi Sea, but local residents indicate they are present (Burns 1990:63). Humpback whitefish do not seem to move as far throughout a year as compared to broad whitefish (ibid.). The life span for these fish is twenty years or more, with sexual maturity reached by age ten (ibid.). For example, a 15 inch (382 mm fork length) humpback whitefish caught at Dease Inlet was estimated to be twenty-four years old (J.C. George, unpublished data). Similar to the broad whitefish, there may be three varieties of humpbacks: those that live and spawn in lakes; those that live in lakes and migrate to rivers to spawn; and those that remain in river systems and do not use lakes (Burns 1990:63). Like the other whitefish they are fall spawners, although the spawning period tends to be a bit earlier (ibid.).

Figure 16. Humpback whitefish (Coregonus pidschian) (pikuktuuq). Canadian Department of Fisheries and Oceans

Least cisco (iqalusaaq) are the most commonly found fish from the whitefish family on the North Slope (see Figure 17), occurring in one third of lakes surveyed (ibid.:45). Least cisco on the North Slope grow to 16.7 inches (42.5 cm) in length and reach a maximum age of twenty- eight years with sexual maturity ranging from three to eight years, depending upon the variety (ibid.; Morrow, 1980; J.C. George, unpublished data). As with other whitefish, they are fall spawners, and typically do not spawn in consecutive years (Burns 1990:45). They have a

17 moderate tolerance for saltwater, being able to survive in water with a salinity of up to at least fifteen parts per thousand and probably higher for short periods of time (ibid.:46).

Figure 17. Least cisco (Coregonus sadinella) (iqalusaaq). Canadian Department of Fisheries and Oceans; Craig George

Arctic cisco (qaaktaq), another important subsistence species (see Figure 18), spawns in Canada, the young are transported into Alaska when coastal currents are favorable (Gallaway et al. 1983; Fechhelm and Fissel 1988; Fechhelm and Griffiths 1990), and overwinter in brackish river deltas until sexual maturity sends them back to their spawning grounds. Arctic cisco exhibit long spawning migrations, exceeding 1,000 miles (1600 km) (Burns 1990:7). The Colville River Delta is the largest known overwintering site and most productive fall fishing area for ciscos in the Alaskan portion of the Beaufort Sea coast. In some years, up to thirty-one tons are taken by subsistence and commercial fishermen (Moulton and Seavey 2005).

Figure 18. Arctic cisco (Coregonus autumnalis) (qaaktaq). Canadian Department of Fisheries and Oceans; Larry Moulton

18 Arctic grayling (sulukpaugaq) are one of the most widespread of northern fishes, occurring in lakes and streams across the North Slope (see Figure 19). They have been reported to range up to twenty-two years in age, however few older than fifteen years have been caught (Philo et al. 1993; North Slope Borough, unpublished data). Arctic grayling reach sexual maturity from four to seven years, and can get up to 19 inches long (49 cm) (Burns 1990:51; J.C. George, unpublished data). They overwinter in deep pools in rivers (qaglu) that are often far upstream from the deltas and they are particularly vulnerable when they are grouped together in this fashion (George et al. 2007:2). They are most often caught by jigging under the ice in the fall/winter or with rod and reel in the summer (George et al. 2007). Grayling differ from other whitefish in that they spawn in the spring and in a variety of locations, not necessarily traveling long distances to do so (Armstrong 1986; Burns 1990:52).

Figure 19. Arctic grayling (Thymallus arcticus) (sulukpaugaq). Canadian Department of Fisheries and Oceans; Craig George

Round whitefish (savigunnaq) occur in the main tributary streams of the central North Slope (see Figure 20), but are absent from the western drainages that flow into the Chukchi Sea (Burns 1990:22). They are also found in lakes, but most frequently in deep lakes at an elevation of 2,000 feet above sea level (ibid.:23). They reach sexual maturity at six to eight years, and spawn in late September to mid-October with some females spawning every year (ibid.). The maximum length of adult round whitefish is around 18 inches (45 cm) (ibid.).

Figure 20. Round whitefish (Prosopium cylindraceum) (savigunnaq). Canadian Department of Fisheries and Oceans

There are two main forms of char on the North Slope: the anadromous dolly varden (iqalukpik) (Salvelinus malma) and the lake resident Arctic char (paikjuk) (S. alpinus). The

19 anadromous dolly varden (see Figure 21) are found in the summer in many streams along the Beaufort Sea coast, such as the Ikpikpuk River (Burns 1990:35). They spawn and overwinter in streams along the foothills of the Brooks Range, where they seek out perennial springs with consistent flow and water temperature throughout the winter. Most of these spring streams range

Figure 21. Dolly varden (Salvelinus malma) (iqalukpik). Canadian Department of Fisheries and Oceans from the Anaktuvuk and Chandler rivers on the upper Colville River eastward into Canada. After spending two to three years rearing in freshwater, dolly varden begin annual seaward migrations, where they distribute widely along the Beaufort Sea coast. Lake resident arctic char (see Figure 22) occur primarily in lakes along the foothills of the Brooks Range, although one coastal plain lake along the Chipp River has been documented to contain char (Bendock and Burr 1984). Maximum reported age is from 13 to 19 years, with sexual maturity at two to nine years, depending upon which variety (Burns 1990:36). As with whitefish, char are fall spawners.

Figure 22. Arctic char (Salvelinus alpinus) (paikjuk). Canadian Department of Fisheries and Oceans

Northern pike (siulik) are utilized less by the Iñupiat as a subsistence fish compared with other fish (see Figure 23), but they do occur on the North Slope. Pike require vegetated habitat for spawning and have short incubation periods (Burns 1990:50). They also have a low tolerance for salt water (ibid.). Up until twenty years ago, scientific information about northern pike on the Arctic Coastal Plain was limited. For example, it has been claimed that “the presence of pike in Teshekpuk Lake, though known to local subsistence fishers, was not known by the scientific community” (Burns 1990:49). While perhaps not completely unknown as implied by this statement, biological understanding of northern pike has increased since these early days. In fact, some biologists believe that pike may be expanding their range on the North Slope (Burns 1990:50).

Figure 23. Northern pike (Esox lucius) (siulik). Canadian Department of Fisheries and Oceans

20

Rainbow smelt (ilhuagniq) are another widely occurring fish on the North Slope with little subsistence harvest (see Figure 24), except in Wainwright, where they are highly regarded. Rainbow smelt are anadromous fish that move a short distance into rivers for spawning. On the North Slope, they apparently do not travel very far up rivers. Their spawning is triggered by warming temperatures and increasing water flow during spring, and after a twenty-one day incubation period the larval fish return to the sea (Burns 1990:60). Adult rainbow smelt have been reported up to 14 to 16 inches long (36 to 40 cm), though on average they are 8 to 12 inches (20 to 30 cm), and aged up to fifteen years old with sexual maturity reached at six to seven years (Haldorson and Craig 1984; Burns 1990:59). There is a large population associated with the Colville Delta, which does not receive much attention from the local community.

Figure 24. Rainbow smelt (Osmerus mordax) (ilhuagniq). Canadian Department of Fisheries and Oceans

A common trait among all arctic fish is their long life spans. Lake trout can live to sixty years and least cisco commonly live to twenty-five years. Broad whitefish can live forty years, maturing at an average age of twelve. Such longevity is thought to reflect slow growth related to long winters, cold water, and seasonal and scarce food availability (George et al. 2007:2). The life span of broad whitefish has been reported between eighteen and thirty-five years (Burns 1990:25), and the oldest humpback whitefish identified was thirty-seven years old (ibid.:63). Although all the main subsistence fish are commonly occurring and have a broad distribution, it does not mean that all the lakes have fish or that all species are found in the same place. Iñupiat fishermen need to understand a complicated ecosystem influenced by many variables in order to be successful:

Some lakes host no fish at all because they are landlocked, absent of any outlet or inlet stream by which fish can enter or leave. Other lakes that do possess these vital linkages to rivers, streams, and even other nearby lakes may support a variety of fish during the summer months, yet are too shallow for them to over-winter because their waters invariably freeze to the bottom, or quite nearly so. Even relatively large and deep lakes, without the threat of such a cryonic thrombosis, can vary considerably from one to another in the types of fish they contain, both in overall terms perhaps because of the differing habitats each one offers, and seasonally, depending upon the habits, preferences, and movements of specific species (Spearman 2005:33).

21 IV) History of North Slope Iñupiat Fishing Activity Archeological evidence and radiocarbon dating suggest the earliest human occupation in northern Alaska took place approximately 11,500 years BP (radiocarbon years Before Present) (Arundale and Schneider 1987:33; Kunz et al. 2003:4). Cultural affiliations and identities of the various stages of human habitation in Northern Alaska continue to be debated. But, according to the Iñupiat, they have resided in the area “since time immemorial.” Formal archeological research has been conducted in the Barrow, Atqasuk, Meade River, Ikpikpuk River and Teshekpuk Lake areas since the mid-1970s that has documented many formerly inhabited sites (North Slope Borough nd; North Slope Borough Commission on History and Culture 1980; Schneider et al. 1980; Davis et al. 1981; Shinkwin 1982). The first written documentation describing traditional Iñupiat life is from the early 1800s when non-Native explorers were searching for a northwest passage connecting the Pacific and Atlantic oceans. Elson, of the Beechey Expedition, was the first Euroamerican to come ashore at Point Barrow in 1826 (Beechey 1831). Dease and Simpson came from the east in 1837 (Simpson, T. 1843). Captain Rochfort Maguire wintered at Point Barrow in his ship the HMS Plover from 1852-1854 (Simpson, J. 1855; Bockstoce 1988), and members of the First International Polar Year Expedition led by Lieutenant Patrick H. Ray lived at Barrow from August 1881 until September 1883 (Ray 1885; Murdoch 1988). Early visitors rarely traveled far inland, so most of their observations were limited to the coast and their first-hand accounts lack in-depth discussion about river-based fishing activities (see Figure 25). There is passing mention that people were going inland fishing, such as given by Rochfort Maguire in his journal:

October 9, 1853… It seems evident this is a season of scarcity of the favourite food, the whale, as they are all making greater shifts than they did last year. Those who went to the main land have remained later, those who went to the Eastward came home earlier, and several have gone lately to the rivers to look for fish (Bockstoce 1988:292).

Figure 25. Man ice fishing and using a baleen scoop to keep the hole open. Alfred Bailey Collection, BA21-063, Iñupiat History, Language and Culture Commission, Barrow, Alaska/Denver Museum of Nature and Science

22 In comparison, Maguire provides more detailed information about tom-cod fishing along the coastline that he witnessed directly:

January 19, 1854…they were ranged in position along tide cracks in the young ice, fishing for a small fish that is very abundant in the sea here, the only difficulty in procuring them is the general thickness of the ice, and it is only on the ice first forming and breaking up as in the present case that they become available. They are caught by a small rough Native hook attached to a small piece of bone, with a whalebone line about half a yard long on a short stick a foot long. No bate [sic] is used and although the fish are caught by biting at the hook their method of jirking [sic] the hand up whilst engaged fishing gives very much the idea of ‘jigging’ (ibid.:329).

Maguire also provides observations relevant to questions about Iñupiat reliance upon fish during times of shortage:

October 24 1853. …The people seem to depend a good deal this season upon the fish and Venison brought in from the land, as parties are continually setting out to assist in bringing in what is already on the way or in procuring other supplies. They still try for small fish along the cracks in the ice but the success is indifferent. They also complain about having no food for their dogs (ibid.:299).

Since these early days, there has been a steady flow of explorers, whalers, missionaries, anthropologists, and journalists who have observed and written about the Iñupiaq lifestyle and history (Rasmussen 1927; Stefansson 1914, 1951; Van Valin 1941; Brower 1942; Jenness D. 1957; Klerekoper 1977; Sonnenfeld 1956; Spencer 1959; Allen 1978; Hoffman et al. 1978; Arundale and Schneider 1987; Libbey 1981; Bockstoce 1986; Greist, M. 1968; Blackman 1989; Jenness S. 1991; Burch 1998; Greist, D. 2002; Brewster 2004; Spearman 2005). Much of this documentation has focused on whaling. As Ronald H. Brower states, “Whaling is a very important part of our life. In many ways, it’s part of our sacred beliefs. Everything that we’re doing in a year is dealing with whaling – some form of preparation, celebration, rites and rituals of whaling” (Crowell 2007). This centrality of whaling to Iñupiaq identity, as well as it being a large-scale community activity easily visible to outsiders, may explain why it became the focus of so much cultural interpretation and documentation work. In addition, the season during which someone visited influenced what activities they observed. For example, Knud Rasmussen arrived in Barrow on May 23rd, during the height of whaling season so this dominated his reporting (Rasmussen 1927). Fishing is one aspect of the Iñupiat subsistence culture that has been overshadowed by whaling. While subsistence researcher Stephen Braund states, “historically, fish have been a secondary resource for Barrow Iñupiaq,” (Braund et al. 1993:144) this may not be the case. Other ethnographic research has indicated, “Fishing in rivers, streams and deeper lakes of the region is probably the second most important land use activity in the interior in terms of productivity” (Schneider et al. 1980:47). Observations of modern subsistence life do not

23 necessarily accurately reflect what occurred in earlier time periods. Anthropologist Ernest Burch indicates “the importance of fish to the Iñupiat cannot be overstated” (Burch 1998:311). He shows that some Iñupiat nations of the Northwest Arctic were predominately riverine focused. In addition, participants in the Chipp-Ikpikpuk Oral History Project in the mid-1980s specifically refer to the Ikpikpagmiut people who lived inland and subsisted predominately on fish and caribou (Arundale and Schneider 1987) (See Figure 26). There is also oral history information and evidence that fish were critical during times of starvation or limited availability of caribou or marine mammals, and could be relied upon because of the resource’s stability and consistent availability (ibid.; Schneider et al. 1980).

Figure 26. Map of the Meade and Chipp-Ikpikpuk rivers drainage with Iñupiaq names. Quliaqtuat Ieupiat Nunafieeie - The Report of the Chipp-Ikpikpuk River and Upper Meade River Oral History Project. Wendy Arundale and William Schneider. Barrow, Alaska: North Slope Borough Commission on History, Language and Culture, 1987

24 According to Burch, fish and fishing played key roles in many aspects of early Iñupiat life. For example, settlement patterns were based on “places where there was good fishing or hunting just before and after freezeup” (Burch 1998). And of the twelve separate nations he has identified in northwestern Alaska, fishing appears as a major factor in each group’s seasonal subsistence round. They fished in some form or another throughout the year: seine fishing in the late summer/early fall for spawning salmon (ibid.:72); under-ice fishing with weirs after freeze-up (ibid.:40); jigging or using set lines and gill nets under the ice in mid-winter (ibid.:43); getting fish from a kayak with a fish spear (leister) (ibid.:101); catching blackfish with a dip net in the early spring melting around muskrat houses (ibid.:187); or using a funnel-shaped trap and fence for whitefish in July (ibid.:234-5). Although Burch focuses on the Iñupiat of northwestern Alaska, the inland-based lifestyle he describes has similarities to that of the people along the Meade, Chipp and Ikpikpuk Rivers. There is clear documentation of Northern Iñupiat reliance upon fish (Sonnenfeld 1956; Spencer 1959; Schneider et al. 1980; Arundale and Schneider 1987). For example, “Reliable fishing and hunting places were chosen for camps, utilizing a knowledge of the land that had been gained from earlier periods” (Schneider et al. 1980: 43). And more specifically:

Written documentation, archeological evidence, and oral accounts indicate that deep- water fishing sites along this river [Meade River] have been used since the 1850s and in all likelihood even earlier. …Good resource areas are remembered and incorporated into the seasonal round (ibid.:50).

The work of Diamond Jenness, ethnologist with the Canadian Arctic Expedition who lived and traveled with Alaskan Iñupiat and Canadian Iñuit from 1913-1916 also demonstrates a strong reliance upon fish. His diary entries show people fishing with nets and jigging under the ice with barbless hooks, and that fish - fresh, dried, or frozen - was eaten at least once a day (Jenness S. 1991). In November 1914, he joined residents of Cape Halkett setting nets in eastern Teshekpuk Lake, and indicates nets made of twine being hung under the ice through holes “twenty-five yards apart” (ibid.:53) and average daily harvests of twenty to thirty fish. One man in particular, Alak, is mentioned who had three nets that provided a harvest of 93 fish on November 10, 1914 (ibid.:52). He describes the fish as follows:

The fish they are catching in the lake here are commonly known among the European’s here as ‘white fish.’ They average from 12 to 18 inches, have two pectoral, two ventral, and an anal fin, a dorsal and a small second dorsal. On the back they are dark, almost black, but at the side this yields to a pale mauve tinged with pink, and underneath they are a creamy green. The back forms an arch ending in front at the pointed nose and behind in the bifid tail. The iris of the eyes is yellow (ibid.:53).

The diary entries also indicate residents returning to the lake throughout the winter to retrieve stored supplies of fish - “they have been living on fish and blubber only” (ibid.:109). In addition, Jenness learns about the Colville River fishery from a man named Aksiatak:

25

The river and all the lakes are full of fish, chiefly anakliq [sic], which in one lake grow to a great size and are very fat. One lake, however, contains five or six different kinds of fish, though the land around seems no different save that willows are especially thick there. Some Eskimos remain on the river all the winter, obtaining their flour from the traders in the summer. They do not use much flour, however, but live almost exclusively on fish (ibid.:81).

Finally, fishing is mentioned as an almost daily activity in Jenness’ diary entries for June and July 1915 when he was living with a nomadic group on Victoria Island in northwestern Canada. Their lifestyle may have been similar to the riverine-based Ikpikpagmiut near Barrow (Jenness S. 1991:462-477). Some of the earliest written documentation related to Iñupiat fishing practices comes from Lieutenant Patrick H. Ray, leader of the International Polar Expedition to Point Barrow, Alaska from September 1881 to August 1883. He mostly observed coastal fishing for Arctic cod, but noted the following when he accompanied a group of Iñupiat hunting along the Meade River:

…the natives say that three generations ago all this region was inhabited by a people that lived by fishing and hunting reindeer [caribou], and did not come to the coast, but that the fish and deer grew scarce and there came a very cold season and the people nearly all died from cold and starvation; the few that survived went away to the Colville or joined the little bands on the coast, so that now the whole region is not inhabited and is never visited except by hunters from Nûwuk and Ûglaamie, who come here for deer during the months of February and March; each year a few fish are also taken with gill-nets in the deep holes along the Meade River, the fish being here confined by the river freezing solid on the bars…(Ray 1885:27).

In his chapter, “Ethnographic Sketch of the Natives” describing the Iñupiat and their lifestyle, Ray seems more focused on the coastal activities he witnessed, such as whaling, since he only makes passing reference to fishing in the summer and does not mention fall fishing at all:

Those who are too poor to own a gun or to have oil for trade scatter through the interior, carrying their kaiaks [sic] on their heads to cross numerous lakes and rivers, and gain a precarious livelihood by catching the young reindeer, the young and moulting ducks which are found in great numbers in the lakes and along Meade River, where they also take a few whitefish with gill-nets (ibid.:39).

However, Joseph Powell, Second Lieutenant in the US Army Signal Corps and a member of the 1882 Relief Expedition to Barrow to bring supplies to Ray’s party and stranded whalers, reported that, “During the winter months, food is often very scarce, and many families have to depend for weeks on the little polar-cod, a fish about 6 inches long” (Murdoch 1988:lxii). In contrast, John Murdoch, ethnographer on the Ray expedition, observed: “Fish forms an important article of their diet, which consists, I may say, entirely of animal substances, and

26 occasionally becomes their chief dependence” (Murdoch 1884:111). Fish is both a regular aspect of the traditional Iñupiat diet, but also a reliable food source that can be turned to in times of shortage. Fish is often the most reliable winter resource. As Barrow elder Warren Matumeak says, “Our land is full of fish.” Barrow elder, Noah Itta, even describes one area south of Teshekpuk Lake as the place to go specifically during starvation times because you knew you could always get fish there (See Figure 27).

Figure 27. Lakes identified by Noah Itta as important during starvation times. North Slope Borough Department of Wildlife Management

Explorer and anthropologist Vilhjalmur Stefansson provides a wealth of information about Iñupiat life in the early 1900s. From 1906 to 1912, he made numerous trips to the Arctic traveling between Barrow and the Mackenzie River delta in northwestern Canada living with the Native residents. He spent the winter of 1908/1909 and spring/summer 1912 in northern Alaska near the Barrow area. Throughout his numerous books, reports and diaries, mention of fish and fishing appear frequently, thereby demonstrating the importance it played in daily life. He even provides a list of the fish harvested, the Iñupiaq names, and their uses (Stefansson 1951:451- 455). As he says:

Fish probably play a more important part than anything else in the domestic economy of the Eskimo of the western Arctic coast. The list of food fishes is not large, but the number of individuals is so great that a family supplied with a gill-net or two can travel the whole Arctic coast, and be reasonably sure of catching enough fish for themselves and their dogs at nearly every camping-place. When all the food required

27 for a family can be obtained by merely putting out a fish-net every night and clearing it every morning, making a living is not a difficult matter. The Mackenzie delta is preeminently a fish country, fish being the staple food throughout the year… (ibid.:450).

During Stefansson’s time with the Iñuit of the MacKenzie delta and at Shingle Point fish was consumed three to four times a day eaten either raw/frozen or boiled. However, he was there during a period of shortage, and fish was the only source of food during the winter months (Stefansson n.d.; 1922:62-73). Although some of his observations and commentary are based on the Mackenzie River delta area, this lifestyle was similar enough to that in the areas inland from Barrow that it is possible to extrapolate commonalities. He also includes additional evidence of the role of fishing in Alaska. For instance, he mentions: 1) families at a fishing lake inland from Pitt Point who were “catching quite enough fish for themselves and their dogs” with some people planning on spending the winter there “living on the fish they could catch” (Stefansson 1951:62); 2) a winter camping spot near where the Itkillik River enters the Colville River that was “a fairly good fishing place and every one was catching enough to eat for the time being” (ibid.:80); 3) the productivity of fishing at Nibliq in the Colville River delta (ibid.: 80,83,114); and 4) stopping at Cape Halkett Island in November where “both houses have considerable fish (the kind caught at Shingle Point) and are catching them now. They also have a smaller fish, looks like Norwegian herring. They expect the fishing to stop about the time the sun comes back” (Stefansson 1914:200). [Stefansson states fish at Shingle Point were “kaktat” (Stefansson 1922:70) which matches the current spelling of qaaktaq (arctic cisco) and Arnold Brower, Sr. mentions they are the last fish to be harvested in the fall/winter.] Fish continues to be a mainstay of the modern Iñupiat diet and subsistence lifestyle (Schneider et al. 1980; Wolfe et al. 1986; Pedersen and Shishido 1988; Craig 1989b; Braund et al. 1993; Pedersen and Hugo 2005; Pedersen and Linn 2005) (see Figure 28). Today, most

Figure 28. Boys with fish. (Left to right) James Brower, Kenneth Brower, and Ronald Brower, ca. 1930. Terza Hopson Collection, TH085, Iñupiat History, Language and Culture Commission, Barrow, Alaska

residents participate in some form of fishing whether it is as little as periodically getting some smelt or tomcod on the coast or as much as dedicated, multi-season and multi-species fishing trips to inland lakes and rivers. Despite the widespread popularity of fishing, some families are more active in the modern fishery than others with specific community members considered to

28 be the best fish experts. There is some evidence that in earlier times fishing (probably refers to jigging) may have been more a woman’s activity (Spencer 1959:367), but today it is something the whole family can do together. And fishing is something that elders in particular can still participate in when physical limits may prevent them from continuing with the demands of whaling or other hunting. Jigging under the ice is particularly popular among elders. Most fishing is done at either permanent camps or cabins along the major rivers, however increasingly there are more nets set along the coast near Barrow in summer. In summer 2006, over sixteen gill nets were set in Elson Lagoon and that was during a cold summer with poor catches, which suppressed fishing effort (Moulton et al. 2007). Today’s elders have spent their lives living off the land. This is not always an easy task, given the harsh environmental conditions and scarcity of resources in the north. Iñupiat survival has depended upon long-term observations and study of the resources, and passing this knowledge on to future generations with each new generation building upon what came before:

The most successful fishermen were those who best combined the lore of their fathers with the skills of their own experience. This knowledge encompassed a thorough understanding of the favored habitat, feeding and breeding habits, and seasonal movements of each species of fish, combined with a detailed knowledge of the physical landscape and the precise locations where each type of fish can be found at any time of year under varying conditions from spring floods to winter freeze up (Spearman 2005:40).

Knowledge about fish has come from spending a lot of time fishing, looking for good fishing spots, and paying attention to what the fish are doing. But since fishing has been harder to document than larger-scale practices such as whaling, much of this fish knowledge and fishing lifestyle information has been ignored (Craig 1989b). Studies of subsistence fisheries in the Barrow area have reported annual harvests of close to 30,000 kg (Underwood et al. 1978; Craig 1989b; Braund et al. 1993). This shows the significance of fish in the day-to-day life of the north.

V) Seasonal Round of Fishing The traditional round of fishing activities has varied only slightly through time, with some of the shift due to weather changes and transportation and employment situations. Fall time, just after the river and lakes freeze, has always been the primary fishing season. “In winter, when it starts freezing, everybody goes up there for fishing” (Adams, W. 1988). Families travel to long- established campsites and cabins on or near the main river systems (See Figure 29) to set nets under the river or lake ice for whitefish and lake trout and to jig for graying and burbot (Schneider et al. 1980:47; Spearman 2005). The main fishing rivers may have changed through

29

Figure 29. Locations of camps and cabins in the study area. North Slope Borough GIS Division time as demonstrated by Murdoch’s comment in the early 1880s that the main under ice fishing occurred on the “Kuaru and Kulugrua.” He goes on to explain:

They say there are no fish taken in Ikpikpûñ, and account for this by explaining that the former two rivers freeze down to the bottom on the shallow bars inclosing deep pools in which the fish are held, while in the latter the ice never touches the bottom, so the fish are free to run down to the sea (Murdoch 1988:58).

Nowadays, there is significant fall fishing on the Ikpikpuk River. Travel after freeze-up to reach fall fishing locations used to be by dog team, but now is by snowmachine. According to Murdoch’s 1884 account, this under-ice fishery started in early October “when the rivers are well frozen and enough snow has fallen to make sliding praticable” (Murdoch 1884:112). However, over the last ten years onset of this fishery has been more towards late October because delayed freeze-up has hindered overland transportation. Nets are not set until the ice is safe for travel, typically six to eight inches thick (Spearman 2005:100). The fall fishing technique of stringing a net out under the ice through a series of holes remains consistent (see Figure 30). As Murdoch explained in 1884, “The whitefish are caught in

30 gill nets made of reindeer sinew, which are set through holes in the ice and allowed to remain, being visited from time to time and the fish removed” (Murdoch 1884:112). The net is set by

Figure 30. Stringing a net through holes under the ice. Grant Spearman

extending a line attached to one end of the net down below the ice and grabbing it from the next hole using a long pole with a hook on the end. The line is pulled up to pull the net taut. This is continued until the last hole where the net is tied off with a stake set in the ice (Sonnenfeld 1956:150; Jenness, S. 1991:53-54; Spearman 2005:100-102). Despite this consistency in technique, the material used to make nets has shifted from baleen, to reindeer or caribou sinew, to home-made nets of twine, to commercially purchased gill nets. The net has weights along the bottom (traditionally made of bone, stone, or gravel/sand sewn into sacks [Sonnenfeld 1956:151] and now purchased nets with sewn-in lead lines) and floats on the top (traditionally hand-made of pieces of driftwood and now made of plastic) keep it hanging straight (Spearman 2005:93-98). It is important to keep the net high enough in the water column so it hangs fully extended not freezing to the bottom, but low enough below the bottom of ice surface so the floats do not freeze into it. The net is checked by pulling it through the last hole and picking out the captured fish (see Figure 31).

Figure 31. Pulling fish from a net under the ice in late fall. Bill Hess

Captured fish are flash frozen as they hit the cold air and thrown onto the ice. The fish are either eaten immediately or kept frozen for long term storage (Murdoch 1884; Stefansson 1914, 1922:70-73, 1951:450; Sonnenfeld 1956:152; Jenness, S. 1991; Spearman 2005:135-137). In

31 earlier days, when there were no electric freezers and dog teams could not pull as heavy a sled load as a snowmachine, the Iñupiat would build a small house or cache to store their catch (Jenness S. 1991: 58; Spearman 2005:135). This ice house was made out of blocks of ice cut from the river or lake, and called a siqutaq. It kept the fish frozen and protected a family’s harvest from raids by foxes or wolves. Men would return later in the winter to collect this remaining fish supply. As Murdoch described:

They consume a good many fish, of course, on the spot, but the rest are carefully stored away in a little house built of slabs of ice, and at that season of the year immediately frozen solid. When they are ready to leave camp they break up this mass of frozen fish into lumps of a size convenient to load on their dog sleds, and bring them back to the village in this condition (Murdoch 1884:112-113).

Even now during the snowmachine era, not all fish are hauled back to town. Some fishermen choose to leave a portion of their fall fish harvest at their cabins either for later use there or in caches to be retrieved on future trips back and forth between town and camp (C. George, pers. comm.). Jigging for burbot, grayling, or small coastal fish (Arctic cod) is done with a hook (niksik) and lure on a line hung down through a single hole in the ice (Murdoch 1988:283; Spearman 2005:45-48). Traditionally, lures and barbless hooks were made from ivory (Murdoch 1988:279- 282), but as Barrow modernized, it became common for men to fashion their own brass hooks from old pipes or purchase ready-made commercial lures. The line is strung around a stick that serves as a small fishing pole to hold and control the line by (Murdoch 1988:279; Spearman 2005:42-45). The fisherman sits on a bucket or small stool by the ice hole and jiggles his or her line up and down, side to side, in order to attract a passing fish (see Figure 32). In earlier times, people sat directly on the ice on a piece of caribou skin or on a pile of ice blocks (Spearman 2005:50).

Figure 32. Standing on the ice jigging for fish in front of a snow block windbreak. Alfred Bailey Collection, BA21-377A, Iñupiat History, Language and Culture Commission, Barrow, Alaska/Denver Museum of Nature and Science

Key to ice fishing in this manner is having a scoop (see Figure 33) in the other hand to keep the hole clear of accumulating ice or re-freezing all together (ibid.:121-124; Murdoch

32 1988:308; Jenness, S. 1991:54). “Hardly an Esquimaux, and especially no Esquimaux boy, stirs out of the house in the winter without one of these scoops in his hand” (Murdoch 1884:114). Bait of a piece of whitefish or other meat is used on the burbot hook to help attract a fish (ibid.:112; Stefansson 1914:390; Spearman 2005:51).

Figure 33. Ice scoop made of baleen strips on a wood frame. Ethnological Results of the Point Barrow Expedition. John Murdoch. Reprinted from the Ninth Annual Report of the Bureau of Ethnology, 1887-88, originally published in 1892. Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1988

Iñupiat today state a preference for fall fishing for broad whitefish (see Figure 34) when they are spawning and full of eggs, a delicacy, but actually the biggest catches of broad whitefish today occur in June when the fish are running out of overwintering areas to feeding areas (C. George, pers. comm.). In 1884, Murdoch indicated that summer fishing occurred, but it was mostly relegated to the coast and was not as productive as the fall fishery (Murdoch 1884.:115). By the 1950s, anthropologist Robert Spencer’s observations paint a different picture of the summer fishery:

In the summer of 1952, women bringing back as much as 1,500 pounds of fish to the community for storage was not unusual. Fish are loaded in the launches at the river fishing stations and brought back. Netting and ice fishing continue much of the year, an apparent carryover from aboriginal days. It is not an intensive activity until summer, however. Other fish than the whitefish are also taken, most of them in the summer months (Spencer 1959:367).

33

Figure 34. Nuiqsut fishermen pulling fish from a net on the Colville River. Cyd Hanns

Summer fishing may have increased in popularity even more since the 1970s for a variety of reasons. First, there is more set netting in Elson Lagoon by Pibniq, about six miles north of Barrow. Its convenient location is quickly accessible by truck or 4-wheeler and it is easy to check a net on a nightly basis after work. Second, large boats with high-powered outboard engines have significantly shortened the travel time to upriver fishing spots; typically four to eight hours by boat or snowmachine (Braund et al. 1993:49). This makes going inland for a weekend or short vacation much more feasible than in the past (see Figure 35). In the summer

Figure 35. Roy Ahmaogak steers his boat with his father Lawrence (Savik), mother (Myrna), and dog (Dawson) up the Mayuabiaq River to fish for grayling. Craig George

at inland fishing sites, gill nets are set across small streams or rivers, along the shallow edges of lakes for whitefish, or anchored on the beach in deep places in the rivers or close to lake outlets (Schneider et al. 1980:77; Spearman 2005:99). Schneider notes that:

On occasion an entire creek may be temporarily blocked, or as observed in a few places, the entire main river may be blocked off for varying lengths of time by combining nets. People fishing around these sites have expressed concern that when

34 this occurs early in the season, the fish migrating upstream do not reach their spawning ground (Schneider et al. 1980:77).

The main fish netted are the several species of whitefish, cisco, salmon, and grayling. Some burbot are incidentally caught in nets, and fishing for grayling with a rod and reel is a popular technique. Within the last twenty years, spring fishing has become a rare event; most people are in town during this transitional period. However, in traditional times when people lived out on the land throughout the seasons, and did not have to rely upon snowmachines or boats for long distance travel, they fished for grayling in the spring, just after break-up. This is when the grayling are spawning, so it was preferred to catch egg-bearing females at this time of year. In early summer just after the lake and river ice has thawed, a large amount of water flows down the rivers, flooding the lakes and streams. The entire flat, coastal area is like one big waterway. “Everything is covered with water at break-up except only the high hills” (Matumeak 2007). This is when the fish do a lot of moving between lakes and rivers that are otherwise isolated when the water level recedes. This is a good time to set a net for easy capture of all those moving fish (Schneider et al. 1980:78). “They’re everywhere because at break-up it all becomes water and the fish are traveling everywhere. Some get caught in small lakes and I’ve gotten them there. The fish will be there as long as the lake is deep” (Matumeak 2007). However, the whitefish in early summer are pre-spawned and so are smaller, less fat and often less preferred as a food. According to Warren Matumeak, the fish swim out of the lakes by his cabin during break- up, but he does not catch them:

Fishing is good there. You can get them right at break-up, but the fish tend to be soft, mushy. They don’t have muscles because they’ve been laying over the winter, not moving around. We call them Piiaq, which is a really slippery type thing. It’s better if you wait a little bit to get them. They get firm real fast.

Nowadays, there is little fishing activity during the darkest and coldest days of winter (December - February), however in traditional times when families lived at inland camps all year around fishing continued as long as fresh food was desired and fish were available in deep overwintering spots (Jenness, S. 1991) (see Figure 36). There was also jigging for Arctic cod in sea ice cracks near the village (Murdoch 1884, 1988).

35

Figure 36. A fisherman at his ice fishing hole armed with his tuuq (ice tester) and ilaun (ice scoop). Alfred Bailey Collection, Iñupiat History, Language and Culture Commission, Barrow, Alaska/Denver Museum of Nature and Science

A key aspect to successfully completing this seasonal round of fishing is knowing where the fish are and how best to catch them. For example:

The astute fisherman will know not only what species of fish are present in any particular lake or section of river at any particular time of the year, but also the best locations along or within that particular body of water for catching each individual species and in what season that locality might provide the highest yield. Their knowledge involves which back eddies along the shore of a certain stretch of river will be the most productive location to set their nets to catch migrating fish. Even in mid-winter when rivers and lakes are covered with dense mantles of ice, people know the locations of areas of open water caused by warm springs or swift currents, where fish are likely to overwinter (Spearman 2005:40).

When traveling, men constantly keep their eyes open for promising fishing spots that can be used in the future (ibid.:50).

VI) Selected Fish Known and Used by the North Slope Iñupiat

Aanaakjiq (Broad Whitefish) Aanaakjiq (broad whitefish) is a dominant fish in the Barrow/Atqasuk area and so also is one of the main subsistence species. “Everywhere around Teshekpuk, you put a net out, you’ll get aanaakjiq” (Itta, N. 2007). In 1988, many of the people interviewed by John Burns indicated that aanaakjiq was their favorite fish. Or as Arnold Brower, Sr. says, “It is the choice fish.” It is the fish that the Iñupiat have observed the most closely and so is one whose life cycle they know a lot about.

36 Expert fishermen and keen observers like Arnold Brower, Sr. and Warren Matumeak are well aware of the aanaakjiq’s life cycle, and seasonal migration up and down river. It is a complicated life cycle that can be hard for a beginner to understand (see Figure 37 for a visual explanation).

Figure 37. A simplified diagram of broad whitefish movements in the Judy Creek, Fish Creek and Ublutuoch River drainages. “Seasonal Movements and Habitat Use of Arctic Grayling (Thymallus arcticus), Burbot (Lota lota), and Broad Whitefish (Coregonus nasus) Within the Fish Creek Drainage of the National Petroleum Reserve-Alaska, 2001-2002.” William A..Morris. Technical Report No. 03-02. Fairbanks, Alaska: Alaska Department of Natural Resources, Office of Habitat Management and Permitting

The young hatch in the spring and take advantage of high water at break-up to move through small streams (see Figure 38) and flooded areas from their spawning grounds to lakes, or what

Figure 38. A fyke net set in a small tributary river near Shuqjak on the Mayuabiaq River. Drainages like this link the main rivers to numerous small lakes and streams, and are extremely important to species such as the broad whitefish. Craig George

37 are known as rearing ponds. As Warren Matumeak describes, “First we see little aanaakjiq everywhere, in rivers and lakes.” Arnold Brower, Sr. mentions how break-up influences the aanaakjiq life cycle:

They are born there by Alaqtaq. And during break-up everything goes out, and the fish are scattered everywhere from the overflow. When it breaks up and the Chipp River overflows all around and an aluiqpik [ice jam] forms somewhere along the river, then Alaqtaq and this area becomes a big formation of an island. [water backs up from an ice jam in the river causing flooding and leaving Alaqtaq an island]

When the fish have matured, they begin their seasonal migration of moving out of the lakes into the rivers in the spring, swimming upstream in the spring/summer, and then in the fall swimming back downstream and laying their eggs in the rivers. Iñupiat prefer to catch aanaakjiq in the fall at spawning time when the fish are at their fattest and because the roe is a special delicacy. Arnold Brower, Sr. explains:

Fish in the lakes, the small ones, are in the rearing ponds. As they grow into big fish, big enough to spawn, they stampede out early in the spring while it’s high water. That’s when we get some good fish. I like to be there to catch some of those. They already have roe. And they are not prime. Not ready to spawn out, but they are there. The eggs are glued together. You can’t separate them easily, like you would at spawning time [in the fall]. During spawning time, you just squeeze the fish and the eggs pop out.

Mature aanaakjiq can grow quite large (see Figure 39), with a maximum reported length of over 32 inches (835 mm) for an individual caught in a lake within the Colville Delta (Moulton

Figure 39. Luke George (left) and Kyle Bodfish in the ice cellar at Shuqjak with two large broad whitefish (aanaakjiq). The fish of the size shown here are often 15-25 years old. Craig George

1999). Alfred Leavitt said, “Those big aanaakjiq aren’t traveling. They live in the lake” (Leavitt, A. 1988). Sadie Neakok indicates that it is not so common to catch these really big fish:

38 The great big ones. Well, they’re not very many of them. We’ve probably come across ten or more of them in our lifetime. You can’t even hold onto them, unless you wrap your net to get them in. The biggest ones are really big, but they are very hard to come by. But this one lake east of Iqsieeat has those great big ones. It’s in that area somewhere where those lakes have big and fat aanaakjiq.

Like fishermen worldwide, Iñupiat fishermen talk about their biggest catch. Arnold Brower, Sr. reports on some of his biggest:

The biggest fish I’ve seen are from Tasiqpak. The ones that are fat are right from this area. I think that some of these spots are fifty feet deep, and they contain big fish -- aanaakjiq. All of our nets were too small, when they got tangled up. But this guy had a very unusual net, made with three mesh deep. It was a big one. And he would make his own nets. And he’d get two fish, it was more than enough of a load for him to take home. The fish were big. And me and Tommy Jr. went up going through west Tasiqpak [showing on map] -- this way I guess. In this one lake. It was deep water. It was about fifty feet. And the aanaakjiq were big. And when we started to pull the net in it was moving like mad, but when we got it out, we got only two or three fish. Big ones. And five fish was pretty near a sled load. There are big fish down there. The biggest aanaakjiq I know about came from the Mayuabiaq River. This was Elavgak’s grandpa. Daniel Leavitt’s mother’s grandpa. He had one net. One fish was enough for him. He would drag it home like a seal. Put a rope through the mouth and pull it over his shoulder; you know just like dragging a seal home. It was that big. One fish filled the net.

Arnold Brower, Sr. has even paid attention to what the aanaakjiq eat:

Aanaakjiq eat those little snails in the lakes. There are little freshwater clams and real small snails. I don’t think the fish eat the big ones, but the baby ones. You see them in the fish stomachs when you open them up. I’ve seen whole clams in there. Those fish that eat the snails have got a different taste. That’s up at Chipp 9 and adjacent to Chipp 4.

As keen observers, Iñupiaq fishermen notice differences in fish between river systems. For example, Tommy Pikok noted in 1988 that aanaakjiq in the lakes north of the Inaru River were smaller than those in lakes south of the river (Pikok 1988). Or as Mollie Itta notes:

I think baby aanaakjiq come from the Ikpikpak River. In the fall time, the fish look like Ikpikpak aanaakjiq. They’re dark on the back. I recognize them.

39 Ikpikpak fish look different than fish from the Mayuabiaq River. Ikpikpak fish are kind of lean and dry. Shuqjak fish are really tender and fat. These are aanaakjiq that I’m talking about.

Or as Arnold Brower, Sr. observes:

I call the river aanaakjiq the exercised fish. Their fins are big. They grow super fins. I imagine it’s a habit of how spawning fish grow. In spawning, they have to have some means of putting their roe in the sand and protecting them. They use their fins to move sand and bury their eggs. The suvak [eggs] are heavier than water and will sink.

Warren Matumeak noted two types of aanaakjiq that he has observed, although he did not distinguish whether they came from lakes or rivers or different river systems as indicated above:

There are two kinds of aanaakjiq. One has a blunt nose. The Woods family who lived at the mouth of the Colville River called this kind siguyaq. Siguq means mouth. The other kind of aanaakjiq has a pointed nose like an arctic char. The skin looks light. I like both of these fish.

Iñupiaq is a precise language where different words exist to make distinct differentiation within a broader category, whether it is various types of sea ice based on their composition and formation, or different life phases or seasons of plants or animals. This specificity of language occurs with fish, as well. In English we might use a modifier to describe something that is similar, i.e. baby whitefish. In Iñupiaq, there is a specific different word. For example, there is aanaakjiq and aanaakligauraq. As Warren Matumeak explains, “Aanaakligauraq are the same fish as aanaakjiq only they are still growing.” This has caused some confusion in past fish studies where aanaakligauraq were thought to be a different species (Burns 1990). As Oliver Leavitt explains:

Aanaakligauraq. It’s just a smaller species. Not species. It’s not a different fish, it just hasn’t grown up yet. My mom [Mary Lou Leavitt] uses a different word - aanaakligaq - because she’s from a different area. It’s a different dialect. People just speak differently sometimes because the language is changing. We’re losing it.

An observation-based knowledge system cannot explain everything; people cannot be watching the fish at all times. Therefore, some aspects of fish life cycles are still not well understood by Iñupiat fishermen. For example, Arnold Brower, Sr. theorizes about the life cycle of late season spawned-out fish:

40 I seldom get an aanaakjiq in the hook. Until they’re spawned out. Then I go to the very tip of my stream where it’s clear water, frozen, and I’m catching graylings. And then once in a while I’ll get those humpback whitefish and then get aanaakjiqs. But they would be spawned out. They’re just really skinny long aanaakjiqs in the fall right after they’re spawning. So that’s why I figured maybe aanaakjiqs don’t die. Because they are now feeding again and you can catch them with a hook.

While most fish biologists have left the field by the time spawning is over, a small number have stayed long enough to collect spawning fish and monitor the fall under-ice harvest. But, little biological net sampling or scientific observation has occurred during the post-spawning aspect of the fish life cycle.

