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Life at Latitude 65​°

WEIO: World Eskimo-Indian Olympics

7/20/2015

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In Fairbanks, the Native Alaska community is all around us.  The "locals" are Athabascans, but there are a fair number of Native Alaskans from the Eskimo regions (turquoise and yellow on the map) that live here as well. 

This weekend we hosted Natives from throughout Alaska, Canada and Greenland to participate in the WEIO, long-established games highlighting balance, agility, endurance and survival skills.  Just a few of the events are shown below.
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Ear Pull: Two contestants sit facing each other and loop sinew around their ears, tight ear to right ear, or left to left.  A "tug-of-war" ensues, as they lean backward until the string comes loose or someone gives up.  It is a test of the contestant's ability to endure pain.
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High Kick (One- and Two-Foot): One of the premier events at WEIO.  The high kick is a means of communicating to the village that hunting or whaling crews needed assistance after a successful hunt.
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Knuckle Hop:  A game that tests strength and tolerance of pain, the object is to see how far a competitor can go in a push-up position, with elbows bent and knuckles down.  The only parts of the body touching the floor are knuckles and toes.  From the position, the participant hops forward as far as possible keeping the back straight and elbows bent.
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Four Man Carry: After a successful hunt, the seal, moose, caribou or other game may have to be packed for long distances.  In this event, the athlete must lift and carry four people with average weight of 150 pounds.  The athlete who carries the four men the farthest wins.
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Don't Sweat the Small Stuff

7/9/2015

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Hospice folks tend to be compassionate and full of empathy.  I was brimming over with such feelings as I left a patient today, after my weekly visit. Then, a friend starting complaining about some small, banal thing, just whining about the injustice of it all. And all that compassion and empathy flew out the window.

What I wanted to but didn't say was this:

So the man I saw today is having problems too.  He has end-stage lung cancer,  and lives in a small room in a dark house in Fairbanks, Alaska.  A house that isn't his, but rather a 5-bed assisted living residence primarily for low-income seniors. The only person to visit him besides the hospice nurse is me, a volunteer who shows up Thursday mornings to push him in a wimpy wheelchair down to the convenience store to buy grossly-overpriced potato chips and cigarettes which will be taken away by the house manager upon our return, to be doled out later, at her discretion.  And after stashing away the chips and smokes, the same house manager marches him back to his bedroom, reminding him to take off his pants before getting back into bed because dealing with that colostomy bag is a real pain otherwise.

This guy never ever complains--about the rickety wheelchair, the six-dollar potato chips, the feisty house manager, the awkwardness of getting into a gas station convenience store in a wheelchair pushed by some strange lady with a do-gooder complex, the family that doesn't visit, the cancer that's eating him away, the cashier who cards him at age 67 then scolds him for having an expired driver's license...  Never complains about anything.

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Trail Guide at Creamer's Field

7/2/2015

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I signed up for training to become a trail guide at Creamer's Field Waterfowl Refuge.  More aptly stated: Collin said: hey, you should do this!

Admittedly the training was thorough.  We budding guides learned about the history of the place, the flora, the fauna, etc.  Lucky for my pea brain, there are only six trees to remember up here in the boreal forest of the sub-arctic region: white spruce, black spruce, birch, aspen, cottonwood and tamarack.  As for the fauna--there is one rock star of Creamer's Field, the sandhill crane.  They come by the thousands from Texas and New Mexico each year to breed in northern Alaska and Siberia.  Part of me is like:  C'mon, guys! Aren't there suitable breeding/nesting sites a little closer to home?!

Anyway, I digress.  After training, we are required to give three walks, which happen daily throughout the summer at 10:00 am.  My first scheduled walk was smoked out: nobody showed up on this particularly smoke-filled day.  My second talk was this week and I had four people, a typical number judging by the visitor log.  I had one Floridian, one Oregonian, and a couple from Kansas who live full-time traveling in their camp trailer.

The problem with being a trail guide at a waterfowl refuge is that I'm no birder nor wildlife biologist nor expert on, well, anything.  What's worse is that my memory for stuff is failing.  (I almost had to look up the six trees for the above paragraph!) So my interest in Creamer's Field is the human history, the how-it-came-to-be story.  Now stories, I can remember.  In an effort to consolidate my understanding of the Creamer's story, I wrote it up, and titled it: How A Gold Rush in Nome Created a Waterfowl Refuge in Fairbanks.  For me, it's a truly Alaskan tale of adventure, self-sufficiency and creative thinking.  Click the link for my rendition of things.
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    Marisa Lee

    A cheechako living in Fairbanks, Alaska.
       
    cheechako - a newcomer to Alaska, ignorant of the terrain, the weather, the animals, the culture, the necessary driving skills in the winter, etc. Opposite of a sourdough.

    Here's a quick link to my "Cat Tales" flying blog at Parkwest Air Tours.

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