09/10/01 -- YUKON: 'The Caribou and Our People Are One'

YUKON: 'The Caribou and Our People Are One'

OLD CROW, Yukon -- During a great famine hundreds of years ago, when there was little flesh for food, the Vuntut Gwitchin people would not hunt at the birthing grounds of the caribou. To them, the icy place in the high Arctic where the caribou migrated to have their young was sacred ground. Even hunger would not allow the people to enter it.

"We firmly believe as Gwitchin people that the caribou and our people are one," said Sandra Newman, a town councilor in Old Crow. "Their young are our young. If they were taken from us, we would feel their pain."

The Gwitchin people's oral history says they have roamed the mountains and tundra of the high Arctic for 20,000 years. They have protected the caribou young and, in return, the herds have provided them with food, clothing and tools. Today, food and tools flown in from the south are common, but many Gwitchin still live off the land and depend on the caribou in much the same way their ancestors did.

Now, the Gwitchin fear, the caribou are threatened by a U.S. energy bill that would open the way for oil and gas drilling in Alaska's Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, where the main calving area lies. The Gwitchin say drilling would disrupt the annual migration of the caribou and kill a human lifestyle that has survived thousands of years.

The calving grounds, which cover millions of acres, straddle the U.S.-Canada border. The most sensitive part lies on 1.5 million acres on a coastal plain in the Alaskan preserve. It is there, on the edge of the Beaufort Sea, that about 180,000 caribou migrate each spring and more than 50,000 calves are born.

The Gwitchin in the small town of Old Crow point out that the caribou do not recognize international borders. So on this side of the border, in Canada, their human protectors don't either and are fighting the U.S. proposal. They liken it to "drilling in a hospital nursery."

"We are not doing this because we don't like oil companies," said Newman, as she sat in the Gwitchin office in Old Crow. "We are not doing this because we are environmentalists. We are doing this to preserve the land for our children. . . . When our children are hungry, we cannot give them oil."

Vuntut Gwitchin First Nations Chief Joe Linklater said that if the caribou die, the Gwitchin way of life dies. He compared it to the loss of the buffalo on the Great Plains in the 19th century. "We feel if the caribou are no longer there to hunt, there will be no reason to go out on the land," he said. "Once the main portion of the culture disappears, what is left is legend and stories. We don't want to have to say to our children, 'When I was your age, we used to hunt caribou and caribou are large animals with horns.' "

On a recent day, Linklater walked along the shore of the Porcupine River. It is this river that gives the Porcupine caribou their name because the herd migrates across it in the spring and fall.

"The river that flows through the community flows through our veins," Linklater said. "We feel the same about the caribou. . . . An elder said the caribou heart is half man and man's heart is half caribou. We are the same."

The calving grounds in Alaska, Linklater said, should be respected as sacred because the caribou fewer pressures there. "Think about it, they are pursued by wolverine, grizzly bears, hunters, biologists, tourists, camera crews," Linklater said. "Our elders have told biologists to stop studying them as much. They hunt them down with helicopters, put nets over them and draw blood. The elders feel that is too much stress on the caribou."

Charlie Peter Charlie Sr., an elder in Old Crow, sees the caribou as much more than animals. They "possess spiritual powers and are associated with taboos and omens," he said. "They are animals that must, like the wolf and the bear, be treated with particular respect, reciprocity and sometimes fear. . . . Bragging, joking or talking negatively about caribou will bring bad luck to the person."

Proponents of drilling in the refuge say it will not harm the herds. "Arguments against exploration in ANWR [Arctic National Wildlife Refuge] are emotional and rhetorical. There is no sound scientific evidence to suggest it can't be done safely," Sen. Frank H. Murkowski (R-Alaska) said in a statement. "The truth is that the coastal plain is not unique and is not the most biologically important area for wildlife in Northern Alaska. Prudhoe Bay, where the Central Arctic caribou herd has increased ninefold, provides a quarter-century of proof."

Supporters of drilling maintain they could protect the herds by taking steps such as halting drilling in the spring and summer, when the caribou are in the birthing grounds.

Murkowski pointed to other people who live in the Arctic refuge -- such as those in the village of Kaktovik, Alaska -- as being supportive of drilling. Kaktovik officials said that 68 percent of village residents surveyed said oil exploration would bring more jobs and only 25 percent said they believe it would hurt the environment.