Iqalusaaq (Least Cisco) According to scientific surveys, least cisco are one of the most abundant species in NPR-A (Burns 1990:44). And Iñupiaq fisherman Harry Brower, Sr. said: “Iqalusaaq is the most important fish in summertime to people in the Barrow area” (Brower, H. 1988). However, not everyone fishes for least cisco with the same enthusiasm that they put into aanaakjiq fishing (Braund et al. 1993), or as Warren Matumeak says:

Least cisco are everywhere, we just don’t fish them much. When they’re coming out, we have fun setting a small net across a creek. We watch the fish come out into the river and find a good spot to fish for them. But that’s a lot of work. You get too many. We stopped doing that because there was no way we could put all those fish away.

However, there is some variation based on personal preference. A number of people say that iqalusaaq are their favorite fish. There are a few families who are large harvesters of this species who share their catch with the rest of the community. Harvest numbers have also changed for iqalusaaq, since as a prime source for dog food the need has declined as dog teams have disappeared. In 1988, Alfred Leavitt indicated another reason for there being lower numbers of iqalusaaq: “There are not too many iqalusaaq. The lakes dried out when they traveled this way and that way and so that’s why they have lower numbers of fish. Iqalusaaqs are much more abundant to the west” (Leavitt, A. 1988). The timing for catching iqalusaaq is different from aanaakjiq. While aanaakjiq are mostly harvested in the fall when they’re spawning, supplemented by some summer fishing as well, iqalusaaq is the focus in other seasons. Warren Matumeak explains his seasonal harvest of iqalusaaq:

The big run for iqalusaaq is in the summer. In the wintertime, you can put a net out under the ice and get a lot of them. We’d go to Kuugaagruk [Inaru]

41 River for that. We used to eat a lot of those iqalusaaq and then feed them to our dogs, too.

To be a successful fisherman, it is critical to know where the good fishing spots are, especially for specific species. Oliver Leavitt discusses iqalusaaq fishing locales: “Pulayaaq is a good place for iqalusaaq. But so is anywhere near the mouth of a river. I know Noah [Itta] gets a lot of iqalusaaq by Tasiqpak. And they’re big.”

Arnold Brower, Sr. identifies (see Figure 40) two types of iqalusaaq:

I know Iksrubabvik [Ikroavik Lake] has two types of iqalusaaq. The small ones and the big ones. The big ones are, I think, the native of Iksrubabvik. The big ones, you catch them in about a four inch, four and a half inch, mesh net. The biggest iqalusaaq I’ve caught was in a five inch net.

Figure 40. Arnold Brower, Sr. using an iqalusaaq from his freezer to make a point about the species during an interview at his home in February 2004. Stacie McIntosh

Biologists have also identified several types of least cisco, including an anadromous form that spends summers feeding on the coast; “a lake form which is deeper bodied, larger and darker colored; and pygmy form of resident fish that matures at a young age (age 3)” (Bendock and Burr 1984; Burns 1990:44). The pygmy form fish are found in lakes, such as Teshekpuk Lake, which has a large population of them along with the larger or “normal” lake variety (ibid.).

Arnold Brower, Sr. describes the key identifying characteristics for telling the difference between least and arctic cisco:

Iqalusaaq, the minute you pull it out it has a black tip on the tail. I just throw them to one side and put all of the pure white ones on the other side. Those are Crisco fish [arctic cisco - qaaktaq].

42 Just like with aanaakjiq, Iñupiaq has specific descriptive words for subgroups of the iqalusaaq. As Mary Lou Leavitt says, “In Iñupiaq, those little iqalusaaq that are in Okalik Lake, we call them iqalusaaraq because they are smaller.” The Iñupiaq post-base ending -uraq or - gauraq or -fuluuraq means literally 'little, small' and is applied to other animal species as well as to nouns in general (L.D. Kaplan, pers. comm.). Fish biologists working in the Arctic generally consider overwintering habitat to be the main factor limiting fish abundance. The ability of least cisco to use brackish water for wintering as well as lakes and river channels is likely a factor that allows them to achieve greater abundance compared to other species (Burns 1990:47).

Qaaktaq (Arctic Cisco) Qaaktaq move along the coast in wind-driven currents during their first summer, which disperse them from their birthplace in the Mackenzie River in Canada. They do not travel extensively up Alaskan rivers, and upon reaching sexual maturity they return to spawn in the Mackenzie River where they were born (Burns 1990:10). Qaaktaq are less common in the Barrow/Atqasuk/Teshekpuk area than they are further east and are less utilized by the Iñupiat in the Barrow area, but are still prized when caught. Qaaktaq are most prevalent in the Colville River and near the village of Nuiqsut. The Helmericks family has operated a successful commercial fishery at the mouth of the Colville River since the 1950s. Arnold Brower, Sr. says, “People like qaaktaq, but it doesn’t seem like there are many places you can go catch them.” In the Barrow to Teshekpuk Lake area, much of the qaaktaq harvest occurs near the mouths of rivers or on the coast (Aiken, R. 1988; Pikok 1988) and the seasonality of harvest is different due to the different life cycle. “We get the qaaktaq as soon as the ice goes out in the spring. I think they stay in there in the wintertime. Somewhere around there. In a safer place. They probably never go out to the ocean” (Adams, W. 1988). Biological research indicates that “overwintering fish are in areas close to freshwater, perhaps in estuary conditions” (Burns 1990:13) and their high tolerance for saltwater means they primarily occur in water with a salinity of ten to twenty-five parts per thousand (Burns 1990:16). Warren Matumeak adds:

Get qaaktaq in the Kuugaagruk River [Inaru] around December, although that’s getting late, it’s getting too cold. The qaaktaq come up the river later than the other fish. They’re milling around and then they decide to come up later for some reason. We don’t get a whole lot, like they do in Nuiqsut. In October on the Chipp River, you can catch qaaktaq going upriver. You can catch more of them later in the season, like December or January, rather than in October. I don’t know why they do that. Maybe they’re out on the coast and then they come in? You can get qaaktaq in all of the river drainages, including Chipp, but only a few of them. You get them, but not a whole lot of them. We get the ones that are going up river in October. I haven’t seen any with eggs then. Although have seen qaaktaq in Nuiqsut with eggs starting to grow in them. Maybe they spawn in the springtime so in the winter when they’re being

43 caught the eggs are just starting to grow. Then they will be bloated with eggs by the spring.

Arnold Brower, Sr. adds (see Figure 41):

I get qaaktaq at the mouth of the Chipp River before I go home, before freeze-up. I use a three inch mesh net. I also get them at the mouth of the Alaqtaq River, where it enters Pittalugruaq Lake [Pittallukruak Lake]. Also, I’ve seen qaaktaq all the way up to Chipp 9. I’ve caught them in my net. I’ve caught them up that far. We eat them fast. They’re choice fish.

Figure 41. Area around outlet of Pittalugruaq Lake where Arnold Brower, Sr. noted qaaktaq (arctic cisco) can be found. #38 is a lake that Arnold says, “the old people call Aanaakliqsiuvik.” North Slope Borough Department of Wildlife Management

As with other fish, there is variety in qaaktaq fishing locations and the use of them is based upon one’s personal and family’s primary subsistence gathering area. For instance, Oliver Leavitt’s focus has been the western side of Teshekpuk Lake so he says, “In the summer you can catch qaaktaq out along the coast by Lonely [Point Lonely]. They don’t have qaaktaq in Nalaakruk and Okalik Lakes [located along the coastline between Beaufort Sea and northern edge of Teshekpuk Lake].” In comparison, Martha Aiken comments on qaaktaq fishing around the Meade, Inaru and Topagaruk river areas because that is where she has done most of her fishing:

Oh there’s some qaaktaq, too, around Pulayaaq. They catch them in the river. They net for them. They don’t jig for them. They have good qaaktaq and good iqalusaaq. Regular iqalusaaq is about the size of qaaktaq. They’re delicious. Occasionally, we’d get qaaktaq in our area at Topaabruk. ‘Cause Robert’s

44 [her husband] nets are five inch and they just go through them. If he had smaller netting, he would catch them. But he preferred the five inch netting ‘cause they’re good for the bigger fish. The ones with the eggs get in those nets. They’re good and fat.

Arnold Brower, Sr. notes differences in types of qaaktaq he has seen and how Iñupiaq definitions vary from western scientific ones:

Scientists claim there are two species of qaaktaq. Large and lesser. One is bluish on the top. And much broader in shape. Tiipuq [Bering cisco, qaaktaq is arctic cisco]. We recognize those as one species. Qaaktaq family. But they call them tiipuq. Tiipuq is another one. Qaaktaqs are known by their white fins. They don’t have a black tip. The large cisco are blue. And it looks like you couldn’t see the scales. And they’re about that thick. There used to be a lot of them when I was going up to my camp. Back in them years when I’d go with a canoe I would sometimes get started too late. And I just go around the Point [Point Barrow] on the other side, towards the [Elson] Lagoon side. And then drop my net from the boat, along the edge of the boat. By Nuvualuaq [Plover Point]. But you have to watch closely because there are a lot of seals and loons and other animals going through that deep channel, including walrus.

Pikuktuuq (Humpback Whitefish) Pikuktuuq is another commonly available whitefish on the North Slope, however it is not as heavily utilized as the aanaakjiq as a subsistence fish in the Barrow area. It is more a secondary by-catch and tends not to be a fish specifically sought after. Warren Matumeak explains his harvest of pikuktuuq:

Pikuktuuq, those are good fish. We use them. These mid-river ones are kind of tasty. They get real big. Get them in a five-inch mesh net with aanaakjiq. They’re everywhere, because at break-up it all becomes water and the fish are traveling everywhere. Some get caught in small lakes and I’ve gotten them there. The fish will be there as long as the lake is deep.

Arnold Brower, Sr. explains his observations of where pikuktuuq can be fished and the seasonality of their presence:

Pikuktuuq. Those will come around in the fall. Very seldom do I catch them during the summer. But I do catch some of them at break-up. But at the end of the season for spawning they appear at Chipp River. They follow the spawning run of aanaakjiq every year. Some are pretty near the size of these

45 aanaakjiqs. But they got that pink suvak [eggs]. Just like iqalusaaq. But the pikes and graylings have golden suvak. Very attractive. There are many pikuktuuq in those areas where they seek burbot and grayling. Boy, you catch those with a hook, the pikuktuuq and the tittaaliq.

Sulukpaugaq (Arctic Grayling) Warren Matumeak explains that people have been fishing for grayling in the Barrow area for a very long time, “My grandmother used to fish for grayling at Ukpiksu and Qaviarat on the Meade River.” Today much of the grayling fishing is enjoyed more as a recreational activity. It is one of the few fish that are caught with rod and reel in the summer, although many families also enjoy jigging with hook and line in the fall under the ice. Warren Matumeak explains:

I built my cabin at this one spot because it is good for fishing, especially grayling in the shallow areas. My wife used to love to fish for grayling there. In the fall time, you wait for the ice to freeze enough so you can walk on it, then you go out and jig for grayling through a hole in the ice. It’s a lot of fun.

Today, grayling is enjoyed more as a periodic varietal in the fish diet rather than a mainstay since the catch levels are fairly low compared to other fish. However, this may not always have been the case. Despite this lower usage, Oliver Leavitt explains the prevalence of grayling: “All along the North Slope you can catch grayling. Everywhere where there are little places where it’s flowing, like at lakes. Even at waterfalls where it stirs up stuff. You’ll find lots of grayling there.” Alfred Leavitt adds “Lots of sulukpaugaq and tittaaliq in Tasiqpak River and Ikpikpak River. And every creek and river there’s sulukpaugaq in them” (Leavitt, A. 1988). But Whitlam Adams noted that this prevalence of grayling was limited to freshwater areas: “They can’t stay too much in the saltwater, those grayling” (Adams, W. 1988). Biological studies have found grayling spawning at outlets to large lakes (Hablett 1979:383). Despite this abundance of grayling, Warren Matumeak believes that the Alaska Department of Fish and Game, who is responsible for researching and managing fish in the state, tried to increase the population: “ADFG tried to plant sulukpaugaq in our lagoon here in Barrow in the 1970s, but it didn’t work. The lagoon was still salty then” (see Bendock and Burr 1984). Grayling are known as predators - “Grayling go after little fish. They eat the babies of other fish” (Matumeak 2007). They pursue young aanaakjiq and iqalusaaq, so it is common to find grayling when fishing for other species. Arnold Brower, Sr. shows how this can be an advantage if you want grayling:

Grayling go after the little fish, like the little iqalusaaq. They chew the heck out of them. They’re going after the roe, so they go for them during spawning. We’d put out a fish hook and we’d fill two of those big tubs in an hour. Emily [his wife] would have her own tub and I’d have one - with grayling. We’d just get tired of fishing grayling. From that little spot where we put the net, we’d get so many grayling because they were after those little iqalusaaq that were spawning.

46 One way to attract grayling was to fill up our net with other fish. Graylings are after the fish roe. They are like hawks for birds. They destroy fish.

However, Mollie Itta mentions the opposite problem: “One fall time we tried to get grayling from the point in the river [Mayuabiaq River], but iqalusaaq kept biting.” As with other species, Iñupiaq observers are able to distinguish the origin of fish based upon their taste. To outsiders, such differences may seem impossible, but it could be that there are slight variations in food sources, chemical composition of the rivers based on bottom structures, grasses, and rate of flow that effect the fish. It is not impossible to think that fish size effects tenderness as is the case with large mammals such as caribou or moose where old bulls tend to be tougher. Mollie Itta explains her perspective on grayling variation: “Grayling around Shuqjak are so tender compared to Tasiqpak. I don’t like Tasiqpak grayling. They’re kind of old and big. They’re huge.” In August 2008, Warren Matumeak added new information when he mentioned his observations of two types of grayling: There are two types of grayling: the light and dark types. The light colored type is in my river, the Ukamaliaq River. It is close to the Chipp River. And I’ve seen light ones in some of the lakes nearby, too. But there are a lot of grayling in the Ikpikpak River. They are black. They are feeding on nine-spine sticklebacks. My daughter and I got 300 grayling in two hours of jigging once in the Ikpikpak. We quit when we realized we’d gotten so many. This was a time when freeze-up was early and we were able to walk across the Ikpikpak River. This was around the late 1980s. I’ve seen the dark ones in the Chipp and Meade rivers, too. They are dark and bigger. I think at Teshekpuk they are lighter, too, or sort of in between. I’ve also seen this color difference in burbot. Like in the Chipp River they are dark. Their belly is light because they’re on the bottom all the time. And I’ve seen lighter colored burbot in the lakes. And with different patterns and coloring in their skin. I think they’re adapting to the different conditions of the lake or river bottom for camouflage. Biologist Craig George speculates that the grayling difference might be due to the age of the fish, with the coloring appearing darker as the fish gets bigger (C. George, pers. comm.). In 1991, biologist Larry Moulton collected a large grayling from Teshekpuk Lake that was very dark in color and was estimated to be 22 years old (L. Moulton, pers. comm.).

Tittaaliq (Burbot)

Bottom feeding burbot (tittaaliq) are an Iñupiaq delicacy (see Figure 42 and 43), especially the liver. Often people compare the taste of burbot to that of lobster. For some families, like

47

Figure 42. Burbot (Lota lota) (tittaaliq). Canadian Department of Fisheries and Oceans

Warren Matumeak’s burbot are specially sought after:

We put a net in a shallow lake when the ice breaks up and keep it away from the moving ice. We put it in the part where it’s open water [along the shore of the lake which melts first]. And we got lots of burbot from that lake. The net was in the part of the lake by an inlet creek. Burbot, burbot, everywhere burbot.

Figure 43. Solomon Okpeaha with a freshly caught tittaaliq (burbot), July 23, 2005. Larry Moulton

There are two things clearly understood about burbot by Iñupiaq fishermen. One is their eating habits:

Burbot are cannibals. They eat their young. I’ve opened up their stomachs after I’ve caught them and found burbot in there. Medium sized ones, even. They’re predators. They eat other fish, like stickleback, too (Warren Matumeak).

Tittaaliq will eat any kind of fish they can get a hold of. Even aanaakjiq, or iqalusaaq. Sometimes we catch them when they’ve got a fish half-way through. They’re in our nets when we pull them out from under the ice. And it’s hard to pull them out because of the suction. They’re strong. They’re

48 swallowing like a snake. Once in a great while you see a tittaaliq that’s doing that. And we catch them and pull them out (Oliver Leavitt).

Tittaaliq, they follow the fish. They eat the whitefish. That’s why they’re following. Even when the lake has fish, it’s got some tittaaliq. They eat them when they’re small. Most of the rivers in the area has the same kind of fish, you know, they’re always following the fish. That’s what they’re eating (Whitlam Adams).

During the 1881-1883 Ray Expedition, John Murdoch noted these same eating habits among burbot: “They are exceedingly voracious, and Captain Herendeen caught one in his net which had swallowed a white fish already caught in the net and then managed to entangle himself”(Ray 1885:130). He also noted their stomach contents: “On December 1, 1882, Capt. E. P. Herendeen brought in a number of large burbot (Lota) from Meade River and Kuaru…were found to have their stomachs literally crammed full of sticklebacks…” (ibid.:129). Second, is their overwintering behavior:

We were fishing in the spring for burbot and there were burbot everywhere. The lake was so shallow, so I thought maybe they live in the mud? I wondered how they could be alive because it was so shallow and this was at break-up. Had they overwintered there? They must’ve been in the mud, I thought. It’s one of the things that has baffled me. It’s hard to understand sometimes (Warren Matumeak).

Alfred Leavitt describes how tittaaliq behave differently from other fish:

Tittaaliq, they’re not like sulukpaugaq or aanaakjiq. They don’t stay around their areas for long. They migrate. They don’t stay around as long as sulukpaugaq or aanaakjiq. The little creek that’s got grass in it, about two feet deep, they’re steady in there. Those tittaaliq wait for their food by going this way. Waiting for the water to go down. When there’s noise from people walking on top of the ice or people traveling on top, the tittaaliq move away from where they used the trail. Now they don’t stay around there when there’s noise. They’re more afraid than other fish when there’s noise.

Burbot are always caught by jigging, but they can be harvested at any time of year. Aanaakjiq are fished in the fall during spawning because of the desire for both their meat and their eggs, but tittaaliq liver, not their eggs, is the greater delicacy so fishing during spawning is less important. Mary Lou Leavitt observes how as winter spawners the eggs in fall time tittaaliq are of little importance: “Tittaaliq in fall have a little bit of suvak. They’re just starting. They’re small. Not very much.” The burbot’s predatory behavior becomes quite apparent when jigging and according to some people, like Oliver Leavitt, it can be an annoyance:

49

Once you start pulling grayling out, they start to get active and tittaaliqs all of a sudden show up. One time I got one without getting it on a hook. It came out of a hole straight up following other fish and I kicked it. I pulled the hook and line up and out of the hole and grabbed it. We get tired of tittaaliq. They have a tendency to take over when you’re jigging for grayling through the ice in the fall.

Despite the year-round catch of tittaaliq, different fishermen have their own preferences. Arnold Brower, Sr. explains why he prefers winter harvested fish:

Right now, March, tittaaliq are prime. Starting in February, the liver is about the size of a seal liver. And it’s real rich. The tittaaliq does not gain fat on its body, like aanaakjiq, it collects and forms in into the liver. And the liver gets big. Boy, it’s very much a delicacy! The liver gets so fat at this time of year because it’s the only area where it stores fat. It stores the fat through the winter. In the summertime, it’s more like an empty liver, but when the days get shorter in February, they seem to eat other fish without any problem. They’re lazy. They just play around with that little thing up their nose and when fish start to get it, they just open up their mouth. [Tittaaliq are active and other fish aren’t, so they clean out the fish.]

Martha Aiken agrees that “in the springtime, burbots they have big livers. The livers are super.” But, she always does her tittaaliq fishing in the fall when she’s doing all her other ice fishing:

At night when we want some burbot, we go fishing. And for the excitement of it, too. Because they’re really fun to jig for. We go at night, because they bite at night. We have fun doing that. Burbot is my favorite fish to catch. One time while we were in Taquliq and I was sewing -- sometimes I sew at night to make something or repair anything. At this time, I was sewing something, and Robert [her husband] came in and said, ‘Ah, I got five tittaaliqs.’ I didn’t say anything. I just put away my sewing. And then put my parka on and went to the place where he had been jigging and jigged six tittaliqs and went home. I did that just to beat him, just to bug him. I laughed at him, ‘I got six!’

As with any fish story, the size of tittaaliq is frequently brought up in conversation. For example, Mollie Itta said, “Tittaaliq are so huge up there by Tasiqpak, I can’t even cook them.” And in a 1982 interview for the Chipp-Ikpikpuk and Meade River Oral History Project, Joe Akpik translates from Iñupiaq a story told by his father, Walter Akpik, which happened when Walter was a boy:

50 His father would be gone all day long. That was when they were residing at Atqasupiaq. His father would be gone all day long and here he had been fishing for burbot. This one instance his father could not pull out this one line. It must have been one great big burbot. Up to now we still can catch burbot. I imagine they can be as long as a sturgeon. I’m sure in this one instance, it must’ve been a huge burbot if he could not pull the line out of the fish hole. This took place during the fall fishing (Akpik 1983a).

Iqaluaqpak (Lake Trout) Lake trout are the largest of subsistence fish harvested by the Iñupiat (see Figure 44). Their size is demonstrated by Mary Lou Leavitt when she held up her arms to a width of three to four feet and said, “The biggest iqaluaqpak I’ve seen is maybe this big.”

Figure 44. Lake trout (Salvenius namaycush) (iqaluaqpak). Canadian Department of Fisheries and Oceans; Craig George

The size of lake trout (see Figure 45 and 46) is a frequent topic of conversation and the size impacts how they are fished.

Some are really husky fish. They get in the net and tangle up real easily. We put out extra nets if we want to get a lot, because two or three of them is enough to spin one net into tangles. In Tasiqpak one or two fish is enough to spin the net and get it all tangled. They’re big fish. We don’t do much more fishing because those big fish just spin the net (Arnold Brower, Sr.).

We catch iqaluaqpak every once in a while. We catch them in the summer. They get tangled in our nets. They tear up our nets. They’ve got teeth. Iqaluaqpak, they’re in big lakes. Like in Teshekpuk Lake. Sometimes you’d just put one head of an iqaluaqpak in a pretty good sized big pot and it would be full (Mary Lou Leavitt).

There are big lake trout in Teshekpuk Lake. Sixty pound trout. Those big trout, they scare the people in the boats because they go up to the boats. Long time ago, there were really, really big fish. Lake trout of 65 pounds, 104 pounds (Noah Itta).

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One time we lost our net. Maybe the big fish (lake trout) took it with it. We couldn’t find it (Mollie Itta).

Figure 45. Five large lake trout and some small least cisco taken in gillnets in Teshekpuk Lake, late fall 2005. On average, a 60-foot net will catch one lake trout of this size per net day at this time of year. Craig George

According to Arnold Brower, Sr. aanaakjiq are a preferred species over lake trout so the trout are not as actively fished:

I never satisfy myself with catching lake trout. They are not my choice of fish. I eat some, but not all the time. I get tired of eating them. Nobody goes after them when the aanaakjiq are around. They want the aanaakjiq, the choice fish.

Figure 46. Josh Bacon holding a large frozen lake trout harvested under the ice. Craig George

Lake trout can be caught at various times of year. At present, the timing of the catch seems to be related to when a family chooses to be out on the land doing their main subsistence activities. For Oliver Leavitt, that means summer fishing for lake trout in Teshekpuk Lake:

We catch iqaluaqpak in Tasiqpak in the summer [along the lower part]. But not very often, we only catch them once in a great while. But we catch them in the

52 deep channel. Sometime I put a net in that deep channel of Tasiqpak. I just put a little bit of the net out until it catches one and I pull it back. Still get fish that big.

While it is different for Arnold Brower, Sr. who says:

Iqaluaqpak seem to go crazy in the springtime. You can catch them through holes in the ice, by breaking down through small holes. Those fish will be biting, even like now in March.

Until his death in 2008 at age eighty-six, Arnold Brower, Sr. remained one of Barrow’s most active and knowledgeable fishermen. He was a keen observer over many, many years of living off the land in the Chipp-Ikpikpuk area, so it is not surprising that he noticed details about lake trout that others have not mentioned. For example, their coloration (see Figure 47):

Some lake trout are colorful fish. You can see them in the water, like at Teshekpuk Lake, where it’s clear water. Lake trouts in different areas have different colors. I don’t know if the feeding habits change the color or if it’s a different species.

Figure 47. A brightly colored fall-harvested lake trout caught in Teshekpuk Lake. Craig George

Their spawning habits:

The spawning habits of lake trout are different. Like pikes. Pike spawn in July. Grayling spawn right after break-up, same with pike. They also have similar color roe, a golden color. It’s really beautiful. You may catch one or two of them with a small amount of roe in the fall. But I’ve never seen iqaluaqpak or pike fully loaded with roe.

And their location:

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Most of the lake trout I’ve seen outside of Tasiqpak are in deep lakes. They don’t stay in the shallow lakes. Where lake trouts are found is usually an impossible area for the fish to get in. They don’t escape to travel like aanaakjiq do.

In comparison, Noah Itta, another well respected elder fisherman, indicated that he had caught lake trout in rivers, but had not seen lake trout spawning, “Every once in a while lake trout go up the river. We have a trout in our net once in a while. Trout up river happens in other places beside at Shuqjak. But we never see the small lake trout.” While Oliver Leavitt was the only fisherman interviewed who mentioned lake trout eating habits -“I’ve seen them with their stomach full of smelt.” Hundreds of hours of scientific fyke net sampling (see Figure 48) have also failed to find juvenile lake trout (Bendock and Burr 1984; Philo et al. 1993; Moulton et al. 2007).

Figure 48. A typical fyke net catch from the Mayuabiaq River. From top: least cisco, broad whitefish, arctic grayling, broad whitefish, and ninespine stickleback. Craig George

Iqalukpik (Dolly Varden Char) There appears to be some confusion among Barrow fishermen when using the English terms for char. Arctic char seems to be used generically to describe any fish of this variety, whether it is found in the ocean or in lakes. This becomes confusing since true arctic char on Alaska’s North Slope typically are not sea-going fish. However, when using the Iñupiaq terms for the species, the proper differentiation is made for arctic char (paikjuk) in the lakes and dolly varden char (iqalukpik) (see Figure 49) that travel between the sea and rivers and lakes. Statements

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Figure 49. Dolly varden (iqalukpik). Larry Moulton

indicate that iqalukpik are not a commonly occurring fish near Barrow. Mary Lou Leavitt said, “We used to see iqalukpik out there once in a while.” Or as Martha Aiken indicates, “We see iqalukpik sometimes. I got that kind one time at Tupaabruk 1. Nice, really nice one.” Or as Oliver Leavitt explains about fishing at his camp at Shuqjak, “Iqalukpik, we don’t get very many of them out our way. Just once in a while.”

Arnold Brower, Sr. explains in more detail about the presence or absence of iqalukpik:

The only time that iqalukpik would come to Barrow, around that Dease Inlet area, would be in the fall. When the days start to get a little shorter. When the sun is hitting the deck. This is when Iqalukpiks start coming ashore.

Sadie Neakok adds:

In years past, in the fall, was the only time we used to see those types of fish coming up through the rivers. And they would be discolored. But we later found out that they migrate by going through the shoreline, through the inlets. Thousands of them. They’re out in the ocean. We thought they got discolored when they hit the fresh water. It was very odd when we started seeing those because for many years we didn’t see them.

Despite the low numbers of iqalukpik, Warren Matumeak said, “Some people used to catch them.” However, nowadays, there is minimal directed harvesting of iqalukpik. Instead, they are caught when fishing for other species.

Paikjuk (Arctic Char) In comparison to the dolly varden char, more attention is given to paikjuk (arctic char) (see Figure 50), or what Warren Matumeak refers to as “land-locked char.” They are considered

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Figure 50. Color variation seen in arctic char (paikjuk). Larry Moulton

land-locked because they do not travel out to the sea like their cousins the dolly varden char. Arnold Brower, Sr. describes them as follows:

Paikjuk. They’re pink, like rainbow trout. Maybe they are rainbow trout. They are not arctic char. They are pink in color and they are kind of a pinkish in meat. And they are really tasty fish. That fish, it did not have any teeth. It had a mouth and a lip with a similar system to tittaaliq. And it’s a beautiful rainbow colored fish. This year I got a whole bunch of them. I showed them to Geoff Carroll at ADFG [Alaska Department of Fish and Game] and he said it looked like a dolly varden. But now if the teeth of dolly varden are visible, this fish doesn’t have that. You know how a tittaaliq mouth is, it’s got a rasp type thing. And this fish has a different form of a head. Looks like it’s a fast moving fish

Warren Matumeak describes them differently:

They are orange colored fish that we don’t eat. They have a forked tail and they become orange in fall time when we’re out fishing. Other fish with a more straight tail, we just put them on the side. We don’t eat them because they are a funny color. They’re orange and I’m getting whitefish. There are two types of these orange fish that I’ve caught in a five inch mesh net that I use for aanaakliq. One has a v-shaped tail that is like an aanaakliq. The other has a straight tail. They’re different from each other. I’ve gotten both types in the same lake. I’ve seen some of those fish with orange sides that are blueish on the back and white on the bottom. They were better looking than paikjuk which is why I don’t think it’s the same fish. Maybe they look different at different ages?

Trying to identify this colorful fish proved a challenge for biologists who were less familiar with the species and because of the intense spawning coloration. Biologists previously have identified fish like this found in several lakes along the Chipp River as “true” arctic char (S. alpinus) (Bendock, T. and Burr, J. 1984; North Slope Borough Department of Wildlife Management,

56 unpublished data). So it is believed that Arnold and Warren are describing the same thing and that the fish is likely land-locked arctic char. Although Warren Matumeak indicates having seen paikjuk on the Meade and Chipp Rivers, Arnold Brower, Sr. says that the range is limited to the lower regions of the Chipp/Ikpikpuk drainages (see Figure 51): The boundaries of paikjuk doesn’t go beyond that area that’s west of Alaqtaq. I’ve never seen it beyond that. That’s kind of why I protected that area from seismic. I didn’t want to lose sight of that only fish that I know called paikjuk. It’s a beautiful colored fish. They are located only in that area. By Warren Matumeak’s. Alaqtaq. From here, going over toward the Tasiqpatchiaq. I went through there one time before there was this break into Chipp River. And this old man that fished here talks about them and he goes up into the Chipp River up to where Charlie Edwardsen was fishing then, too. And Paul Kignak’s camp. East. I’ve never seen them west of the river. But the west of the river, those fish become to look like lake trout family. Some big ones. And the aanaakjiq up where those lake trout were, were different color than the ones we were getting at the river. I don’t know if they can spawn together maybe. I don’t know if lake trout can participate in that. That large lake near Chipp 2 contains the smaller ones. And you can kill them in three inch mesh net. They’re beautiful fish. I like them. And they’re right up over in that area. Along with Alaqtaq. And that was the reason I was opposing making a landing field for delivery of diesel on those lakes. If they destroy those fish and they don’t live in any other area where we know them and we can’t ever find them in any other place, then I don’t want them destroyed. Also the natural habitat is being destroyed by natural erosion of the river and other areas where you can’t protect anything when that happens. If the river breaks through, it breaks through those lakes containing some species of fish. Some with lake trout.

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Figure 51. Fish rearing and spawning areas discussed by Arnold Brower, Sr. The area circled in red is the area he noted that is affected by flooding during break-up. The area circled in green is where he said paikjuk can be found. #11 and #12 are lakes Arnold refers to as “rearing ponds.” #34 is an area where fingerlings go into Dease Inlet and then into nearby lakes. #82 is an area where smelt spawn under the ice. North Slope Borough Department of Wildlife Management.

And Mary Lou Leavitt adds, “We didn’t see paikjuk around Teshekpuk area much when I was living up there when I was growing up.” While Warren Matumeak notes that, “land-locked char tend to stay in deep water.” Martha Aiken observes that, “they get those occasionally, but not much in quantity.”

Siulik (Northern Pike) According to Warren Matumeak, “We don’t eat siulik because it’s funny looking. We only eat the good looking, fat fish.” However, in times of less abundance pike were certainly used, as were any food resource that could be obtained. In current times, the harvesting of siulik seems to vary by family as well as by location. As the experience of Arnold Brower Sr.’s family shows:

When the kids were growing up they would bring home alligator fish. That’s what they called them. They look like alligators when they’re small. They are pikes. Some old timers like to eat the head of pike. We catch them on those swamps attached to deep water sloughs. Where the river one time has been and from a deep spot the river has recoursed [changed course] leaving it there. I know pike are stationary in the sloughs. They have to spawn, and if they can’t get out the young ones show up on those grassy, water areas that are

58 about one to two feet deep. They wiggle in there. When the kids would see something moving, they’d go after it. And pretty soon it jumped onto the surface and they were getting them. They’d get alligator fish that way. Big pikes are maybe two and half or three feet long. If you put a little pike on a hook and let it go, you’ll get a great big one. It looks like they eat their own. There’s a lake that used to have nothing but pikes in there. I think every fish is afraid of those pikes. There’re hardly any fish that goes in there. The pike eat a lot of the fish, or the ones that go in there, the pike eat them up.

Baxter Adams indicates that pike are in the Tupaabruk River area:

In the Tupaabruk River area, this big lake, they have lots of siulik. There’s this one lake, close to the river, where there’s only pike. There’s only northern pike in that.

The experience of fishermen on the Mayuabiaq River and in the Teshekpuk Lake area seems to be different. Noah Itta explains, “Once in a while I get pike. Get them in our net. They don’t like to be hooked.” Or Oliver Leavitt: “We don’t see much northern pike up here. They dry a lot of that stuff over at NANA area. You see a lot of northern pike on the other side of the Brooks Range.”

Kakalisauraq (Ninespine Stickleback) Stickleback are small fish (3.5 to 4 inches [9-10 cm] at adulthood) found in many inland streams and small lakes (see Figure 52). They are preferred prey for predatory fish, but of less interest to humans. As Warren Matumeak says, “Tittaaliq eat stickleback. I don’t know that people eat them. I’ve never tried them.”

Figure 52. Ninespine stickleback (Pungitius pungitius) (kakalisauraq). Canadian Department of Fisheries and Oceans

Although sticklebacks are not a human food resource, Arnold Brower, Sr. made many observations of them during his years living inland on the tundra:

Stickleback are amazing little fish. They will hibernate. They have a nest in the swamp. They‘re the first fish to come out from hibernation and boy, I think, whoever makes them designs them that way, so the loons and stuff can have some food. When the river breaks up, it will flow into those lakes and make the water level also rise. And those fish have the habit of going with it and then they go

59 into the lakes. ‘Cause the ice will raise up and then they would go right under it. I think they know it’s safe. Those kakalisauraq, they go swimming on top of the water where there’s plant growth, and then those growth come out from on the bottom. They hide in those little holes. But they actually are from the marshy area where they have their nests, and hibernate in there for the winter. And then they look like they jump out and go back in the water and the loons go after them when they first come up here. And the birds that feed, like seagulls, go wild trying to catch them. But to know the difference of those that are in this marshy area and those that go into the lake where this growth stuff, weeds, grass more like, is. But they’ve got long stem growth in the water, you know the ones that the swans eat and musk ox like those, too. I know the graylings eat the kakalisauraq.

Pacific Salmon Salmon are not as common in northern Alaskan rivers as they are in places like the Yukon and Kuskokwim rivers where the harvest of salmon is a mainstay of the subsistence lifestyle. Chinook (king) salmon (see Figure 53) remains the preferred human food fish in interior Alaska and traditionally

Figure 53. Chinook (king) salmon (Oncorhynchus tshawytscha) (iqalugruaq). Canadian Department of Fisheries and Oceans

large harvests were made of chum (dog) salmon (see Figure 54 and 55) to feed the dog teams that were relied upon for transportation. According to the Iñupiat, as climatic and oceanic conditions have changed through time, the abundance and varieties of salmon species in the north seem to have increased. Mollie Itta said in August 2008, “There never used to be salmon a long time ago. Now we are catching any kind of salmon!” There is some scientific evidence of this change (Moulton 1989; Moulton and Seavey 2005; George et al. 2007; North Slope Borough

Figure 54. Chum (dog) salmon (Oncorhynchus keta) (iqalugruaq). Canadian Department of Fisheries and Oceans

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Figure 55. A chum (dog) salmon in typical spawning colors (iqalugruaq). Larry Moulton

Department of Wildlife Management, unpublished data), with additional research currently underway to track salmon prevalence in northern Alaska (S. McIntosh, pers. comm.). For example, large pink and chum salmon harvests (~20,000 in Elson Lagoon) were reported in the Barrow area in the summer of 2008 (C. George, pers. comm.). It is possible that this increased reporting of salmon harvests also could be the result of factors other than a shift in the fish population. For example, people are fishing more in places they tended not to fish in the past, such as marine estuaries like Elson Lagoon. More people are fishing nowadays, and their harvests often are larger. People were not fishing during the period of the main pink salmon run, because they were busy with other subsistence pursuits or they pulled their nets out to avoid harvesting this less-preferred species (S. Pedersen, pers. comm.). In 1982, Barrow fisherman Raymond Neakok testified that he noticed salmon becoming more plentiful in the rivers, which he believed reduced the whitefish population because “they are scared of the salmon” (Bureau of Land Management 1982:Appendix II, p. 4). In 1988, Robert Aiken said:

Salmon never used to come up here. In summertime, by our cabin, I got a net. And it started getting some salmon. Dog salmon. Real big toothed ones. Not very many of them. We never used to get them, but now we do, so maybe they’ve started moving from someplace (Aiken, R. 1988).

And Sadie Neakok indicated the presence of salmon on the Ikpikpuk River: “They’re silver. We’re not used to fishing for salmon up here. But we found out there is a run in the fall” (Neakok 1988). There also is discussion about how Chinook (king) salmon are now being caught in nets set in Elson Lagoon near Barrow (see Figure 56). As previously noted, this set netting is a fairly recent practice, a factor of modern times when full-time employment limits the ability to travel long distances to inland rivers, and Barrow residents’ access to vehicles makes it easy to check a net at the Lagoon every night after work and on weekends.

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Figure 56. Josh Bacon (left) and James Matumeak with a large chinook salmon taken in Elson Lagoon. James is considered an expert on the fish of Elson Lagoon and maintains a net there every summer. Craig George

Despite these changes in salmon populations and harvests, elders like Warren Matumeak indicate that pink salmon (see Figure 57) or amaqtuuq have been in the area for some time:

We used to get lots of those amaqtuuq. Still get them out in the rivers. They are noticeable when we get them in our net. We just throw them away. Leave them for the animals to feed on. Maybe after the 1970s, before the 1980s, we saw more of them. I used to leave the amaqtuuq and get the aanaakjiq. They also catch them at Pibniq. Amaqtuuq are a nuisance, they’re not good at all. Can’t eat them. Although people do eat them. They take the hump off and eat them. Iñupiat used to take that hump off and use it. I had heard that a tannik guy planted the pink salmon in rivers around here. I don’t know what year or what his name was. He said he planted them because they are a hardy fish. I spoke to that guy or somebody who knew him told me about it.

Figure 57. Pink salmon (Oncorhynchus gorbuscha) (amaqtuuq). Canadian Department of Fisheries and Oceans; Larry Moulton

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There is no confirmation of this introduction. The Alaska Department of Fish and Game has no record of any salmon introductions on the North Slope (W. Morris, pers. comm.). Martha Aiken adds:

Amaqtuuq, they have a big hump on the back full of oil. They take the oil off and cook it. It’s good.

William Leavitt explains his experience with pink salmon in his fishing area on the Mayuabiaq River:

Those amaqtuuqs, pinks, they’re good eating. We don’t get them every year. But, there was this was one year that they were just piling up in our gill net. We had to return them - most of them were dead. It was in about 1978. Every now and then, from that day on, there’s two or three that will get caught.

Ilhuagniq (Smelt) Most of the smelt caught on the North Slope come from the coast near Wainwright. According to Jim Aveoganna of Wainwright, smelt are in the mouth of the lagoon as early as November, but people do not fish for them at that time because they taste too salty. As the winter progresses the fish become less salty, so the people usually wait until February to begin their intensive fishing. He also indicated that there seem to be more fish in the deep channel, and along tide cracks. (Burns 1990:60) Baxter Adams adds:

When the sun rises up [in springtime], they start getting fish at Wainwright. And long time ago they used to get smelt after the trade fair at Nibliq was over. Some of them used to get caught in the nets. And then, you know, that crack in the ice is open all the time in wintertime. That’s what we call aiyugaq. They put their hooks in there and get some smelt. In some years the number of them goes up and some years it goes down. I don’t really know why.

Silas Negovanna who lived in Wainwright for many years adds:

We start hooking smelt about December. January and February there’s lots of them. Those last until March, but by then they’re getting pretty sick and we don’t hook them anymore after that. We never seem to catch any in the net in the summertime of course in that area. It’s always here [by Wainwright Inlet].

As Oliver Leavitt says, “There are a lot of smelt in Tasiqpak, but they don’t taste like they do in Wainwright. But once you get to liking something and the others taste different, you don’t want to eat them.” However, smelt do occur in other areas, such as in the aiyugaq below Oarlock Island at the lower end of Dease Inlet (Aiken, R. 1988). Martha Aiken explains:

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My grandfather used to say that there are more smelts in our bay area than in Wainwright’s. In the Dease Inlet area where those islands are. When they’re netting, they always get some. Even though they’re small, they get trapped. We know there are some smelts there. My grandfather said there are lots of those, but they just don’t look for them. They don’t look for them ‘cause they’d rather go for grayling.

Arnold Brower, Sr. explains why he does not net for smelt even though he knows the fish are there:

I never tried to net because the elders told me that there are more smelts up there in the upper section of Dease Inlet than at Wainwright. They jump into the boat sometimes. Maybe the best way to catch them would be with a seine net. I have not taken any fish like smelt, even though I know there are a lot of smelt. I made a net for smelt, but this year I hated to put it out because I thought I might catch too many. And if there are that many in the net, then I don’t know how I’d pull them out.

An interesting addition to the discussion about smelt is the heavy reliance upon them during times of food shortage. According to Jim Allen Aveoganna, the presence and availability of rainbow smelt during one particularly bad episode of food shortage saved the people at Wainwright from starvation. In the autumn and winter of 1937, hunting for all animals was poor. There was no food and no supplies from “outside.” The only thing that was available was the smelt. People came from several distant locations to fish (Burns 1990:61). Aveoganna then notes, “There are more smelt now than in times past” (ibid.).

Milugiaq (Longnose Sucker) Longnose suckers (see Figure 58) are present in northern rivers, but are not often utilized. Arnold Brower, Sr. explains, “They’re so spiny and super hard. I’ve never seen anybody eat them. I catch them, but I’ve never cooked one. I even hesitate to give them to my dogs because I value my dogs.”

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Figure 58. Longnose sucker (Catostomus catostomus) (milugiaq). The fish in the bottom photograph has a deformed spine. This deformity is frequently encountered in a variety of species. Canadian Department of Fisheries and Oceans; Craig George

Although Arnold rarely catches suckers, he has caught enough of them to describe the fish and its feeding habits:

The suckerfish has its mouth on the bottom. It has a head with an extended mouth up and down, just like a tube. That thing goes down about twelve inches under the fish. They have an extended tube. They seem to suck on that. They go for the roe of aanaakjiq when they’re spawning. They come around. They look like sharks. They’re built like sharks. They’re firm. The biggest I’ve gotten is about a foot long and four inches around.

Warren Matumeak confirmed that people do not eat suckers: “They are as big as iqalusaaq, but their mouth is under the chin. They clean up the bottom. But we don’t eat them.”

