(CN) — For indigenous Alaskans, traditional methods of subsistence hunting are more important now than in decades. But the Trump administration hasn’t slowed its relentless pursuit of massive extraction projects there. Instead, it switched to online-only public comment periods that locals say shut them out of decisions that could alter their way of life.
John Horner Sr., a former member of the Kobuk Traditional Council, lives just above the Arctic Circle, in a village where his grandfather met his grandmother after following the Western Arctic caribou herd on foot for hundreds of miles. Beyond Horner’s front yard lies the Kobuk River, and out back are the foothills of the 700-mile-long Brooks Range. It’s a place where soup made from caribou bone marrow is a relished staple and harvesting buckets of blueberries is a standard seasonal chore.
Twice a year, Horner counts on hunting caribou as they pass on the migratory path they have followed for centuries. He stocks his freezer and distributes meat to those who need it — a growing number during the pandemic. But every season, Horner and traditional hunters like him allow the first returning caribou to pass unharmed. It’s a principle of resource management that has been practiced as long as anyone remembers — a way to encourage predictability in the animals’ migration routes. And it’s something tribal elders have been trying to communicate to government scientists for decades.
“When the caribou first come through, those first ones — we have to let them pass by,” Horner said in a phone interview. “Because they leave a scented trail for the rest to follow. If those first ones are deflected a different way, they’re all going to follow. This has been passed down through generations of my people.”
Horner worries the Ambler Road Access Project — proposed to open a remote region of Alaska to copper mines — could change all that. A 220-mile wall of gravel planned to be 20 feet tall in some places, Ambler Road would slice through the core of the migratory route for the world’s largest caribou herd, which roams today as the buffalo once did. There’s evidence that it could divide the herd and make it veer off in unusual directions.
In northwest Alaskan villages like Nuiqsut, Kobuk and Anaktuvuk Pass, hunting, fishing and gathering berries is not optional or quaint. It is not a sport. It is the standard way of putting food on the table. That’s not only adherence to tradition. Food in the grocery stores of the North Slope has to be flown in, and it’s priced accordingly. A bag of chips can run $15, while a dozen frozen hamburgers is $30.
“In a very real way, any impact on subsistence is really taking away food security for people to be able to provide for their families,” Siqiniq Maupin, a community organizer whose family is from Nuiqsut said in an interview. “That’s what people don’t understand. We don’t want a nice hiking trail. Subsistence can seem romanticized but for us it’s life and death.”
Reliance on subsistence is even more important during the Covid-19 pandemic, which put the area’s main source of bulk transportation out of business. Ravn Airlines used to bring in staples like rice, coffee and pancake mix. The company has filed for bankruptcy.
Indigenous Alaskans are scrambling for necessities amid the specter of stories handed down about 1918 flu pandemic, which wiped out entire villages in the region.
“Right now, the North Slope is freaking out about getting diapers and baby formula and they don’t care about these projects,” Maupin said. “There’s no internet access. There’s a pandemic. People are scared for their lives.”