"Most of us believe the herd can adjust," said Lon Sonsalla, mayor of Kaktovik, who said the native Inupiat people of northern Alaska still hunt caribou for subsistence. "The thing is, the herd is only here a month and one-half during the summer to give birth to calves. During that time, we would insist there would be no activity on the coastal plain. We do not disturb the animals when they are calving. The only ones that disturb them are the eco-tourists who take pictures."

Murkowski argues that the refuge is important for U.S. energy needs and could replace the oil imported from Saudi Arabia and cushion the United States from foreign oil price fluctuations. "The latest U.S. Geological Survey estimates show the coastal plain could contain between 5.7 and 16 billion barrels of recoverable oil," Murkowski said.

In any case, oil development in the refuge is by no means certain. Senate Majority Leader Thomas A. Daschle (D-S.D.) has said the odds of the Senate passing any energy bill that would allow drilling in the refuge are "pretty slim."

"I truly believe that the vast majority of the American people want us to find our oil elsewhere," Daschle said. "They don't want the trade-off that ANWR presents. It's six months of energy destroying in perpetuity a very pristine, very special part of our country."

In Old Crow, Newman said the solution to U.S. problems is to cut energy use. "In the States, there are millions and millions of cars going in all directions," she said. "I'm not surprised the United States is running out of fuel and energy. They use too much. They talk about an energy shortage in California. But if you go one state over, the whole city of Las Vegas is lit up. Couldn't Las Vegas cut off its lights and share with California?"

Old Crow is a town with one main dirt road, one cafe and no traffic light. Once a traditional fishing camp, it was officially established in 1912 after the Hudson's Bay Co. set up a trading post at the confluence of two rivers. The Gwitchin, a nomadic people at the time, settled close to it. Eventually missionaries came, then the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.

A century later, this community 80 miles north of the Arctic Circle is almost as isolated as at its inception. Visitors must obtain permission from the Gwitchin. There are no roads leading here. The only way in and out is by airplane or foot. Old Crow, population 300, is one village in a nation of Gwitchin that comprises more than 7,500 people in 19 villages and towns spread across Alaska, Yukon and the Northwest Territories.

In 1995, the Vuntut Gwitchin settled their claim to traditional land, which had been stripped away without a treaty in the early 1900s by the Canadian government. In exchange for the settlement, the government agreed to make a cash payment, allow self government and return some land to the Gwitchin, who would have rights to the land's rich resources. "That means what is under the earth and what is on top of the earth is ours," Newman said. If the calving grounds were completely in Gwitchin territory, they would have the power to prevent oil drilling.

The Gwitchin, whose per capita income is equivalent to about $11,544 U.S., about two-thirds of the Canadian average, could benefit from jobs created by a pipeline or drilling, but they have refused to sign on.

"In the North, when you see the prices we pay for food, you will see how expensive it is to live up here. We could definitely use the money," Newman said. "However, there are other ways to make money. We don't need that oil money. We can't sacrifice our children's lives for that."

There is one store here, the Northern store on the banks of the river. Up the wooden stairs where a black crow waits, carrots sell for $4.75 U.S., per pound. A head of cauliflower is $2.86. A kilogram of cherries, about 2.2 pounds, costs $7.

Residents can get a pizza, fried chicken or Chinese food, but they must wait for the plane to arrive on Fridays. A pale yellow poster at the airport says orders must be placed by noon Thursday. The price of a bucket of chicken is more than $22; a large pizza more than $21.

For thousands of years there was no meat available in plastic packages and no planes to bring "fast food." Even now that such food is available, it is a luxury. Fresh caribou is a natural commodity.

On the banks of the Porcupine River, the hunters wait each fall for the herd's arrival. The wait teaches them patience. Last spring, the caribou were late arriving. People here said because deep snows slowed their movement, the caribou did not make it to the calving grounds in time to have their young. Hours-old calves drowned in the river. Because of changes in the weather causing increased snowfall, they said, the caribou population is shrinking.

This year's migration through this town should begin any time now that winter is near. When the caribou come, they will make a great thundering sound. They will swim through the river and gallop up the steep, muddy banks, following leaders.

Any great hunter will know not to shoot the leaders, because the others will get lost and the migration will be disrupted. Only the number of caribou needed to feed the village will be slain. The carcasses will be taken back to camps, where they will be shared with those who cannot hunt. The caribou will be cooked, boiled, fried, dried and smoked. Nothing will be wasted. The caribou will provide roasted ribs, head soup, singed legs, blood soup, antler velvet and bone grease. Even the hooves will be boiled to make jelly.

"We take only what we need," said Newman. "We use all the parts of the caribou. The only part we can't use is the stomach area. We give it back to the earth." Error: Unable to read footer file.