Nimibiaq (Arctic Lamprey) Arnold Brower, Sr. was the only fisherman in this study who mentioned the arctic lamprey (see Figure 59). It is not a subsistence fish, but Arnold has watched them anyway:

Nimibiaq. Those are by Alaqtaq River. And sometimes in Ikpikpak. And you can see them wiggle around going up to the headwaters in the summer. The reason why I’ve see them was I was observing them, and then all of a sudden a bunch of seagulls came around and just picked them all up. So the seagulls are the ones that kind of destroyed them. So most of the ones I’m seeing are the short ones. They travel together. When I see them, they’re together. But those leech onto you. One time I went through that swamp and one was holding on to my boots. And some were getting me. There were that many in one area just west of Alaqtaq. Not too

65 far. It was in the swampy area. Boy, I’ve never seen anything like them. I’d hate to go in there with just barefeet. It scared me a little bit, when they were holding onto those sheepskin boots. I don’t know who would want to eat them. They’re just like a sock. They look like a sock, when you look at them. I thought I got a sock one time, a little baby sock. But when I looked at it and put it in the water, it was holding that sucker thing down. And he pushed it down. So I knew they were bottom feeders. They come during spawning time. I don’t know where they come from. They just get into the nets. There must be some small ones and much bigger ones, because the ones I saw were about that big around. I figured that they suck on the bottom and clean up. Because when I opened them up, the stomach contents was mud and suvak and sand. So they suck a lot. I never eat them. I never even taste one of them.

Figure 59. Arctic lamprey (Lampetra japonica) (nimibiaq). Canadian Department of Fisheries and Oceans; Larry Moulton

North Slope Borough fish studies in 1993 recorded the presence of lamprey in the Chipp River (George and Philo 1994).

Iluuqieiq (Alaska Blackfish) Blackfish (see Figure 60) are a popular subsistence fish in the Kuskokwim River area of southwestern Alaska, but not so in the north. Arnold Brower, Sr. attests to this variation in taste:

Those black fish are choice fish for people down south. I was putting them aside and a woman visiting from down there came over and said, “What are going to do with those?” I said, “I don’t know. I never eat them. I eat the good fish.” She said, “Those are the best fish.”

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Figure 60. Alaska blackfish (Dallia pectoralis) (iluuqieiq). Canadian Department of Fisheries and Oceans; Larry Moulton

Despite this lack of desire for blackfish, fishing for them is an enjoyable activity for children, as described by Arnold Brower, Sr.:

Those blackfish are in my area. On my water lake up there in Chipp 9, where we get the water. The kids like to jump over on the edge of the lake and the fish just come out, and they would kind of pick them right up. They have a way of getting them. Some are just like tiger fish. They’re colorful. Some are eighteen inches long. They will bite a hook. You only find them in the lakes. Just the same kind I had down by the house in Anchorage by Jewel Lake.

One of the most interesting features of blackfish is their overwintering behavior mentioned by Arnold Brower, Sr.:

Iluuqieiq stay in the lakes. They can freeze and when it thaws they become alive again. They have a habit of finding or producing a bubble in the ice. Way down in the lower part, they make their own living quarters just like squirrels hibernating. But squirrels do it the right way, they go to sleep.

Savigunnaq (Round Whitefish) Round whitefish (see Figure 61) are a freshwater species that is often found in tributary streams and lakes, are often with grayling, and live up to eighteen years (Burns, 1990:22). Round whitefish are long, slender, cylindrical fish whose body shape has been described as “cigar-like” (George et al. 2007:22). Another key distinguishing feature is that the upper jaw overhangs the lower jaw (ibid.). (In interviews conducted in 1988 for the Burns subsistence fish study (Burns 1990), round whitefish were identified as aanaakligauraq in Iñupiaq. We believe this is

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Figure 61. Round whitefish (Prosopium cylindraceum) (savigunnaq). Larry Moulton incorrect. Our participants indicated aanaakligauraq were young aanaakjiq.) Although biological surveys found round whitefish to be the sixth most occurring species in lakes (Burns 1990: 22) and fifth most in rivers (Burns 1990:23), they are rarely a main target of Iñupiat subsistence fishermen. Instead, they are caught incidentally in nets set to pursue similarly sized fish, such as the least cisco (iqalusaaq). Arnold Brower, Sr. discusses the appearance and range of round whitefish:

It’s a slender fish. They have a head about the same as iqalusaaq. I’ve seen some by Peter’s Lake and by Anaktuvuk Pass. I’ve never seem many around here. We saw some of them surface up at Peter’s Lake where there was some lake trout. There might be some at Barter Island. I think they’re more up in the mountains than along the coast.

Uqsruqtuuq (Pacific Herring) The Iñupiat have a fish they call uqsruqtuuq, which has been identified in scientific literature as Pacific herring (George et al. 2007:74) (see Figure 62). Currently, uqsruqtuuq are not harvested, however Arnold Brower, Sr. provides some historical perspective on the herring fishery:

That uqsruqtuuq. That was reported to me by an old man, and around where he saw it, he was around near Beechey Point. Somewhere up there. In a lake. But he said he never saw them any other place. And then they say we introduced that to white people. Like Captain Peterson and the ship Baychimo that had the freighting service up into Camden Bay, way into Canada. And then they said they stopped there and fished. And they overfished in there. They cleaned up the lakes. And then they say we never catch them any more. Them uqsruqtuuq. We call them uqsruqtuuq. They’re fat ones. So that rings a bell in my mind. You say, there’s no more. And there were many. They almost wiped them out. They must have wiped them out completely. Or almost wiped them out in the reproduction phase. But there might be some if there were one or two of those left way back then. They probably had grown back in good. But I don’t know. But loons and other game birds that feed on fish, if there’re that many, probably could get rid of them easily. So that uqsruqtuuq

68 either went bankrupt or got extinct. You know I caught three of those in my lifetime. And I got them by Pittalugruaq.

Figure 62. Pacific herring (Clupea harengus pallasi) (uqsruqtuuq). Canadian Department of Fisheries and Oceans; Craig George

Unidentified Fish Here we note some local knowledge about fish that does not fit easily into a western scientific category:

There is this round fish and it’s long. It looks similar to aanaakjiq. My father called them like aanaakjiq of some other kind. We fed our dogs with them. I thought they were really poor fish. But inside this fish has lots of oil. They’re fat. They are full of oil when you cut them up. My father used to put in a net in a narrow area by our sod house at Qaviarat when I was growing up. My father had an allotment at Qagalurat. It was right near a lake, where it was narrow [oxbow lake - taqruq], but deep. He put in a net (iqalusaaq net) to see if there were fish there, and he caught this round, slender type of fish that was as long as an aanaakjiq. It had a blunt nose like aanaakjiq and the body was slender and round. He didn’t know the name of these. They had a slender look, but was full of fat. We tried eating them and they were ok, but we used them more for the dogs because we were already catching enough aanaakjiq and iqalusaaq from the river for us. (Warren Matumeak) [Note: North Slope Borough wildlife biologist Craig George thinks this fish may be round whitefish.]

Allen Kaleak caught a funny looking fish in his net on the Inaru River once. It was near Iviksuk. It was about six to eight inches long, about half the size of an aanaakjiq, and had three kinds of scales on it. The front part, or first third of the fish, had big scales like aanaakjiq. Then in the middle third the scales were smaller like pikuktuuq scales. And they were smallest at the end third like qaaktaq (arctic cisco) or iqalusaaq (least cisco). It had an aanaakjiq type

69 nose and head. The body was bright. It wasn’t an iqalusaaq, because they’re darker. I’ve wondered how a fish could do that (Warren Matumeak).

I have not identified two fish. One was of this nature that had big colorful scales that were really easy to peel off. Like a qaaktaq, but the scales were bigger, large scales, and they were real colorful. They seemed to be in the whitefish family alright, but the difference was the scales and the really colorful pattern. They are about that long, and they are fat. Very seldom do I get those. I get them by Pittalugruaq, by that cache, with little hooks and all that (Arnold Brower, Sr.).

I didn’t recognize another fish up there that was getting caught in my two inch nets. But later I recognized it as a smelt. I tasted it. It tasted like smelt. I put it in the category of smelt. A large smelt. It had a sweet smelt taste (Arnold Brower, Sr.).

I opened up some stomachs on those fish, like arctic char and humpies and some other types of salmon like red salmon. But I never saw what was in their stomach before I left there, because I never really cared. But I saw a species of small sardine in there. I was wondering if sardines were visible in the North Slope, in that area before. But these were really fine shaped sardines. And they don’t have real sides like this, as Pafmaraktuq [dialect variation of Pagmaksraq - capelin]. They’re different species from what is in Barrow. Barrow is Pafmaraktuq. And up here is a sardine type like structure. It’s like a good little fish, but it’s different than smelt. It’s a fat little fish, let me put it that way. Rounded. You call it candlefish [pagmaksraq][see Figure 63]. But these had a

Figure 63. Capelin or candlefish (Mallotus villosus) (pagmaksraq). Craig George

curve on either side. And when they come together they seem to fit right in each other and a school sometimes looks like a big fish. They’re so grouped together. They look like they’ve got a texture of some kind, you know, go side by side. The back is like this, the side goes like this. But they’re rich in fat, little fish. They come to the beach each year. You can catch all you want from the beach.

70 They come all the way down from maybe Skull Cliff, all the way to the Point [Point Barrow]. They’re not tomcods or iqalugaqs [Arctic cod, see Figure 64]. They are a different species (Arnold Brower, Sr.). [Fish biologist Larry Moulton believes Arnold may be referring to capelin, but Arnold is saying that the sardine-like fish he found in the stomach of larger fish looked different than the capelin he was familiar with.]

Figure 64. Arctic cod (Boreogadus saida) (iqalugaq). Michelle Johnson/North Slope Borough Department of Wildlife Management

There’s a fish that I’ve heard called Ikjuqanik, but I don’t really know what it is. I saw it through the clear ice one time when I was walking over young ice at Chipp 2. It was smaller than iqalusaaq. It was shorter and brownish in color. I don’t think people eat it. I don’t hear about it much. I think Charlie Edwardsen is the one who maybe told me the name when I described what I’d just seen through the ice (Warren Matumeak).

VII) Life Cycle of Fish Migratory Routes Fish in northern Alaska have different migratory behavior based upon their life histories, whether they spawn in the spring or fall, and so forth. According to Warren Matumeak, “fish are scared when they’re traveling.” As discussed previously, aanaakjiq are one of the more abundant northern whitefish and a target subsistence species for many families. They have a complex life history. Some travel from land-locked lakes to rivers and between lakes during the high water of spring break-up, and may feed in shallow lakes or nearshore waters, then they travel again to specific rivers in the fall to lay their eggs. They can survive in both fresh and brackish salt water, and are known to travel long distances both in the lake/river system and along the coast (Morris 2003). Arnold Brower, Sr. explains his understanding of this cycle:

Fish are coming down river in the fall. In the summer, they’re going up. Early in spring, as they come out from streams, they don’t head down, they just come up, all the way to the headwaters. I think they scout around all the way up to past Simiutaq [located on upper Chipp River], then way up into Maybe Creek. Then they come down again for spawning. Spawning is going down. Scouting is going up.

71 Or as Sadie Neakok described in her 1988 interview:

There’s usually two to three weeks of a fish run in the fall. Just when the ice is forming. Aanaakjiq, iqalusaaq and pikuktuuq they come together. And sulukpaugaq. They all run together. Our belief is that after the rivers begin to form ice, the fish are heading back in up towards the inland area into the lakes where they came from.

This behavior varies from the standard for anadromous fish that travel from nearshore waters upriver in the fall to lay their eggs, some of whom, like salmon, die in those upriver locations. Arnold’s description of aanaakjiq seasonal river travel helps explain tagging data that showed adult aanaakjiq (50 cm; 20 in) far up the Chipp River at a time of year when scientists did not expect them to move there (J.C. George, unpublished data). According to biological studies, young broad whitefish hatch when ice is still present in April/May and break-up flushes them out of the spawning rivers into connected streams, lakes and estuaries (Morrow 1980; Bond and Erickson 1985) (see Figure 65). They ascend the streams into tundra lakes where they feed and grow until about age four. At this point in their life cycle,

Figure 65. “Classic” broad whitefish (aanaakjiq) habitat with connected rivers, lakes and streams. Aanaakjiq require all three habitats for their life cycle. Larry Moulton the sub-adult fish make their first migration from over-wintering sites to coastal estuaries for feeding and pre-spawning aggregation. When the temperature drops, they move upriver to spawn, then move back downriver to overwinter at the edge of the fresh water zone. It is unknown where the adult non-spawners go in the summer between spawning cycles. This means the sexually mature fish are in coastal waters in early summer, move into the deltas for spawning in July/August, and then go up river to spawn (Burns 1990:33). The juveniles may make annual migrations from lakes and other summer feeding areas to overwintering areas in bays and river deltas. Others may stay in the lakes (Burns 1990:25-27, 32). Those that venture out may or may not return to the same lake (Burns 1990:33). Fish isotope studies are beginning to be able to indicate correlations between river and lake locations (Kline et. al 1998).

72 After spawning, some aanaakjiq move to deep places in rivers to spend the winter (Burns 1990: 33). The Iñupiaq word for one of these deep spots in a river channel is qaglu. Other aanaakjiq spend the winters in lakes that do not freeze to the bottom. According to Arnold Brower, Sr. a lake has to be at least eight feet deep for fish to overwinter there, although he has caught aanaakjiq under the ice in the fall in lakes as shallow as three to five feet. Eight feet is deep enough to allow for a corridor of open water to remain underneath the frozen surface ice. The extreme cold of the Arctic can create ice as thick as six feet or more, although with warming temperatures lake ice depth may be changing. Shallower lakes will freeze to the bottom with the thick ice layer hitting the bottom. According to the Iñupiaq, there are some aanaakjiq that remain in the lakes, never venturing into the river system. It is unclear to science why this is, and if they are a distinct sub-variety of broad whitefish or if it is just the immature four to eight year olds (Burns 1990:34). In a 1988 interview, Baxter Adams explains his views on the migratory behavior of least cisco (iqalusaaq) on the Kuulugruaq (Meade) River:

They go all the way to Atqasuk. If they can get access through under the ice, they don’t stay that much in the winter, but in the summer they go all the way to Atqasuk. In July, that’s when the ice is off. Just after the ice break-up season they start heading up there. In the winter, they don’t move from those deep areas, even though the ice gets thick, because there’s water where it’s very deep.

In comparison, Daniel Leavitt mentions how some iqalusaaq stay in lakes:

If there’s no river to go out, then they stay in there in the lake. But if there is a little water, they can travel. That’s the only place we used to catch our fish in the falltime. We got no chance for the other lakes. We’d got enough a day in this one. With ten nets we’d take home two sledloads of fish all the time.

According to biologists, least cisco move among lakes in such a manner that they “may spawn in one lake, feed in another, and perhaps over-winter somewhere else” (Burns 1990:49). And some of the lake fish end up spawning in rivers, as well (ibid.). Lake trout spend the majority of their lives in lakes. They do not migrate in the same manner as aanaakjiq. Qaaktaq (arctic cisco) in Arctic Alaska are unusual in their migratory behavior as they appear to only breed and spawn in certain rivers in the Mackenzie River drainage in Canada. Young-of-the-year will move with westward flowing coastal currents along the shoreline into Alaska. This movement typically occurs only in years when east winds average greater than 5 km per hour (3 miles per hour) during July and August (Fechhelm et al. 2007). The Colville River marks the western boundary of their range, however some do make it as far as the Chipp- Ikpikpuk drainage area (Burns 1990:11). Arctic cisco remain in Alaska until sexually mature, about six to eight years, at which time they return to their Mackenzie River spawning grounds

73 (Gallaway et al. 1983; Burns 1990: 10). This explains why adult qaaktaq rarely are present in subsistence and commercial harvests (Moulton 1989; Burns 1990:11; Moulton and Seavey 2005). Silas Negovanna mentions how spring floods can facilitate the movement of grayling between rivers and lakes:

There’s one spot. From the coal mine, it’s about 6 or 7 or 8 miles up the river [burning coal mine on the Ivisaurak River which is off the Usuktuk River]. There’s a small lake with really nice grayling in it. It’s real close to the river. It’s only about a few hundred yards from the river bank, so that’s why we always thought that at break-up time when the ice goes out and jams up and then fills up with water everywhere, then the grayling would get into that lake. Because there’s no outlet. But, we could be wrong. I guess it just flows a little bit. Like those rainbow trout go way up to the top of the mountains even with little ripples in the river. Where it’s shallow.

Biologists indicate that grayling movement is based upon season and age of the fish. In the spring, fish move into clear tributaries where adults will spawn and stay for the summer with the large juveniles to feed. Just before freeze-up, they return to the main river for the winter. Therefore, restriction of movement amongst small streams and rivers could be detrimental to grayling (Burns 1990:56, 58). The major movement periods for grayling are in late fall/early winter (freeze-up) and at or near break-up (Morris 2003:51). Some grayling are found in lakes due to in-migration during high water periods and later stranding as the water recedes (ibid.). The migration of round whitefish was not discussed by the Iñupiat, since it is a rarely harvested fish. But according to biological studies, round whitefish do not migrate over long distances in the same way that other whitefish do, but instead move short distances between summer and winter habitats (Burns 1990:24). The migration of char was also not discussed by the Iñupiat in the Barrow area, perhaps because it is not something they have observed and since char are harvested less than broad whitefish. There remains limited biological understanding of the movements of the lake based char (paikjuk), however the dolly varden char seem to follow movement patterns similar to other anadromous species although they disperse farther than other whitefish and the oldest fish move farthest from their natal streams (Burns 1990:36). While not discussed by the Iñupiat, movement of burbot may be extensive (Morris 2003).

Route The route that aanaakjiq take in their migratory life cycle depends upon their point of origin, such as whether spawned and reared in a lake or a stream, their age, and which river system they are part of. Regardless, it is clear that the small lake-connected streams, some of which are seasonally intermittent, are major travel routes to and from the lakes where broad whitefish develop, mature, feed, and overwinter (Burns 1990:34). Arnold Brower, Sr. has long-term, first- hand knowledge of the Alaqtaq, Chipp-Ikpikpuk River systems, so his observations of where fish are moving are referenced to this area:

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The Alaqtaq River is good for whitefish. It’s good fishing in summer until July. Last part of July, they’re starting to disappear. We know they’re moving someplace. They’re heading up to Chipp River. We know exactly the route they are taking to go up there. They go through Tasiqpatchiaq. And go through Pittalugruaq one time. But the river has broken through to Chipp River and is flowing this way now. It still flows out, but the channel has built up [increased water flow] and it’s deep water now. And there are those streams that flow into the Chipp River and other main rivers. There’re some streams like Tittaaliq, Aumalik, Qaksrabavik and Qubafnaq and stuff, but those are up in the headwaters where the water is coming from. There has to be enough water up there that they continually flow in the summer without letting up. So the fish are going up there, too. Those little fingerlings are the ones that go through those, too. And there are some lakes up there we know where the grayling are found, where the fish will go. And then four or five years later the big ones that are ready for spawning. Male and female. They go down. And you are tagging them coming up. They go from Alaqtaq area and then go in there. Those that are spawning grade are going up. And in the fall, just before around freeze-up, they stampede back down to spawn in those qaglus. Same thing, going up or coming down to spawning, I imagine those fish know where to go for spawning. Now, some of the things you didn’t catch out. All the fingerlings don’t go all the way here. Some get lost. The majority of them, they go into these bays. When the break-up pushes them all out, they have to go somewhere. They run around, probably escape predators. The only way they will reproduce is in these lakes.

Break-up Spring break-up is an important event for the ice and snow covered tundra. All the water that spent the winter frozen now melts and has to flow someplace. The permafrost underlying the tundra makes for poor drainage, so instead of the water flowing down into the soil like it might in other regions, the mass of break-up water spreads out across the flat expanse of tundra, lakes and streams heading toward the coast. This annual flooding of expanses of wetlands is referred to as “sheet flow,” and is a key aspect of the life cycle of fish like aanaakjiq. The spreading water provides a highway between previously land-locked lakes, small streams and nearby rivers. Just as arctic travel is easier for humans in the winter due to the numerous lakes and rivers freezing into a solid land-mass that is easily traversed by dog team, snowmachine or foot, the fish can now go anywhere unhindered. This effect of the spring conditions of water everywhere (see Figure 66) is a commonly mentioned aspect of the fish travel cycle.

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Figure 66. Example of “sheet flow.” Top picture is of Ublutuoch River during spring break-up; bottom photo is of same channel during late summer (normal flow). Richard Kemnitz

For example, Oliver Leavitt, who fishes mostly on the Mayuabiaq River says:

In the spring at break-up, you can see water, like big rivers, flowing just on the tundra. In some years, when there’s a lot of snow and you’re snowmachining you can’t cross them because they’re so forceful. Fish have to be moving through that area. I don’t know if people see them. Because of flooding and when there is ice blockage near the mouth of the river, it makes fish move all over, so a lot of these lakes that are close to the rivers they get fish in them. In June and July, in places like Iksubvik that have small creeks, you catch a lot of fish out of those because of the lakes thawing. The fish go out of the lakes in those smaller creeks. You can boat around them a lot in early July when they’re full of water and full of fish. Fish are going out of those small creeks to the main river. Any kind of fish that lives up here is doing that. That’s how the fish move, is through those creeks. They’re connected and they go far up. The creeks go everywhere. You follow this stuff and it goes everywhere.

76 Arnold Brower, Sr. mentions seeing young fish traveling through flooded grassy areas of the tundra during the high water period of break-up as they move between lakes, small creeks and rivers (see Figure 67). Noah Itta adds to this discussion with a description of what he calls “underground rivers:”

Underneath the tundra, starting from Tavie’s [Daniel Leavitt] cabin on the Mayuabiaq, there are a lot of underground rivers. A lot of fish go through there. Those are good fish that come from those underground rivers. Big, fat fish. They’re aanaakjiq coming in the mouth of the river. They don’t know which way they come from. I’ve seen them just coming out of the shallow part of the river. They’re the best fish from the shallow part of the river. And there’s lots of little fish like that. They came from the swamp. They’re really good fish.

[A recent scientific paper describes melting ice wedges eroding tunnels through the permafrost in Arctic regions (Fortier et al. 2007) that could be similar to these “underground rivers” (Y. Shur, pers. comm. 2008).]

Figure 67. Deep channel (dark sinuous line) in the upper portion of the Mayubiaq River in the vicinity of the Itta Camp. Lighter areas are shoals. The deep channel is likely maintained by under-ice flow. Larry Moulton/Bureau of Land Management image

For spring spawning grayling, break-up plays a different role in their life cycle. Biological studies indicate that adult grayling move into tributaries to spawn at the same time that the big rush of high water occurs at break-up, which means they leave the main river when it is in a condition least favorable for their survival (Burns 1990:53). Spawning in shallower, lower

77 velocity water contributes to reproductive success. The level of water in the river, access to channels along the fish’s migration route, and habitat partitioning during different life stages are all critical to success for the fish. Arnold Brower, Sr. provides an example:

But going down for spawning, this Ikpikpagrauvik, Ikpikpak River on the east side, is dried up. They can’t use it. At times when it’s high, it runs through there. This old Leavitt guy at Iqsieeat (Daniel Leavitt’s dad), I remember he would wait for that moment and if it didn’t happen they would say we had a bad year. If it was high water, even for a short time, he was a happy man because he got some fish in that otherwise dried up section of river. It doesn’t happen all the time. It happens once in a great while that that section gets filled up with water again. And Alaqtaq is one of them. It’s part of Ikpikpak, but it’s a branch out. And again meets with it right here. Where this one is spread out through here and breaks out through here. The short cut now is through here for the aanaakjiq. I think the fish already know that. Because when I fish down there, I seldom get aanaakjiq now. At this fork. When they were moving through that area, believe it or not, it’s only for a short time that they go through there. Now, no more. I think it’s in this lake.

Fishing along the coast is a different scenario. Different seasons, different migratory behavior, different methods than those used by inland fishers. Today, many people set nets in Elson Lagoon, about six miles north of Barrow, to catch migrating whitefish and salmon. More and more salmon are appearing in nets as warmer ocean temperatures are increasing the range of those species. However, Warren Matumeak describes some coastal fishing he has done which is slightly different:

In Barrow, in August, the fish along the coast are coming from the east. One time I saw the water churning off the beach and it looked like Iqalukpik [dolly varden char]. They’re good eating fish, so after I saw them I put a net in and got some. I put the net out in front of NARL [along Chukchi Sea coast]. People don’t know this. They put their nets on the Elson Lagoon side for aanaakjiq, but the dolly varden are traveling out on the other side. I’ve seen them at Point Barrow, too. In Point Hope, they put a net out from the shore at a 45 degree angle and wait for the fish because they are traveling along the edge of the shore. So that’s what I was doing.

Spawning and Rearing Areas As the previous discussion shows, the migratory route for fish is closely linked to their spawning habits. Scientific evidence indicates that broad whitefish spawn in the Chipp, Ikpikpuk, Meade, Colville, Sagavanirktok, and Alaktak rivers (Burns 1990:30). A good fisherman has a keen understanding of the fish’s life cycle and habits, and locations where they

78 are available during different life phases and different seasons. As mentioned previously, Arnold Brower, Sr. describes aanaakjiq spawning in the Chipp-Ikpikpuk River system:

Fish in the lakes, the small ones, are in the rearing ponds. As they grow into big fish, big enough to spawn, early in the spring they stampede out while it’s high water. That’s when we get some good fish. I like to be there to catch some of those. They already have roe. They are not prime, not ready to spawn out, but they are there. The eggs are glued together. You can’t separate them easily, like you would at spawning time. During spawning time, you just squeeze the fish and the eggs pop out. Sometimes we have to clip the tail end to leave the eggs in there and then freeze them that way. All the fish [ones in rivers and ones that had been in lakes and moved to river through streams at high water] go to the headwaters of the Chipp River in the summer. They head up to the headwaters. How far up? I’ve never made it up to the very end of the Chipp River, but I have gone a ways up. Even tittaaliq and grayling go that way. In the fall, the fish are coming down the Chipp River for spawning to the deep water. There are deep water holes in the river where the fish spawn [qaglu]. Those fish know what they’re doing. I think they know that during spawning they want to come down with a spawning group. If the run is good, the majority will go down towards the bay, and to qaglus where they spawn.

In contrast, there are also aanaakjiq that are described as lake spawners. “The lake near Luther Leavitt’s camp is a spawning lake for all the fish in that area. I don’t know if at high tide all the fish go in and spawn in that lake, too?” (Arnold Brower, Sr.) Walter Akpik offers one understanding of aanaakjiq lake spawning:

I figure the spawning for aanaakjiq are in these deep lakes. And just before freeze-up they come out to the main river, Meade River, and go into these deep ones in winter [qaglu]. I’m wondering maybe all the aanaakjiq come out of these deep lakes when it’s overflow and go into the river. They go in spawning into these and come back out. And winter in these deep hollow areas. The deep bends in the river are where I figure the fish winter (Akpik 1988).

Arnold Brower, Sr. identified a specific type of spawning lake called a pittaq, with a key identifying feature being that it has an inflow and an outflow of water.

We call it a pittaq, where they go through and it’s a deep lake. And it forms into a rearing or spawning area for the fish. We find that type of lake by getting there during spawning time. By showing up there every year.

79 All species of fish go into the lake. Coming in and going out. No matter what kind of fish. This is a pittaq [see Figure 68]. It has all species in the same place. If you can get in there during spawning, you’ll get millions of sulukpaugaq. In a pittaq, they have the same procedure for spawning as in the river. Same type of fish, same place, same size. And they all go down to Chipp River.

Figure 68. Rearing ponds and spawning lakes near the Chipp River discussed by Arnold Brower, Sr. Blue line marks the general course of the Chipp River. Chipp River fish camps (i.e., Chipp 9) are marked for reference. #24 is Takuliq Lake which is a pittaq, a rearing pond for all species of fish. #23, 26, 27 and 29 are rearing ponds. #30 is a lake that is “75 feet deep.” #69 is another pittaq for all species. #73 is a spawning lake for aanaakjiq. North Slope Borough Department of Wildlife Management

Pittaalugruaq Lake was a pittaq one time. So that’s why they call it Pittaalugruaq. So the river goes into it and out the other end. That’s the meaning of pittaq. Spawning areas that I learned in the lakes is where a stream of water, like this river, goes through from this end and goes out the other, and if it’s deep water, there it is. It’s not every lake that they select. It’s got to have an inlet and an outlet and be deep enough. It’s like a qaglu, sort of.

When aanaakjiq can’t get out to the river they spawn in some of those lakes. But to get them at pretty near the same time that the spawning goes. And when you find one of those going up, you’ll get tittaaliq and sulukpaugaq. They follow those.

80 I would say someplace is a spawning area for aanaakjiqs and maybe other fish because the lake has an inlet from one side and outlet to the other side. So if they’re deep they become a spawning area. That little lake here is about sixteen feet deep. This one is another one of those that contains aanaakjiqs and trout. It goes all the way down and goes into Warren’s camp. So these feed Warren’s stream. We marked that as a good possible spawning area for aanaakjiqs. Because it’s deep and it’s between two main lakes where trouts are. Aanaakjiqs usually have an area by themselves and it’s not very deep. And lake trout will stay mostly where there is deep water. For aanaakjiqs, even eight feet is good for where they spawn, because it’s a good lake, like Tasibruaq [Tusikvoak Lake]. I’ve never seen any deep spawning in Tasibruaq. And that’s why some of those nets are stuck down under in there. That’s gonna destroy the fish there.

Arnold’s comments about a pittaq or lake with both an inlet and an outlet parallels what Thomas Hablett of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service found during a fish inventory project in NPRA in the late 1970s:

Shallow lakes with spawning substrates that had an inlet or outlet usually contained several species of fish, thus supporting the concept that shallow water does not limit habitat use during the open water season if escapement is possible prior to freeze-up (Hablett 1979:377).

According to most biologists whitefish are not lake spawners, as implied by Arnold Brower, Sr. and Walter Akpik’s comments. Larry Moulton clarifies this discrepancy:

There seems to be a problem with using one word, "lake", to describe very different habitats. It seems as though the lakes described as spawning lakes are pittaq lakes as described by Arnold Brower, Sr. These are what I call "on-channel" lakes - where there is a river flowing through the lake; the lake is mostly an old lake with the river flowing through it. Spawning likely occurs where the river is flowing through during fall. This fits the situation at the outlet of Teshekpuk Lake as well, where the fish may be spawning at or near the cuts through the old lake shores, where flow continues into the fall and early winter. I have not seen broad whitefish spawning in "normal" off- channel lakes, and I don't think this is what is being described (L.Moulton, pers. comm.).

Broad whitefish usually move upriver to spawn over the course of a one or two week period (Burns 1990:33). It is critical that the Iñupiat catch this spawning period since this is when the aanaakjiq are full of eggs, or suvak, which is a favorite delicacy. A majority of aanaakjiq harvest occurs in the fall time when the fish are full of eggs. As Warren Matumeak says, timing is critical:

81 People fish in Chipp River in the fall time. The fish spawn just before October, early October. Or maybe more like the end of September. The bloated fish with eggs all come together and you get lots of them. Then all of a sudden the fish get lean. They’ve dropped their eggs and they get skinny. I catch aanaakjiq in lakes in the fall and they have suvak. One time I got two that were just big and round with eggs. I was holding the fish and that suvak was just draining out of it. The lakes are connected during high water of break-up, but then the water drops and the lakes get land-locked. The fish end up land-locked, too.

Arnold Brower, Sr. adds to the discussion of suvak:

Before the aanaakjiq are spawning, the roe is firm. It’s whole. But as the spawning season opens up around September 26th, somewhere on down lower, when you touch the fish it squirts out. It’s hard to keep the roe in there once that happens. I mean pulling the fish out of the net, you can just watch the eggs flow out. So that’s why I say, I don’t think those fish can hold off spawning.

The spawning of aanaakjiq is not just important for Iñupiat fishermen. Other fish species, such as grayling or pike, will prey on the fish eggs or young fingerlings. This can be a good thing if you want to catch grayling or pike, as you know exactly where to go to catch them. But swarms of grayling circling around fall ice fishing holes or getting into fish nets can be an annoyance if you are focused on harvesting large numbers of pre-spawned aanaakjiq with eggs. While this timing of fishing with the spawning period is critical, fishermen interviewed in 2007 commented on a shift in the spawning period. According to Arnold Brower, Sr. and Warren Matumeak, they used to be able to rely on aanaakjiq spawning in late September or early October and they would plan their fishing trips accordingly. Now, they say spawning is less predictable and usually happens closer to the middle or end of October. Freeze-up also has become delayed. This warming trend may explain the later spawning since water temperature is a trigger for the fish to lay their eggs (Morrow 1980). Travelers must wait longer for it to be safe enough to travel by snowmachine over the frozen tundra, lakes and rivers. It is possible for fish harvest to be missed because travel conditions did not allow people to get to their fishing locations. Arnold Brower, Sr. is one of the few fishermen to remain at his camp from late summer, when he could use his boat, through freeze-up, to ensure access to fall fishing. The spawning period for aanaakjiq in relation to fall fishing is common knowledge, but only a limited number of fishermen know about the spawning activity itself, and even they cannot identify “exactly” where or how this spawning occurs. In comparison to large mammals, such as caribou, where rutting and mating can easily be witnessed, it can be hard to see fish partaking in such elusive activities as spawning. Long-time and expert fisherman, Warren Matumeak can talk about all kinds of things about the life cycle and behavior of fish and where good fishing locations are, but he says, “I haven’t observed any fish laying eggs.” In comparison, Arnold

82 Brower, Sr., like any biologist, has experimented in order to better understand the natural environment around him and up on which he has depended for his livelihood:

I mean the male sperm and the eggs, if that will work on the high water, they have to seek a quiet zone. There are some quiet zones in the river. Those I look for as I go up right from the very delta of the river. And I scout way beyond my camp up to where Charlie Edwardsen is. You see, in the fall, they are spawning under the ice. And it starts sometime today before it starts to freeze up. But the height of the water kind of helps out. And the current is much weaker. But it builds up when the rain and wet and everything like this adds up. Like this last fall [2003], I didn’t see any dry weather for about month and a half. It was high water. That old timer told me that if its high water in the fall and if it goes down, the fish are washed out. And that’s special. Then they’d say that they didn’t take fish.

One time I planted some fish, but I never finished that project. They were some that I knew the spawning status of. I put them in an area where I wanted them. So I could use them. I put them in certain lakes that I knew could support fish life. I knew where these types of lakes were because when I saw little clams and snails and little freshwater shrimp - iglibaq (krill) - in there, I knew they’d support life. Some of the lakes have many of these escargot type snails. But I didn’t ever try to catch those fish that I planted. A loon came and stayed around all summer and they have to eat something, so it probably ate off some of those fish. I put them in small lakes that were over ten feet deep. That deep is good because it doesn’t hit the bottom in the wintertime when it freezes down to five or six feet. This year’s freeze-up has only been down to about four and a half feet at the deepest. Up until now [March].

Arnold Brower, Sr. was able to identify specific spawning lakes on a map:

That one lake behind Tasibruaq is the spawning area for those fish. It is deep, and the river - that small stream called Quyuanaq - goes from the end of it. And it is deep, and they spawn there. Boy, if you want grayling with a fishhook, that is the place. You just don’t move, you just flick your line and you get so many graylings. And the spawning was taking place there for aanaakjiq. Right here is the spawning section.

At Chipp 9, these lakes, right here. [Numbers 23-26 on Figure 68] Those are the rearing ponds. Because I know they grow—there are all sizes of fish— aanaakjiq. And there are pikes in there…them big northern pikes.

83

I know these lakes, rivers and lakes, but I think this is the one that I heard so many times to be a subsistence spawning area. This little lake right here, [Chipp-Ikpikpuk Report, AB-19] it's a spawning ground for those fish, and they know it and when they spawn they go and pick up a lot of fish, you know? And they just go in there and get grayling and whitefish and all that spawning and they just mingle in there and get them.

The newly hatched fish need a place to grow into fingerlings and eventually adult fish. These places are identified as rearing ponds. This is another elusive part of the fish life cycle, although more easily observed than spawning, because if one fishes many habitats you will eventually find some with populations of smaller fish. As with spawning, Arnold Brower, Sr. used a combination of knowledge that had been passed on to him, personal observation, and experimentation to gain an understanding of this rearing phase:

The baby fish are in rearing ponds. Those are those little fingerlings, or the babies. When there’s break-up, they scatter. It is a mass of water. Yeah, it scattered and soak up all the rearing ponds. Big fish are already bloomed, ready for spawning. The suvak are yet big enough for you to dry them, but they’re not ready to be spawned. But during the fall time, they are in their prime. The reason I know this is, I trained my kids in how to move the fish just before freeze-up around in the first part of September. We would go to those little waterfalls. You know, the dribblings-like, the waterfalls. We’d put five gallon buckets, and put them under and catch those little fish. And then leaving it overnight that thing would be almost overfilled with all types of little fish. The water would go into the bucket and then it would splash out, and the fish would stay in there. But there’s a lot of escaped fish, I know. We’d do this anywhere where those little waterfalls are. But the ones we played with were this side of Chipp 10. The reason why we knew this place had little fish was that grayling and tittaaliq go there and open their mouths under the things, because the waterfalls always would drop them out. This is in a little river coming up from the marshy area. Just overflowing. It does that before it dries up. Because up there the river is lower, way lower than the bank. But when it’s breaking up that river’s water level goes up and over. It overflows. And that’s where the spawning takes place.

[It is possible to speculate whether in pre-contact times the Iñupiat practiced traditional resource management activities where fish husbandry like this could have helped ensure the availability and reliability of a resource.]

Aanaakjigauraqs, little tittaaliqs, iqalusaaq, and aanaakjiq — all species combined. In the summertime they are nothing but grass and about that much

84 water. But believe it or not they come out from those in the fall. And they jump back in the water, I mean, the river, in the fall. But they started during the summer—I imagine that is how they probably get to survive is to grow up in the marshy area, and then some of them went in to those—we call them rearing ponds—like where those streams are. Those little fish they stay in the rearing lakes for four to six years, I figure. I started to put some fish in Iksrubabvik [Ikroavik Lake]. I put the small aanaakjiqs and put them in 50 gallon drum, and I was stampeding down there, and I dumped them in there through my fish hole. There are fish there now. Aanaakjiqs. Aanaakjiq, I would say four to six years would be where they would start to come back out again from the lakes. But, that is my observations on this lake, because after four years I started to get them with five inch net. It stayed in there, but from four to five years they started to move around. One spring they were gone. And then they started to come back. So the fish must know where they come from, I don’t know. They were little fingerlings.

Fish biologists have not found many aanaakjiq spawning before age eight, with most at age ten or older at first spawning (Burns 1990:25-35). There is evidence of greater fecundity (reproductive productivity) with increasing age and size (ibid.:25). (In reference to Arnold’s comments about younger spawning aanaakjiq, there is speculation that perhaps the fish grow faster and mature earlier when there are fewer fish around [L. Moulton, pers. comm.].) There is also some information about the spawning habits of other whitefish besides the aanaakjiq, although it was discussed less in our interviews.

Iqalusaaq will spawn in August. Those ones with the black tip. I’d put a net out just to get some attraction. Some recreation for me and my kids. Just pushed the net out in a real shallow portion of the Chipp River and those little iqalusaaq would get caught and they’d have all kinds of roe coming out of them. They’re spawning (Arnold Brower, Sr.).

Lake trout stay in Teshekpuk (Oliver Leavitt).

Lake trout don’t have eggs in springtime (Ben Nageak in Itta, N. 2007).

For spawning, the pikes and graylings seem to be right after the break-up. And aanaakjiq and whitefish, iqalusaaq, are in the fall (Arnold Brower, Sr.).

Newborn fish. In July. We call them iqalugaurat [smolt of any fish (R.H. Brower, pers. comm.)]” (Mollie Itta).

85 The majority of the fish growth is in these lakes after they spawn. In the falltime. Come spring break-up, they go with the overflow and go into the river. That’s how this river gets all kinds of fish. All the small fish spawn in these lakes and come springtime during break-up, overflow, they go into the major river. The Meade River. All fish spawn in the lakes. This Inaru River, it gets wider at the mouth and as you come here at the end it gets thinner and thinner. And all the fish in the summertime go into these big lakes to spawn. And just before freeze-up, they go out. The big fish. Then come springtime, all the baby ones they come out of these lakes. Where the fish were the previous fall. And migrate back to the main river (Walter Akpik as translated by Charlie Brower).

Again, there seems to be confusion between Iñupiaq statements about lake spawning versus biological understanding of the fish cycles and use of habitat (C. George, pers. comm.). The variation may be because scientists and Iñupiat have a different understanding of fish and their life cycle, or may occur because different species of fish are being referred to in the same conversation. The discrepancy also may be a matter of language usage as indicated by Larry Moulton’s previous statement about the definition of lake and pittaq, or the translation of testimony from Iñupiaq to English. (Note: Walter Akpik’s description above is almost identical to Arnold Brower’s comment on page 56.)

Finally, in the 1988 interview with John Burns, Harry Brower, Sr. talks about someone putting a net into a deep water spot in the Inaru River and fishing grayling until March and the spring caught fish having fresh suvak, or eggs in them, indicating that they are spring spawners:

In March, he was fishing. The ice was about six feet thick. Just pulled these grayling out of the fish net and the eggs were real bright. When the sun started coming up, he said the eggs were real round, real ready. He said they spawn right about the time the ice is breaking up. And then he ate frozen, cut- up sulukpaugaq and the eggs were really ripe. In the fall time, you can get them, but there’s just a little streak of eggs left in there.

Biological investigations confirm spring spawning of arctic grayling (Morrow 1980), and have found spawning grayling in small streams (Burns 1990:53) and at the outlet to large lakes (Hablett 1979:383). Anadromous dolly varden char return to the rivers in early August for fall spawning - “the timing of the fall return of fish is very precise, being within the same few days each year” (Burns 1990:37). They mostly spawn in alternate years and at locations fed by natural springs (ibid.:39). Scientific study has shown that burbot spawn over clear gravel usually in January or February (Morrow 1980). There is a noticeable lack of discussion among the Iñupiat about spawning behavior of arctic cisco (qaaktaq). Biologists have come to understand that arctic cisco spawn in the Mackenzie River in Canada, with some portion of the first year fish moving with westward flowing coastal currents along the shoreline until they reach the Colville River. As previously discussed, this

86 movement typically occurs only in years when the average easterly component of the wind is greater than 5 km per hour (3 miles per hour) during July and August (Fechhelm et al. 2007). These small fish overwinter in the deeper waters of river deltas, and over successive summers they spread out to feed along the coast between Prudhoe Bay and Point Barrow. Once they reach sexual maturity, between six and eight years of age, they leave the Alaskan coast and return to the Mackenzie River where they travel upstream to spawn in the fall. They then continue to spawn in the Mackenzie River region (Gallaway et al. 1983; Burns 1990). This research indicates that adult qaaktaq rarely are present in Alaska, which explains why subsistence and commercial harvests of them in the Colville River are limited to five to eight year old fish (Moulton 1989; Burns 1990: 11; Moulton and Seavey 2005).

Food Habits Research (see Figure 69) has shown chironomids and small snails to be a mainstay of the diet of broad whitefish (aanaakjiq) (Moulton et al. 2007), while round whitefish eat a variety of insects (Burns 1990:23). Arctic cisco in the coastal region rely mainly upon mysids, with copepods, amphiphods and isopods also eaten (ibid.:17). Predatory fish like grayling, burbot or pike, eat the eggs and young of other fish. Grayling also feed on aquatic insects (Burns 1990:52). Not many Iñupiat fishermen investigate the stomach contents of fish. However, William Leavitt mentions finding “green moss type stuff” inside the stomach of aanaakjiq. As previously reported, Arnold Brower, Sr. described finding what might be capelin in the stomachs of dolly varden and pink salmon.

Figure 69. John Rose of Alaska Biological Research, Inc. and Luke George measure fish caught in a fyke net in Teshekpuk Lake. The fish are anesthetized, measured, identified, and allowed to recover before returning them to the lake. Craig George

Distribution When asked about where fish occur in the Barrow area, a common response is that “the fish are everywhere.” However, it is possible to delve into more detail if you ask about where particular species are found, or marking particular fishing sites on a map. For instance, many people showed that qaaktaq are fished in a limited area near the coast of Dease Inlet and into the lower river deltas and say they have a higher tolerance for salt water than the other fresh water

87 species.[See Figure 41] In the late 1980s, there appeared to be biological evidence of qaaktaq found in lakes, including Teshekpuk Lake, with the thinking being “that during high water some arctic cisco get into the lakes, perhaps become entrapped and eventually mature where they are” (Burns 1990:15). However, since that time all the suspected arctic cisco found in Teshekpuk Lake have been examined carefully and have been identified as Bering cisco (L. Moulton, pers. comm.; Philo et al. 1993). Apart from marking fishing sites on maps, much of the information about the distribution and range of fish species appears as bits and pieces, such as when Arnold Brower, Sr. states:

I know the Colville River had aanaakjiq. I know because when the Navy was up there I traveled a lot and found aanaakjiqs all over the Colville River. Alfred [Leavitt] was saying around Prudhoe Bay that he saw some arctic char; that they were getting a lot of arctic char with a hook. And he said sometimes they would get aanaakjiq.

[Biologist Craig George, suggests that these would be the closely related dolly varden char, not arctic char. This shows the confusion that exists between the sea-run and the land-locked char when Iñupiat fishermen rely on the English names. They are clear on the different fish when using the Iñupiaq names, iqalukpik and paikjuk respectively.]

Or when Noah Itta discusses the presence of deep channels in Teshekpuk Lake and in the process presents fish distribution information:

There are some underground rivers around the middle of Teshekpuk Lake. There’s the shallow part and they have rivers through there. They call them rivers. That’s where the fish travel. The big fish, the thirty-five pound lake trout, are in those deep channels.

[These deep channels are believed to be abandoned river channels and old connections between merged lakes as shown in Figure 70 (L. Moulton, pers. comm.).]

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Figure 70. Deep channels at the outlet of Teshekpuk Lake likely formed when the separate lake basins coalesced. As ice forms, flow continues, making this under-ice river valuable for spawning and wintering broad whitefish. Larry Moulton/Bureau of Land Management image

We have chosen not to include many maps with detailed site-specific information, in order to protect the confidentiality of people’s prime fishing spots. Instead we discuss distribution of species in general, and more particularly changes people have observed. Some changes in these fish population sizes and ranges could have both cultural and environmental effects. An observation by Warren Matumeak is worth noting. He indicated having seen arctic char and dolly varden in the same lake. This surprised biologist Craig George, since the two species have different habits and ranges in Arctic Alaska - the dolly varden being anadromous and the arctic char in this region are lake-resident or land-locked. Some might presume there was a misidentification since the two fish are similar in size and coloring, even more so depending upon gender and whether it’s during spawning season. However, on page 38 Warren refers to the difference in the tails, which is a key difference in differentiating between the two species. Dolly varden have a square tail while arctic char have a forked tail. One change in distribution that was mentioned by a number of people was the negative effects of using dynamite for seismic testing in lakes and the Meade and Inaru Rivers area during oil exploration activities in the 1940s and 1950s (Bureau of Land Management 1982; Adams, B. 1988; Adams W. 1988; Aiken, J. 1988; Aiken, R. 1988; Neakok 1988; Pikok 1988). Arnold Brower, Sr. explains:

During the course of early seismic testing during that oil exploration, the blasting of the dynamite gave a good recording. But they were destroying all of the fish. The only way we found out that we were destroying fish was in the springtime during break-up when it produced dead fish on the surface.

89 Seagulls enjoyed them all, I think. But the seismic was responsible in them years by using dynamite. Today, they’ve got different methods. We made a report on that. I was fishing and working for the Navy. By testing dynamite in the river, I learned that I killed a whole bunch of fish. I was part of them, working for the Navy - and I didn’t even know it until one guy mentioned that Tasibruaq Lake fish were gone, and there’s so many fish on the edge of the lake. They blew one, two, three charges of that dynamite there in that lake. It had some effect too, probably even poisoned rainbows, killed them by concussion, I don’t know.

Comments indicate that there was no fishing that first year after the testing when all the dead fish were discovered, but there was limited fishing the second year and that after four to eight years the numbers returned more to normal. Other changes were mentioned, presumably due to more natural causes. There is speculation that differences in the types of fish species showing up on the North Slope is the result of warming ocean temperatures expanding species ranges. For instance, Oliver Leavitt noted a significant change in what fish people are catching and where, especially noting the common occurrence of broad whitefish in Elson Lagoon today compared with earlier times:

Strange thing is they never used to catch aanaakjiq at like around Pibniq, where they put nets out in the summer. Now they catch them out there. Didn’t used to. It was unheard of in my mother’s time when she was growing up. I don’t know when it changed, but I know when I was growing up they just didn’t catch aanaakjiq in the ocean. Because it is part of the ocean, the inlet - Elson Lagoon. Iqalukpik. They didn’t get them much when my mom was growing up. But right now they’re catching all kinds of different types of fish.

Finally, Mollie Itta mentioned vegetation affecting fish and fishing. Her comments demonstrate how changes in vegetative growth and range due to changing climatic conditions might be a cause for concern amongst local fishermen (see Figure 71).

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Figure 71. The original Sakeagak cabin along the Mayuabiaq River near Shuqjak. Craig George

Joshua Sakeagak built a house on an island at the western edge of Teshekpuk Lake because he thought there were going to be lots of lake trout there. ‘Cause he knew there used to be lots. There was now grass in the water there that hadn’t been there before. He said that’s where the trout used to be. There used to be fish in the water, but they didn’t catch any fish. He thought he’d get lots of them, that’s why he built his house there. And he didn’t get anything. So they moved their house to Shuqjak again. Maybe in some years they don’t get fish. Maybe in some years they do.

Overwintering Areas As temperatures drop in the fall and freeze-up progresses, the water flow in the rivers drops. Fish, such as spawned aanaakjiq, “proceed downstream, often for many miles, to areas where substantial waterflow and deep pools provide a safe haven to overwinter” (Spearman 2005:20). These deep places, called qaglu in Iñupiaq, do not freeze and are known as reliable winter fishing spots (Bureau of Land Management 1982:51; Arundale and Schneider 1987). Warren Matumeak explains:

You find those qaglus in bends in the river and in straight parts. You use a line to test the depth, then put a net in the deep part. You find these spots because you’ve been traveling a lot and so you just know; you’ll just be able to point it out. We call a small qaglu a qagaluraq. There’s a qaglu, deep overwintering area, near Qaviarat on the Meade River [see Figure 72]. Fish spend all winter in those qaglu; they overwinter there. Aanaakjiq or iqalusaaq. There are many fish there in those spots.

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Figure 72. Pulayaaq on the Inaru River and Qaviarat on the Meade River are two important traditional camping and fishing areas that are still used. Warren Matumeak lived in a sod house at Qaviarat as a boy and remembers his father catching round whitefish (savigunnaq) there. North Slope Borough Department of Wildlife Management

Arnold Brower adds his thoughts about these deep overwintering spots:

Qaglu. It’s a real deep portion of a river. It’s the really fancy turns where it is deep. And you look for fish in them. It’s kind of the quiet zone in that area because it is deep. The current is reluctant—it slowly moves in there. There is sediment on the bottom, in those deep waters.

Qaglu obviously are important fishing spots for the Iñupiat, so it is critical to be able to find them and know their locations for future years. As Spearman explains for the Nunamiut of the Brooks Range:

The knowledge of these areas of open water was especially crucial in late winter and early spring, when stores of caribou and other meat were often at low ebb and when fish resources in many of the large lakes were sealed off from easy access by ice 6 to 8 feet thick. In times of limited food, one can readily appreciate the relative ease of fishing through open water as opposed to the expenditure of time and, more importantly, caloric energy consumed by the hard labor of chipping holes through several feet of solid ice in hopes of catching fish (Spearman 2005:20).

92 William Leavitt says that these deep places, “they’re always right under a high cliff.” While Baxter Adams stated how he could not mark these deep places on a map, but could find them on the river:

I can’t point them out on the map, but when I go out on the river I know them. All of these real deep bends, there’s fish in them. They stay there all year round, the whitefish, grayling, burbot. And they’re the same on the Chipp River. Same thing as over here. The fish overwinter there in the deep places and then move around. They go up to the deep places only where the ice doesn’t freeze to the bottom. They can over-winter there when it doesn’t freeze to the bottom.

In the Chipp-Ikpikpuk Oral History Project (Arundale & Schneider, 1987), Charlie Edwardsen talked about finding qaglu. He was an active and expert fisherman especially on the upper Chipp River.

To know where the river was good to fish, they checked the depth of the water. They checked how deep it is in the summer time. Any place where it's more than two fathoms deep, that's good. See the fish go to these deep places to survive during the winter time. And they stay in that deep place and that's what we always look for is a deep place to fish. Two fathoms see, in the fall time that's deep enough. You can get all the ling cod you want in them places. Under the ice. About eight feet thick. The fish seek the deep places. I guess it's nature that gave them the idea. They come from these deep places in the fall time, and they spawn in them. See, the fish start moving in the fall time when they start spawning. They don't spawn in the lake. They spawn into these deep places. They go right into the river. They call it qaglu. And they go into them qaglu's. When you see them that's when you find a deep place that you haven't fished. If you set a net and you start catching fish in there. The current makes those deep spots. See, when there's a sharp turn in the river and it'll dig it out just like a prop anyway, or a boat. Digs it right out. In some stretches it'll be a long ways, dug out like that. And last year where Arnold Brower's camp is; that place was a shallow place and now this year it's deep. You can fish right by his house. And my place up at Chipp 10 used to be deep for about a mile and now it's shallow again. I don't know what could have happened, next year again. It changes so much in the river. But Chipp 1 doesn't change. It's deep all the time. The river there is up to three fathoms deep (Edwardsen 1982).

Martha Aiken tells a story about a particular time she was fishing to provide context for and to show how her experiences with qaglu were more accidental than the methodical process of scouting for them described above.

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When you find a qaglu, there’s where the fish are. It’s hard to find. You have to have an accident to find it, sometimes. That’s what happened when Robert [her husband] all of a sudden wanted to dig a hole in that area. I was trying to get out of it. I was so heavy at that time that I was trying to get out of the preparation and going back and forth from the cabin all the time. I had difficulty walking. By the time that I was prepared, Percy [her son] was already catching a heap. Robert called out, ‘Hurry Up!’

One time Sadie Neakok wanted to go home and she asked Robert to come help her load the plane. So he did. She was going home early while the fish were just starting - grayling. He helped her, and she told him, ‘I don’t have anything to give you, but you’ll get a blessing.’ As soon as she left, we went there early in the morning, boy we sure had lots of grayling. Just right on the edge of the river, not where they usually are on the back side. We would go home at the end of the day and were just satisfied and hungry. Normally, it was on the edge of the other side of the river. There was a deep ditch that was her favorite. We didn’t know about it. Robert found out that it was a deep ditch. Or somehow that the ice when it’s rushing down, opened up making a big gash in it. Qaglu.

As Ernest Kignak says, “Not all the fish, but some of the fish, just stay up in the river where the deep water is. But a lot of them go out” (Kignak 1982). The previously mentioned comments by John Murdoch about there being no fishing on the Ikpikpuk River in the early 1880s because of a lack of deep pools (Murdoch 1988:58) shows that overwintering areas and knowledge believed to be so stable, can shift over time as rivers change course and other environmental factors come into play. Other aanaakjiq spend the winters in lakes that do not freeze to the bottom. According to Arnold Brower, Sr. (2007) and Herbert Leavitt (1988), a lake has to be at least eight feet deep for fish to overwinter there, which is deep enough to keep the lake from freezing to the bottom. The extreme cold and length of the Arctic winter can create ice up to six feet thick or more, although with warming temperatures lake ice depth may be changing. Deep lakes are considered crucial to the continued survival of some fish species. It has been mentioned that these deep lakes should be protected from being targeted for water supply for development (Bureau of Land Management 1982:66). There is also scientific speculation that loss of deep overwintering spots, whether lakes or river qaglu, could lead to crowding of fish into limited spaces with subsequent oxygen loss causing large scale fish die-offs (Burns 1990:31). Warren Matumeak adds his experience with fish and deep lakes:

During the winter you need a lake that is deeper than seven feet so it doesn’t freeze to the bottom to find fish in it. Need enough water below the ice layer. Maybe the fish keep some of that water high enough so it doesn’t freeze.

94 In the springtime at break-up, I’ve seen all this tundra become water, so fish are scattered all over. Some end up in shallow areas. Those that land in shallow areas, they couldn’t survive over the winter. I don’t see how they could survive in those shallow lakes. In the smaller lakes, I noticed fish that are dull in color. They had fat on them but I didn’t like the looks of them compared to those in deeper lakes and in the rivers. Maybe it’s from getting stuck in these shallow lakes after break- up and getting frozen in during the winter when the ice freezes down to seven feet or more.

Whitlam Adams made a similar observation about the presence of fish keeping lakes from freezing:

This lake doesn’t freeze to the bottom. It’s very deep in here. That’s why you see water all the time. When they got fish, the lake can’t freeze to the bottom. The fish make heat. Even small lakes, they can’t freeze to the bottom when they have fish in them.

This suggestion that the fish movement may keep the water under the ice from freezing to the bottom parallels observations of areas in sea ice that are kept open from the constant activity and motion from rafts of seabirds (Petersen, M. et al. 1999). So, could this be happening in shallower lakes and allowing fish to overwinter in them? Another aspect of overwintering areas is what happens in the springtime. According to Warren Matumeak, when the river breaks up in the spring, the fish have to move because of the moving ice. They leave their deep overwintering areas, qaglu, to other parts of the river and out of the lakes to the rivers to avoid being crushed by the ice. This begins their cycle of migration and movement within the river and between lakes, streams and rivers. The importance of this movement for spawning grayling in particular has been noted by biologists (Burns 1990:53). Scientists also have discussed overwintering areas that are influenced by the presence of warm water from natural springs as critical habitat to the survival of anadromous char (Burns 1990:40).

Stages of Growth A question of significance to biologists is the age of sexual maturity for fish. Studies have estimated that broad whitefish spend ten years or more in lakes before they depart for spawning (Morrow 1980; Bond and Erickson 1985; Burns 1990; Morris 2003) Arnold Brower’s observation is slightly different than this:

I think they’re about four to six years rearing in the lakes. I think that four to six years was from Iksrubabvik [Ikroavik] Lake because when we dumped those little fish I caught in there, we couldn’t catch them with a net until about on the fifth year. We tried to get them on the fifth year and they were getting caught on a five inch mesh. Well, they were the class of a large fish. I mean

95 grown fish. But then again when I changed my net to a smaller size - three, three and a half, and four and a half - then I was catching those sizes that will get in the net. So they were growing. So I imagine that every year these lakes that had an outlet probably replenish every year and the big ones go out.

The only information collected in the 2007 interviews related to stages of growth in fish was the Iñupiaq terminology for the juvenile broad whitefish - aanaaqjigauraq which means “little aanaakjiq.” In past fish studies, aanaaqjigauraq were identified in English as round whitefish (Burns 1990). In 2007, this was shown to be incorrect. Arnold Brower, Sr. explains:

Aanaaqjigauraq would be like a little fingerling. These aanaakjiqs would be considered full size. Large and small. Because we don’t know if this is an adult. Because in the lake some fish are different sizes. The ones that are grown either in the lake could have certain size fish and some of them would have a big size. I don’t know the style of lake that they grow in. I think the deeper the water, the bigger they get. And the smaller or the shallower the water, the smaller they are. And they don’t ever exceed that size. I noticed that up in Nullabvik that those size were just like pretty near qaaktaq. They taste like qaaktaq. They’re fat as qaaktaq. And everybody loves that.

Parasites Fish have parasites, just like other animals do. Parasitologists have identified the main species of parasites that are found on and in whitefish (Stewart and Bernier 1999). Probably most whitefish carry the Anasakis type parasites in the gut, but the most obvious parasites to fishermen is an external larval copepod type (Coregonicola) which attacks whitefish in particular (see Figure 73). Parts of it hang out from the side of the fish and can be up to 1 inch (2.5 cm) in

Figure 73. The external parasite Coregonicola on a least cisco. The copepod parasite cuts through the skin and embeds in the muscle. From observations, fish with heavy infestations probably die as they tend to be skinny and some appear near death. Canadian Department of Fisheries and Oceans; Larry Moulton

96 length. These small invertebrates can cause health problems for the fish, especially with heavy infestations, leaving the fish skinny. Arnold Brower, Sr. has had concerns about the effects of parasites on fish health, and so discussed his observations of these parasites and notes how people do not eat fish with bugs in them unless it is starvation time. They seek out fatter fish and avoid the skinny ones, unless absolutely necessary. This shows the self-selection process carried out by knowledgeable subsistence users; you know a food resource is bad so you don’t use it. However, if circumstances do not provide alternatives, then you are forced to turn to the less preferable options. In good times you hold out for the best fish. In bad times, you eat whatever you are lucky to get, fat or skinny fish, with or without parasites.

I never really studied the parasite itself. I know people that fish a lot, that I guess would know. Old timers would say those fish with parasites would be survival fish. They don’t put them away just like the good fish, they just sometimes throw them away, mostly in certain areas. The question that I never get to is can the bugs survive freezing? If you thaw them out would they come out just like some of those worms that we see in the ice. When the ice is freezing up they form bubbles in the ice and they stay in that bubble until it thaws out. Some survive. Some bugs will do that, water bugs. They will hibernate in that bubble. The Eskimo name for these things is infuliq. That means pointed one. Pointed one. Infuliqsaq that means having infuliq in it. Infuliqsaq is one that already has the infuliq in it, on the fish. I’ve seen some on poor aanaakjiq, but on the fat aanaakjiq, like in the lake, they don’t penetrate the fish. I think they must be adapted to no fat and stuff. That’s the way I look at it. ‘Cause once in a while there would be one on the poor slender, long type aanaakjiq. And it would penetrate by the fins, the ones closest to the gill, or the center ones. They’re not like those black ones that have a leech type suction. Mostly all those that go to the river are already infested with those in the lake. Some might carry them. Tasibruaq, that’s the only lake I know that had a tremendous amount. And the one next to it, over there on Suffubruaq [Lake Sungovoak], that’s where I also have a cabin. The iqalusaaq do not contain infuliq. That’s how far they are. See, this one and this one. And iqalusaaq on this one are pretty near like qaaktaq. They’re fat. Maybe that’s the reason. Maybe those infuliq do not go for fat fish? Because they don’t attack the aanaakjiq that are kind of a fat. I don’t see infuliq in this area. At one time, there were so many I pulled my net out from Tasibruaq. I thought the net may have attracted them. I don’t know. My guess was that, so I pulled my net out and fished only for aanaakjiq. That time the iqalusaaq were much longer than the ones I know. But they were real slender, real slender. There was hardly

97 any fat on them. But long. Kind of slender. Just like savigunnaq that we get sometime up at Anaktuvuk Pass (Arnold Brower, Sr.).

VIII) Fishery The subsistence fishery of the Iñupiat of Barrow ranges from the coast between Barrow and Wainwright in the west, Teshekpuk Lake to the east, to the headwaters of the Chipp River in the foothills to the south. The main species harvested are aanaakjiq (broad whitefish), iqalusaaq (least cisco), sulukpaugaq (grayling), tittaaliq (burbot), and iqaluaqpak (lake trout). Because of this reliance on fish, there is extensive knowledge about related environmental factors. For example, which rivers or lakes are better for which fish during which season. According to Warren Matumeak, the Qaababvik River (Topagaruk River) is better for fishing than the Chipp River, because the Chipp has more sandbars which serve as obstacles to the movement of the fish and make boat travel and navigation more difficult:

There are lots of fish in Qaababvik. At the mouth of it. We used to go there while traveling and needed a safe place to wait for good weather before crossing Dease Inlet. And we’d fish there. We’d get aanaakjiq [broad whitefish] and lots of iqalusaaq [least cisco].

Fishermen like Arnold Brower, Sr. or Charlie Edwardsen who have camps on the Chipp River or the Leavitt and Itta families on the Mayuabiaq River likely consider their areas the best for fish. A key piece of knowledge for any fishermen is finding a good fishing spot. In the Chipp- Ikpikpuk Oral History Project, Ernest Kignak says that for him the best fishing is in the fall and goes on to explain what types of places people use for fishing and how to locate them:

Kuvraqtubvifmik ilitchubisukkumik qaglunik marra kuvraqtubviqabniabuurut sabvaitchuanik. Ixuqabmi kuuk itifitchuq. Ixafa kuugum ikaabnaqtuq, pisuaqjuni. Aasii ixafa kuugum itiruaqaqtuq ukiuq tapillagataqjugu iqalufnaqtuamik. (If they want to know about places to set nets, people usually put their nets in a deep spot in the river where there isn't a strong current. All of the river is not deep. Some parts of the river can be crossed by walking. And part of the river has deep water where one can catch fish all winter.) Iqaluksiubiaqama uvafa ikiuqtutilaurafatun iqaluksiublufa piñiabuma kuuk pakaguugiga. Itiniqsraqsiuqjugi. Aasii ukiumi patitchumiñaitchuaq paqittuni tavra iqaluktubnaqtuq ukiuqtutilauratun. (When I go fishing and if I am going to fish throughout the winter, I explore the river, looking for its deepest part. And in the winter when one finds a place where the river does not completely freeze in, that is where fish can be caught all winter long.) Uvva tamatkunuuna uqabniabuma uqalluutiyumiñabivsi akkupak afuniabniq iqaluktigun ukiuqtutilaurafatun pagituaqtuni ukiumi paqitchiutchuaq iqaluktubnabaluaqtuq. (If I am to talk about those things, I can tell you right now

98 that if one lives off fishing all winter, it will be at a place where the river does not freeze to the bottom.) Qaglugiksauraq. That's where there's good places for hunting fish sometime or in the fall) (Kignak 1982).

Warren Matumeak also notes how water level can effect where one fishes and whether you will be successful:

In some places, the inlets and outlets aren’t there anymore in July when the water level is down. They’re a thing of break-up with all the water everywhere. There is some trickling of water still going on, but in places it is too shallow.

These lakes whose inlets and outlets only flow during break-up become land-locked as spring flooding subsides. When this happens, the fish in those lakes become stranded; their route in or out has become blocked. These may be good fishing spots, but they may not be if, as Warren states, they are too shallow. There are other lakes that have creeks or streams flowing in and out all the time. According to Arnold Brower, Sr. these can become rearing lakes, called pittaq. They also may provide more fish because the fish are able to move between rivers and lakes more freely. As with other animals that the Iñupiat rely upon, the Iñupiat are sensitive to negative effects that could impact their usually reliable fish resources. For example, just as it is said that passing whales are sensitive to noise thus requiring waiting hunters to quiet, the same is said for fish:

Noise bothers the fish. Seismic crews in the early days used dynamite on fish bearing lakes and rivers. Norman Leavitt said he saw lots of dead fish on the Kuugaagruk River [Inaru]. That’s sad. The state allowed that to happen. We had no say. Now they’ve developed a vibrosis method for seismic surveying, shaking, that doesn’t hurt anything because it’s gradual not sudden (Warren Matumeak). [It is not surprising that the blast wave created by dynamite seismic work was lethal to fish. It is no longer practiced.]

The effect of outboard motors on the fish is the noise. Any time you create noise, it’s going to effect the fish. That’s why when you put out a seine net, you use a rowboat. Fish are closer by if you don’t use an outboard. They scatter from the motor noise, but they come back (Oliver Leavitt).

When there’s noise from people walking on top of the ice or people traveling on top, fish like tittaaliq move away from where the people have made a trail. Now they don’t stay around there when there’s noise. When there’s noise, they’re more afraid than other fish (Alfred Leavitt).

99 Another human-related impact that some believe is changing the fishery is nets getting left in lakes. Arnold Brower, Sr. believes that nets left behind to freeze into a lake deplete the lakes fish population by creating an obstacle from which the fish cannot get free, and which causes many more fish to die than is necessary. He speaks out strongly against this practice and chides the younger generation for what he considers to be a wasteful practice with long-term ecological effects:

You have to know exactly what you’re doing with under ice fishing. Sometimes there are people who say, “Let’s put out a net.” And they come back and the net is stuck under the ice, frozen. Nets get stuck in the ice because the floats are up too high. The depth of the net is greater than the depth of the water. You can’t pull it out. If they leave it there for a year, imagine how many fish are caught in it and turn rotten. More fish get in there, and just rot. I think there’s a decline in fish in some places because of some of this happening. Especially in Tasibruaq. I saw lots of nets at Tasibruaq Lake. That’s a nightmare for fish. At times, I know the decline of fish in that lake is caused by some of those areas where people didn’t care after they couldn’t get their nets out once they got frozen in. Just left them and thought the heck with it. Some people had not pulled out their nets, and they got pulled under the ice, and a whole bunch of them were full of rotten fish. And I dragged them to the beach, and I tore them up and took all of the floats out of them and everything. If those people are going to fish in any of these lakes, they have to pull their nets out.

Gear Types Most Iñupiat fishing nowadays takes place in open water during the summer and under the ice after fall freeze-up. The type of gear used varies depending upon the variety of fish being harvested and during which season. In earlier days, when families were out on the land for the full seasonal round, there was also active winter and spring fishing. As Arnold Brower, Sr. has said, the tittaaliq are best in the late winter (around February) because that is when their livers are the fattest from storing up through the long, cold winter season. However, few people other than him still fish at this time of year. The spring spawning fish, such as grayling, were once eagerly watched for just after break-up. Being one of the first fresh foods after a long winter made them extra special delicacies, and was the only time you could catch them with fresh eggs (Brower, H. 1988). However, in order to successfully harvest these fish, you have to be at the rivers and lakes when break-up occurs. This was possible when families lived at remote camps scattered across the landscape. Today, this is not practical because the break-up season limits transportation from Barrow where most people live and hold full-time jobs; it is not safe for snowmachines to cross melting lakes and rivers, but there is not enough flowing water to make boat travel feasible. Some older fisherman, like Arnold Brower or the late Daniel Leavitt would go to their camps early in the spring when travel was still safe and wait out break-up. Arnold does this same practice in reverse in the fall to make sure he can access his fishery when the timing is just right. This improves his chances for a successful harvest.

100 A primary early fishing technique used by many cultures of the world is the fish trap (see Figure 74). Fish swim into the wide mouth of this cone-like device, often made of thin strips of wood, and are caught in an inner cone with an increasingly narrow mouth, so that the fish are

Figure 74. Taluyauraq, a small conical fish trap. Above: a cutaway view of the conical frame. Below: a detail of the attachment of willow stems to prevent fish from leaving the trap. Simon Paneak Memorial Museum, Anaktuvuk Pass, Alaska

unable to escape. Museum artifacts and ethnographic data indicate the Iñupiat also made use of this ingenious device (Rasmussen 1952:35; Murdoch 1988:285; Spearman 2005:62-70). However, fish traps may have disappeared by the 1930s, since eighty-eight year old Mary Lou Leavitt said, “We never used fish trap,” and eighty year old Warren Matumeak said, “We never used fish traps in my family when I was growing up. But one of the Leavitts used one once on a narrow river and he said he got all kinds of fish. Lots of fish.” And eighty-one year old Martha Aiken said the same thing, “I’ve never seen people around this area use fish traps. They use nets. Or not that I’ve heard about. I’ve always wondered about that, too. But I’ve never heard about it.” While none of the elders in this project had experience with fish traps, Arnold Brower mentions finding one as an artifact along the Beaufort Sea coast when he worked for the US Coast and Geodetic Survey in the 1940s:

Iñupiat used to make fish traps [see Figure 75]. I found an old one once along the coast when I was working for the Coast and Geodetic Survey going west from Demarcation Point. It was made of braided sinew. Braided sinew knitting. It was real professional work. And some of them used to be made out of baleen. I think they had to wet it and tie it and put it into that type of thing. I saw that one on the coast this side of Barter Island. I’ve never seen them here in Barrow.

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Figure 75. Netting from a fish trap made of baleen strips. Iñupiat History, Language and Culture Collections, Iñupiat Heritage Center, Barrow, Alaska

Charlie Edwardsen provides the most discussion about the use of fish traps:

Some old timers would fish just the outlet from that lake, where the fish comes out of it. I don't know why. The grayling comes out of it into the river. And some of them old timers, they don't use the net, they use a qalu. That's all they use. The qalu is a trap. See they make it out of willows. They scrape it and it looks real nice. It's got a small neck on it so fish'll go right through [see Figures 76 and 77].

Figure 76. Illustration of setting a fish trap in a stream lined with willows. Simon Paneak Memorial Museum, Anaktuvuk Pass, Alaska

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Figure 77. Illustration of a fisherman driving fish into the mouth of a fish trap. Simon Paneak Memorial Museum, Anaktuvuk Pass, Alaska

They put willows on both sides so that gooseneck can be right there and all the fish go right into that bag, into the qalu. And they check it often and they dump the fish on the ice and put it back on again. And they’ve also got willows on the back so the fish won't go back out. I've seen one, that's all. They had one up at the Meade River. My uncle, Vincent Nageak, he just tried to tell me about that. He said, "Why don't you make a qalu and you don't have to worry about a net and you can get all the grayling you want?" Right at Ubvik. That creek runs right into one of the lakes. He said I'd catch every tittaaliq and every sulukpaugaq coming out of that creek. Ubvik, that's good for grayling. But Ikpikpak is good for grayling anyplace. It's a creek and it's narrow and that's good for that bag. You can use it for anything. Ling cod, everything. Any kind of fish that's been up there and coming out of there, they go in that trap. There's lake trout, everything (Edwardsen 1982).

In 1881, Murdoch collected a conical net that he called a fish-trap (see Figure 78). Although he did not see it in use, Murdoch speculated it was set in a stream with the mouth toward the current (Murdoch 1988:285-86). In 1912, as a member of the Stefansson-Anderson Arctic Expedition enroute to Barrow, Stefansson notes use of a “kalu net” which sounds like the fish trap (qalu) described above. He explains that:

[It] was set in small creeks, flanked by willow or rocks. If there were two men, one drove the fish by throwing stones or whipping the creek with a willow, the other jerked up the net by the handle after fish had entered. One man often managed both driving and pulling it up (Stefansson 1914:392).

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Figure 78. Fish trap collected in Barrow by John Murdoch in 1881. Ethnological Results of the Point Barrow Expedition. John Murdoch. Reprinted from the Ninth Annual Report of the Bureau of Ethnology, 1887-88, originally published in 1892. Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1988

The main gear used to catch fish is the gill net (Stefansson 1951:450; Murdoch 1988:284; Spearman 2005:85-106) (see Figure 79). In the summer, it is set out into a river or lake, or across small streams that enter the river from inland lakes. The long nets are set at a 45 to 90 degree

Figure 79. Arnold Brower, Sr. and his son Johnny Brower (right) holding a gill net that he made for aanaakjiq fishing. Craig George angle from the shore and secured to the beach or river bank with a stake (Sonnenfeld 1956) (see Figure 80). Stefansson also mentions setting a net from a kayak or using a long driftwood pole to

104

Figure 80. A Nuiqsut fisherman checking a net for aanaakjiq in the Colville River. Typically, nets are 60 feet or longer in length with 4.5” to 5.5” sized mesh. Cyd Hanns

push the net out into the water (Stefansson 1922:70; 1951:450). He describes using the pole method to set nets for qaaktaq (arctic cisco) offshore from Shingle Point as follows:

The Eskimos would find a straight-grained log of driftwood on the beach. This they would split and adze into rods each the full length of the log and two or three inches in diameter. They would then splice several of these rods together, end on end, making a pole perhaps sixty or even a hundred feet long and so weak that it could not stand its own weight. If you picked it up by the middle the two ends would remain on the ground, and if you raised the middle high enough the rod would break. These rods were dragged along the beach rope-fashion, and when we came to places where nets were to be set we would slip upon the tip of the pole a loop that was fast to one end of the net and shove it out upon the surface of the water. In that way the net was set so that the outer end was perhaps sixty or seventy feet from the beach and the near end thirty or forty feet away (Stefansson 1922:70).

“The net length varies depending upon where fishing is being done. Nets across small streams may be fifteen feet long. Nets set into broad parts of a river, lagoon, or lake may be fifty feet or longer” (Sonnenfeld 1956:150). Murdoch reports nets made of baleen that were up to twenty-five feet long by four feet deep or of twisted sinew twine that were sixty feet long (Murdoch 1988:284-5). Stefansson mentions nets at Shingle Point used for fishing qaaktaq off shore that were “three feet wide and about thirty feet long” (Stefansson 1922:70).

In the fall, the net is hung through a series of holes under the ice and secured at both ends (Stefansson 1951:450; Spearman 2005:100-102) (see Figure 81).

105

Figure 81. Setting a gill net under the ice in Teshekpuk Lake. A series of holes are cut, a rope is strung underneath, and the net is pulled through. Many fishermen try to set their nets in early fall just after freeze-up, in part to reduce the extra work of setting nets through thick ice. Craig George

In each case, the net is weighted at the bottom and has floats on the top to ensure that it hangs straight (Murdoch 1988:315-316) (see Figure 82).

a. b. c.

d. e. Figure 82. Examples of net floats and weights. a and b: wooden net floats; c: an antler kivitchiun,(net weight); d and e: net weights made from bone. a, b, d, e: Iñupiat History, Language and Culture Collections, Iñupiat Heritage Center, Barrow, Alaska; c: Simon Paneak Memorial Museum, Anaktuvuk Pass, Alaska

As Arnold Brower, Sr. noted above, it is important to be careful when hanging a net under the ice so that it does not freeze to the bottom of the lake or river or to the under-side of the ice,

106 as any of these can keep the net from hanging fully extended and successfully catching fish. Arnold Brower, Sr. reviews some of the Iñupiaq terminology for a fish net and associated items:

Quvraq is a complete net. These are puktagun. Floats. And the line is qimiq. And these on the bottom are uyagak. Just like rock. But known as a weight for the net. When you’re fishing, when somebody wants uyagak, he’s just getting those weights. Don’t give him a rock. Sometimes you’d find mastodon ivory weights for the nets. They cut them about that much and split them in half and used them for weights. There would be holes on each end. Or there is a lead line. It’s something like uyagak all the way straight across. Because the qimiq is on both sides of the net, you have to put puktagun, that’s the float, and uyagak on the bottom, which is the sinker. And that completes the net. But those at the end are lines for retrieving. You know when you pull it on the ice, you have to put the retrieving lines out and you pull it. And then you retrieve it back through the line on the ice. Without that line you can’t do good fishing. That’s under the ice. There’s also the tools for that like piilaqtuun, tuuq, and pilaqun. They are the tools for fishing under the ice. Amaqtuun is a long line, a long rope. Piilaqtuun is a long stick with a hook on the end.

Knowledge of timing and environmental conditions is critical when setting a net during any season. For instance, during the summer when there is a lot of rain the water level of a river will rise, increasing the amount of drift and debris floating down the river. This will quickly clog and even destroy your net. It is important to pull your net out in these circumstances. As Arnold Brower, Sr. explains, there are similar high water issues when fishing during the fall freeze-up season:

You can’t put a net out in the river when it’s high water and strong current, because on a calm day if that happens and there are no clouds and the sun hits the deck [goes down], below zero temperatures come down from up there. Cold air will come down. And overnight it will freeze. If that happens and in the daytime the sun comes back out, and melts some of that. It’s just flaky ice, just like a real fine glass. You can’t see it in the water, but if you get the net in there you’re going to lose it, because they cling to the net and hit it. They’re so sharp they’ll break up and then they pile up and they bring the net right up to the surface. No matter how much you load it up with sinkers, it will just bring it up. The current will bring it up and it will burst your line because of too much force. And it will float the net down with it. Sometimes you don’t find them. People will lose their nets without this knowledge of knowing what happened. So there’s some times that you have to know the season and the weather conditions in order to fish in the river.

Arnold provides another useful tip to remember when fishing under the ice with a net:

107

In the spring, I noticed that if I use a dark rope to sink the net and I cover it up with snow, then when I come back I don’t have to use the pick. That black rope and the sun heat being absorbed by the black rope melts that hole. Starting about March, I use a black line. These are things you have to remember when you’re going to survive during all through the year. This time of the year when the sun is getting higher and getting stronger the sun rays must penetrate the ice. Because it hits that black rope and heats it in the water. And it starts to melt. And I don’t have to use an ice pick to clean my net. The hole starts to get bigger from the bottom side. You have to remember what can help you out in your subsistence lifestyle. To this effect then that sun is another factor to remember.

It is interesting to note Canadian ethnographer Diamond Jenness’ statement about Iñupiat net use in 1914:

The Alaskan natives have made square sealing nets for at least a thousand years, as we know from the ivory net gauges and fragments of mesh we have discovered in ancient house ruins; yet strangely enough, they never modified their rawhide nets to catch the fish that are so plentiful in the lakes and rivers, although they knew that their Indian neighbors were using fish nets made from willow bark. It is only during the last two hundred years that the Eskimos have taken to using fish nets, and then their teachers have been not Indians but whites (Jenness, D. 1957:122).

This runs somewhat counter to other evidence. The Iñupiat talk about using baleen nets and samples of such are found in museum collections (i.e. Smithsonian Institution, Iñupiat Heritage Center, Barrow, Alaska) (see Figure 83).

Figure 83. A section of net made with thin strips of baleen. Iñupiat History, Language and Culture Collections, Iñupiat Heritage Center, Barrow, Alaska

In 1881, Murdoch collected two nets made of “fine strips of whalebone” or baleen, with one being “79 meshes long and 21 deep…the length of the mesh is 3 ¼ inches…When set, this net is 21 feet 7 inches long and 3 feet 4 inches deep” (Murdoch 1988:284). Knud Rasmussen indicates

108 that nets made of caribou sinew were used near the Nibliq trade fair site at the mouth of the Colville River around 1924 (Rasmussen 1927:318; 1952:30). And Vilhjalmur Stefansson refers to Charles Brower seeing nets made of twisted spruce bark on the “Kuvûk” in the early 1880s (Stefansson 1914:395). The discrepancy may be a question of comparing different groups, different time periods, or just a reflection of limited observations or biased personal perception. For example, American anthropologist Vilhjalmur Stefansson states that the lack of fish nets was limited to a specific area:

Our archeological investigations have shown us that knowledge of fishing by nets never extended farther east along the north shore of the mainland than Cape Parry, and the Copper Eskimos have no method of catching fish except that of hooks and spears. The hooks are, like most of their weapons, made of native copper. They are unsuited for setting, for there is no barb, and unless the fish be pulled out of the water as soon as he takes the hook he is sure to get off again (Stefansson 1951:203).

The mesh size of a gill net (see Figure 84) is the size of the square box of thread that the fish swims through and gets caught in (Spearman 2005:89). There are two ways of measuring gill net

Figure 84. The basic form of a typical kuvraq net (gill net). Simon Paneak Memorial Museum, Anaktuvuk Pass, Alaska

mesh - by measuring one side of the box (called square mesh), or by grabbing opposing corners, stretching the net, and measuring knot to knot (called stretched mesh). Most fishers on the North Slope refer to stretched mesh measurements. The mesh size used varies depending upon the main species being targeted. “Generally, the large round whitefish and salmon require a 3 ½ to 4-inch mesh, whereas grayling and small whitefish only require a 2-inch mesh” (Schneider et al. 1980:77). In earlier times, nets were “made out of baleen. Even seal net” (Aiken, M. 2007). But by the time the current elders were children, baleen nets weren’t used anymore. Nets were still being made by hand, however, out of a roll of twine or even longer ago with thread pulled out from flour sacks. “Hand-made fish nets. They used to have strings, twine or something. Probably measuring the fish how big they are around in that Ikpikpak area and then they knit the nets themselves” (Nayukok 1983a).

109 When making a net by hand, the mesh size was controlled with a net gauge (Spearman 2005:91). Net gauges (see Figures 85 and 86) made of bone or ivory are common items in archeological and ethnographic museum collections (Murdoch 1988:314-317).

Figure 85. Net gauges made of baleen (top) and bone (bottom) used to measure mesh size when making a net. Iñupiat History, Language and Culture Collections, Iñupiat Heritage Center, Barrow, Alaska

Figure 86. Top: an ivory netting shuttle, or nuvixxaun, from a Nunamiut archaeological site. Bottom: a bone netting shuttle used to string nets. Simon Paneak Memorial Museum, Anaktuvuk Pass, Alaska; Iñupiat History, Language and Culture Collections, Iñupiat Heritage Center, Barrow, Alaska

Arnold Brower, Sr. talks about making his own nets:

It would take me forever to make those nets [see Figure 87]. By weaving them. I have to have a very special needle to make a net that size. For aanaakjiq it took me one day for twenty fathoms. To make twenty fathoms, make it in about a day. You have to be on it all the time. Because that’s how we make our nets up where we were during reindeer herding.

110 Them old timers didn’t have knots on their nets. They made the old nets out of thread and cloth. They would unravel cloth and weave it, spin it back together. I don’t know how long it took them to make a net. They said when they found canvas, boy, they’d buy it quick. ‘Cause they unraveled it to make a ball of thread. And from the ball of string that they’d get out of that canvas they would put it in those knitting needles. They would make those knitting needles out of caribou horn.

Figure 87. Arnold Brower, Sr. discussing how to use a net gauge when making a fish net. Stacie McIntosh

If the mesh is too big, the smaller fish will swim right through the net. If the mesh is smaller, the big fish can not fit into the boxes and so will not be caught. This choice of mesh size is key to one’s fishing practices. Warren Matumeak explains:

I used to use a four and a half inch mesh net when I first was going out there fishing, but then I switched to a five inch. The four and a half inch got everything. Aanaakjiq, pikuktuuq and some iqalusaaq. I didn’t want all those fish, like those pikuktuuq, so I switched to use a bigger net that they will just swim through and just get the fish I want. That would be aanaakjiq. The five inch net gets adult fish, not the juveniles which are smaller so go through this size mesh and not the big, old ones which are bigger than the mesh size. These ones I get are the good eating sized fish. Kagak ordered an eight inch mesh net once and he said he got aanaakjiq with it. He’d seen how big the fish were so he thought he’d try for them by using a larger mesh net. I don’t want to get that kind of fish, because they’re too old. Like me. Nobody would want to eat me. Too old. I use a three inch mesh net to catch least cisco and pikuktuuq while they’re small. Also sometimes I get aanaakjigauraq while they’re still growing. I’ve caught large iqalusaaq with a five inch mesh net. They’re so fat they get caught in the larger mesh. They’re like overgrown iqalusaaq. I call them iqalusaaqpak.

111 Martha Aiken explains that her husband, Robert, chose the mesh size to select for the preferred fish, spawning aanaakjiq:

Robert’s nets were five inch [mesh] and the fish like qaaktaq just go through them. If he had smaller netting, he would catch them. But he prefers the five inch netting ‘cause the ones with the eggs get in those. They’re good and fat.

Arnold Brower adds:

When we fished at Aviullaavik we used a five inch mesh net. Because my brother put a four inch net out and it wasn’t worth it, where we were using it up there. It didn’t catch very many fish. The only time it was good was after the spawning season. You know, when the fish get real flimsy [fish are thinner so get caught in the smaller mesh size]. The big iqalusaaq. You catch in about a four or four and a half inch mesh net. I’ve used that in Iksrubabvik [Ikroavik] Lake for home fresh food service. Year round. But I got too many fish with one type of net. Four and a half inch was getting aanaakjiqs and iqalusaaq. Iqalusaaq were getting to be about the same size as to get into that four and a half inch net, so they’re big fish.

Retrieving fish from a summer set-net is done by hauling the whole net to shore or using a boat to travel along the length of the outstretched net and removing any fish as you go (Sonnenfeld 1956:150). Since a boat is not necessarily always available, Arnold Brower, Sr. explains a method he devised for making it easier to check his net without a boat:

I set a net so I don’t have to use a boat. I put little devices like block and tackle for a single set or two, and I put a rope on it. It’s easier to pull the net right to the beach, to a clear grassy area. Then you pull it back out once it’s clean. I like that type of fishing. You don’t have to have a boat. You pick an area where you can put an anchor and a buoy that are strong enough to hold your pull and then your net goes out with it back to the surface. And it just stretches your net out. I do it in the summer and even in the winter in a similar way, but I use a rope. I put the net out and pull it back with the rope.

Arnold’s block and tackle method may have been inspired by another older tradition he mentioned that pre-dated the prevalence of boats:

Now at this stream, there were these people. It was an old man and his wife [Harold and Taqulik Itta] and I asked them the first time what the heck they were doing with that log they had adzed so perfectly squared. And when I went down there again, he had about 10 slats of lumber coming out of it. He

112 was sawing by hand with a long rip saw. And it must have been about eighteen to twenty feet long. I asked him then, I told him, “What the heck you doing?” And he wants me to wait a minute. He’s been trying to get this net out, so we could have some fresh fish for dinner. He didn’t have a boat, and then he would take his boots off, put it up here, and grab that net. That was shallow water. And he put that net—it must be about three inches or 2 ¾”—I don’t know exactly, I never measured the net. He said he was going to get some fresh fish for me, and his wife was going to cook it right quick. And he went down there, and I watched him, and he entertained me with that saw. He put all of the lumber one way in a slant, and he’d turn over the log, and do the same thing on the other side. He never moved that thing more than that much, and he’d turn it. He said he was very careful not to destroy anything. Anyhow, he went back out there for ten minutes. He went down there with a line and needle, and crossed over there on the end of the bank, just got in above the knee of his pants. And he was working. And I could see the fish were there, just smacking around over on that line. He was wriggling through the gill, through the mouth, and when he pulled them out he said, “Drag them up to the house.” And then when he was coming in, they just followed him. It looked like the fish were following him into the house. It was kind of an unusual sight I saw. And what do you think were there, them fish? Qaaktaq. They were all qaaktaq. This was around August, I think. And he said that there were so many of those up there, and that it is shallow water. Those were really nice, fat fish. I imagine that those people were not interested in aanaakjiq or anything because they had those qaaktaq. But they were there temporary, making a boat. They said they were going to float away in September, going up the Chipp River.

Then one time in the past me and Charlie [Edwardsen] were struggling to get home to Alaqtaq on foot, and we couldn’t watch some of the reindeer because they were mingled with caribou, and the caribous were wild and they were leading the reindeer and they got lost. Somehow they just followed the darn leader, the caribou. And we couldn’t master that. We went out down to fix it, and the caribou were leading them around. We couldn’t put them together. And then we had my brother’s old net—four inch net—that was about ready to be thrown away, and we put it with a log out there, and went to sleep by that long log, and we got seventeen fat, nice, soft aanaakjiq. That is how we learned about these lakes and the fish.

Nets are also used to catch iqaluaqpak (lake trout). Except Mollie Itta does mention, “Our son got a lake trout by using bait on a big hook and putting it down in the water and

113 using a float. He got a big fish that way. It was on the Mayuabiaq River just a little ways from its mouth at Teshekpuk Lake.” A traditional method for catching fish in a frozen lake was to walk across the ice hitting it with a willow branch; the sound would scare and kill the fish (Bureau of Land Management 1982:25; Spearman 2005). Arnold Brower, Sr. warns that catching lake trout in nets can be a bit tricky, however, since lake trout can grow to be much larger fish than aanaakjiq or iqalusaaq:

I use a five to five and half inch mesh net for lake trout. They’ll get tangled. They’re so big. Maybe six to eight fish is a full net. When catching those big fish, lake trout, no other fish will be caught in those nets, because the nets just become string when two or three of them get caught in that net. They are powerful fish. They rip the net.

Or as Oliver Leavitt adds:

I’ve put a net out in the deep channel of Tasiqpak and got those big lake trout. I just put the net out a little bit until it catches one and then I pull it back. They’re not caught in the net by the gills. They just get tangled up rolling when they hit and they try to go through it and they just roll it.

Nets sometimes catch unintended species as a sort of exciting by-catch, such as pike. Noah Itta explains that, “Once in a while we get pike in our net. They don’t like to be hooked.” Another preferred fishing method is jigging (see Figure 88), usually for grayling and burbot in the fall time after the lakes and rivers have frozen (Murdoch 1988:58; Spearman 2005:41, 49). According to 1880s ethnographer John Murdoch, “The greatest quantities of fish are taken in the rivers…by fishing through the ice in the winter” (Murdoch 1988:58). In the mid-1950s, subsistence researcher, Joseph Sonnenfeld documented that three sacks of grayling were caught

Figure 88. Jigging for fish in the early fall when the ice is thin. Karen Brewster

114 in one day by one person jigging (Sonnenfeld 1956:151). However, nets have also been used in the past for catching grayling: “In the late summer or fall before the freeze-up, nets set across the tributary streams may also catch grayling migrating from the lakes, especially those shallow enough to freeze down or almost down to the bottom” (Sonnenfeld 1956:150). Although Arnold Brower, Sr. says:

Once in awhile I would catch aanaakjiq with a jig while getting grayling. I don’t get aanaakjiq with a hook until they are spawned out. Then I go to the very tip of my stream where it’s clear water, frozen, and I’m catching graylings. And then once in a while I’d get those humpback whitefish and then get aanaakjiqs. But they would be spawned out. They’re just really skinny long aanaakjiqs in the fall right after they’ve spawned. So that’s why I figured maybe aanaakjiqs don’t die. Because after spawning they are now feeding again and you can catch them with a hook.

For fall jigging, a hole is cut through the ice and a line with a hook is dropped down into the water below (Murdoch 1988:283; Spearman 2005:50). The line is attached to a stick like a fishing pole (see Figure 89) which provides an easy way to keep a hold of the line, and keep it from freezing in the hole (Murdoch 1988:279; Spearman 2005:42-44). The line is moved up and

Figure 89. A jigging stick with line and a hook at the end used for fall ice fishing. Iñupiat History, Language and Culture Collections, Iñupiat Heritage Center, Barrow, Alaska

down and jiggled back and forth to keep the hook and lure moving in order to attract the fish (Sonnenfeld 1956:151; Murdoch 1988:283; Spearman 2005:45). Murdoch believes the method of pulling the line out of the water by drawing it back and forth over the ice scoop and the rod so the wet line never was touched was unique to Point Barrow (Murdoch 1988:283-4). In the Chipp-Ikpikpuk Oral History Project, Greta and Walter Akpik talk about fish line when they were children:

115 Greta: I’ve been wanting to tell you about the fish hook. Line for the fish hook. They got no dental floss. There’s no other kind of line for the fish. They just made it out of sinew or baleen. My father usually made a line for the grayling fish hook when I was a girl. They cut it, measure little, like a baleen basket. Walter’s [Akpik] father always try to pull that big fish down there, and break the line. Maybe that’s the kind of line he got. Walter [Iñupiaq translated by Joe Akpik]: My grandfather on my mother’s side, he was a whaler. Toovak. A trapper. He would make these fish lines out of baleen strips. Really fine stripping of baleen. That was one of the pieces of equipment that was made. There was no dental floss, no fish line or nylon line or ropes at the time. They would also make it out of caribou sinew from the caribou legs. Braid it for extra weight. They would be braided mainly for burbot and aanaakjiq. (Akpik 1983a)

Traditionally, fishing lures used for jigging were crafted of ivory (Murdoch 1988:279-282). While Stefansson notes seeing a burbot hook with ownership marks (Stefansson 1914:390) it is unclear how common this was. In more recent times, bent nails or pieces of brass or copper were added as hooks or barbs (Murdoch 1988:279-282; Jenness, S. 1991:231; Spearman 2005:46-47) (see Figure 90). And more recently the entire lure and hook were made from brass. Robert

Figure 90. Modern fish lures with bent nail barbs and hooks. Iñupiat History, Language and Culture Collections, Iñupiat Heritage Center, Barrow, Alaska

116 Aiken, Sr. is one former fisherman who made beautifully smooth and curved, shiny brass hooks (niksik). Red string or a piece of red fabric was attached as an extra attractant (Sonnenfeld 1956:151; Jenness, S. 1991:231). While the traditional homemade hooks and lures may be preferred, they are being made less and less, so many people rely on store bought aluminum ones with pink plastic attractants, such as the Mepps variety (see Figure 91).

Figure 91. Store-bought Mepps fishing lures are an example of the type of lures currently used for jigging. Several brands are used. www.mepps.com

Martha Aiken explains Iñupiat fish hooks:

They like the homemade fishhooks. Robert [Aiken] made metal fish hooks. Single hooks. Shaped like old ivory ones you’ve maybe seen. He didn’t use ivory very much. He got the metal from old pipes. He had a skill to cut them out like that. I don’t know how he did it. The red part on the hook is for attraction. We use them for any kind of fish. There is not a special hook for different fish. Those are the ones they bite. Single hook. They’re more attracted by those than the three pronged tanniqtaq fish hooks. To get our niksik shiny we used to use those mantels from the gas lantern that got broken. We’d save those and use them to shine the niksiks. They’re good for shining purposes. But then we started using those big cans of liquid polish that you buy from the store. Also steel wool is used. Nowadays, we also use those big taniqtaqs - three-pronged hook. Those ones you buy from stores whenever it’s time for jigging. Just use those for the big ones. One time, I let Robert dig me two holes in the ice for fishing. One for the regular niksik that he made himself and the other for the tanniq fishhook - little tiny ones. I’d keep this one steady and jig the other side. Either one of them would catch a fish.

Nina Nayukok adds to this description of how to jig for fish under the ice (originally spoken in Iñupiaq with English translation provided by May Panigeo):

117 I do a lot of fishing with hooks. Get a lot of fish. Like graylings. Under the ice. Ice fishing. With Eskimo hand-made fish hook they make. They use ice pick to put a hole in the river or the lagoon, whatever, to fish through the ice. Fall time is the best time to fish under the ice. It’s still going on nowadays. After you make a hole, you clean that hole. It’s just like a spatula with holes that you use and clean the hole with and then put your fish hook in there. Whenever there’s slush coming in, you clean it with that big spoon that they made. It’s made out of baleen. They made those big spoons to clean that fish hole. Strip the baleen and just make them in square pieces like you’re knitting a fish net. [See Figure 32] After the hole is clean, then they start fishing. When they’re using bone or ivory fish hook they have to have a little sinker. The same kind of sinker we use nowadays. They use little lead ones. As long as they’re using ivory or bone, because those are light. And when they have the metal kind of hook, they don’t use sinkers. It’s heavy enough to sink them. Like copper. The sinker is put a little above the fish hook. It’s down next to the fish hook. You hold the line with a handle. Allasaun, that’s the handle. The handle is made out of any piece of little wood. You see branches out there when you’re walking down the river, that’s the kind they use for handles. Short one, but it’s got to be narrow. And then tie the string to the end of the handle. What they usually used for the string was caribou sinew. Braided it. Or strip the baleen, narrow, fine like you’re making a basket. They use that for a string, too. The line is ipiutaq. The hook was made of ivory. Even a dog tooth. Or walrus teeth. They make them small. About an inch long. They put a little hole in that ivory and they used nails for the hook. The hook is called niksik. For the lure, they even use a little red, red -- What they do is they dye the sealskin, a little piece of sealskin to make a red whatever -- What they usually used in those days was the eyelet of ptarmigan, that reddish part, that’s what they used for that lure. There’s a way of people moving the handle, the whole thing. I do it with three jiggles up and down. Some of them do it differently (Nayukok 1983a).

Oliver Leavitt says, “Grayling is about the only fish we jig for. The rest of them don’t really bite. Once in a great while you snag them or sometimes one of them will bite. But, tittaaliq you can get through jigging.” While this may be true for him and his family on the Mayuabiaq River, burbot jigging is a favorite fall-time family activity for many people. This is certainly the case for Martha Aiken:

It’s more fun to jig than anything else. We try not to get too much, but it’s so fun to jig for them. Besides at night when we want some burbot, we go fishing. And for the excitement of it, too. Because they’re really fun to jig for. We go at night,

118 because they bite at night. We have fun doing that. One time my sister and I were in the cabin and we decided to run down the hill and jig. She thought she wouldn’t catch a fish, so she put a small hole. Right away she caught something. She had to dig around the hole to make it bigger so she could pull it out. We had so much fun.

Martha and Robert Aiken and their family also jigged for grayling in the fall:

We go to this place where there are the most wonderful grayling you’ve ever had. We have so much fun. We put up tents on the willows on the edge of the lakes and then early in the morning, we’d quietly go down and after quieting down all night, we’d start jigging in the morning. That’s some life. We always have the most fun. I was always the last to get up in the morning, but still got the same amount of grayling. One time while I was jigging for grayling, I got a big aanaakjiq. I jigged it. It was windy and the lake ice wasn’t that thick. Mary Lou [Leavitt] and I were jigging and all of a sudden I got a fish. And it was an aanaakjiq. It almost fell back into the hole so I plugged the hole. And the wind was blowing at me trying to take it off the hook. We sure laughed. We don’t usually jig aanaakjiq. We net them. But I had the biggest aanaakjiq that I jigged - about 3 feet long. And Mary Lou was my witness. That was in a lake that we now call Taquliq, because Loyla Itta used to live there for most of the fall time.

Warren Matumeak mentions an extra feature he has added to his burbot jigging:

I have used a net to lure burbot because they are feeding on the least cisco which are getting into the net. I have used a three inch net in the fall in the Chipp River. The net catches iqalusaaq and pikuktuq and the burbot will come right to the net to feed on these fish and then we can jig for them. We jig a lot just for fun. We take the fish home and eat some of them but give a lot of them away. The burbot also will suck on the fish caught in the net and if they don’t let go we get some burbot when we pull the net up, too. Burbot are also attracted to light so sometimes we’d use a lantern.

Just as the fish trap went out of use, so too have other fishing methods and gear types changed through time. Fish traps, spear fishing, use of seine nets, and dip netting are examples of older fishing methods not discussed in this project (see Spearman 2005 for descriptions of all of these and Stefansson 1914:84 and Murdoch 1988:286 for a fish spear in particular) (see Figure 92). And there are some practices mentioned by Diamond Jenness from his Canadian experience,

119

Figure 92. Kakiak, the three-pronged fish spear. Simon Paneak Memorial Museum, Anaktuvuk Pass, Alaska

which may or may not have been practiced by Alaskan Iñupiat, such as herding fish into the shallows of a lake and spearing them (see Figure 93) or pulling the line out of the hole during ice

Figure 93. Driving fish into nets set under the ice. Drawing by Simon Paneak. North Alaskan Chronicle: Notes from the End of Time. John Martin Campbell. Museum of New Mexico Press, Santa Fe, 1998 fishing by running back from the hole instead of pulling it up hand over hand (Jenness, S. 1991:479, 482, 484.) One change in fishing gear mentioned amongst the current generation of elders is that they grew up before there were outboard motors or fast boats or snowmachines. This effected how they fished. Mary Lou Leavitt explains how they went fishing when she was a girl:

We never used outboards, so the fish were always close around. We used a sail to travel around. We had those umiiraq. Wooden double-ender boats. They were bought from Charlie Brower. Used a sail with them. You could travel clear across Tasiqpak with a sail.

Iñupiat fishermen have experimented with other techniques to capture fish, besides using fish traps, nets and jigging. Some methods were utilized by just one person, or just tried once and never repeated because of a lack of success. Here are a few examples:

120

And an old lady up at Inaru [River], she didn't even use that fish trap. She made it so the fish would come right on top of the ice. That's Leo Kaleak's mother. Kivvauraq, little old lady. She used willows and kind of blocked the river and made a hole in it and the fish stayed there. They just came right out the ice. She kind of trenched it where it's a little thick so they’d come right out. And the fish think there's water clear out to the front and they just swim right out on top (Charlie Edwardsen) (Edwardsen 1982).

Siakuk and I were gathering driftwood on the Savviubvik River. We found fish on a shallow part of the river which had been frozen in. They were about six inches in thickness - the fish had all died layer after layer. And we also found that foxes had been eating them through the ice. We also used them for food by cutting the ice up into squares. The fish would break whole from the ice. We found out that fish which had been frozen in like this tasted good, since they had just simply been frozen in. We stayed by these fish through the winter, and my grandfather caught all kinds of foxes there. After we stayed there for awhile they took us inland after we had stayed around Siiqsinniq for maybe two years. On the Savviubvik River is where I noticed it has lots of underground springs. It was there that I really learned and became knowledgeable about making a life (Walter Akpik) (Akpik, W. 1982).

At Qaababvik, on our river [Topagaruk River], is where they used a net to pull the fish out while they were down streaming. They used to put a net across and then pull it. Qaaktuq is the word for doing this. Qaababvik is on the Tupaabruk River. Elders used to say Qaababvik. That’s a place where they throw the net out and pull them in. I don’t know why they changed the name (Martha Aiken). [This practice sounds similar to seining.]

One time me and Charlie Edwardsen said, “Let’s get all the fish in one shot.” So we put in nets and blockaded the river. Put dynamite right in the center and blew it up. We thought we scared the fish in every direction so they should all be in our nets. But we didn’t catch any fish. But we found out some of the dead fish were caught in the net. They were tangled up. We pulled them out. Sure enough, we must’ve killed the bunch of fish. We didn’t fish that much that year. We actually destroyed our own fishing (Arnold Brower, Sr.).

And this one lake contains aanaakjiqs, trouts, and iqalusaaqs. It comes so close to this stream. I walk over to this one and then I put my net over there and you get a lot of fish in that one. Emily [his wife] liked to go there because I used traps and rope and put all kinds of hooks out. And I would throw that trap out there as far as I could and I would run a baited line. And Emily would

121 run away from the very edge, because she sees the fish coming in, all them caught, chasing my line. They’re fast. Fast as I can run, I’d run with that, and they’d get caught on them hooks. Emily said here she thought they were going to climb on top of the bank, that they were coming in so fast. But they swirl right back out (Arnold Brower, Sr.).

Catch Rates Historically, fish have served as a reliable subsistence resource. In fact, Noah Itta and Arnold Brower indicate specific areas that could always be relied upon for providing fish even during starvation times. In 1952, ethnographer Robert Spencer indicated that it was not unusual for 1,500 pounds of whitefish to be brought into town (Spencer 1959:367), and Wilimovsky noted in 1956 an average catch of 1,500 pounds per fish camp in summer, with fall/winter catches being higher (Wilimovsky 1956). However, he did not indicate fish species. In comparison, in the mid- 1950s, subsistence researcher, Joseph Sonnenfeld documented that three sacks of grayling were caught in one day by one person jigging (Sonnenfeld 1956:151). Although out of the immediate region of this project, Stefansson reported that three or four people fishing for qaaktaq during a late summer night at Shingle Point brought in one to two thousand fish (Stefansson 1922:71). In the late-1980s, “fish contributed, on average, over 79,000 usable pounds, or 85 pounds per household, of subsistence food to the community of Barrow. …Iñupiat households caught an average of 142 pounds of fish” (Braund et al. 1993:144). Whitefish comprised 77% of this total fish harvest, with the river variety of broad whitefish being the most significant at 38,000 pounds (ibid.). 96% of the average yearly fish harvests occurred between July and November (ibid.:149). Catch rates are affected by a variety of factors. For example, a rainy summer can lead to high water in the rivers, which increases debris caught in the nets and reduces fish numbers. Or vice versa, low water can limit fish movement and affect access to the available supply. On the other hand, lack of availability of other resources such as seals or whales due to poor sea ice hunting conditions or caribou due to migratory shifts may increase demand for fish (Braund et al. 1993:160). The introduction of the fish net by people with an increased desire for or reliance upon fish also has been cited as a factor in changing harvest levels by increasing yield and/or decreasing labor required to obtain the resource:

Fishing, in pre- or post-net times, was never very significant. Even today much of the fishing is with hook and line. The lack of either “felt-need” or desire for fish, and the presence of alternate means of obtaining seal, have tended to limit the development of the net to the extent that it has been developed by peoples in areas less well-endowed with sea and land mammals (Sonnenfeld 1956:179).

Stefansson’s observations in the eastern Arctic that “fish were not secured in large numbers, either, for these people know nothing of nets” (Stefansson 1951:203) follows this same line of thinking. That only jigging or spearing fish could not produce as many fish as nets, so less was available for human and dog food (Stefansson 1951:450-1). Catch rates also may be shifting based upon location. As mentioned previously, the availability of larger and faster boats has changed fishing patterns. This may result in an

122 increase in fishing in more distant locations that may have previously been visited less often. Elders interviewed for this project were fairly consistent in their statements that there has been little change overall in the fish population - “There are always fish.” However, Harry Brower, Sr. mentions natural cycles that have continued to go up and down throughout his lifetime that means “some years you don’t get many fish and some years you get as many as your arms can pull out” (Brower, H. 1988). When discussing catch rates, it is more common to talk about successes rather than failures. Like boasting about the largest fish caught, one is also more likely to remember or want to share the times when the most fish were caught. As Mollie Itta notes, “At Shuqjak, when they fish are really coming, in the last part of June, we get eighty aanaakjiq in the net, two times per day.” In a workshop about the ecological conditions and productivity of the Chipp River that the North Slope Borough Department of Wildlife Management held in Barrow, Alaska in 1995, one of the key questions discussed was if overfishing had been or was occurring (George 1995). The general opinion amongst the participants was that while net competition does exist between camps, the resource was not being overfished. The basic philosophy was that if people “only take what they need” then the resource remains sustainable. When fish catches were low, the explanations were typically that the fish went elsewhere, environmental conditions had changed or were poor (weather, high water, etc.) or there was some industrial effect (seismic work, etc). It was never said that the resource was depleted (J. C. George, unpublished notes). More recently, some biologists have expressed concern that the local populations of broad whitefish could be overfished (C. George, pers. comm.).

Arnold Brower, Sr. describes the productivity at Aviullaavik (see Figure 94), which was a popular fishing spot on the Chipp River into the 1940s before channel shifts and erosion changed the course of the river:

At Aviullaavik that was a deep area that was a huge quiet zone [qaglu]. Everybody’s nets would catch [fish] in there. We had about ten nets, my group. Other people would have nets, too, but not that many. But they had maybe four or five; six would be too many for them. I mean, it would be a lot of work, because when the spawning run goes, it hits. The reindeer herders were with me. There were four of us here, and with most everything, we would get up to about 3,000 to 6,000 fish -- aanaakjiq -- for the winter, for the dogs. Every year. They never let up. I mean, it was continuous, in that location.

123

Figure 94. Map locating Aviullaavik on the Chipp River. North Slope Borough Department of Wildlife Management

Charlie Edwardsen describes another historic fishing location that provided high catch rates:

There used to be people down there at the place called Tulimaniq, at Cape Simpson. And there were people down there that would go clear up to Chipp, go clear up to Aviullaavik to go fishing. But they got a lake there with all the fish that they’d want which they didn't know about. It's about twelve miles from Nuiqsut. That's what that old man told us about that lake and we found it. And there were really big fish in it. I just wanted to see how many fish I could catch. During the night I started fishing by myself. I wanted to see how many I could catch with one net. I had about maybe a forty foot net. I cleaned my net every two hours and it got just about full. I got over 1,200 fish in just a few hours. And I said to myself, "What the hell am I doing?" I just pulled my net out and stopped fishing. No use fishing if I'm not going to use them. Was just enough for our dogs. We found out there were fish there and two of my uncles started fishing there (Edwardsen 1982).

124

However, it is clear that within this general trend of stable fish numbers, catch rates for different fish species or during different years can vary. Variations can be just for a particular species or may be based upon fishing locations or effects of yearly environmental circumstances. Arnold Brower, Sr. provides one example of yearly catch rate variation, which he believes was the result of an unusual weather pattern:

An unusual thing happened this year [fall 2006/spring 2007]. I didn’t get grayling. I usually do get them during fall spawning. Spawning was great, the fish were running, but I didn’t get one grayling. But up the river another two bends from my camp [Chipp 9?], Panigeos and Nusinginyas were catching lots of grayling. We had an unusual fall this year. It was windy. It was freezing and the ice was piling up from the wind and it may have hit shallow spots and blocked portions of the river for a short time. Maybe that’s what caused the number of fish to go down. Maybe the grayling were affected. But the aanaakjiq were going right through. And the river was kind of disturbing around itself, making it shallow and some of the streams got super strong in their flow and forced the sand to go across and pretty near blockaded the Chipp River. That’s unusual. It’s the first time we’ve seen it that way. But the stream itself contains a lot of fish.

Martha Aiken makes a direct connection between catch rates and human activity, emphasizing the importance of people adhering to proper fishing practices in order to ensure fishing success but also to protect the fish themselves:

One time we decided not to use skidoos on the lakes. We put up a camp first and started walking down where there was a crevice. Aaraa, big iqaluakpak! Robert got a big one. And I got a short one and a fat one. Leaving our skidoo on the tundra and walking on to the lake made a real big difference. ‘Cause the fish know. But sometimes, for some reason, even if a skidoo has come across, they bite, too. One time when we first started going up inland we heard stories about all the dead fishes when they started that seismic. Walter Akpik, Sr. guided a group that put dynamite in the rivers. And they lost a lot of fishes then. And slowly they are coming back. But from then on, there weren’t as many fishes in those big deep places (qaglu) as there used to be. But they’re coming back slowly. I wonder why they did it. It was Qaababvik River. Our river.

When interviewed in 1988, Daniel Leavitt mentioned a change in catch rates where he fished along the Mayuabiaq River which he attributed to human disturbance:

125 Here’s something that concerns me. In the falltime, we used to catch a lot of fish in here. Used a net that was a 100 footer, and was eight feet deep. They used to get over 300 fish in that net every six hours. But now it’s been six years since I ever got anything like that in the falltime. There’s no more now out there. These are aanaakjiq. Average weight was about seven and a half pounds. Some of them can get up to twenty pounds. We haven’t caught anything there for about six or seven years now. We never see those fish anymore through here. I think I know why. One of these seismic people, they were sounding in this area, all the way up here. When they dynamited that down there, they blocked that road for the fish when they come up that way. We never get anymore. Last year, was the same way. It’s been six or seven years now since we ever catch any. In the summer, sure, we get a little bit, but not too much. Sometimes ten, twelve fish in one net. But, we used to get a lot of them. We have to come out in here, where Noah Itta’s place is. We can get our fish in the summer right there only. That’s the only place in the river in this area that we can get fish. That’s aanaakjiq.

In a separate interview, Daniel Leavitt’s son, William, described a change in fishing on the Mayuabiaq River:

For a long time, they’ve been saying the numbers are the same. They haven’t changed. But about ten years ago, when my father first introduced me to this river, that was in the 1970s I guess, they’d gill net here during ice fishing and they’d get something like 3000 aanaakjiqs in three days. It hasn’t happened since then. It was an unusual year. From that day on to date, I still haven’t seen that happen. We get an average of about forty fish a day.

Harvest Timing As already discussed, the timing for fishing certain species is critical. One case where this is especially obvious is aanaakjiq. Aanaakjiq that still have their eggs before spawning are a preferred item, so it is critical to time one’s fishing activities with the fish run and spawning period. This timing is closely connected with when the temperature drops, ice begins to form, and the rivers and lakes freeze up -“Late September or early October is when the aanaakjiq have eggs. That’s when you get a lot of them” (Ben Nageak in Itta, N. 2007). Local observations indicate recent significant delays in river freeze-up and broad whitefish spawning. Arnold Brower, Sr. often speaks of the importance of this timing and how it has changed over the years as freeze-up has come later with warming temperatures:

In the fall, you can’t keep me away from fishing in the river, because I am expecting the run from September 20th. Years back it would start on 23rd, 24th, or 25th. Either one of these 3 days. And if there’s no high water built up

126 from storms and rain then I know that fishing is going to be good when it freezes up. But if the rain and snow storms and stuff hits and they raise up the river [water level], that kind of hampers the fishing, the good fishing. And I know that. And I would re-course, because the spawning is never postponed from the fish body. And you have to know where to go at times. That’s the only thing I take in the fall is suvak, while they are still early spawning and mating at the same time. Because fish get poor real fast within that time. And in October, there’s no use fishing in the river for aanaakjiq. They’re spawned out. I’ve never seen them die. I’m never after dead aanaakjiq, even though I see some dead aanaakjiq in spring break-up that have shifted to where the high water mark is. Sometimes the river and break-up comes up to ten to twelve feet up, and it leaves all the debris there. When you’re looking for clues of any kind that’s a good place to look for them, to study. I find those at certain times. I think there are some fish that are trapped in the small qaglus. The wind and snow would get so high and it would probably crush them. The ice would fall down and keep falling down and it’s just more pressure. So I think that may be the cause on some years. But if the run is good, the majority will go down to those bays, qaglus, where they spawn. They spawn in the qaglus. So there are some periods of time that you have to know the season and the weather conditions in order to fish in the river. This year [fall 2006] freeze-up was early and then it turned around warm, and then it froze-up again later in October. Spawning was more delayed in some parts we looked at. As late as October 15, close to 20th, I was getting some spawning fish. And they were running that late. That’s when the caribou are full rutting. In the 1930s, ‘40s and ‘50s, we usually ended up fishing on October 6. We started around September 23rd with a dog team traveling through snow and ice crossing small lakes that were already frozen enough and useful for traveling. We knew the fish run would start around September 25th or 26th. The fish don’t miss that. We have to be there to catch them, otherwise after five or six days the run is over. And if you don’t catch them then, you don’t have much subsistence food to put away. Today, it runs all the way into October, 10th or 15th.

Arnold emphasizes how the timing of spawning and fall fishing has changed:

Six days before spawning, seven days at the most, that’s when I want to arrive at my fishing spot on the Chipp River. That’s why I have to be there. You have to catch the fish run when it’s happening. After the 10th of October, it makes no sense. The run is over. Right now, it’s changed to the 10th. The

127 run used to be from September 26th on down to October 1st. It’s ten days difference now. I figure the change of climate or some measure of change has to do with it, because we have a late freeze-up today. In my younger years, I would go ice skating maybe on the 15th of September. And then the reindeer corralling time would be the last week of September. And the ice would be that thick and it was just right for making a huge ice corral. We put all the reindeer into that. So that’s the difference today. I mean somewhere around October 8th or 10th, up to there. In those two areas, I would pull all my nets out. No matter which way you look at it, spawning has to take place. I don’t know if the fish can hold off that long.

Martha Aiken adds her own experience to this discussion of the timing of freeze-up and spawning and fishing, and how it has changed:

We used to go up to our area in the latter part of September, but it doesn’t freeze any more all around that area at that time anymore. It’s usually the first part October that it starts freezing now. But I remember we used to go out there as soon as it froze and we were able to travel through the rivers and lakes. But I haven’t been up there for the last few years. They try to catch fish while the eggs are still there. But it doesn’t take long for them to already not have the eggs. But they net enough fish to last us for the whole year. They’re really good fish in Tupaabruk area. I know when the fish have spawned because they’re eggs are not there anymore. They spawn early, around early part of October, maybe. Or middle part of October.

Part of the seasonal round of fishing is based on timing of when certain fish are present. “Pikuktuuq. There are many in those areas where they seek burbot and grayling. They follow the spawning of aanaakjiq every year. Boy, you catch those with a hook, the pikuktuuq and the tittaaliq. They just follow the spawning run of the aanaakjiq” (Brower, A. 2007.). One type of fish is sought because of its availability, and when it is no longer available fishermen will switch to another species that is then present in the rivers and lakes. “Our son usually goes to Nalaakruk Lake for a few days in the fall and gets real good fish. They are different than the river fish. Aanaakjiq” (Itta, M. 2007). [This is a reference to there being two different "forms" of the same fish - lake versus river fish.] This switching between types of fish makes it possible to fish all year around. “My grandfather used to fish all year around. He used to have fresh fish all year around. From the lakes. He couldn’t get many, but once in a while he’d get a real nice one” (Itta, M. 2007). However, this is rare today. Instead, people select their preferred fish and seasons for fishing, often piggy-backing one activity onto the next to take best advantage of being out on the land at

128 camp and not having to spend the time and money to return to town in between. As Martha Aiken explains:

We fish in the fall time. First, when it’s not frozen yet, we use rods. As soon as it starts freezing up, we jig in the ice while it’s still thin. That’s when grayling really come. At the same time, Robert put some nets out for aanaakjiq. And that’s when he also got some tittaaliq. They grew up eating those ling cod/burbot. Those were the kinds of fishes we got in that river. [Topagaruk River?] We stayed after netting for a while and gathered some caribou before they went into heat. After they are in heat, we go up to where they have other kind of fish. Iqaluakpak. Those are fun, too. Just like tittaaliq. There are several lakes that have those and we’d go there and get enough lake trout for the year. After we take all those lake trout home, enough to last us for the winter, we don’t get very much. We just jig. We don’t net them. We’d go back to the cabin and prepare to go up to where Harold and Loyla Itta used to go way up. It was about a day’s travel to go up to Luther’s [Leavitt] camp. His camp is at a big lake where sometimes we go jigging for tittaaliq. ‘Cause there’s lots of those in the shallow river. The shallow part of the lake, where there’s a river coming in there. And as soon as we’re able to cross the rivers we start heading up and would go to this place where there are the most wonderful grayling you’ve ever had. It only took about three days to a week for catching iqaluakpak [when went jigging for them after finished catching aanaakjiq in net]. Robert tried to go home before loading too much on the sled. Taking them back to Barrow is a hard road, too. He was wise in everything that he did. One time he let us stop. The fish were biting and I didn’t want to leave. “It’s time to go!’” We had to leave even while we were jigging at the last minute because our sled load was getting too heavy.

Thomas Brower, Sr. in the Chipp-Ikpikpuk Oral History Project noted similar combining of subsistence activities:

And at the same they get fish, they can get their caribou. During the summer months when they're traversing [the country] all the time. They're always in an area where there's food for them, where they don't have to pack it. They have a small net, a short net, and they could get their fish. And if they're coming back not too heavily loaded, then they could stay in a good fishing point like in that Paisaq. They get down into that area where there's a lot of good fish, you know, they stayed there for a week and got all the fish they wanted to bring home (Brower, T. 1982).

129 Part of timing has to do with environmental conditions. If the conditions are not right, fishing will not be successful. For example, Arnold Brower Sr. points out how high water is a significant factor:

The message I got most of the time from elders would be if it’s high water all the time and it’s very flooding during the fall, you won’t get much fish because they’ve all run out downstream to somewhere else. They didn’t tell me exactly where they go. They’d say, they missed out. They’ve already run downstream.

Wind is another critical environmental factor that can play a major part in the success of fishing, especially in lake regions, like the large Teshekpuk Lake. The lake experiences a major seiche effect with wind-driven changes in lake level similar to the ocean nearshore shelf waters. A dramatic example of this was observed at Shuqjak during a 70 kilometers per hour (43.5 miles per hour) west wind storm in summer 2003 where the Mayuabiaq River dropped about two feet (60 cm) (J.C. George, unpublished fieldnotes). Mollie Itta gives an example of this wind effecting fishing:

Wind in Teshekpuk Lake affects the fish. When it’s ufalaq [west wind] they never come. There are no fish there. When the wind is from nigiqpaq [the east], that’s good. That river [Mayuabiaq] is so different when it’s east wind. The water gets better. But when it’s west wind the water is low. In our area around there, Mayuabiaq, when it should have lots of water at ufalaq, it’s different. The water goes down. I think the wind pushes the water from Tasiqpak.

Some fish, like sulukpaugaq (grayling) and aanaakjiq (broad whitefish), are fished in multiple seasons. Oliver Leavitt says, “We catch grayling in fall and in summertime, too.” But others are fished during specific seasons, such as the egg rich aanaakjiq in the fall time mentioned above. Summer is another popular season for fishing, a time when families can join together in this fun activity. Summer fishing is done either with rods and reels or with nets, depending upon the fish and the location. A few summer fishing experiences were shared:

We also fish in the summer before it freezes. One time we went up there during the summer and we used rods. It was fun. We were catching grayling. But in the summer, they even use a net, too. They net for aanaakjiq. There’s no suvak in the fish we catch in the summer. That’s the only difference. But they’re fat, too. We love the suvaks. We go in the fall because we want to jig. And that was the only time we had left. When we were working, we only had one month and we tried to stretch out as much of it as we could. But sooner or later we had to go home (Martha Aiken).

130 We usually go for grayling around Mayuabiaq River [from Shuqjak towards Teshekpuk]. Good spots are where the points are. We go in summertime and use a rod and reel. There’s lots of them. There were plenty of fish in June, July when we went up there. This summer it was good. Our cellar didn’t work good [got flooded] so our fish got rotten. There were no airplanes to haul them to Barrow (Mollie Itta).

Arnold Brower, Sr. discusses the behavior of the fish in the summer that affects one’s choice of fishing locations:

These fish around here go into the Alaqtaq River and we catch them right after the break-up while the water is high. In summer, in July after break-up, we would start to fish down at Alaqtaq, on the Alaqtaq River, for aanaakjiq. It would be last part of July, about middle part of July. Between 20th and 29th. From there they would slowly start to disappear. And then later they’re back…Selective groups were gone. And there’s some stragglers in there. These fish that go from these lakes into Alaqtaq River at the break-up, at the high water, they had to rush out of there somewhat. I know that starting in these marshy areas were where the fish were coming out in July. All right. And they were just trying to get down to the river. They were fighting through the swamp, the marshy swamp, and everything was thick hunting them there. Killing them off. These are not the baby ones, but the big ones. They were jumping into the river. When I was chasing the reindeer, I knew my dogs would go after those fish, slapping around in that swampy area. I can sense them, and when I go over there, they catch one or two sometimes. But they’re them big aanaakjiq. They’re bound to get out to the river from the lake. And they are ready for spawning, because they’re long and fat. In August, further up river they were massively heading up, but they were concentrating more on deep waters, on these qaglus. But they were heading up. At Alaqtaq you had fish going out downstream, not going up the Alaqtaq River. They were going out in July. That big lake - Tasiqpatchiaq - it would have connected to Chipp River. And they were coming out to this small stream from the lake, and all these lakes in here, and heading, probably out into there. But today, this is part of Chipp River here now. So they aren’t coming through, and this is a good summer fishing spot.

Wildlife biologist, Craig George, has conducted fish tagging research along the Chipp River with results that are consistent with Arnold’s observation about the timing and direction of aanaakjiq migration (see Figure 95). Arnold says, “Spawning is going down river. Scouting is going up river.” But Craig says the science still lags behind on being able to fully explain this cycle and confirm traditional knowledge:

131

Figure 95. William Morris inserts a radio transmitter into a broad whitefish at Iksubvik. Craig George

We put radio tags on aanaakjiqs near Tasiqpatchiaq and PK 13 lakes [lake near Paul Kignak’s fish camp-PK13]. The fish went charging up river in July and August. They either went far upriver and spawned and then dropped down, or they dropped down and then spawned. But they did exactly what Arnold said (C. George, pers. comm. 2007).

Other fishermen, like Ernest Kignak (translated from Iñupiaq by Delores Burnell) describe the timing of aanaakjiq migration and spawning differently:

The fish that are in the river come out into the ocean in the winter. And some of them do not come out. Some of them are up there, wintering. They begin coming out in the fall while there's not much ice. The ones that were up there all summer. In September, in the fall, in October, they head all the way down to the ocean, I think. And then in the springtime when the river ice has floated to the surface, they start back in again. When the ice finally goes out, after the flood on those rivers, when the current has slowed down, the fish will usually run up the stream (Kignak 1982).

Spring fishing is no longer as popular as it used to be twenty or thirty years ago due to difficulty in traveling long distances from town across the thawing tundra, lakes and rivers. Previously, families remained camped out on the land throughout the year, so they were able to be at spring fishing sites before spring thaw and break-up began, and so did not have to travel during these dangerous transition periods. People no longer have this expanse of “free time” to spend at camp waiting out seasonal changes. In addition, whaling has become the dominant spring activity, with limited vacation time being used for that instead of other subsistence activities. Nevertheless, spring fishing did come up in conversation, especially with Arnold Brower, Sr. who is one fisherman who sometimes still stays out at camp for long periods and

132 through seasonal transitions. He mentions catching newly mature aanaakjiq in the spring when they are leaving their rearing ponds for the first time after four to five years of development:

The small fish in the lakes are in the rearing ponds. As they grow into big fish big enough to spawn, they stampede out early in the spring while it’s high water. That’s when we get some good fish. I like to be there to catch some of those.

Nina Nayukok (translated from Iñupiaq by May Panigeo) agrees that traditionally a lot of fishing was done when the fish left the lakes in the spring after break-up:

When the fish are just going out through the river, going out from the lake, that’s when they put out their fish nets. Hand-made fish nets (Nayukok 1983a).

Many people prefer to catch burbot in late winter because the livers are big from a winter’s worth of accumulated fat and so taste better. March is mentioned as the best month. However, as Martha Aiken mentions one drawback to spring jigging is that the ice is much thicker than in the fall when it is first forming:

We go to our cabin, too, during spring. Except we don’t jig unless someone is brave enough to dig a six foot hole to get burbots. The Matumeak family and Marchie Nageak’s family always jig some too in the springtime. We just go up there in the spring. We used to go twice a year, maybe just a week in springtime for geese and ptarmigan. In the springtime, the liver of the tittaaliq enlarges. The livers are super. I don’t know why. God knows. That’s why Nageaks go up inland to jig for tittaaliqs. But the ice is thick; six feet thick. It’s a lot of work just for one tittaaliq.

There is some fishing that occurs in the late fall/early winter, particularly for qaaktaq which are late arrivers. “For qaaktaq, we put our nets out on December 1st” (Arnold Brower, Sr.). Arnold is one of the few who fishes this late in the season anymore, and he cautions about problems the ice and cold temperatures can cause with equipment. Again, he passes on the lesson of how important it is to watch and know the seasons, the weather, and other environmental conditions if you want to be a successful subsistence harvester:

The reason why I had my sons pull out all the fish nets in December was it was an unusually different weather pattern this year [December 2003 - February 2004]. It was hardly below zero until December. [On the rivers] the salt water will flake up, and there’s flakey ice that looks like maybe the fresh water is coming out from the river or somewhere. It forms paper-thin, and is real sharp and then it moves. But in the salt water it is in a different form and it will collect easy on your net. And it will float the net no matter how much weight

133 you put on it. It collects so fast through the current that I told them that happened to me more than once. So you might as well pull the nets out, because I think you’re going to have a bad situation trying to pull them out later. Because I know, I’ve done it before. I got caught in it. Got caught twice, it’s enough. And then I remember it.

According to Vilhjalmur Stefansson offshore fishing for qaaktaq (arctic cisco) occurred in the late summer/early fall of 1906 at Shingle Point in the Mackenzie River delta near Herschel Island. He explains that fishing occurred at night or during heavy surf when the fish could not see the nets in the clear water (Stefansson 1922:70,72). It appeared to be a successful practice: “When the run was good, two or three men could be kept busy tending two or three nets. You would pull in a net and find the fish stuck in it almost as thick as they could be” (ibid.). Given the life cycle and migratory behavior of qaaktaq, it is unlikely that this type of fishing would have been as productive farther to the west near Barrow, if it occurred at all.

Locations of Harvest Sites Historically, the semi-nomadic people of the North set up seasonal camps and settled near where they could successfully harvest the resources they depended upon. In winter, seasonal camps were located along the coast for hunting seals and polar bears on the frozen sea ice, and for spring whaling. Similarly, the same semi-nomadic pattern of inland settlement was based upon reliable fishing and hunting grounds (Schneider et al. 1980; Schneider and Arundale 1987; Jenness, S. 1991; Burch 1998). This was more efficient and practical than having to travel long distances for hunting and then transporting the harvest back home to a permanent settlement. At age eighty-eight, Mary Lou Leavitt is one of the few remaining elders who still remembers this lifestyle:

When I was growing up, we made camps, cabins, sod houses, right next to our fishing spot. Like where there’s a creek that comes out. Because we could just walk out and put a hook in and start catching grayling. They always did things like that. A place to stay was made always where you could catch something fresh to eat.

While life in the north now has shifted into settled communities, temporary camps often still are maintained at the same fishing sites based upon this long-held knowledge. As Martha Aiken points out:

This certain place where they used to set up their nets is by where we put cabins in on the Tupaabruk River [Tupaabruk 2 area, see Figure 96]. There are three houses there, plus Mary Lou Leavitt set up a house across from our houses. We put the cabin there because it is a good fishing spot. We put the nets out around the bend and they catch all kinds of fish. Besides at night when we want some burbot, we can just go fishing. It’s close by.

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Figure 96. Map of the Tupaabruk River region. North Slope Borough Department of Wildlife Management

According to Warren Matumeak, “Any lake that is six feet deep or more will have fish in it.” Due to the prevalence of lakes on the North Slope that are at least six feet deep, one would assume that fish are everywhere and so it is easy to find a good fishing spot. The best Iñupiaq fishermen will tell you that is not the case. They each have methodically tested, observed and experimented to understand the ecosystem and discover the fishing locations they reliably use time and time again (Spearman 2005). “I test lakes to see if there are any fish in them by putting in a net. I never test the shallow ones, though. And there are places that I didn’t get to test” (Matumeak 2007). Or there are environmental phenomena that are looked for as signs of fishing spots, such as qaglu - deep holes in the river where fish overwinter, or aiyugaq - “places where the ice opens and closes in the winter, like at the lower end of Admiralty Bay” (Matumeak 2007). Or as Arnold Brower, Sr. describes, “There are some aiyugaq - a break in the ice caused by expansion and contraction. They split open due to weather. And it helps you out with fish sometime.” Oliver Leavitt explains that his fishing knowledge comes from a combination of this environmental knowledge, family tradition, and even a bit of trial and error:

All these creeks by my cabin on the Mayuabiaq River, they all have fish in them. They have connections to all these lakes. All the lakes out here are inner-connected. I’ve never tested them out because I’m out there enjoying myself. You’re not on a mission when you’re out there. But you know there’s

135 fish in there. I did test one lake for fish that was close to the river so I thought it would be good, because it all floods out in springtime. I suspected lots of fish in there. I just have never tried to see how deep it is. I know that it’s twenty-eight feet deep at one bend of the Mayuabiaq River [see Figure 97]. We put nets out by Sakeagak’s cabin. My father and mother taught me these places. I’ve tried some of these places by the islands along the western edge of Teshekpuk Lake by putting a net behind some of these places, different points, to see if I catch anything.

Figure 97. Iqsiññat on the lower Ikpikpuk River and Shuqjak on the Mayuabiaq River are two important traditional camping and fishing areas that are still used. North Slope Borough Department of Wildlife Management

In comparison, Martha Aiken admits that she and her husband, Robert, did not know much about fishing when they first went out. They explored around and taught themselves; some lessons were learned that were not repeated:

The first time we went up there, we were working. We didn’t even know where everything was. Robert was always working. We went to Atqasuk. When we first started going up inland in October, we went up to Atqasuk area. And later on, when he learned the trail and how he could go about it, we started going back and forth inland to prepare for our cabin. We used to use tents, when we first started going up there. It was ok. One time when we went to get lake trout, we didn’t want to go put up our tent, so Robert decided to put up a tent

136 in the middle of the lake. Aalapaa! The primus stove was on, but it sure was cold. It was an experience he never did again.

Like any fishermen, Iñupiat are hesitant to share their secrets and pinpoint their favorite spots on a map. For example, Oliver Leavitt says

Noah Itta’s favorite lake - he doesn’t tell anybody about it. I know this one is deep. It gets to thirty, forty, sixty feet deep. Some of these lakes get real deep. There are several lakes like that, I know. Noah won’t tell you, but I know this is where he goes to get real big lake trout.

However, there is discussion about general areas that are known to be productive or good for particular species. Such as Arnold Brower, Sr. mentions getting paikjuk by Alaqtaq -“that’s the farthest one I know,” or gives general area descriptions such as:

The Chipp River is known for aanaakjiq, and also for burbot [tittaaliq] and iqalusaaq [least cisco] and those little humped whitefish - pikuktuuq. There are many in those areas where they seek burbot and grayling. They follow the spawning of aanaakjiq every year. Boy, you catch those with a hook, the pikuktuuq and the tittaaliq. They just follow the spawning run of the aanaakjiq. The Alaqtaq River is good for whitefish. It’s good fishing in summer until July. By last part of July they’re starting to disappear. We know they’re moving someplace. So, all those lakes in there between Alaqtaq and Chipp River are mingled with those fish, with aanaakjiq. And they don’t have to be deep, as long as they are about seven feet deep. Tasiqpatchiaq. When we were reindeer herding, we would go to these areas with a dog team, and then we’d put a net in there. It’s deep, deep water. Right now you can fish in one of those lakes—it’s deep. It must be about twelve to eighteen feet deep, that lake, them lakes right there. So you can fish all winter if you want to. I was more attracted to getting the cisco fish so I had come from Chipp 9 all the way down. I’ve gotten qaaktaq all the way up. Get qaaktaq at the mouth of the Chipp River before I go home, before freeze-up. I use a three inch mesh net. Also get at the mouth of Alaqtaq River, where it enters Pittalugruaq Lake. By Pittalugruaq, that’s where I get my qaaktaq. The entrance to Pittalugruaq Lake from Admiralty Bay used to be good but it is now thirty to forty feet wide which is too wide. [See Figure 41] At the lower end of Dease Inlet [Admiralty Bay] there are smelt and qaaktaq. [See Figure 51] That’s where mostly at break-up the fish will rendezvous. In that area. Because you can get any kind of fish here. During the summer, in July, that water will become much more like without salt.

137 When the sun starts to come up and decline the flow of the river, the salt water starts to come in with the tide. After break-up, it’s more fresh water because all the water is flowing down river.

Warren Matumeak adds, “In October on the Chipp River, you catch qaaktaq going upriver.” Or Noah Itta notes, “Everywhere around Teshekpuk where you put a net out, you’ll get aanaakjiq.” Mollie Itta gets more specific: “There are lots of fish around that Shuqjak area. It’s good. Sometimes we even get dog salmon in our area.” And Sadie and Nate Neakok mention “In that Ikpikpak area. Aanaakjiq. They are abundant in the lakes. Around there most all of the lakes have that big fish. And the small iqalusaaq. They’re abundant, too, in lakes and river around that area.” Mary Lou Leavitt mentions specifically fishing in Nalaakruk Lake and Okalik Lake, because of the good fish they contain (see Figure 98). These lakes are located along the coastline north

Figure 98. Fish habitat discussed by Mary Lou Leavitt and Noah and Mollie Itta. #2 is Nalaakruk Lake that Mary Lou Leavitt indicated has big aanaakjiq and is brackish due to big storms with west winds flooding the lake with salt water. #3 is Okalik Lake that Mary Lou reported contains dwarf iqalusaaq, or what she called “iqalusauraq.” During the high water of breakup, these two lakes join together as one. #9 is an area where Noah Itta indicated that lake trout overwinter and where there are “underground rivers”. #18 is a place where Noah said a large aiyugaq (open crack) develops in the winter ice and where smelt can be found. North Slope Borough Department of Wildlife Management

138 of Teshekpuk Lake near Point Lonely:

There are good fish in the Nalaakruk Lake. Big whitefish - aanaakjiq. Lots of uqsruq [fat] on them. No suvak. When I was a girl we wintered near there at Qalluvik because there are fish in those two lakes [Nalaakruk and Okalik]. Nalaakruk has brackish water because of the creeks. Right now it’s a salty lake. When we used to live around it, it was fresh water. But not now. There are little iqalusaaq in Okalik Lake by Point Lonely. They’re about eight inches long and they have big suvak in them in the wintertime [fall time].

Since Mary Lou Leavitt grew up fishing these lakes, she passed along this knowledge and tradition by taking her own family there. Her son, Oliver Leavitt, now has his own experiences to share:

Those two lakes [Nalaakruk and Okalik] are connected through small creeks. At break-up, when the water’s high, it’s common for them to form one big lake. Just like you see it all through the area. Nalaakruk it has these creeks that come out. And the ocean comes in on them when there are storms. So when you’re cutting holes to put nets under the ice and you splash yourself, you can taste the salt. It’s salty because of the ocean water. It’s so close. The ocean rises and it pushes that water in. And it gets salty. When we get through in the fall, when I’m fishing at my cabin at Akjabaaluk, when the fish stop running and you can’t catch anymore fish, that’s when we move to Nalaakruk Lake. Those fish are like getting an ifutuuq whale. They’re big, big. And when you cut them, you slice them, the fat, the juice, just comes out of them, because they’re so fat. The Aiken family [his mother’s relatives] always talks about those iqalusaaq in Okalik Lake. Oh god, they’re good eating because they’re small iqalusaaq. But they’re just full of eggs in the fall. The Aiken family always talks about those. They absolutely love that. This is where they got them. They are really good eating.

The Aiken and Leavitt families are not the only ones who know about fishing Nalaakruk Lake. Mollie Itta adds what she knows about the location:

Nalaakruk Lake has really good, tender fish. It was different. I think the oil companies used that water and it’s really different now. The water looks different, they say. Our son [Billy] usually goes there for a few days in the fall and gets real good fish. They are different than the river fish. Aanaakjiq.

Martha Aiken adds to this general discussion of fishing areas with her description of fishing in the lakes between the Topagaruk and Chipp Rivers [see Figure 96]:

139

There are several places near the Chipp River, some lakes that have lake trout. It’s between the Tupaabruk [Topagaruk] and Chipp rivers. And there’s Opie’s camp, too. Luther Leavitt’s camp, also. Several houses located around that area. Luther’s camp. His camp is at a big lake where sometimes we go jigging for tittaaliq. ‘Cause there’s lots of those in the shallow river. The shallow part of the lake, where there’s a river coming in there. And as soon as we’re able to cross the rivers we start heading up and go to this place where there are the most wonderful grayling you’ve ever had. We have so much fun. We put up tents in the willows on the edge of the lakes and then early in the morning, they’d quietly go down and after quieting down all night, they’d start jigging in the morning. That’s some life. We always have the most fun. I was always the last to get up, but still got the same amount of grayling. One time while I was jigging for grayling, I got a big aanaakjiq. I jigged it. It was windy and the lake ice wasn’t that thick. Mary Lou and I were jigging and all of a sudden I got a fish. And it was an aanaakjiq. It almost fell back in the hole. This lake where we go jigging for lake trout. We call it Taquliq now because Loyla Itta used to live there for most of the fall time. Her Iñupiaq name was Taquliq. There are a couple of lakes with lots of grayling there. Occasionally, we’d get qaaktaq in our area at Topaabruk. ‘Cause Robert’s nets were five inch mesh and they’d just go through them. If he had smaller netting, he would catch them. But he preferred the five inch netting ‘cause they’re good at getting the fish with the eggs. They’re bigger so they get in those nets. The fish are good and fat.

Silas Negovanna adds to this general discussion of fishing areas by noting a good place for qaaktaq:

There’s supposed to be a good qaaktaq place right in the mouth of the Quyuanaq River. A friend of mine used that before he died and gave us permission to put a little cabin right there. October and November, December is when you get more and more qaaktaq here. Probably in January you get a little bit. I pull out my nets when the ice gets a little deep [thick]. Lot of qaaktaq. That’s a good place for qaaktaq. Up to Iviksuk. It depends on the tide coming in, tide going out. They come up and go back again.

During our discussions, however, we were able to obtain many fishing locales, some of which are commonly agreed upon as popular fishing locations, while others only are used by a specific individual. For example, Tasibruaq Lake is easily accessible from Barrow and is a popular place to set nets under the ice in the fall. It is close enough for someone to go out every evening after work to check their net (see Figure 99).

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Figure 99. Fish flash freezing as they are pulled from the net during fall fishing under the ice. Craig George

Warren Matumeak comments:

I don’t really know why fish are in Tasibruaq Lake, since they’re not breeding in there. That’s just where they have always been. They overwinter there, even though it’s not really deep like other lakes. I guess it’s deep enough. I’ve thought Tasibruaq Lake was overfished, but time will tell.

Lake Sungovoak (Suffubruaq) is another big lake close to Barrow that is well known as a productive fishery (see Figure 100). As Warren Matumeak says: “Catch mostly iqalusaaq in Lake Sungovoak (Suffubruaq) but also are aanaakjiq in there. Eddie Edwardsen said it’s deep on the east side of the island. Maybe on the northeast side.” And Iksrubabvik [Ikroavik] Lake, the lake at the end of the road to the southeast of Barrow (also called Freshwater Lake), has been used as a fishing locale. It is very

Figure 100. General area reference map with place names mentioned by Arnold Brower, Sr. North Slope Borough Department of Wildlife Management

141 convenient since it is so close to town. Arnold Brower, Sr. has fished Iksrubabvik Lake over many years and has made an interesting observation about the iqalusaaq in it:

I know Iksrubabvik got two types of iqalusaaq. A small one and a big one. The big ones I think are the native of Iksrubabvik. You catch the big ones in about four inch, four and a half inch mesh. I’ve used that lake for home fresh food service. Year round.

Other examples of types of well known fishing locations are:

At Qalluvik [near Point Lonely, north of Teshekpuk Lake] they used to have one of the fattest aanaakjiq that I ever tasted. Those fish that go from here, through this river. Everybody likes them. And you can catch them with a four inch [mesh] net. Long aanaakjiq, tasty, and you just couldn’t stop eating them. Then me and my brother-in-law that came from Qalluvik, one time we talked about it, and we stampeded up through here. We were getting some caribou in the fall, and finally drifted in to that, and I had a five inch net and he had a four inch one, and he was going to get all the fish. But the fish had grown, and the five inch was even too small. So the aanaakjiq seem to grow. We didn’t want to take any aanaakjiq but I was getting them in my five inch net. We learned a lot by experiments, you know, by going back to fish. Also, Kayaktusilik is a good site for fishing (Arnold Brower, Sr.).

My father’s house was at Qalluvik. I was born in 1920. There’s aanaakjiq in that lake. It’s a deep lake, about ten feet deep. There was this little river that was running in the last part of June, running to the ocean here. That little river was deep. The aanaakjiqs would go in and out. Aanaakjiq stay in that lake in the winter, once in a while. My father would also catch iqalusaaq. And they had a store around here that would buy them for ten cents a pound. This was when I was seven years old. My father used to put a net in the crack during the winter and the fish would be real fat (Alfred Leavitt).

I used to fish at Pulayaaq [see Figure 72] when I was young. When I worked for the school district. It was close enough that I could put nets in and then easily go back and forth from town by snowmachine to check on them. When it got too cold, then I had to pull the nets up. I was able to roundtrip like this because of the snowmachine. I could not have done this with dogs. You get lots of iqalusaaq (least cisco) at Pulayaaq on the Inaru River. Later on the qaaktaq come up river, but don’t get a whole lot, like they do in Nuiqsut. I fished at Qaviarat [on the Meade River just below Ukpiksuu] when I was a boy. And at Qagaluuraq where my father had an allotment.

142 Iqsieeat also is a place where people fish a lot. It is where Daniel Leavitt fished (Warren Matumeak).

You catch a lot of fish in that Pulayaaq area (Mary Lou Leavitt).

One of the reasons my mother has a cabin at Pulayaaq is she loves that iqalusaaq. She and my father used to spend time up there. When he first retired, they’d go up there and her garage would be so full of fish you couldn’t walk around in it (Oliver Leavitt).

Oh there’s some qaaktaq, too, around where Mary Lou Leavitt’s cabin is at Pulayaaq on the Inaru River. Iqalusaaq, too. Whitlam Adams, Herbert Leavitt. They have cabins there, too. They catch them in the river. They net for them. They don’t jig for them. They have good qaaktaq and good iqalusaaq. Regular iqalusaaq is about the size of qaaktaq. They’re delicious (Martha Aiken).

Commonly known and heavily used harvest locations are usually identified by a name. It is standard human behavior to name important places like this. Naming connotes value. It allows for group knowledge of and appreciation for a place. Other fishing sites which are less well known may still be named, while still others may not be named at all because they are only known to a single fisherman and his family. Arnold Brower frequently mentions Aviullaavik, which was as a highly successful fishing location on the Chipp River before the river changed course around the 1950s by breaking through a series of lakes to the west and drying up the Aviullaavik channel (see Figure 101).

Figure 101. Map noting the location of Aviullaavik, which was an important historic fishing location on the Chipp River. North Slope Borough Department of Wildlife Management

143

It clearly was well known by the whole community and was heavily utilized:

Aviullaavik was a great gathering place for fishermen. Subsistence fishing. People, they’d come from down on the coast here. They’d come from all over and camp right in that area because it was a choice, deep section in the river where an eddy takes place and it's kind of one of the best places, closest ones, known to their homesites, I guess. They gathered there during the fall just before freeze-up for subsistence fishing. And at times there were some homes there where one or two families would stay up during the summer and continue to live all through the winter. 1943 was the last time when I saw this old group of people gathering there. But before that, it's a history. But the historic sites are right there. It’s real old, it goes back I don't know how far (Brower, A. 1982a). Aviullaavik that was a deep area and was a huge quiet zone. Below that there is a qaglu. A deep spot in the bend in the river. That’s when they’d holler to beat the band to get there. They must have called it something good, because people got together every fall for fishing, because the fish wouldn’t stick around after the 26th of September. Everybody’s nets would catch in there. And that area is only known for fall fishing, when the fish are running or spawning. Nobody stays up there in the summer. I know one time my group had about ten nets. And other people would have nets, too, but not that many. But they had maybe four or five; six would be too many for them. I mean, it would be a lot of work, because when the spawning run goes, it hits. The reindeer herders were with me. Eddie Edwardsen was one of them, and Charlie Edwardsen, and Jonas [Leavitt] Sr. There were four of us here, and with most everything, we would get up to about 3,000 to 6,000 fish -- aanaakjiq -- for the winter, for the dogs. Every year. They never let up. I mean, it was continuous in that location. Aviullaavik was a main fishing camp some years, but it eroded away. The river abandoned it; took a different course. So the channel it’s on is only filled with water during spring break-up. It’s for drainage.

Some other less well known, but named, locations are:

Kiffiqtalaq near Norman Leavitt’s camp [below Tasibruaq Lake, edge of Admiralty Bay] means a place with two of them. Two lakes with islands. It’s a small creek in springtime where we used to stay. It’s a narrow creek. There were fish in that little creek. We’d catch them even while we were putting the net out. We’d fish all night and get a whole lot of them. Like seventy. They were iqaluligaruq. Iqaluligauraq River and Iqaluligauram paafa which is the mouth of the river. Aanaakjiq come out of Iqaluligauraq River and are at the mouth. And

144 we’d catch iqalusaaq in nets on the lagoon side of the mouth of Iqaluligauraq River in Admiralty Bay (Warren Matumeak).

There’s a shallow river called Quupaiqjuk [bottom west corner of Teshekpuk]. We catch lots of grayling there in the fall. They’re all about twenty inches. Big black ones (Oliver Leavitt).

And the tittaaliq that we used to get are on that little river. As much as you can get. They call it Quupaiqjuk now. There’s lots of tittaaliqs and aanaakjiq in that river. Not so much as here. But tittaaliq galore! All you can ever pull out. And grayling. Soon after freeze-up. And even after the grayling have gone and the aanaakjiq and the pikuktuuq are gone, the tittaaliq are still there. They’re probably still there even under six feet of ice. You can open it up and put your hook down there and you don’t even need bait. They’re in there (Nate Neakok as translated by Sadie Neakok).

Tavie [Daniel Leavitt] always set big nets around where he’d go to that Uyabalik [where George Ahmaogak built a cabin]. He said there’s deep, deep water there. And they set their nets there. It’s by Uyabalik, someplace up there, this way. By Pifugruk, our little cabin. That’s Tavie’s and them’s old homestead. Long time ago when he was small. That Uyabalik. Deep water out from there. They’d set their net and get lake trout. There’s lot of grayling at Tabli. Where Qilu’s allotment is. That little river is real shallow but has a strong current. It comes from somewhere way up there. There’s lots of grayling. You can’t even put your hook there. They’re going to find it. On the Iksubvik River, there’s lots of grayling. We’ve seen lots of grayling in that little creek at Iksubvik. One time we were boating that way and there were lots of them and Noah shot at the water. He thought he was going to get lots of them. He’d heard of somebody else doing that. But he didn’t get any fish. There’s lots of whitefish around Mabaq. In summertime, we were stuck there when we were traveling by boat and there were lots of whitefish. It was windy and we camped there. Got lots of whitefish. What they call tiipuq in Nuiqsut (Mollie Itta). [Tiipuq is Bering cisco.]

Used to get thirty, thirty-five pound lake trout by Iqalubruat [Edward Itta’s allotment on eastern shore of Teshekpuk Lake]. Lake trout overwinter here on the eastern side of the lake. The thirty-five pounders. My brother used to catch them (Noah Itta).

145 And Quguruktuq Lake [upper Ikpikpuk?], there’s aanaakjiqs in there and trout (Arnold Brower, Sr.).

Then there are fishing locations without formal names that are generalized areas where fish are known to be and harvest is successful, like when Mollie Itta says, “Around Mayuabiaq area, there’s lots of tittaaliq.” Or as Arnold Brower describes:

This Price River empties into Chipp River. And this flows down. You got the most [of the] lakes north of there. They have aanaakjiq, iqalusaaq, and them graylings. Tittaaliqs. And trout. And pikes. It’s always all species of fish in some of those lakes. But again over at these places there’s just practically aanaakjiqs. So them aanaakjiqs know where to go to. They probably know a good place to rear their young ones.

Especially important are those areas relied upon for survival during times of shortage. Noah Itta mentions one survival area:

Aiyaahat is a place that has lots of fish. During famine, this is a place where you go. There is any kind of fish there. Tittaaliq, lake trout, aanaakjiq. All kinds of fish. Go to Aiyaahat in fall time, during famine.

Arnold Brower, Sr. mentions a different one:

A big lake east of Pittalugruaq Lake contains good fish. This is a target area for survival. It’s an area that used to be where people went in an emergency during starvation times long time ago. Whitefish are in that lake. Just iqalusaaq and aanaakjiq. Really fat fish. I think they go into that lake and what they gain and met in there, they can survive. It takes time to do that.

Finally, there are those unnamed sites known only to the fisherman and family that utilize them. For example, a place used by Warren Matumeak: “I put out a net for small least cisco, pikuktuuq and baby aanaakjiq just above my cabin, where I fish for burbot, too.” Or “The lake behind Paul Kignak’s cabin is where he gets those orange ones [arctic char or dolly varden?]” (Matumeak 2007). Often it is hard to follow a discussion of these fishing locations since the places are not named and often only known by a particular person. Identifying these sites requires use of a map and following along as the fisherman jumps from location to location. His presentation often is based on the order of places used, or which you would get to first when traveling, or the seasonality of species harvested. It is important to remember that it can still be possible to obtain traditional knowledge from what may appear to be a confusing discussion. It is a matter of seeing the forest for the trees, instead of letting all the tress block your view. For example, while looking at a map and pointing out a variety of unnamed lakes around the Alaqtaq and lower Chipp Rivers area that he fishes in, Arnold Brower, Sr. tells a larger story about the

146 availability of species in a particular region, needing to know the depth of lakes before setting a net under the ice, the importance of water flow between lakes, streams and rivers for fish movement, and the habits of iqalusaaq, one of the preferred subsistence species:

See that stream right there…and that stream coming through here…this lake contains those trouts called paikjuk in Eskimo, and some lake trouts - iqaluaqpak, aanaakjiq, and small iqalusaaq. Those are the only fish I know that are found there are those paikjuk. There’s some pikes in there, too. Paikjuk. They’re pink—rainbow trout like. Maybe they are rainbow trout. They are there. They don’t get away from there - that is the only place that we found them is there, in that area. Back in that area [see Figure 102]. When

Figure 102. Habitat areas discussed by Arnold Brower, Sr. in the Teshekpuk Lake region. Circled black areas along the western edge of the lake are where he said there are large lake trout. #65 is a lake he said “used to have a lot of fish in it before the Navy broke through it.” North Slope Borough Department of Wildlife Management

the DEW line was there I located that one, but I didn’t tell them there were fish [in that lake] that they were pumping for drinking water. I’ve never seen so many fish in there. The best iqalusaaq I ever got was in this one lake, next to Uvluuruaq. I get the type of fish that goes into these lakes where I know reasonably the depth of these. This one is about four and half feet deep. I’m not guessing at these lakes. I know. I know where to put them so the nets don’t freeze up to the top and get stuck on the ice. I have about two nets in these lakes. I’m searching fish forever, for survival. Sometimes this might not have any fish to support what I need. And

147 some years it would be plenty. This one is continuous, but the fish are small. Just like those cisco fish [qaaktaq], they’re really tasty. These lakes have cisco type iqalusaaq. And this old guy was telling me and forever I believed him when he said if I want some good fat fish, iqalusaaq. He’d walk from Barrow to fish in that area alright. But I never thought it was this one, ‘cause I fish there. I produced some fish here by getting some fish from other lakes and dumping them in there. But I know it was supporting fish. These are breaking through to the river, breaking through all the time. Right here, this is shallow here. And this breaks after I pull out of there. These two lakes are another one. This is a good fishing over here. And aanaakjiqs are here in summer, fall. Aanaakjiqs simply will go out through that there. They come in the summer. But iqalusaaq stays there, even in the winter and they are fat. They are so fat that the fat will get rancid, it turns yellow. They are so strong and good eating, just like cisco fish.

In addition to finding fish, environmental conditions and seasonal timing are also factors in where fishing occurs. Paying attention to the natural stream and lake topography and how the water flows are important elements for finding good fishing locations (Spearman 2005). As Arnold Brower, Sr. explains:

I put my nets in the streams where the fish have to follow the course of the stream that’s there as the only outlet. During high water at spring break-up, on either side of the Chipp River, it looks like all the fish will be released by the high tide and the ice will rise up. That causes the ice to go far up on the surface and the fish have a chance to escape. But if that goes back down, they have to follow the course of the stream that’s there as the outlet.

Oliver Leavitt adds:

Near my cabin on Mayuabiaq River, there’s a slough that’s real shallow. There are a lot of grayling there. They’re at the mouth of creeks like that because it brings out a lot of nutrients. Places like Iksuabvik with small creeks, in June and July you catch a lot of fish out of those because of lakes thawing. They go out of those smaller creeks. You can boat around them a lot in July. Early July they’re full of water and full of fish. Fish are going out of those small creeks to the main river.

Oliver Leavitt adds that environmental conditions are equally important to understand and pay attention to when fishing under the ice in the fall. They can make a big difference in your choice of where to fish and whether you will be successful:

148 We get some big tittaaliq up there, all along the Mayuabiaq River. We don’t fish in one spot. We pick a spot depending on how good of ice that you’re going to have in the area where you’ll be pulling your net out. You’re going to tear up your net if you’ve got little things sticking out on the ice. You’ve got to smooth it like glass. Last fall [2006] it was terrible, and the fall before, there was all kinds of ice because of the slush and the wind blowing. It was rough. So I go to an area where there’s smooth ice, so you don’t have to work a lot on it. ‘Cause there’s fish everywhere. I use a pick or shovel to clean up the ice, smooth it out. Take all those little pieces of ice out. That’s where you tear your net up. You want it smooth. Iqsieeat has a lot of fish that are active in that area, but when I go around the corner it’s nice and smooth because of banks that are thirty feet high. That’s where I go when I can’t put out a net anyplace else. You don’t catch as many fish at Iqsieeat in the fall as on the Mayuabiaq, but the ice is just like glass. Smooth. Because it has a wind breaker from the big mounds there. There’s no wave action. And it freezes there first because there’s not that much flow out of there. That Ikpikpak River kind of dries up from that side.

Travel conditions also are critical in terms of location because one’s fish harvest may be affected if you are not able to get to a particular fishing spot at the right time of year. Arnold Brower, Sr. warns of hazards to be aware of when traveling on rivers late in the fall; this is a popular time of year for people trying to get out to their fish camps or favorite fishing holes:

When ice starts to form at the head waters, anyone would be foolish to go upstream with an outboard and expect to come back down on the Chipp River. When you buck the ice and river current you’re doing ok, but when you’re coming down and it’s jammed, your trail is making more ice - it’s breaking up around you - and you’re making it worse. If you’re stuck, the ice will pile up around you. From behind and from forward you’re blocked off. This is in the fall. It’s impossible to travel with a boat. You can travel with dog team and maybe with a skidoo, but to travel through ice and water with a boat is impossible even with a high outboard. It gets blocked. Ice forms under you and is raises up. You climb up on top of the pile of ice with your boat. That’s how thick it gets. That’s a noted symptom of our travel.

The fishing seasons in the Arctic are short, so it is to one’s benefit to be quick and efficient in carrying out subsistence fishing activities. Subsistence fishing is about successful harvest. It is not like recreational fishing where looking for fish is part of the game or like fly fishing where the art of casting is as important as what you catch. Equal to knowing where fish are is knowing where fish are not. This reduces time wasted fishing in places where you already know nothing will be caught. This is different from the experiments to test whether a lake or stream has fish. Testing locations become part of the greater knowledge bank for the future about where are possible places to return to or to avoid (Spearman 2005). For example, Mollie Itta tells about one

149 place where they have learned not to fish again, believing that the warm temperatures in the area affect the fish in the water: “At Yuayaq [on the southern shore of Teshekpuk Lake] we set a net there, but didn’t get any fish. It gets really warm there.” Arnold Brower, Sr. mentions another spot, “Somehow I never hear them fishing in this big lake [may be near Tasibruaq Lake?]. Maybe it’s because them trouts just chew them other fish up, eat them up.” In the mid-1980s, the Chipp-Ikpikpuk and Upper Meade River Oral History Project focused a lot of attention on naming and mapping Iñupiaq places on the river systems (see Figure 103) surrounding Barrow and Atqasuk (Arundale and Schneider 1987). (See http://jukebox.uaf.edu/northslope/Chipp/html2/fullmap.htm to view place name map with audio of Iñupiaq pronunciation.)

Figure 103. Maps of the Meade and Inaru rivers (top) and Chipp-Ikpikpuk region (bottom) with Iñupiaq place names. Chipp-Ikpikpuk Project Jukebox, http://jukebox.uaf.edu

150 Elders Walter and Greta Akpik, Charlie Edwardsen, Arnold and Emily Brower, Ernest Kignak, and Nina Nayukok identified places they remembered as children as well as those still being used when the project was conducted. These sites included (see Figure 104):

Qagluunaq, a fishing spot. This place where one fishes had the name of Qagluuraq, because it has qaglut there. And there is ling-cod at Saafiaq. Qagluuraq also is a spot where people fish for burbot (Akpik, W & G 1982).

People know about this place Qikiqtaqturuq and use it for hooking fish. Nungasak’s family uses nets here. Fish with a net. In the fall time. Under the ice. When I was living here I caught tittaaliq in winter with hooks. When we started being able to go to places by flying, we would come here in the fall time to fish. My wife, Greta, knew there were fish here. We’d land on the river, on the sandbar. We would store the fish we caught by putting them in an ice cache. In the winter, we would take them down to Barrow and barter them. And I used them down there for my family. Sometimes give them to other people (Akpik 1983b).

Qikiqtaqturuq. It's just a name. I don't know, it's not really got an island up there, just a creek going to that... But our old house up there. I like to fish up there in that creek. Lots of graylings.

Kafibaqsraq. Long time people usually stay up there, maybe it's good for fishing in wintertime too. Deep water in the wintertime. Underwater, there are always fish.

Imnaibuabruk. Maybe that place was good for fishing, net, in the wintertime. Kind of straight...maybe. Deep river in there. Everybody fish underwater, under ice in wintertime. Good place to stay in the wintertime (Akpik, W & G 1982).

Puiguqsimagikput. That's just a name of the river. Lot of fishing. Last fall we just go up there and fish for tittaaliq with hook. Lots of tittaaliq up there (Akpik, W & G 1982).

Itqiuraq. Some of the resources in the area are ling cod. And maybe I don’t know of the netting places to set nets because we never tried that in the summer because we stayed here most of the time in the winter and we’d look for ling cod in the winter. There’s grayling also. But this is an excellent spot for fox. You can go trap in all directions. There’s also coal (Akpik 1983c).

151

Figure 104. Major drainages between Barrow and the Ikpikpuk River with historic sites identified on the Meade River. Quliaqtuat Ieupiat Nunafieeie - The Report of the Chipp-Ikpikpuk River and Upper Meade River Oral History Project. Wendy Arundale and William Schneider. Barrow, Alaska: North Slope Borough Commission on History, Language and Culture, 1987

Anaulibiaq is where people used to go up to fish for aanaakjiq, whitefish, when they’re traveling down the rivers in August. Right in through these lakes. Right along in here. They used to fish up there. And on certain days when it’s real quiet, when the sun is starting to set, you can even hear the fish make

152 noise. Splash as they’re traveling down. When they’re really moving down the creek. They could hear the fish splashing at nighttime, even from inside the tent. People in those days used to move around. People ask if they stayed there all year long, if they camped, and that they used this place to gather food as was the nature of people back then. To be moving around from place to place. But they liked to be along that Usuktuk River. People always come to that Usuktuk River (Akpik 1983d).

People would bring fish back to Barrow to share/barter. When I was a boy my family one year was living alone at Tibiluk and had a visit from old man, Sigvaluk. Sigvaluk talked about fish at Anaulibiaq and how there are so many fish up there. Other people said the same thing about the fish. Alfred Leavitt has talked about coming up to Anaulibiaq to come up and get fish and must’ve been a lot of fish up there (Akpik 1983e).

Kafibaksraq has continued to be an important place as a fishing place. Recently, the Oleuman family had been camped there, too. And Bailey Aishanna and his family go up there in the fall time to fish. People always go there because it is a good fishing place. And other people from Barrow go there also to hunt and fish. It’s really a place that’s used a lot. And I go up there to fish, too. Kiiriq had wintered there. Netted and trapped and hunted around in that area. Since I can remember we always used that place in the fall time and winter (Akpik 1983f).

Itqilliq is where I have an allotment. I learned about this fishing spot from my grandfather. They [Walter and family when moving to allotment] got up here at fall time when freeze-up came and began fishing and hunting and got lots of caribou and fish to last all winter in Barrow. They returned in the following summer, first part of August and they really fished a lot. They caught a lot of fish here. They netted fish down at the mouth as well as on the creek itself. And other people began coming here to fish. And you can see their drying place down there. They moved their camp further up when Greta started getting arthritis so it would be easier for her to get down to the mouth. He always tells his family this is a good place to hunt and fish and when he’s gone they should make their living here to hunt and fish here. They’ve explored this creek and know it goes up to a big lake. It’s not only them that stayed here. Nasagnik and his wife stayed here, too (Akpik 1983f).

Saafiaq is one of the spots that Waldo Bodfish has found to have a great abundance of burbot and trapping. All the way from Wainwright. There are burbot, grayling, whitefish and what do you call them… Five different fish. This particular spot is utilized year round. Burbot fishing in the fall. In the

153 summer it’s whitefish, grayling. Hunting in the wintertime. We have found old traps in this very spot. He dated they were back in the early ‘20s, 1910. He recognized the copper stand (Akpik 1983g).

Afutibruaq is another fishing spot. Fishing is great there at Imñaibaubruk. In the fall time is when we catch burbot in Qagluuraq, and two miles up the river is where we set our nets. And then further up river we’ve got Panikpatchiaq, another fishing spot. And towards Atqasuk, still further up, we have Namniq. My father had named after the person that went there to occupy more or less related to fishing. And his [Walter’s] father called it Namniq. Tikibluk is the original Meade River site. My grandfather used to go up and down catching fish and game surrounding the area. Namniq is a place they went to go fishing, not stayed at all the time (Akpik 1983h).

Aki was named in general for the topography of the river. It was where there’s a loop within the river. [Fish there.] People in them days probably had their own fishing spots. Each family had their favorite spot to fish, trap or hunt caribou. So he cannot really tell a history behind of why people have utilized. Suqluk is one that would use the area seasonally. Fishing. Periodically would go there to hunt caribou, nibliq - geese. The family would stop over for seasonal activities. Caught aanaakjiq at Aki. People would go for fish there all times. Summertime (Akpik 1983a).

This is Qaglugiksauraq. It's a real deep portion. They call it real deep portion of the river in Chipp River where there's deep, I don't know what you call it, eddy type? Real deep portion of the river on a bend where it digs in there and becomes real deep [qaglu]. But people do not still fish there. It is a very good fishing area but it's a distance. And because of the seismic down here, they destroyed so much of the fish here, we go retrieving back to the better area for fishing, each year. We haven't gone that far, but I know by my experience where to go. If I don't catch it down there, and my supplies for the winter are too low, I would have to go someplace else to get it. Before, but during the course of the runnings there and you realize you don't get it, sometimes you missed out. And it's just bad luck, tough luck, that's all. You missed out, you missed out. So this is one of them (Brower, A. 1982a).

The best place to go fishing in this area is Atqasupiaq down there. And Tikibluk. The best part where you can go fishing is where there’s a little flowing river coming toward the main river (Nayukok 1983b).

154 In June, we would go to the east and stay for the summer and go back to Barrow in the fall. Went to Imagruaq. Big lake close to the ocean. Used to have a lot of fish in that lake but it’s dried up (Nayukok 1982).

In his discussion of fishing places for the Chipp-Ikpikpuk project, Walter Akpik also comments on changes he has observed in the landscape. Changes that he foresees having an impact on the food supply:

I know one family that stayed up at this place [Isigaurraabvik and the Usuktuk River] all winter. A man by the name of Uvyuaq. He’d go up to Itqiuraq and get coal. Living off of whatever was there. There were lots of ling cod there. Might still be some there now under the ice. I noticed that in this place it used to be pretty deep long time ago. And that the water level has really gone down. There are a lot of shallow places. I notice how the land is changing. And I sometimes think how the water level going down may have something to do with what I used to hear and what people used to say that our food supply will diminish because the land is not like it used to be while the land was young. There was a lot of fish. The water was [cold]. A lot of lakes I notice are getting lower. A lot of places where there’s sand right now (Akpik 1983d).

In 1988, a number of people mentioned how the water level in lakes and rivers has been dropping and how that affects fishing:

There is less water on the Tupaabruk River in the summertime. It’s getting shallower. When I was traveling with dogteam on Tupaabruk River, one time, spring time, we got lot of aanaakjiq on them. That was years ago (Jonathan Aiken).

There’s less water now. Every place, even Tasiqpak, has got less water. That’s very interesting. That’s something I wanted to find out. They’re way shallower. If I can say, maybe, three or four feet shallower now. My dad used to come from Qalluvik to here in the summer and dry their fish and get their caribou. We used to get there with a whale boat. Draw about almost two feet of water. We used to put that inside the river, little river, creek. Now with that flat-bottomed boat, your water is way out there. Before you get to the beach, you ground down there. That’s a lot of difference (Daniel Leavitt).

The lakes are shallower than what I used to know. They’re draining out. Or some of them are just flats now. No water in them. The outlets into the rivers have opened (Nate Neakok as translated by Sadie Neakok).

155 The Meade River kind of really dried up. It’s changing. The water is really low. It used to be a little bit higher (Whitlam Adams).

There’s a difference right now in this river [Meade River]. When I was growing up with my parents, there were thousands of fish here, but now there’s fish but not as plentiful as when I was growing up. When I was growing up we used to check the net three times a day and it used to be full, but now they don’t get as full. I’m talking about aanaakjiq. When I was growing up this river used to be high tide constantly, but it’s draining down. It’s getting shallower. That’s why I think there aren’t as many fish. Since the river is getting shallower here the fish don’t come out from the lakes no more. ‘Cause there’s no more river drainage, or overflow from the river in to fill these creeks. That’s why I think there’s not as much fish as there used to be. Take this lake for example. When I was growing up, this lake used to be full to the rim. But now, it’s getting shallower and shallower, and where there used to be a river or a lake, it’s dried up so hard that the big airplanes can land on there like an airstrip now. Where the lake used to be. It’s so hard there’s a sand bar there now and vegetation growing where there used to be water. Only water there is, is on the deep portion (Walter Akpik as translated by Charlie Brower).

Imabruaq Lake is completely dry from what I hear. It’s a dry lake. I guess it happened naturally. It drained out or something happened here. This used to have fish, but I don’t know what happened. That’s what my old man told me. Even his brothers used to say that lake was filled with fish. But now it was completely dry (William Leavitt).

Charlie Edwardsen also mentions changes in particular fishing locations that he saw having long-term impacts:

Kulguraq. It means little river, Kulguraq. It's a shallow place and that's a little creek or something like that. And ah, there was a lake there, you could get all the fish you wanted. By just using a tent pole or shoving your net quite a ways out, a little ways out, you'd get a lot of fish. But, all them, all them places are gone now. I mean, see, it's when the seismic started, lost the darn lakes and the Navy deceived me. That's what happened. Blasting killed all the fish in them (Edwardsen 1982).

And finally Arnold Brower also mentioned an important fishing location that he had seen changed:

156 Imabruaq Lake was in full subsistence value. It was good fishing. But the Navy somehow started to, I don't know how, probably 'cause they were trying to cross with their tracks and started off and finally broke through, emptied itself out into the ocean. It's no more there. It's just a big flat, mud flat (Brower, A. 1982b).

Although not directly in the Barrow and Chipp-Ikpikpuk area, Walter Akpik’s discussion in the Chipp-Ikpikpuk project about Tigvabiaq offers insight into winter fishing at open water spots and identification of different types of fish (Afmabuurat and the Afayuqaksraurat):

I matured there at Tigvabiaq. We stayed there for three years and my grandparents led us to look for a living, traveling by boat up the Savviubvik River. We traveled quite a distance up the river to a place where it didn't freeze up, to Siiqsinniq. We traveled to a place where the sun shone lots and settled us there. The place was warmed by the sun and had lots of fish in the middle of winter. It was possible to get fish here because it didn't freeze up. Even when the surface would freeze it would melt when the weather got warmer and we would then seine for grayling. One would be able to seine in that one place, but the rest of the river would be frozen. It was completely frozen, solid ice on top. But although there was no water to be seen, the river would continue to flow underneath the ice. Although the [qabluuraq] was not very big, we seined for fish there since the fish stayed there all the time in the winter. There were also other fish that Utuan identified for us, the Afmabuurat, which were smaller than the grayling and were white and the Afayuqaksraurat which had reddish bellies and were not very big either. These were the kind of fish that were there along with the grayling which were not very big either. This was the place they called Siiqsinniq on the Savviubvik River. We wintered there until my grandfather was able to purchase a boat. He trapped enough foxes until he was able to buy a boat (Akpik, W. 1982).

Good and Bad Years When local fishermen are asked if they have noticed a change in the fish populations in their lifetime, they generally say no. Or asked when they remember it being a good year versus a bad year, they often cannot pinpoint events to that level of specificity. However, if asked whether this year’s fishing was better or worse than the previous year, you usually get an opinion. Memory is a funny thing. It may be easier to remember specific events that were unusual - either better or worse than normal - than to put one’s experiences into a larger context and a broader time framework. Although there is generalized knowledge of the cycles that fish populations go through which may mean some years provide a lot of fish, while other years do not (Brower, H. 1988), and that there is variation within that cycle due to environmental and human conditions.

157 Arnold Brower Sr. did provide generalized observation about how changes in the river - water level, flow rate, channel location - influence whether it will be a good year or a bad year:

The difference in the number of fish running from year to year, I’d consider that only to be on the condition of the river. The fish hardly change. Last fall [2003?], I just quit fishing even though I was getting hundreds of fish. It was smelts. Aanaakjiqs. Because there’s no use getting that type of fish. They’re poor. I try to let them go somewhere and get fat. But I got in my suvak and stuff… I would pull out my net and get the other type that go into these lakes where I know reasonably the depth of the lake. This one is about four and half feet depth. I’m not guessing at these lakes. I know. I know where to put my nets so they don’t freeze up to the top and get stuck on the ice. But going down, on spawning, this Ikpikpagrauvik, Ikpikpak River on the east side is dried up. They can’t use it. At times when it’s high, it runs through there, and this old Leavitt guy at Iqsieeat -- Daniel’s dad, I remember he would wait for that moment and if it didn’t happen they would say we had a bad year. If it was high water, even for a short time, he was a happy man. Because he got some fish. It never happens all the time. It happens once in a great while. To fill that section again.

Alfred Leavitt mentioned seeing a large fish die-off that he felt was caused by winter ice conditions:

In about 1944, before the seismic people came, I’ve seen where the ice got very thick and the fish had no more ways to travel through it and they got frozen. A lot of them died. They got trapped. There were a lot of sulukpaugaq in Kugaruk and they got all frozen and when it broke up all the fish were dead.

Baxter Adams mentioned another fish die-off related to ice thickness:

Even this lake used to have fishing, too. Iqalusaaq. But one time it was frozen all the way down to the bottom. It’s no more right now. One winter those lakes got frozen all the way to the bottom, and in the springtime when it melted there were fish floating up on the beach.

Another reason given for bad years of fishing is negative effects from human behavior. One example that was mentioned time and time again in both the 1988 and 2007 interviews, is a mass die-off of fish in the Meade and Inaru Rivers area from dynamite used in seismic surveys in the early days of oil exploration. Martha Aiken provides her perspective on this story:

One time when we first started going up inland we heard stories about all the dead fishes when they started that exploration. Walter Akpik, Sr. guided a group to dynamite in the rivers. And they lost a lot of fishes then. And slowly

158 they’re coming back. But from then on, there weren’t as many fishes in those big deep qaglu as there used to be. But they’re coming back slowly. I wonder why they did it. It was Qaababvik River [Topagaruk River].

Sadie Neakok describes her experience seeing the dead fish that she believed resulted from the seismic work:

Sometimes we go up to Suffubruaq [Sungovoak] Lake before the ice gets off of it. One year, we couldn’t get any fish like we used to. We had our boat, so we decided we’d go down a small river that goes up by Iviksuk. We went up that river so we could get some fish. A long way along both sides of the river it was filled with this white stuff. We got curious to see what it was. It was dead fish. Dead fish all over the sides. Aanaakjiq. You name it -- all kinds. Washed up on both sides of the river. This was when they were doing all that seismic work. The seismic crews denied it when we approached them. That was on the Inaru River. Even they denied we saw it. And we saw that. Well, the second year too we saw it. And most anyone that had been in through that area would tell you the same thing. Whatever caused it? When we approached the people, they said an ice jam may have caused it, but we’ve seen ice jams to where we’ve never seen that many dead fish in all our lives. ‘Til that year, we saw all that. It happened in those areas where they denied doing seismic work. We even saw where they drilled and marked where they had let some dynamite off on the ice. Even though we saw this whole thing with our own eyes, they denied doing it within the lakes and in the rivers. But we know different, because we saw the marks. The powder marks. But since then, no one has ever bothered to go out there anymore. After we had seen all that fish on the sides of the river, in that fall. After freeze-up, after summer. When all those dead fish were there during the summer months, in the spring. The next fall we had gone to Iviksuk. We used to come in and try and fish for grayling in this one first. And aanaakjiq. We didn’t catch any that fall. For one whole week we never had any fish run for the kind of fish for the time of year. No fish at all. Even other people who had gone with the thought of catching like they used to, they had to look for other places to go. We weren’t the only ones. We had to go further in. We went to Tupaabruk and started fishing there because we couldn’t get any aanaakjiq that fall in these rivers here. There was no seismic work over in that area.

In comparison, Mollie Itta notes that she and her family have not noticed any negative effects of oil industry activities near where they fish on the Mayuabiaq River and in Teshekpuk Lake:

159 When the oil companies did testing, the fish were the same. We were afraid they won’t be like before, but I think in some summers they’re kind of low. And in some years they’re plentiful. That’s how they are, all these years. There’s plenty of fish in June, July when we go up there. This summer [2006] it was good.

Arnold Brower, Sr. also believes that changes in the timing of freeze-up due to warming temperatures is effecting people’s fishing success and opinions on whether it’s a good or bad year. If someone cannot get to their fall fishing location in time to catch the run of spawning aanaakjiq, then they might have lower harvest numbers for that year. Therefore, it could be a bad year personally, while overall the fishing might be considered good because of a large population:

The change in the timing of freeze-up has changed the manner of travel and the unusual come-back of warm weather this year [2003/2004] made fishing way late into October. In October, we used to have corralling of reindeer and we’d build ice corrals. The fishing was open and people knew what time to travel. From Cape Simpson they traveled just right after freeze-up when they could drive dog teams. Go through our camp and head up to Chipp River. They know the spawning of the aanaakjiq will be there, just for a short time, and they try to get there. Nowadays, I wait up there for the fish spawning because I have a house there. Other people sometimes they can get there, sometimes they can not. Today, they are lucky the oil industry is providing free travel. [Local air carriers no longer do drop-off flights because of not wanting to land on gravel or tundra strips.] And North Slope Borough sometimes picks up somebody and drops them off. There is forever rush, rush. It doesn’t affect me. I go there with my boat, and supply myself for the whole season. I got storage, an ice cellar, where I can provide all of my summer needs. They don’t spoil in that ice storage. Often I snowmachine home after freeze-up or there’s an airstrip where they can land by my cabin.

Good and bad years for fish also relate to other subsistence resources since they are all parts of an interconnected system (Braund et al. 1993). The typical reliability of fish overall, despite yearly fluctuations due to environmental conditions, such as high water, has made fish an important resource that can always be turned to when other resources are not available. However, as Walter Akpik explains (translated by Joe Akpik), being able to turn to fish in times of trouble is not just a matter of it being a good year for fish, but of knowing where the fish are. Knowing where the good fishing spots were located saved people from starvation:

One particular season the people who lived here were short of meat, no caribou. This individual set a fish net at what we now call Imabruaq Lake and

160 another lake further west of Imabruaq. And he found fish. So that one winter the people lived off the fish from Imabruaq Lake when there was no meat. This one individual’s name is Kuutchiuraq, who is Clayborn Tunik’s folks. He’s the one individual who had the knowledge of where the fish were, where the caribou grazed and so on. The lake southwest of Imabruaq doesn’t have a name (Akpik 1983a).

IX) Cultural Aspects of Fishing The above discussion has covered Iñupiat knowledge of fish as it relates to fish biology, habits and the act of fishing, but there are many features of fish and fishing that are culturally based. For instance, who goes fishing, ownership of fishing sites, the importance of fish in the Iñupiaq diet, distinct practices for the preparation and storage of fish, and taboos and stories related to fish. Because fish and fishing are more subtle aspects of Iñupiaq life and are not discussed as often in the public realm as say whaling is, they have gone relatively unrecognized. But fishing has been a key part of the seasonal life cycle of the Iñupiat people for a long time (Murdoch 1884; Sonnenfeld 1956; Spencer 1959; Schneider et al. 1980; Arundale and Schneider 1987; Jenness S. 1991; Burch 1998). Nina Nayukok explains what it was like in the 1920s and 1930s when she was a young girl:

It was so good, and then they would catch lots of fish in the fall, real good fish, with lots of eggs. It was up there on the land, on the river. They’d get the fish by hooking them, and also netting them. Then they’d build an ice shelter and leave the fish inside. And then they would haul all that fish just before summer, before they thawed out. Before the fish has a chance to melt. I was raised in Utqiabvik. But my mother used to be from Pt. Hope. We lived in Barrow and had an ice cellar where they brought the fish (Nayukok 1982).

Often, one only hears about fish if you ask someone directly. Although the level of fishing and how intertwined it is in all aspects of life becomes obvious when you live among the Iñupiat. You hear the enjoyment - “Boy, we really enjoy fishing. It’s more fun to jig than anything else. When I was depressed because my eyes were starting to get bad, I sat and fished out of two holes. That was fun. Sure got me out of my depression” (Martha Aiken). You see how much fish is eaten in people’s homes and at community potlucks. You notice how popular family fishing trips are in the fall - many people take time off work and take their children out of school to participate. And you see the passing on of cultural knowledge through the sharing of stories. Martha Aiken is one elder who uses stories to communicate her experiences with and knowledge of fish, instead of just providing direct descriptions of specific fish information. Fishing is one of her favorite activities, full of fun and laughter, so these feelings from the original experience she is talking about, come out in the re-telling as well. For example:

161 One time while we were in Taquliq, I was sewing. Sometimes I sew at night to make something or repair anything. At this time, I was sewing something, and Robert came in and said, “Ah, I got five tittaaliqs.” I didn’t say nothing. I just put away my sewing. And then put my parka on, and went to the place where he was jigging and jigged six tittaliqs and went home. Just to beat him. Just to bug him. I laughed at him, “I got six!” But one time there was another guy with us when we went jigging for those iqaluaqpak - Thomas Panningona came along. And it was near Luther Leavitt’s camping area where there were some iqaluaqpaks. We jigged all day because we went up with a skidoo and we drove them away. Finally at night we decided to have tea, and put up a tent. It was getting dark so they put the gasoline lamp on and dug a hole in the middle of the tent. I started putting my niksik down. All of a sudden I got a fish. The stove was on, they were making coffee, I jigged. There was a shovel somewhere around there and every one of us scrambled for it. One of them put the shovel on the hole and Thomas kicked the coffee over. We sure had fun. The fish were attracted by the light. So, we put up a tent and had the most fun. We made how many coffees and spilled them. Whenever they would catch a fish, they’d scramble for the fish and in the process spill the coffee. We always had fun.

This type of sharing and storytelling is one way that fish knowledge is passed on between the generations. As Arnold Brower, Sr. shows:

Arnold Elavgak’s dad is a well known inland person, knowing fish and how to get them. And he talked about a lot of these things and they’d sit there because he knew that all the fish goes there in the fall. And with suvak means they have to be spawning. There’s a spawning area that I acted on the one year to find out after he’s gone. Because I wanted to go and you know get fish. I got two ways to find out sometimes when I go there. And he says if you want aanaakjiq, go there. If you want sulukpaugaq with a hook go there. He says you just don’t move. You can throw them like that with a hook. But that’s an outlet -- if there’s an inlet to that lake and an outlet and the sandbar on the north side where you can [land] the river, right in the sandbar. And it’s deep water in that lake.

Or as Charlie Edwardsen tells:

There was an old man who told us where to go hunting, look for fish and he told us and we don't know where they were and he described them. How the lake looks. There's a bank here, and when we go down to around Half Moon Three we'd start to look for a place. We'd take a net and set a net. See if there's fish in them and finally we found them. Found the place where he was telling us. He said when they didn't get a whale in the fall time, long time ago,

162 that's where they always go up. The people from the point, Nuvufmiut, they go up there. And they'd get fish from that lake and also they'd get smelt from the lagoon, from the inlet. Smelt, that's what they told us. There's smelt there. But we never look for them (Edwardsen 1982).

In addition to knowledge learned through stories from elders, knowledge of fish and fishing locations is learned from personal experience. Applying what you’ve heard in stories when you are traveling. Paying close attention to the land and environmental conditions that are critical to understand in order to survive a life based upon harvesting wild resources. Arnold Brower, Sr. explains his own journey toward understanding fish:

You have to look for the fish in order to survive. I sometimes know exactly where they are because I’ve experienced it. As a boy I was out at our family’s reindeer herd at Alaqtaq. I learned for survival by fishing and for dog feed and our supply of food. We learned a lot by experiments, you know, by going back to fish.

Charlie Edwardsen adds:

In the early days, when they were looking for a fishing place, they'd just try out a lake; see if there's fish in it. That's how we found a lot of lakes like that. We'd just try them out. Just to see if there's fish in them. And after we try out we'd pull our nets up and we'd know if there's fish there (Edwardsen 1982).

This same method of exploring and testing continues today among the younger generation, as mentioned by sixty-four year old Oliver Leavitt: “I used to explore the area and lakes by practically dragging my boat or pulling my snowmachine. I explored all over, so I really got to know it.” Vilhjalmur Stefansson’s experience while living with the Inupiat in the early 1900s verifies this strength of local fishing knowledge:

I had dealt only with Eskimo near at home, and my experience with them was that they knew exactly where to put nets, and knew also what places were hopeless as fishing localities (Stefansson 1951:62).

However, he counters with a strong negative statement about traveling with Eskimo to a new territory and their unwillingness to test the area - “they never expect to find anything in any place where no one has found it before” (ibid.). It is hard to know whether this is accurate or whether personal and western cultural biases of Stefansson colored his interpretation of what he witnessed and how he reported things. The cultural importance of an item can be related to whether it is named, how much emphasis is placed upon understanding it within a larger context, and how it is used. In the case of fish, the main species are identified and named, fish are heavily utilized especially within

163 certain families, and expert fisherman have spent years understanding the fish in order to be more successful at harvesting them. But as Oliver Leavitt explains, “They had all these types of fish, so they didn’t bother with what they didn’t know. If you don’t know it, don’t eat it. Give it to the dogs.” The Iñupiat have strongly held beliefs related to humility and reciprocity when it comes to hunting and fishing. Punishment is doled out for wrong actions, and proper behavior is rewarded. For example, many believe that a hunter should not brag about his prowess and make statements about assumed success when he departs for a hunt. This is a sure road to failure. Instead, a hunter should say, “I’m going out to have a look around.” Or in whaling, there was a traditional belief that if the wife or family of a captain gossips or spoke badly of someone, a whale would not give itself to that crew (Brewster 2004). Martha Aiken tells a story of this type of reciprocity and reward related to fishing:

One time Sadie Neakok wanted to go home and she asked Robert to come help her load the plane. So he did. She was going home early while the fish - grayling - were just starting. He helped her, and she told him, “I don’t have anything to give you, but you’ll get a blessing.” As soon as she left, we went there early in the morning, boy we sure had lots of grayling. Just right on the edge of the river, not where they usually are on the back side. We would go home at the end of the day just satisfied and hungry. Normally, our fishing was on the edge of the other side of the river. There was a deep ditch that was the Neakok’s favorite. We didn’t know about it. Robert found out that it was a deep ditch. Qaglu. Or somehow that the ice when it’s rushing down, opened up making a big gash in it.

Who Goes Fishing Some written documentation of earlier periods of Iñupiat fishing indicates that fishing was mostly a woman’s activity (Sonnenfeld 1956; Wilimovsky 1956; Spencer 1959) (see Figure 105). For example:

Much of the fishing done during the summer is relegated to women, a woman, with her children, leaving her husband at home in the community while she engages in this activity. …By August and early September, the husband may go for his family and the fish they have taken” (Spencer 1959:367).

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Figure 105. Ruth Nukapigak of Nuiqsut with her harvest of whitefish caught in a net under the ice during fall fishing. Bill Hess

Or put a slightly different way:

In most cases, fishing is practiced as a supplementary activity mainly by the older folk, women and children. During the interim between major hunting periods men also may do some fishing, especially while enroute to the trading centers in summer” (Sonnenfeld 1956:145).

Sonnenfeld goes on to say:

Fishing is the only subsistence activity in which women play a major role, though even this is limited to the use of hook and line. It is usually the men who operate the nets (ibid.:152).

In contrast, Jenness’ 1914 observations demonstrate that both men and women went fishing. Although, there was separation of tasks. Men and women both jigged for fish, but only the men speared fish that they pursued while wading in lakes (Jenness S. 1991: 479, 484). The gender separation described in the 1950s no longer exists. Today, both men and women participate in all types of fishing, whether setting a net, jigging a line, or using a rod and reel. According to Martha Aiken, “Fishing is always a family activity.” While this is mostly true, there are also some solo fishermen, like elder Arnold Brower, Sr. who despite being in his late 80s, spends a lot of time alone at his fish camp and traveling the land. When his wife was still alive and his children were younger, they too made fishing more a family affair. Part of the family element is that fishing is an easy activity for any age group and it’s fun - “Everybody has a good time fishing. Me and my daughter and all the fish” (Matumeak 2007). The other benefit

165 of families fishing together is the opportunity to share the workload and to teach children. Warren Matumeak explained that he learned about fish locations when he was a boy and went hunting and traveling with his father and uncles. Martha Aiken adds, “We taught our grandchildren fishing. Our grandson was about eight when we first took him along. We used to take him out every fall.”

Division of Labor In contrast to a 1950s statement by a non-Iñupiat visitor that “fishing was, and is, not a highly regarded art, so many of its labors fell to women” (Wilimovsky 1956:4), the Iñupiat consider fishing an important part of their subsistence lifestyle and one that is more family-based than some other subsistence pursuits. Despite the group nature of fishing, there often remains a division of labor, both between genders and among age groups. Men make the nets. Women prepare the fish for drying or cooking. Elders sit at holes wiggling their jigging sticks. As Diamond Jenness states: “this was one food-gathering activity in which even an old woman could be as successful as a man in his prime” (Jenness, D. 1957:199). In earlier times, more men may have worked the fish nets and brought home the harvest (Stefansson 1914, 1951; Sonnenfeld 1956; Spencer 1959; Jenness S. 1991), but nowadays men and women share these duties. However, Martha Aiken explains the division of labor when she was growing up:

We went fishing, our family, but we were never involved in the hunting. We were involved with fishing to help feed the dogs from the fish nets. But didn’t do the actual jigging. I remember my parents doing it. I was too young then when we came back to Barrow and my four brothers started being sickly. We went up inland. My mother and father were living in Tupaabruk, too, where my grandfather used to raise his adopted children. His nephews and nieces really. He was always hunting. But mostly the women was usually busy with making clothes for the family ‘cause they have to be warm. And their boots have to be waterproof in order to survive. Every piece of fur was never thrown away by our parents. It was preserved for something. Whenever their husbands are out hunting or trapping, the women are the ones that take care of the home. Besides cooking. Besides raising children. The women were always busy. Never ending survival or they’d freeze to death if they didn’t. The men made the nets. Robert’s grandfather, Anabi, taught them how to. He started off the net and when they weren’t too busy Robert and his brother Wesley would work on it. I learned about fishing from my husband, Robert. I didn’t learn it growing up. My mother [Bernice] died early, but my stepmother [Rhoda Nageak] taught me how to live. Growing up my family was trying to survive without what we have right now. They barely made it all through the year. They lived only on subsistence. They were the ones that didn’t waste time teaching their children to do it, they did it themselves. They netted, they hunted, all through the year. Especially traded fox skins for a few items, like shells for a gun. But the others sometimes were taught, like my husband, they were taught how to make nets,

166 too. His grandfather taught him how to make a fish net and also to take care of the dogs. Everybody was involved in the lifestyle of each family. But the girls learned how to sew, but they weren’t hunters. Except Mary Lou Leavitt who was the oldest and she tagged along with her father and whoever was hunting.

Mattie Tunik had a similar experience to Mary Lou Leavitt, who despite being girls, were allowed to help with fishing and hunting because they were the oldest: “I lived at Akiqpak with my family when I was growing up. Fished there. Helped with the net because I was the oldest of the whole family” (Nayukok 1983b).

“Ownership” of Fishing Areas Historically, Iñupiaq culture has been communal based upon an ideology of sharing; sharing of knowledge and of resources. Therefore, fishing locations are not owned in the western sense of ownership, just like you do not own the land where you happen to put up a temporary tent. But there are places that certain families use over and over again and this history of use provides access rights equivalent to ownership (Schneider et al. 1980). People respect areas that “belong to other people.” Iñupiat know who fishes and hunts where and are careful not to intrude on these informally designated areas. And as Mary Lou Leavitt explains, when she was a girl they did live at places that were good for fishing:

When I was growing up, we made camps, cabins, sod houses, right next to our fishing spot. Like where there’s a creek that comes out of it. Because we could just walk out and put a hook in and start catching grayling. They always did things like that. It [a place to stay] was always where you could catch something fresh to eat.

In recent history, people have built small cabins from scrap material at these locations that serve as markers of ownership (see Figure 106). In some cases it is true ownership, because people have applied for and obtained ownership of a Native allotment based upon proof of history of use. In other cases, it is perceived ownership, since much of Barrow’s subsistence use area falls within the National Petroleum Reserve Alaska managed by the Bureau of Land Management (BLM) and the land under the cabins still belongs to BLM. In any case, the cabin or tent frame indicates a use area.

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Figure 106. Sakeagak’s camp, a typical fish camp cabin, with ice cellar and shed in the background. Nets, outboard motors, weights, and other fishing gear are stored in the shed. Craig George

Despite the ownership that having a cabin now implies, Arnold Brower, Sr. was raised with the notion of shared access to fishing spots because it was important for everyone to get along. Although he does explain that there was competition for getting the most fish and finding the best places to set nets:

People kind of own the fishing spot, but not really. Like an allotment. Even the BLM when they give you an allotment will start off not from the very edge of the river, you’ll have to go back to where people can camp. Stop on the side. There’s no such thing as you own there. The river fifteen feet up on either side. That’s the way I look at the law of waterways. No such thing as that with us. The old timers had to learn how to live together. But they shared a lot in time of need I believe it’s a mad formation of fish that goes there [to big fishing spots like Aviullaavik]. People gather there and wait for the run. Old timers would argue and put nets behind the other trying to beat the others to be the first ones with their nets so they’d get all the fish coming this way. And they would go far away off from that area where we were trying to fish. They just mess themselves up sometimes. I mean, the arguments. But then they never got into a big problem like that, but they tried to beat the others with a fish net going ahead of them. And then sometimes those people that do that seldom get very many fish for the year. They neglect their net, keep it in the water too long. They would chop and chop [to get it out of the ice].

Arnold gives another more personal example of this competition for net set sites and trying to get the most fish:

Charlie Edwardsen always wanted to camp ahead of me - upriver. So when the fish run, he gets the first batch. The fish are coming down for spawning to the deep water, the deep water holes where they spawn.

168 Charlie followed me around, that’s why he knew this. He had to follow me around to beat me. Every time I erected a cabin somewhere, he would go up maybe quarter of a mile and build his cabin. Then he would realize it tricked him, that it’s kind of a trickery to do that. Knowing that my cabins were on steady locations, you know where the fish are, where it doesn’t change much at break-up. During break-up, the river will change, all of it will change, and you can’t tell which part of the river would be the best. Until you have examined it.

Distribution/Reciprocity The sharing of the harvest is one of the basic elements of a subsistence culture like the Iñupiat. Food is shared within a family, as well as distributed broadly within the community. For instance, in Iñupiaq tradition, the first seal killed by a boy is given away to an elder woman and there are strict rules for the division of a whale amongst participating crews. Part and parcel to this sharing and distribution is a belief in reciprocity. That good and proper behavior will be rewarded. The woman who receives a first kill seal will provide blessings to ensure that the boy continues to be a successful hunter. A whale that is properly divided will tell others of the good treatment it received and encourage other whales return to give themselves to these hunters in the future (Brewster 2004). Praise is offered a hunter who is generous and shares much of his catch (see Figure 107).

Figure 107. Errol Okakok with a lake trout pulled from a net during fall fishing. Larry Moulton

All these same values of sharing and reciprocity can be seen in fishing, as well. Fish are shared a lot and for a variety of reasons, such as not being able to eat all that you catch and not wanting them to go to waste: “With burbot sometimes we jig just for fun. We take the fish home and eat some of them, but we give a lot of them away. I like them, but I can’t eat it all the time” (Matumeak 2007). Or as part of the system of sharing with elders: “My son loves to fish more than anything. He’ll get a big bucketful and put them in smaller bags and freeze them for his grandmother” (Leavitt, O. 2007). Or as part of one’s responsibility to the community:

I never thought of over-fishing when I had dog team. I only thought of survival, of my dogs. Because they were my transportation. And my family. And of course, I shared a lot in those years with my neighbor. Because they knew that when I came home I had a load of fish and food. And this poor house we had over on the other side was plumb loaded. I quit fishing when I excavated

169 after my dogs were gone. Even though my wife was kind of a Greenpeace type person. She’d say, “I don’t know what you are going to do with all that fish, caribou.” She’d say stop. Even with whaling, she used to say, “You work too hard. Just get out of there.” Even my brothers would look for me in wintertime when they needed dog food for their own dog team survival (Arnold Brower, Sr.).

In addition to these localized and familial methods of distributing fish, there are wider distribution systems within the community. For example, on Thanksgiving and Christmas the churches in Barrow host community potlucks where shares of fish, whale, and caribou are distributed equally to families who attend. Oliver Leavitt explains that his parents used this church-based system to share with a lot of people: “My parents just enjoyed being out in the wild, so they caught a lot of that stuff (iqalusaaq) and we’d take a lot of it to church to share.” Sharing with the community has broader implications in the mixed-ethnic community that Barrow has become. As Oliver Leavitt explains, sharing fish created a bridge between previously divergent culture groups. Food created common ground:

When my father first retired, they’d go up to Pulayaaq and their garage would be so full of iqalusaaq you couldn’t walk around in it. That’s how we got to know the Filipinos. They loved to eat fish. When they first came here, there was a guy that worked at the gas station. I said to him, “How do you guys distribute fish in your community?” There weren’t that many of them back then in the 1970s and early ‘80s. So he’d back his truck up here to the house and he’d go distribute them. There was a system they had. I don’t know what it was, but we’d just load him up with these big bags of iqalusaaq. Then they’d see when we were cutting up fish with a saw. We’d throw the heads in a box to the side, to be thrown away. They’d see this box full of heads that hadn’t been thrown away yet and said, “What are you going to do with those?” You got to understand that they grew up on an island, so what do you think their favorite food is. Gotta be fish. They would take anything and everything that was liftable.

Storage Catching the fish is only one part of the story. What you do with the fish afterwards is equally important. Fish are caught in large numbers at certain times of the year, and then stored for later use. In traditional times, the loss of fish due to spoilage would be devastating to a family’s annual food supply, especially during times when numbers of caribou or seals were low. The Iñupiat are a smart people who have always found creative and ingenious ways to adapt to the extreme environment in which they live. This is true for how they stored their fish harvest (Stefansson 1914, 1922, 1946; Spearman 2005:135-137). They took full advantage of the cold and dry Arctic climate in providing a natural freezer (see Figure 108). One storage method was

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Figure 108. Fish of various species stored in the ice cellar at Shuqjak (Itta Camp) along the Mayuabiaq River. Fish are usually packed in 50-75 pound sacks. Ice cellars are critical for preserving frozen fish (quaq) during summer fishing. Craig George to dig a pit in the permafrost (Spearman 2005:136), as described by Mollie Itta: “A long time ago when they didn’t have ice cellars, they’d dig into the ice/permafrost and put their fish down there for storage. It’s called an arganik.” Arnold Brower, Sr. explains his own experience with such a pit:

I built a cold-storage pit in the permafrost. It was just after I was married to Emily. I lined it with dry grass from the beach and with willows. It keeps frozen without digging the permafrost. I put it together. The fish were kept for a long time. That was our storage in them years. We didn’t have any tools, only unless some of us got together. We were making a living out there. We call that a suvik. Fish aged in that pit. The flies couldn’t get in. And it is free from infestation of worms that are produced by flies. And beetles. Beetles will do the same thing in summer up until August. Then in September they disappear. You can put your meat out and no flies, no beetles, will put their eggs on it and destroy it. They’re hibernating for the next year. When the sun hits the deck [starts to set in the fall], they’re starting to go away. All the bugs start to hibernate. The fish in that pit will start to ferment, not freeze. They age, starting to get ripe. As we eat them, they will start to go fast. The taste is prime, so we don’t miss them. We leave the fish in there until we eat them up. Some old timers would make them until it would pucker up their mouth.

The storage method most often mentioned was building a cache out of blocks of ice either on the frozen lake or river itself, or on the nearby shore (Jenness, S. 1991:58; Spearman 2005:137) (see Figure 109).

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Figure 109. A Canadian style of storage cache made of ice blocks. The type of ice block cache used in Barrow was solid all the way around with a roof and cover over the door to keep animals out. Across Arctic America. Knud Rasmussen. New York, New York: G.P. Putnam’s Sons (1999 reprint edition, University of Alaska Press, Fairbanks, Alaska)

Warren Matumeak explains:

We’d cut blocks of ice and build a little shed and put a roof on it to keep foxes out. We stored our frozen fish in there. It’s called a sikutaq. We’d build it on the river, right by the fish net, so you didn’t have to carry your fish very far.

This ice freezer preserved the fish by keeping them frozen and the ice prevented theft of the fish from scavenging animals, like foxes. As Martha Aiken says: “They put up a sikutaq - they’d used ice. They made a big sikutaq to put all the fish in there. And they pour it over with water so the foxes and stuff don’t get into it. That freezes it.” Arnold Brower, Sr. goes on to explain more about how the sikutaq was used:

When I was a boy living with the reindeer herders, we gathered a mixture of food for ten months out of the year. We stored them in ice boxes. The ice was seven to eight feet high and we made it into a box with an open top. And put all kinds of meat in there. We patched it all over with wet snow to make the ice into one piece. And we put fish in it. This is called a sikutaq. It is for storage in the winter. We had that type of system for storage. Otherwise there’s no point in that type of subsistence hunting. If you’ve got no way to protect your harvest, it’s useless to go hunting. All the game will go in these. Otherwise, foxes will tear them all away. Take it all and store it somewhere else. At Aviullaavik we also had ice boxes that were about eight to ten feet high to store the fish. It’s a huge ice storage. You properly put all of the frozen fish in there. And we’d get all of these people going there and we’d load them up

172 with fish, and we’d move the fish sections down to Alaqtaq. It was one easy way to move all the fish down. They’d take their share of the fish.

Mary Lou Leavitt provides another description of a sikutaq and how it was re-visited throughout the year as a resupply center:

They’d catch as much fish as they could in the fall. Then the ice gets too thick. Then they’d make ice blocks and freeze the fish inside the ice box. You’ve have to break it to get things out. It saves the food from the wolves and bears. The Iñupiaq word for that is sikutaq. It was a place for storage. In the winter, when it freezes up and they can’t fish anymore, they’d go back to Qalluvik for the winter. There was a settlement there. And they’d come back and forth with their dog team to Shuqjak to get their fish out of those ice boxes.

Nobody builds a sikutaq any longer, but Oliver Leavitt remembers still seeing them when he was growing up in the 1950s, “You even would see those when I was growing up. You’d run across them. You could see through it. You’d think, ‘Damn, there’s a lot of fish in there, but I hate to break the ice in order to get it.’” However, in 1988 Silas Negovanna mentioned a variation on the sikutaq method of freezing and storing fish:

We catch iqalusaaq and grayling when it starts freezing and we let them ferment a little bit. And as soon as it starts cooling off, we take them out from the ground and put them out on the ice. Just pile them up. And let them freeze that way. Into blocks. Put them up like that and make a nice block out of them. When they freeze like that, the whole thing comes off and we haul them, or pack them around that way.

Martha Aiken explains another traditional method that was used to store fish that meant building up a mound on the tundra (Spearman 2005:136):

Long time ago, they used to leave what they caught on mounds mounded with willows and earth. And then they’d pour water over it so no foxes or bears would dig into it. It was not only for fish, but for caribou they caught during the summer or fall. This is called a nunataq. That was used during the fall or summer. But they’d also reach to the frozen area [permafrost] for the fish. You know in our area, there’s ice underneath. They’d reach that, too. Keep their meat preserved. Not an ice cellar, but they reach that ice and store some fish there. Cover it with rocks, if there are any, and stuff. And also where there were lots of rocks, they used rocks to cover any meat and store it. That kind is called uyagaqsi, I guess. Nunataq is with partial

173 covering of earth. Sikutaq is with ice. Sikutaq is built on the lake or even on the side of the lake. But they used blocks of ice.

This method is similar to Stefansson’s description where some of the catch is “placed in pits covered with logs and usually straw to keep out sun” (Stefansson 1914:128). He also mentions that Canadian Iñuit piled summer caught fish “in long windrows just back from the sea beach, and covered them with piles of driftwood for protection from dogs and wolves” (Stefansson 1946:36). The Iñupiat have advanced their traditional storage methods to include modern electric freezers, but in some cases they still rely upon the freezing ability of the natural world around them. They dig large holes in the permafrost, which they refer to as ice cellars or a sibxuaq in Iñupiaq (Spearman 2005:137) (see Figure 110). A sibxuaq is especially important out at fish camp where there is no electricity other than what you can provide with a gas-powered generator that needs to be hauled in along with the extra fuel.

However, as Mollie Itta explains, there can be problems with ice cellars:

This summer our cellar at Shuqjak didn’t work well. It got flooded, so our fish got rotten. There were no airplanes to haul them to Barrow. We got transported home by an oil company helicopter and they didn’t want to carry any fish.

Figure 110. Looking down from ground level into an underground ice cellar at Shuqjak. Craig George

Preparation These days it seems that there is a never-ending supply of recipes for how to prepare fish, from grilling to Thai spiced to sushi. But the Iñupiat have a few main ways they eat fish: boiled or in soup; raw, frozen; dried; or fermented (Stefansson 1914, 1922, 1946, 1951; Spearman

174 2005:129-135). Aanaakjiq may be the most preferred fish and can be prepared in a variety of ways. Martha Aiken explains how she cooks aanaakjiq:

You eat aanaakjiq frozen, fermented, fried, boiled, or in soup. You can eat it all kinds of ways. For fermented, you leave it out to age. And when you press your finger down on it, it goes down and you know it’s just right. Even if it might be purple on some of the insides. Oh, that’s good. Auruq, they call it. Auruq is the fermented aanaakjiq. They don’t ferment burbot. They don’t really ferment grayling. I think the only one is aanaakjiq. I don’t know about qaaktaq, maybe they do.

How fish is prepared depends upon which species and upon personal preference. For instance, Thomas Brower’s preference was based upon what was most available to him as a young man:

I like fish frozen ‘cause that's the way I had it [growing up]. I had to be out [traveling with the reindeer herds] so much I never had hardly any cooked food. My breakfast had to be just hot cereal, if I took anything. I never carried any coffee ‘cause I didn't care for that when I was on the trail. I just take fish or frozen meat with a piece of fat. That would work through my system. I was out twelve or fourteen hours so they keep [me] warm (Brower, T. 1982).

In comparison, Arnold Brower, Sr. provides some examples of what makes some species better for some uses versus others:

Aanaakjiq are the best fish for quaq, I guess. You can age the fish in any fashion. To any age. Age it to your taste. If you properly process them, lake fish are probably the best. Qaaktaq are good when they are fresh, but you can’t keep them long. They have a different type of fat. Just like seal fat, it will turn kind of yellowish and rancid kind of. They spoil easy. I think because it’s a saltwater fish. I don’t know. Just like salmon. You can’t put salmon away and expect to eat them, unless you don’t open them up [freeze them whole]. They’ll keep for a long time that way [as whole fish]. Any fish unopened will stay fresh as long as it is kept frozen. Once you open it up, it will start to dry up. And you cannot taste the difference [between] lobster and tittaaliq, if you cook it the right way. You can split up the back side and both sides of it, all of it, it tastes just like a lobster. You can boil it or cook it anyway you like.

Burbot is another favorite fish for many people, but as Warren Matumeak says, the way it is prepared is critical, “With burbot, I like them, but can’t eat it all the time. It’s good white meat in there. The liver is tasty. You boil it, but just a little bit. You don’t want to overcook it.” Or as Martha Aiken adds:

175

Tittaaliq is a good food, especially my kids love tittaaliq, too. My grandchildren, especially when you make soup out of the water that you boil it with. Flour soup. Delicious. I’m making myself hungry. I’m not that eager for too much fish, but I like fresh tittaaliq. It’s the best way to eat it. When it gets too old, it’s not that tasty. But it has the best liver, too. In the springtime, the liver enlarges. I don’t know why. God knows. That’s why the Nageaks go up inland to jig for tittaaliqs. But the ice is thick then. Six feet deep. Cutting through that much ice is a lot of work just for one tittaaliq.

Oliver Leavitt talks about how grayling are prepared and eaten:

My son loves to eat frozen grayling. I’ve never eaten them cooked. We just don’t bother to cook them. Because that’s the way we grew up with them. People are always asking what they taste like to us. They’re fantastic. I’d never thought of cooking them. And so when I told that story to old man Waldo Bodfish and I came to his house in Wainwright, he had fried one up, and boiled one up for me. He said, “I didn’t want you to grow old without ever tasting it.” I liked the fried one. I didn’t like the boiled one.

Another way of preparing whitefish is to dry it (Spearman 2005:129-132). Dry fish, called pivsi, is usually made from aanaakjiq. Fish are split open and splayed out flat. The meat is scored into strips. The fish are hung on racks to dry in the sun (see Figure 111). The key to good pivsi is having the right weather conditions. A few days of warm and sunny weather is needed (see Figure 112). According to Jenness, “Fish seem to require from a week to 10 days fine weather to

Figure 111. Making pivsi (dried broad whitefish - aanaakjiq). Craig George

dry properly, the time naturally increasing with the size and fattiness of the fish” (Jenness, S. 1991:476). If it is damp or rainy the fish will not dry and will mold and rot. The best months are June and July; August tends to be cooler and wetter and its late summer sun is not strong enough

176

Figure 112. Broad whitefish pivsi glistening in the summer sun. Craig George to provide the heat needed for good drying. Often, it is easier to get the right type of weather at inland fish camps (see Figure 113), such as on the Chipp, Ikpikpuk or Mayuabiaq Rivers, rather than on the coast at Barrow where rain and fog can linger for days. Arnold Brower, Sr. talks about his fish camp on the Chipp River and making pivsi:

In summer, in July, I don’t have very many fish except to make paniqtak, you know the dried fish. But I have a cellar, I can preserve them in. But you can not let them stay overnight. They’re bad. Overnight it’s finished. And pivsi, overnight it’s finished and dried. If I put a large fish on the rack, the next day it’s dried out. I’m trying to preserve it. If the fish meat is over dry that means the fish was air dried too much.

Figure 113. Typical tall drying racks at a camp along the lower Colville River, circa 1900. Ernest Leffingwell Collection, U.S. Geological Survey/Iñupiat History, Language and Culture Commission, Barrow, Alaska

177

Many people associate Native fish preparation with the oily and rich smoked Chinook (king) salmon found in Interior Alaska. This is not a traditional preparation method for the Iñupiat. First of all chinook salmon have not been a commonly found species on the North Slope. Second, smoking requires a large supply of wood to keep a fire smoldering while the fish dries. The only wood available in the tree-less Arctic is the driftwood that accumulates on the coast. Historically, this was too valuable of a resource for other uses, such as house structures, bows, boat frames, or tool handles to be used for firewood (Brewster and Alix 2004; Alix 2005). In addition, questions remain about the quantity of driftwood that was available in earlier times and about the quality of driftwood for a fish smoking fire (Wheeler and Alix 2004). However, Arnold Brower, Sr. has applied modern techniques to get smoked fish:

We had a smoker up there that we made out of drums. And then burned more like chipper types in it. In two hours it would be finished. Just put it with hickory chips. Boy, I couldn’t shake my wife out of that darn smoker. She’d be right out there, checking it, and doing it all. It had three layers of racks to put the fish on.

Another food delicacy is fish eggs or suvak. Arnold Brower, Sr. explains taking precautions in preparing the fish in order to ensure safety of your valuable supply:

During spawning time, you just squeeze the fish and the eggs pop out. Sometimes we have to clip the tail end to leave the eggs in there and then freeze them that way. My wife had the idea to sew them up when they had big suvak like that. She used a needle and put two or three stitches on them and tied them up. That took care of the spawning and we could then put them away. That conserved most of the suvak in there. Otherwise, you just put them aside and the eggs will run out.

As people who live off of the land, the Iñupiat observe differences in their resources. They are keenly aware of how the taste of an animal is affected by the food it consumes. For instance, a polar bear that has eaten a dead walrus carcass will have a stronger taste than one that is catching fresh seals. Or a spruce grouse has the distinct flavor of spruce tree, its main food supply, compared to the more subtle flavor of grouse that eat mostly willow. They also note similar differences in the way fish taste. Arnold Brower, Sr. notes:

Those fish that eat the snails have got a different taste. That’s up at Chipp 9 and adjacent to Chipp 4. There are two outlets that run into the Chipp River that have a similar range of food that you will find in the fish bellies. Those are good tasting fish. Once the fish get into the river, and they’ve stayed there, the taste is altogether noticeable. There are fish that are adaptable to the river. They eat little things that contain a cocoon [caddis fly larvae]. Aanaakjiq eat those ice

178 cream or cocoon shaped things that cling to the net. Maybe if I tried to use a hook shaped like that I’d be successful.

Nate Neakok noted a difference in taste and appearance of the fish he grew up catching near Iqsieeat and those in the Ikpikpuk: “The fish are different tasting. They’re fat and less sinuous. They’re a different taste of fish, but they’re still aanaakjiq, iqalusaaq, sulukpaugaq and pikuktuq.” Mollie Itta agrees and adds that not only is taste different among fish in various locations, but the way they look as well:

Aanaakjiq from Ikpikpak look different than from Mayuabiaq River. Ikpikpak ones are kind of lean and dry. At Shuqjak they are really tender and fat. And they taste different. I like Mayuabiaq fish better. But every once in a while I get the feeling to want to eat Ikpikpak fish. Grayling around Shuqjak are so tender compared to Teshekpuk. I don’t like Teshekpuk grayling. They’re kind of old and big. They’re huge. And then tittaaliq are so huge up there [at Teshekpuk Lake?]. I can’t even cook them.

There is biological evidence that the foods fish eat are a direct reflection on how they taste, and that lake-resident fish are eating different food than those in the rivers (Burns 1990:17). The way the fish taste is obviously a factor in which fish people prefer to eat. For instance, Arnold Brower, Sr. says, “If you eat too many qaaktaq over and over again, you get tired of them. You have to change the taste of the food. Like smelt, I can eat them, but I like them only maybe one meal a week. But I can’t do more. I get tired of them.” Or as Oliver Leavitt adds, “There are a lot of smelt in Teshekpuk, but they don’t taste like they do in Wainwright. But once you get to liking something and the others taste different, you don’t want to eat them.” It is interesting to note observations by Diamond Jenness in the summer of 1915 about fish preparation practices among the nomadic Eskimos of Victoria Island in Canada and wonder about parallels with the riverine-based inland groups of northern Alaska. For July 18, 1915, his diary entry states, “There is quite a large quantity of fish drying now - their food in the beginning of winter before sealing commences” (Jenness, S. 1991:483). He goes on to explain that “…they don’t cook fish at this time of the year save the heads, but dry it for the winter” (ibid.:485). It is possible that this could have been the same in Alaska, although the Canadian Arctic Expedition reports and diaries indicate that resources were more scarce and thus life was harder on Victoria Island (Jenness, S. 1991). Vilhjalmur Stefansson was a strong proponent of the benefits of a meat and fish based diet (Stefansson n.d.). Throughout his varied writings, he mentions a number of Native fish preparation techniques (Stefansson 1914; 1922, 1946, 1951). While mostly they ate fresh fish boiled or frozen/raw, (“frying was an unknown method of cooking till the whites came” (Stefansson 1914:133)) he does mention “decayed” fish and using wind-drying to create soft dried fish (Stefansson 1946:36). Specifically, he describes the Iñuit at Shingle Point eating “high fish” that resulted from storing raw fish in the warm summer months in a driftwood cache and

179 the fish beginning to rot and ferment slightly (Stefansson 1922:72, 1914:138). “Fish that has a high or gamey taste is seldom cooked and indeed seldom eaten at all during the summer,” (Stefansson 1922:72) but instead were eaten in the winter after they had frozen by peeling off the skin and eating them like corn on the cob (ibid.) or if the fish was large it was cut into pieces. He compares this delicacy to the European love of strong cheeses. He also notes that fish heads were the best part of the fish and were fed to the children (Stefansson 1922:69, n.d.:26).

Relative Importance of Fish in Diet Outsiders have long held a misperception about the importance of fish to the Iñupiat:

To the Arctic Alaskan Eskimo, fishing in general was never a highly important or significant occupation. Utilization of fish was secondary to exploitation of other animals. …Those Eskimo whose culture is built around a sea-mammal economy rely little on fish as food (Wilimovsky 1956:7).

The Iñupiat testimonies and information above show that fish has been a staple in the traditional Iñupiaq diet for generations. “Fish was important when I was a boy” (Matumeak 2007). According to recent subsistence studies, fish accounts for 11% of the usable pounds of food harvested by the Iñupiat (Braund et al. 1993:144). This large consumption of fish is partly due to the reliability of the resource and access to it, partly due to the fun, family-based nature of the harvest, and partly due to a taste preference. Whether fish is a major part of the diet may be influenced by whether a family is more inland or coastal based (Sonnenfeld 1956:450). Ernest Kignak who grew up and traveled extensively in the Chipp River area, says, “One can crave to eat fish” (Kignak 1982) (see Figure 114).

Figure 114. Children showing their fish harvest, Kaktovik, circa 1930. (Left to right) Donald Gordon, Roy Akootchook, Hilda Tiklook Tunik, Mildred Akootchook Rexford, Jean Arey, and unidentified. Greist Collection, G024, Iñupiat History, Language and Culture Commission, Barrow, Alaska

180 On the other hand, a more whaling and sealing based family that spent much more time at the coast may not eat as much fish, or know as much about fish and fishing locations for that matter. As subsistence researcher Joseph Sonnenfeld observed in the mid-1950s:

For most, fishing fills the void between major activities. For those who retreat to fishing stations on the river during summer, however, fishing is the major subsistence activity, and may be indicative of original inland orientation or origin of that family. For the rest, the emphasis on fishing and the time spent in this activity is an indication of desire and/or need, and for the latter would vary according to success in other subsistence activities (Sonnenfeld 1956:152).

The work of Diamond Jenness offers useful parallels from the Iñuit of Canada’s Victoria Island. Similar to the Chipp River area, these groups did not have whaling to rely upon and were nomadic hunters following the seasonal availability of caribou, fish and seals. The importance of fish is clear from Jenness’ daily reports in June and July 1915 which describe someone or another of the group going out to fish every day, and that “the constant theme of the Eskimos is the scarcity of fish” (Jenness, S. 1991: 469). According to Arnold Brower, Sr., “People fish less now than they used to. In them years, people depended on fish. Subsistence. Caribou. Walrus. And whatever they could get.” Historically, the subsistence lifestyle of the Iñupiat was not an easy one. “These people long ago. They had so much work to do up there, putting away fish. Each year they’d do this, the subsistence put away for the ten months out of each year, for the winter. Some of them would go as far as Chipp 9 and Chipp 12 to get their subsistence foods” (Arnold Brower, Sr.). People followed the animals they relied upon for food. But animal numbers fluctuated, so times of great bounty could quickly turn into lean times of great hardship. For inland people, a decline in the caribou population, a mainstay of their diet, meant having to depend upon the river fisheries instead (Sonnenfeld 1956:292). Mary Lou Leavitt explains, “When I was growing up, there weren’t many caribou in the area south of Teshekpuk Lake. And caribou would be moving east or west out in that area, but it was way up, above Tasiqpak, so we depended on fish a lot.” In contrast, a 1936 food shortage in Barrow led families to move back out onto the land and turn to caribou, fish and other land-based resources to sustain themselves (Sonnenfeld 1956:344). Both Arnold Brower, Sr. and Noah Itta have mentioned specific areas that people knew to go to during starvation times where they could always get fish. “There’s a subsistence site, in case everything went bad in them years. These people survived from there. These lakes. Because they fished. There are really fat fish around here. Nice fish” (Brower, A. 2007). During these times, fish became an even more important part of the diet. There is a historical legacy of change in the importance of fish in the Iñupiat diet, depending upon events of a time period or whether people were more coastal or inland oriented. During the days of commercial whaling, “the late summer whaling and trading activity at Barrow no doubt detracted from the fall fishing” (Sonnenfeld 1956:448). The end of the summer trade fairs at Nibliq caused a decline in fishing that was done enroute (ibid.). The depopulation of the inland areas in the late 19th and early 20th century opened up new hunting and fishing areas for Barrow people (Sonnenfeld 1956:449); as these areas were previously controlled by other tribal groups

181 (Burch 1998). And the increased reliance upon trapping after the decline of commercial whaling that led to families spreading out across the countryside had a clear effect on fishing activity:

Eskimo who would normally have spent little time inland, remained east for the trapping season and in time took up residence there for the better part of the year. For these Eskimo, fish became a much more significant part of the food supply than it was aboriginally. Partly, this was due to the richness of the estuarine rivers and coastal lagoons as compared to river fisheries. …For those who remained at Barrow, fishing probably became of even less importance (Sonnenfeld 1956:449).

Changes in the importance of fishing for Iñupiat subsistence can be tied to something as seemingly unrelated as the introduction of the rifle. The rifle made caribou hunting easier, which could have led to more hunting and less fishing. Conversely, increased fall caribou hunting would bring more people out onto the land and closer to the fish resources, which could have increased participation in fishing (Sonnenfeld 1956:448). Or changes in fishing could be influenced by a complex web of environmental and socio-economic conditions and employment opportunities. Such as, good marine mammal hunting conditions in the summer shifting emphasis away from inland activities that may be considered secondary (Braund et al. 1993:160), or poor falltime sea ice conditions preventing seal hunting and shifting focus to inland fishing:

Seals were plentiful along the coast, but the sea ice was still too thin to harpoon them at their breathing holes…Instead, he [Arksiatark][sic] and two other families had set seines under the ice of a lake some fifteen miles from the camp in which we now found him, and there each day they were pulling in scores of whitefish, which froze to solid stone almost as soon as they were thrown out onto the surface of the ice (Jenness, D. 1957:16).

Or a job may limit time available for subsistence activities (Braund et al. 1993). An increase in wage employment with Arctic Contractors in the 1950s has been viewed as reducing fall fishing because it was too time consuming and far away for workers to take part in (Sonnenfeld 1956:551). Today, fish is still a major part of the Iñupiat diet (Schneider et al. 1980; Wolfe et al. 1986; Pedersen and Shishido 1988; Craig 1989b; Braund et al. 1993; Pedersen and Hugo 2005; Pedersen and Linn 2005), but it is less needed as survival food. Oliver Leavitt observes some of the changes:

Fish was really important, like when my mother was growing up. That was the main diet. There weren’t any caribou close by in this area by Mayuabiaq River and Teshekpuk Lake. They’d have to go way down below Tasiqpak, closer to the foothills. Even in my lifetime, we’ve had caribou start showing up here. The cabins at Tupaabruk are half-way to where you’d have to go for caribou

182 when I was growing up. I haven’t seen changes like this in the fish. They’ve always been around.

Among this strong reliance on fish, however, there is variation in terms of which fish are consumed the most. A lot seems to depend upon personal preference. But in all cases, fat fish are a trait considered most desirable. Sadie Neakok mentioned how they ate a lot of tittaaliq in her household, so she was surprised when she served it for a meal and her sister said they only ate the tittaaliq liver, never the rest of the fish (Neakok 1988). Sometimes the season the fish is caught determines how it is going to be used. For example, Arnold Brower, Sr. talks about his fish preferences:

I never get hungry for lake trout. Even though I’m in the middle of it. I never satisfy myself with catching lake trout. They are not my choice of fish. I eat some, but not all the time. I get tired of eating them. Nobody goes after them when the aanaakjiq are around. They want the aanaakjiq, the choice fish. And the qaaktaq. Aanaakjiq in the lakes where they’re rearing from are really good. Good cooking fish. Aanaakjiq are preferred cooked fish. When they’re really fat, the inside is full of fat, they taste better than qaaktaq. The ones caught for their suvak are the river aanaakjiq. People don’t eat blackfish. They don’t fish for them. But I’ve seen them down in Anchorage by my house there Sometimes I hate tittaaliq, but sometimes I like them when they’re prime. At this time of year [March], they’re really delicious.

In comparison, Mary Lou Leavitt says, “My favorite fish to eat is aanaakjiq and whitefish [iqalusaaq?].” While her son, Oliver Leavitt says, “My favorite fish to eat is iqalusaaq.” And even different still is Martha Aiken who says, “Grayling might be my favorite to eat. But my favorite to catch is burbot. At night.” The other important aspect of Iñupiaq fish use is as dog food. Historically, dog teams were the main mode of transportation for the Iñupiat and fish was the primary dog food. This meant fish harvest levels had to be higher than they are today when people use snowmachines and boats with outboard motors for their travel (Schneider et al. 1980:79; Akpik 1988). These modern conveniences have to be fed with gasoline, which is more expensive, but less labor intensive than catching fish for dog food. Arnold Brower, Sr. explains the work that went into caring for a dog team:

Back in the 1930s we had dog teams and we had to scrounge for dog food. And we put away subsistence fish, not just for ourselves, but for the dogs, too. The after-spawning fish have no value, they have no fat on them. It’s just like a long, slender fish. This is aanaakjiq. We quit fishing those types of fish because we knew they weren’t good, even for our dogs. We let them go.

183 I even hesitated to give suckerfish to my dogs because they are so spiny and super hard. Same, I don’t feed dogs tittaaliq head or pike head because of the bones. I’m afraid it might hurt their stomach. The teeth of pike are just like a needle.

While Arnold would not give his dogs these lean spawned out fish, this was not the case with everyone. Warren Matumeak notes using different types of fish for dog food than for human consumption - “We used to give lean fish to our dogs. We’d save the fat ones for our own food” (Matumeak 2007). Jonathan Aiken, who was born in 1931, indicates more generalized fishing practices for dog food: “When I was a boy, mostly we used iqalusaaq for dog food.” Mary Lou Leavitt verified the use of specific fish, although a different type: “My grandfather, Anagi, he used dog salmon, that hump, for dog food. Because of the fat, they threw them away. They weren’t used to it.” In contrast, other people say this was not the case, that specific fish were not caught for the dogs. For instance, Martha Aiken:

We didn’t go catch a certain fish for dog food. Whatever the people didn’t eat, they didn’t waste it. They either cooked it or fed it to the dogs like that. They didn’t even waste the broth. They’d feed the dogs garbage. They didn’t waste anything. Whatever was left after they’d eat a frozen fish, the leftovers, that is what the dogs ate. But they did cook for them. But they also used earth – manniq to mix with caribou scraps to make it solid. Not just broth. They mixed the broth with caribou fur and sometimes manniq. Manniq is what they used to use for diapers. Moss.

Although Oliver Leavitt does mention needing to take advantage of any opportunity to get fish so they had enough for dog food. It was more important to have something to give the dogs than it being a particular kind of fish:

They didn’t have a preference for what fish was dog food. Even my father used to tell me about when they’d find an aiyugaq, which is a place where the ice is splitting open and that is always an open area that’s not frozen. It’s just covered with snow. They’d get a fish hook out, and just pull out a bunch of smelt. He did that for dog food. An aiyugaq is a break in the ice, from a shift in the ice. The ice piles up, and there’s always an open area. This is on a lake. Any lake that’s large enough will have that. Not all the time, though. And you’ll find that there’s open water underneath it. Sometimes with a snow bridge.

And just like for human consumption, fish for dog food was also shared:

People used to come over to Alaqtaq for the corralling time to help us out, and have a good time, because during that corralling time everybody was

184 tired. That was in the fall—October. October or November. And we’d feed them with aanaakjiq from all over. We would kind of talk it over with my father which week to have a big corralling time, and that they’d need some dog food. Then we’d take the whole team up to Aviullaavik. We had ice boxes made up that were about eight to ten feet high for storage for that fish. It was a huge ice storage. We kept the fish in there (Arnold Brower, Sr.).

“Fish Lore” (taboos, prescriptions, ramifications) Iñupiat hunting has traditionally been ruled by a wealth of spiritual beliefs about the relationship between animals and humans. In the traditional Iñupiaq worldview, all animals were imbued with an essential life/spiritual force, which they called its ieua (Spearman 2005:162). Behavioral prescriptions to appease the guardian spirits were designed to ensure success of the hunt:

As with all creatures, the demonstration of respect and the observation of correct and appropriate behavior towards its iñua or spirit was essential to maintaining a good relationship with that spirit so that its associated creatures could be caught. Part and parcel of this relationship was the obligation to abide by a number of key behavioral restrictions to avoid angering her spirit (ibid.).

For example, it is believed that passing whales can hear what is happening on shore so silence is required when hunting on the sea ice (Brewster 2004). Or the first thing a hunter used to do after killing a caribou was to slit its throat in order to release the animal’s spirit and ensure future hunting success. While most modern hunting is no longer constrained in the same fashion, some people still believe and practice some of these traditions (ibid.). Whitlam Adams explains what behavior he was taught about fishing:

We don’t get too many fish. We try to save some for the next year. That’s what the old people would tell us. They’d say to try not to take the whole thing of fish. If you’re going to take the whole thing, then you’ve got nothing in the next year. That’s what we had been taught were the rules. If you’re going to be fishing, take enough for the year. But don’t try to get all of them. They always stopped when have enough fish. We never got too much. I never do. When I get extra meat, I give it to poor people who don’t have anything.

There is little information about how the Iñupiat in the Barrow area may have viewed a fish spirit. However, Spearman describes the beliefs of the inland Nunamiut of the Brooks Range:

According to Nunamiut oral tradition, the fish spirit is a long-haired woman whose flowing tresses obscure her face from view. Perpetually dwelling beneath the waters of lakes and rivers, she was likened to a mother of fish; always respected and perhaps even occasionally feared for her power over the availability of fish, alternately withholding or disbursing them for the use of humans. Her inclination to either make

185 fish plentifully available or to capriciously withhold them was seen as a direct response to people’s behavior towards her (Spearman 2005:162).

The basic Iñupiaq tenet of having respect for the animal being pursued and taking proper care of it after harvest exists for fish as well (ibid.). For example:

There should be no hair on a fish net. If the fish sees human hair or animal hair woven into a fish net or line, he is repelled. It is said that the fish is afraid because it thinks that human heads are close by and he will not then allow himself to be caught. When tomcod are caught with a hook and line, the fisherman should not put them into his snow shirt. Putting any game or fish into the snow shirt was called puxjuktuat [sic]. Tomcod must be put into a sack and carried. Failure to do so drives the cod away (Spencer 1959:276).

Other than fish being sensitive to noise, modern fishing does not appear to be constrained by as tight behavioral guidelines. As Martha Aiken states:

Those traditions of being quiet and proper behavior that are talked about for whaling, aren’t talked about so much for fish. But we try not to use a skidoo where the river is. ‘Cause the less noise, even with any kind of animal, the less noise is always in our favor. So even with fishes. We are never scolded for it, but I think it has been indented to our minds so much that you don’t even really think about it. But now that I think about it, everything that you do around the animals that you are catching are the same. You don’t make a lot of noise. But we laugh around sometimes. Especially when the fish don’t want to bite. There are things we do to encourage the fish when they’re not biting. One is to make your niksik [hook] shiny. There are certain rules that you don’t even think about when you’re jigging. But I notice too, through the years, when we were getting experience with jigging, sometimes when they don’t feel like biting down at the deepest part, if you put your hook up real close to the top of the ice and that’s when they’ll bite. One time I started catching a lot of fish like that when the others were not catching any. Sometimes it takes skill to attract them.

A rarely mentioned modern application of traditional taboos is found in Stefansson’s book “My Life With the Eskimo” where he explains that in an effort to teach about keeping the Sabbath a missionary in Kotzebue Sound prohibited the use of fish nets on Sunday, and that this practice was passed along to the Iñupiat of the Colville River. He states:

Being good Christians and anxious to do nothing which could possibly endanger their eternal welfare, the Colville River natives accordingly pulled their fish nets out of the

186 water on Saturday night, fished with hooks all day Sunday, and put their nets back in on Monday morning (Stefansson 1951:83).

As with other hunting practices, the relationship with the animal and tools has always been believed key to success. Proper care of one’s equipment is part and parcel to being a respectful and accomplished hunter. Arnold Brower, Sr. tells a story about one fisherman who talked to his fish nets as a way to ensure his success:

This old man told me about what he saw in his lifetime. He was over 100 years old, I think, or a little older. My dad estimated he was over 100 years old, because he said when he came to Barrow this man was already an elderly person. This was Nasufgaluk. His wife was Tuuqlak. He was Ungarook’s grandfather. He lived here at Alaqtaq. That last time, he was forever in the house with us mending fish nets. After we got through tearing them up at that big run, then he would mend those nets one at a time and get them back in order for the next year. All winter he would do that. He would mend nets. But he was never quiet. He always talked to his nets, and in everything he did, he talked to them. Like he was talking to somebody. Made it interesting to watch and listen. He was forever talking. He was something unusual. But what he said, I didn’t write it down, but as I travel I remember what that guy said. Because he’s traveled this country on foot, too, a long time.

Compared to whaling, there is minimal information about stories that deal with fish. However, Wilimovsky’s statement in the 1950s that fishes are highly regarded as food, but they do not appear in the folklore (Wilimovsky 1956) is false. Fish and fishing do appear in stories, although perhaps more as the background setting or agent for a lesson rather than as the main event (Spencer 1959; Spearman 2005:163-173). For example, “The Story of Qaaweijuq” about a man with three wives that other men try to steal includes the following animal to human transformation, which is a common theme in Iñupiat stories:

Now as he fished, he looked down into the hole in the ice and down there in the water he saw a large grayling that he was unable to catch. Finally, he put his arm inside his parka and reached out underneath down into the hole in the ice. He was able to grab the fish by its fin and to pull it up. As he got it to the surface, it turned into a young woman. As soon as she was out of the water, she began to dance. He brought her home and she was dancing all the way. But when she came into the house, she began to work (Spencer 1959:394).

In other stories, like “Kayuktuq, The Red Fox” fishing merely provides a setting for the story:

The boy did not know where he was. At last he came to a place at the mouth of a river. There he began to build a house and make preparations for fishing. But he did

187 not know who he was or who his people were. He began to fish and caught a great many different kinds of fish. From time to time the red fox would come and the boy would feed him, giving him fish to eat. Once while he was fishing, the red fox came close (ibid.:395).

In the story titled, “The Tale of Maxwfaw” a supply of dried fish stored in a special bag never runs out. “Each time he stopped, he ate some of the dried fish and replaced it in the bag his mother made for him. When he took the fish out again, there was just as much as before” (ibid.: 398). This could be a reference to the importance Iñupiat placed upon fish as a steady and reliable food resource. In the story “The Poor Boy and The Two Umealit” fish and fishing serve as the vehicle for teaching a lesson about remembering what is taught to you and the importance of sharing: “Now the gull had told the orphan boy that he could fish like this in any kind of water. So he dropped his hook and started fishing. He brought in many tomcod. Then, because food was scarce, he invited the other young men to share in the catch” (ibid.:409). And finally there is the story “The Singing Sculpin” told by Alfred Hobson [sic] and recorded by Diamond Jenness in 1914 [Jenness, D. 1924]. The story also was translated into Iñupiaq, illustrated, and published as an educational booklet by the Barrow School Iñupiat Program (Hopson 1976). One wonders why a fish that is rarely used and is considered a pest that clogs up gill nets would appear as the main character in a story:

A man was walking along one day when he heard something singing, “When this ice came in along the shore I looked at his big drum (?).” It was chanted in very low tones, but he heard it repeated again and again until at last he stopped to listen. Lo, whatever it was that made the noise, was down at his feet. He dug the thing out and found a sculpin, but he had already killed it (Jenness, D. 1924:33A).

Jenness also recorded some stories among the Copper Eskimo from the Coronation Gulf region of western Canada. It is hard to know whether these stories were known across the Arctic or were isolated to a specific group or region, but they are useful to look at in terms of style, content and generalizable forms of Eskimo storytelling. For example, there is “The Origin of Fish” told by Ilatsiaq:

There lived once a man who had no inward parts, but a straight cavity from mouth to anus. He chopped up some sticks and shaped them into fish, which he threw into the water. They turned at once into real fish and swam away (ibid.:80A).

Or “The Ptarmigan and the Sculpin” told by Ilatsiaq, a Kilusiktok shaman:

A ptarmigan once peered over the edge of the water and saw a sculpin down below. The ptarmigan said: “The fellow down there, he without any fat, he crouches on the bottom.” The sculpin answered: “My liver, my brain, I have plenty of fat on them.” Then it made the retort: “The fellow up there, he is settled on the ground, a fellow

188 without any fat.” And the ptarmigan replied: “My stomach, my breast, I have them covered with fat” (ibid.:72A).

Jenness also documented the following fish related string figures: “The Burbot” (see Figure 115) and “The Fish-Net Torn by Polar Bears” (see Figure 116) from Barrow and Inland Eskimos (ibid.:49B, 56-57B); “Fish Nibbling at a Hook” (see Figure 117) from the Copper Eskimo (ibid.:44B); “A Fish” (see Figure 118) from a Colville River Eskimo (ibid.:153B); and “A Flounder” (see Figure 119) from Indian Point (ibid.:175B).

Figure 115. “The Burbot” string figure. Eskimo Folk-Lore. Report of the Canadian Arctic Expedition 1913-1918, Volume XIII. Southern Party, 1913-1916. Diamond Jenness. Ottawa, Canada: F.A. Acland, 1924

189

Figure 116. “The Fish-Net Torn by Polar Bears” string figure. Eskimo Folk-Lore. Report of the Canadian Arctic Expedition 1913-1918, Volume XIII. Southern Party, 1913-1916. Diamond Jenness. Ottawa, Canada: F.A. Acland, 1924

190

Figure 117. “Fish Nibbling at a Hook” string figure. Eskimo Folk-Lore. Report of the Canadian Arctic Expedition 1913- 1918, Volume XIII. Southern Party, 1913-1916. Diamond Jenness. Ottawa, Canada: F.A. Acland, 1924

191

Figure 118. “A Fish” string figure. Eskimo Folk-Lore. Report of the Canadian Arctic Expedition 1913-1918, Volume XIII. Southern Party, 1913-1916. Diamond Jenness. Ottawa, Canada: F.A. Acland, 1924

192

Figure 119. “A Flounder” string figure. Eskimo Folk-Lore. Report of the Canadian Arctic Expedition 1913-1918, Volume XIII. Southern Party, 1913-1916. Diamond Jenness. Ottawa, Canada: F.A. Acland, 1924

193

There are two main story groups that persist today in the Barrow area. The first is the tittaaliq story (Ingstad 1954:88; Brower, H. 1988). The head of the tittaaliq is very bony. When the head was boiled, and as it was being eaten, the bones would be used as props or physical manifestations of elements of the story being told. While the practice of this storytelling was mentioned, none of the elders interviewed in 2007 remembered enough to actually tell the story. There may be one or two older elders still alive who recall the story and could re-tell it with the tittaaliq bones. Instead, we were told the following in general reference to the existence of such a storytelling practice:

Tittaaliq is another good source of fish. People who like to eat tittaaliq head are some choice of people we all go to. They tell about the story about the tittaaliq and the bloody Indians and what part is resembling areas from the head. Pieces they took off. One looks like with a cape on it. There are little bones in there that look just like kitchen utensils when put together the right way. These people knew how to pull it off and then while eating the head they talk about the little bones in there that actually look like spoons and dogs and so on. They unravel the head. You have to cook it in order to release them. I don’t know if I remember it all (Arnold Brower, Sr.).

Tittaaliq has a story with the bones in the head while other fish don’t, because they love tittaaliq so much. It’s a good food. Robert, my late husband, was trying to tell me a story about that, but I don’t know anything about it. But their grandmother or grandfather usually was the one telling the story about the head when he was eating it. I don’t know much about that. But I’ve heard stories, not only that, but about some of the animals (Martha Aiken).

However, in 1988 Sadie Neakok provided more detail:

Because the bones are so shaped, they just fit the stories they tell. When they take the bone right off the top of the head, if you get it out in one piece you can see an Indian with a shawl. The lips or jaw bones are shaped like handles for a pot. It’s been so long since I’ve heard a story told, but we used to sit there and watch our grandparents and uncles eat the heads and tell the stories. Just the head is what they used to tell the story with. It’s very interesting. As they take the skin off, then the bones begin to appear. Piece by piece they’ll tell what each is and what he’s after. And you find it all in that head. We’d hear it when Nate and I were maybe eight or nine, ten years old. Those people who knew it are gone. They’re the ones that used to tell it. That was before we had TV and shows and all that.

194 The second main story theme related to fish that persists today has to do with monster fish. These fish are described as larger than life and are associated with large and deep lakes (Jenness, D. 1924:78A; Leavitt, D. 1988; Leavitt, W. 1988; Spearman 2005:164). The stories usually include behavioral taboos and cautionary actions to ensure protection from these dangerous beasts. The most widespread of these stories around Barrow take place in Teshekpuk Lake. The first written evidence of these beliefs dates back to 1884, when Murdoch wrote, “It may be well to say that the Esquimaux tell of a large lake between Point Barrow and the Colville, in which there are fish ‘as big as a kayak.’ This certainly has the appearance of a ‘fish story’” (Murdoch 1884:115). Unlike this non-Native skepticism, Iñupiat believe in the presence of these big fish. For instance, Martha Aiken says:

There’s a story about big fish in Tasiqpak, but that fish is probably dead by now. Not too long ago, while we were growing up, they wouldn’t dare make a sound while crossing that lake. They even would try to keep the dogs quiet because a creaking sound would follow them whenever they were walking across or traveling across. We’ve heard one story where - I don’t know whether it’s by the tanniqs or the Iñupiaq – they tied up the uqpati (caribou hind quarters) and put it in the lake and it disappeared. I don’t know if that’s still alive right now, but they used to say if they were going to travel on top of that Teshekpuk Lake they’d have to be quiet. I think they’d rather walk around it. I haven’t heard stories recently, but when we were growing up we heard about those stories that there was a giant fish there.

Mollie Itta adds the safety warning she learned regarding crossing Teshekpuk Lake because of the possibility of this monster fish: “There’s an old-time saying that you don’t go with just one boat. You always have to have company when you go to Tasiqpak area. ‘Cause there’s something. Some kind of animal.” William Leavitt reiterated this concern, saying, “They tell me stories and to date I still believe them. Even if I’m boating here, that thing is always in my mind. Honest. I would much rather have two boats with me when I’m traveling. That’s what I do.” Noah Itta also talks about monster fish in Teshekpuk Lake:

When my father was young. It happened around here, Tasiqpak, where a fish had taken a little girl from the shore. She was wading in the water. I’ve also heard about caribou swimming in Teshekpuk Lake and something grabbing them and taking them down. And then my father, when he was a young man, he decided to see if they can see how big the fish were. So he put out a piece of meat and bone on a line. He used the mumiq [part of hind leg] of caribou. And put it in the lake with a rope and a sealskin float. He took this out to a deep place that he could still see from shore. After a while it started going down. They got in their boats, but before they got to that piece of meat, it had disappeared. But the bone was broken in half. So he didn’t catch that big fish.

195 Warren Matumeak repeated another story he had heard about big fish being seen in Teshekupk Lake:

Howard Leavitt told me about him and his brothers walking in the Tasiqpak area one time and they saw a large fish that was in a shallow area. It wasn’t moving. It was in shallow water so only its back was showing. They tried to get close. They wanted to shoot it. But it took off before they were in shooting range.

Monster fish stories are not isolated just to Teshekpuk Lake. Diamond Jenness presents a story titled “The Giant Fish” from the Copper Eskimo:

In a lake at Saningaiyoq [sic] (the region of Backs River) once lived a giant fish. Two Eskimos were crossing the lake with their kayaks lashed side by side, while another Eskimo in a single kayak was paddling in front of them. Suddenly, the latter heard a cry, and, looking round, he saw the fish in the very act of swallowing the two kayaks together. He paddled furiously for the shore with the fish in pursuit, but so fast did it travel through the water that it drove the waves in front of it and carried the kayak before it. As soon as the boat touched the shore, the man jumped out and ran away (Jenness, D. 1924:78A).

And Arnold Brower, Sr. talks about giant fish in other lakes:

The old timers used to warn me that there were some big monster fish in this Suffubruaq [Sungovoak Lake]. But I have never encountered anything weird. I never found a deep spot, that’s why I doubted that story. And I told them it had to be a pretty flat fish in order to scare me. This old man Sakeagak [Kate Sakeagak’s husband’s father] talked to me at Tasibruaq. Up there in my cabin. He was camping there for the summer. At Christmas time, we went through there, and they wanted to go home, so we camped there getting ready for them to travel with us. He told a story about how they got a sailboat going up to the other side from this point. He said it was not windy and this fish surfaced up on the side of the boat and traveled with them. And it was the size of a kayak. That’s a good sized fish. Now, I believe that man, because he actually told his kids. He was an old man. [Warren Matumeak also heard Sakeagak tell this story.] The fables I learned on the east side of here [Teshekpuk Lake or Nibliq?] from those Natives traveling eastward that would come together, is they would tie up caribou legs and stuff with an avatakpak, you know seal poke, and put it out there [in the lake]. And then they said that thing would start to go up and down and pretty soon it was gone. I don’t know if that’s the truth.

196 While these may be popular stories, or myths, it is possible that they are rooted in reality. There are big lake trout in the deep parts of Teshekpuk Lake (Bendock and Burr 1984; Moulton et al. 2007). Noah Itta has indicated catching thirty to sixty pound fish there. Teshekpuk Lake is so large, wide and deep that it can be like the ocean; the weather can cause treacherous conditions so the admonition to never go alone could be rooted in the notion of safe traveling practices. No matter how such stories develop, it is interesting to see how they are used and perpetuated. For instance, Arnold Brower, Sr. experienced first hand what misperceptions can do:

People talk about monster fish. One time my wife woke me, and said, “Ah, I see something down there in the water, way down there!” And I looked down, and I didn’t even look with my binoculars. I got my harpoon gun, and my line, and I took off with a six horse power skiff. It was out there in the middle. When I came close to it there was a bull caribou. But I lassoed it, and I dragged it, and I went around a couple of times, and there were all of these Native people, and they thought that I was struggling for getting a monster or something. And it looked like I was struggling, but I had that thing tied up on the side of the boat with a rope, and I was just going around the caribou, and the caribou went under when I was circling around. And they thought that I had hooked up to that big something down there. I got there and looked at it, it was a bull caribou. I made fun of them a little.

X) Fisheries and Development The discussion of whether oil and gas development might impact Iñupiaq fishing activities or whether they were compatible was not the purpose of this project. There have been other forums related to protecting subsistence activities in NPR-A, such as the 1982 and 1997 subsistence hearings regarding petroleum leasing in NPR-A where local residents testified about the impacts they have witnessed or want to protect against (Bureau of Land Management 1982; 1997). And in 1988 the North Slope Borough convened a technical workshop where professional fish scientists and highly knowledgeable Iñupiat elders met to discuss the biology of fish as well as potential threats to subsistence fish populations from industrial activity in and around NPR-A and possible management recommendations that could be implemented to avoid adverse effects (Burns 1990). Specifically, they discussed the effects of: causeways, roads, bridges and culverts; gravel dredging and mining; seismic exploration; stream blockage; community and industrial water needs; and development planning, environmental review and permitting. In addition, a lot of scientific research has been stimulated prior to potential industrial development on the North Slope, including basic biological survey work (Gallaway and Fechhelm 2000; Moulton and George 2000; National Research Council 2003) and investigations of the effect of things like causeways on fish populations (Norton 1989). As development activities increase, some people increasingly feel that their subsistence lifestyle may be threatened, so it is understandable that the subject of encroaching development will come up (Schneider et al. 1980). This was not the first time that such concerns have been expressed in a land use project:

197

Villagers are greatly concerned that more local development and growth will bring outside attention to village life and there would be further regulations of their hunting, trapping and fishing. They also voice serious concern for problems such as air and water pollution, habitat loss, recreational hunting, and additional pressures on their local resources… It is of utmost importance to assure that non-renewable resource development does not interfere with the continued interaction between all components of the food web upon which Barrow/Atqasuk hunters depend (Schneider et al. 1980:94).

According to some, fishing has already been negatively impacted by earlier oil exploration and development activities – “this area has the fish all over, but after drilling, testing, some of them have no more fish. The lakes, some of them used to have fish in there but after so many fish were found dead they never grow back” (Adams, W. 1988). There is agreement that fish are sensitive to noise. And there is consensus amongst older people in Barrow that use of dynamite in early seismic studies killed fish in the Inaru River, and they do not wish to see this repeated. Other specific examples of observed changes from development include Jennie Ahkivgak, who grew up in the area that is now known as Prudhoe Bay, when she expressed her concerns in 1982 about the effects of oil development. After being gone for a long time, she returned to Prudhoe Bay with her grown sons and noticed a specific difference in the fishing:

I set up a net for them where we used to fish near the ocean. There were places where they had drilled, right beside the place where our house used to be. I placed a net for them in the lagoon near the ocean where my Dad used to catch arctic char and there used to be a lot of fish here… Even though we had the net overnight it did not get any fish at all (Bureau of Land Management 1982: Appendix IV, pp 1-2).

In 1988, Daniel Leavitt shared his observations about how fish disappeared from a lake that was used as freshwater source for the military base at Point Lonely:

Akuvaq, my grandfather, had a house in between these two lakes [Okalik and Naalakruk Lakes near Pitt Point]. They’d get nice and fat aanaakjiq from this one here. And this one’s got some aanaakjiqs, though, but not too many big ones. Twenty to twenty-five pounders. But they have small iqalusaaq in there. There used to be a lot of them. These people who were at Lonely came along and tried to use that lake for water. They hauled it for their drinking water. That little lake is pretty deep, and got lots of fish. Finally, they made the hole right in between there, and when they tried to put their hose in there, they can’t get the water out, it just sucked a lot fish. Sucked it up. They can’t take it out. Ever since, there’s not any fish in here no more. That’s Okalik Lake. This one is coming back, but pretty slow. We lose that good fish in there. Maybe same way with like my river. I don’t think my fish are going to be coming back.

198 They never bother that Naalakruk Lake. But this lake, it’s got only six feet of water. And the Cats went over it. Maybe they scare off all the fish. Press them on down, or kill them, I don’t know. We never get some breeds, but they came back. The bottom is salty in this lake. That’s why they have nice fish in these two lakes.

Also in 1988, Tommy Pikok’s concerns had to do with pollution effecting the ground and plant growth: “They need to watch out for those chemicals. Caribou, fish, birds, they eat the plants and then it gets into the meat that my family eats and then it goes into us.” The 2007 observations and opinions were mixed about the effects of development upon the fisheries and fishing. Despite disagreement about how to balance development and subsistence, all Iñupiat agree on the need to maintain a healthy and productive fishery. One view expressed was the need to protect fishing resources from possible destruction from development. Such as when Arnold Brower, Sr. said:

And that was the reason I was opposing making a landing field for delivery of diesel on those lakes near Chipp 2. If they destroy those fish [paikjuk] and they live in an area where we know them and can’t never find them any other place, I don’t want them destroyed. Also the natural habitat is being destroyed by natural erosion of the river and other areas where you can’t protect anything when that happens, if the river breaks through. I know that Chipp River breaks through from Chipp 2, north of Chipp 2 from Aviullaavik way, and west, and goes down to Chipp 1. It breaks through there, breaking through those lakes containing some species of fish.

In 1988, William Leavitt offered his thoughts about protecting fish:

I’d sure hate to see them obstruct all the rivers here where the fishes roam and go in the summertime. In Mayuabiaq and Ikpikpak. I’d hate to see culverts. But if they are going to be doing some man-made stuff, I’d rather see them install heavy stuff that’s permanent for where fishes can travel. Like bridges and overpasses rather than culverts. Well, I guess if they do things the proper way… But it’s seismic stuff that you know I wouldn’t mind probably in the wintertime, but in the summertime I’d hate to see seismic happening. ‘Cause they might be killing off poor fishes.

Another view is that development and subsistence can co-exist and that there are enough regulations in place to ensure safe development practices that will protect the fish and other resources. As Warren Matumeak states:

Noise bothers the fish. Seismic crews in the early days used dynamite on fish bearing lakes and rivers. Norman Leavitt said he saw lots of dead fish on the Kuugaagruk River [Inaru]. That’s sad. The state allowed that to happen. We

199 had no say. Now they’ve developed a vibrosis method, shaking, that doesn’t hurt anything because it’s gradual not sudden. I don’t see a problem for fish with this new method. There are fish all over here, but that shouldn’t be a tool to stop development. Development can take place and still protect the fish. You just have to put in good stipulations. Stipulations like setting the distance from a lake or fish-bearing stream where activity can happen. Doing directional drilling. The fish can be protected. We protected Prudhoe Bay for thirty years. Just put in conditions. You have to be forceful with the oil company people. Don’t let them holler you down. Fight back. Roads through here would not affect movement of the fish because they’d do it in winter. They’d be crossing when everything is frozen to the bottom. Or with a gravel road you have to require a bridge; a small bridge for a small creek. That’s better for the fish than a culvert. Fish is important as a food for our people, but we need oil, too. Especially when you know you can protect wildlife and get them to drill at the same time. I’m not worried about oil spills in lakes if you only allow them to drill in the winter. And at Prudhoe they have permits that require they stay so far from fish bearing rivers and lakes. Do the same thing here. But we should be protecting the deep lakes – the ones which are more likely to have fish. They can use the shallow ones for ice roads and stuff.

And then there are the expectations of problems to come that may or may not materialize. Mollie Itta describes her experience:

We were afraid of the oil companies when they started to test that area close to Shuqjak, near Tasiqpak. We noticed the birds were not there. Even ptarmigan. But fish were just the same. I think it’s the snow the birds are living on. It’s different and they disappear. There used to be lots of birds. All kinds of birds in our front yard at Shuqjak. We used to feed them. But then they were not there. When the oil companies did testing, the fish were the same. We were afraid they wouldn’t be like before, but I think in some summers they’re kind of low. And in some years they’re plentiful. That’s how they are, all these years.

XI) Summary The Iñupiat of the Barrow area continue to have close ties with the land and the animals and fish it supplies. Although less obvious than other subsistence activities because it is done individually or in small groups in far flung locations, fishing is a key element in their seasonal subsistence cycle. In fact, fish even have been identified as the resource that saved lives during starvation periods from the early 1900s to the present. The seasonal round of fishing begins after break-up, when the water level is high, with people setting nets at the outlets of lakes and small streams to capture fish leaving the lakes for

200 the rivers. In the summer, they catch fish in nets or by rod and reel as the fish travel up the main rivers or grow in rearing lakes. In the fall, a favorite activity is to jig for burbot or grayling, or to set nets under the ice in deep lakes or qaglus (deep holes in the river) where fish are overwintering. Fall fishing is the preferred time to catch a winter’s supply of egg-rich aanaakjiq. In late winter or early spring, some people still cut holes through the thick lake ice to jig for burbot, whose enlarged liver is a delicacy. Finally, in spring just at break-up, spawning grayling might be pursued. Iñupiat are keen observers of their environment, having spent generations being dependent upon the natural world for their survival. Their level of fishing has engendered a wealth of Iñupiaq knowledge about whitefish and related species in the lakes and rivers of the National Petroleum Reserve-Alaska (NPR-A). For example, the Iñupiat have identified many of the large fish congregation areas and migratory routes and placed their fishing camps accordingly. Therefore, in a sense, one need only look at cabin locations to identify critical fish habitat in central NPR-A. Or the fact that the life histories of many of these fish species are complex, but the Iñupiat have a good working knowledge of them and have witnessed aspects that have not yet been recorded scientifically. The combination of this local knowledge with western scientific studies of fish will provide a broader understanding of the habits and life cycle of these fish as well as a wider conception of why they are so important. Key to this is an understanding of what traditional knowledge is and the framework in which it is created. One point of view is not right and the other wrong; they work in collaboration to describe a larger whole. It is hoped that this compilation of Iñupiaq observations about fish will be useful in perpetuating their knowledge and in giving it equal consideration regarding management and development decisions.

201 XII) Literature Cited

Adams, Baxter Sr. 1988 Oral History Interview with Jack Winters. March 8, 1988, Barrow, Alaska. Translation by Billy Adams. Recorded for “Fishes Utilized in Subsistence Fisheries in National Petroleum Reserve-Alaska Project.” Barrow, Alaska: North Slope Borough Department of Wildlife Management.

Adams, Whitlam 1988 Oral History Interview with Jack Winters. March 11, 1988, Barrow, Alaska. Recorded for “Fishes Utilized in Subsistence Fisheries in National Petroleum Reserve-Alaska Project.” Barrow, Alaska: North Slope Borough Department of Wildlife Management.

Aiken, Jonathan Sr. 1988 Oral History Interview with John Burns. March 10, 1988, Barrow, Alaska. Recorded for “Fishes Utilized in Subsistence Fisheries in National Petroleum Reserve-Alaska Project.” Barrow, Alaska: North Slope Borough Department of Wildlife Management.

Aiken, Martha 2007 Oral History Interview with Karen Brewster. March 14, 2007, Barrow, Alaska. Iñupiaq Knowledge of Fish Project. DVD Number: H2007-01-04, PTS. 1-2. Fairbanks, Alaska: Alaska and Polar Regions Collection, Elmer E. Rasmuson Library, University of Alaska Fairbanks.

Aiken, Robert Sr. 1988 Oral History Interview with Jack Winters and Billy Adams. March 9, 1988, Barrow, Alaska. Recorded for “Fishes Utilized in Subsistence Fisheries in National Petroleum Reserve-Alaska Project.” Barrow, Alaska: North Slope Borough Department of Wildlife Management.

Alix, Claire 2005 “Deciphering the Impact of Change on the Driftwood Cycle: Contribution to the Study of Human Use of Wood in the Arctic.” Global and Planetary Change 47 (2-4): 83-98.

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Shinkwin, Anne, editor 1982 “Archeological Investigations in the National Petroleum Reserve in Alaska.” Anthropological Papers of the University of Alaska 20(1-2). Fairbanks, Alaska: University of Alaska Press.

Simeone, William E. and James Kari 2005 “Traditional Knowledge and Fishing Practices of the Ahtna of the Copper River, Alaska.” Technical Report No. 270, Final Report FIS Project No. 00-40. Juneau, Alaska: Alaska Department of Fish and Game, Division of Subsistence.

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217 n.d. Food and Food Habits in Alaska and Northern Canada. Reprinted from Human Nutrition Historic and Scientific, Monograph III. New York: International Universities Press, Inc. 1914 The Stefansson-Anderson Arctic Expedition of the American Museum: Preliminary Ethnological Report. New York: Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History, Vol. XIV, Part 1. 1922 Hunters of the Great North. New York: Harcourt, Brace and Company. 1946 Not By Bread Alone. New York: The Macmillan Company. 1951(1913) My Life With The Eskimo. New York: The Macmillan Company.

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218 Department of Energy, Office of Energy Research, Office of Biological and Environmental Research, Environmental Sciences Division.

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XIII) Appendices Appendix I: Interview Instrument

General Semi-structured Interview Questions (grouped by category; under/within each question are several “probes,” or topics that relate to each question to elicit information pertaining to the question, and follow additional subjects that a narrator may bring up that are not listed below).

Iñupiat Fish Biology What kinds of fish do you harvest (probes for each type/species: when, where, using what types of gear)? Do fish have different names depending on their age or size (probes: what are the names of the fish during their life cycle, do you prefer fish of a certain age, why)? What types of fish live the longest (probes: which are the most productive)? What types of fish are the most reliable (probes: which are the least reliable, or most fragile)? Do you remember years of “good” or “ample” fish (probes: when, why do you think it was a good year)? Do you remember years of “bad” or “scarce” fish (probes: when, why, was anything else memorable about that year)? What do fish eat (probes: where do they hang out, what do they like or not like)? Have you noticed anything unusual about the (various) fish? Where do you find certain fish and during what seasons?

Harvesting How frequently do you go fishing (probes: do you fish at the same time as other activities)? Who do you go fishing with (probes: does the type of fish that you are fishing for or the season make a difference, is there a division of labor with regard to fishing)? How do you know when you have harvested enough fish (probe: have you noticed overharvesting of fish)? Do you always go to the same place to harvest fish (probes: can you fish anywhere, or are some spots considered off-limits because they are where other families fish, how about areas that no one has fished at before—are there protocols that must be followed? Is there ownership of fishing sites?) If you have never fished in a lake before, can you tell if there is fish in it? How? When do you harvest different types of fish? Where do you harvest different types of fish, i.e. arctic char, dolly varden, pike, arctic cisco, etc.? What are the ages of the fish you harvest in these locations and at what time of year? Have you noticed changes in the number of fish you catch (probe: what do you think is the reason for the change)? What method do you use to catch different types of fish and during what season, i.e. jigging, summer net, net under ice in fall, etc.? How do you know where to go for different types of fish? How do you decide what is a good fishing spot, a good place to put your net in river, lake? Do you harvest different fish at different locations and does the season make a difference?

220 Do you notice if you’re catching males or females and if it changes by season and location of your fishing? Difference in size of same type of fish caught in different places - lake vs. river?

Spawning, Migration and Overwintering What is the timing and direction of movement of each species’ migration? What is the effect of break-up and high water on the fish and their movement (probe: how do fish get trapped in lakes)? Where and when does each type of fish spawn (probes: have you seen these fish spawning)? What do you look for to tell it is a spawning area? What is the lake phase of the fish lifecycle? What is the timing of fish movement along the coast? When do the fish travel upriver, downriver? What effect does the timing of break-up and freeze-up have on the fish (probe: have you noticed changes in this timing)? Where do different types of fish overwinter (probes: tell me about qaglu - deep spots in the river)? How far up river do the fish travel? Have you noticed changes in the patterns of fish runs - timing, size, location?

Environment Have you noticed changes in the rivers, such as channel changes, water flow, ice jams, that effect the fish? Any effect of natural springs upon fish and fishing? What environmental conditions trigger fish spawning and movement? Changes in what types of fish are found where? Increased presence of salmon on coast, and in rivers? Changes in abundance of fish in rivers, in lakes? Changes in fish appearance? Changes in fish behavior?

Cultural Aspects of Fishing Do you have a preferred type of fish? Vary by season? How do you prepare fish? How do you store your fish harvest? Are there differences in the taste of fish from different locations? How important is fish as a resource? How has fishing changed in your lifetime? What do you do if you have a bad fishing year, if there’s a shortage of whitefish? Are there taboos related to fishing like there are to whaling, i.e. being quiet on the sea ice because whales can hear? Who do you share your fish harvest with? Do you know any traditional stories that deal with fish (probe: do you know the story from the bones in the burbot head, stories of “monster fish”)? Iñupiaq names for fishing implements? Have you noticed any effects on fish from development, noise, pollution?

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Spatial Mapping Session (key informant will be shown a series of maps and will be asked specific questions). Questions: • Which lakes have you fished in? • What types of fish are in the lake? o Size of fish? o Years fished? o Any other info about that lake?

For information that is received regarding lakes that the informant has not fished in, but knows about, the question “How do you know this?” will be asked in order to get the primary sources of the information.

Other things to remember: Information on the maps will be numbered sequentially by interview. There should be no duplicate numbers! These numbers should take the form of: AB1 (for Arnold Brower 1) depending on who is being interviewed.

222 Appendix II:

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