Category Archives: Kodiak

Kodiak Scandinavian Culture & Film Fest a Big Success!

A Scandinavian Culture & Film Fest on Kodiak, a remote island in Alaska! Great success! How is that possible? Well, because there is something special about the people on the ”Island of the Great Bear.” They come from many different countries and cultures: Europeans, Mexicans, Filipinos, Samoans, Sugpiaqs, et al., as well as all of those with Scandinavian heritage. In earlier blogs I’ve written about many of my friends on Kodiak who’s father or grandfather came from Scandinavia.

From November 6 -12, 2017 we highlighted Scandinavian culture. During the festival participants could learn to bake Norwegian lefsa, research genealogy, discover Scandinavian history, clothing and tools, and find out about the Sami reindeer herders of Alaska. Hundreds of students learned about Scandinavian music and dance, and even built simple instruments similar to those the early immigrants had brought with them from Scandinavia. There was a lecture on the Finnish influence on Alaskan architecture, and a Crosscut Saw where participants had to learned to work together using the 2-man saws that were used in logging before we had chain saws.

I first came to Kodiak 30 years ago, in 1988, with the plans to produce a film about the Kodiak bear, an idea that developed into so much more. I met Mike Rostad, a young man from Minnesota with Norwegian roots. Mike was interested in people and their stories, an enthusiasm that rubbed off on me. When I realized that most of the native people on Kodiak were also of Scandinavian heritage, I was intrigued. How had that happened? I began interviewing people and heard many exciting stories about people from a far-away land, about overcoming difficulties and remarkable encounters. My film archives expanded with hundreds of hours of interviews.

It must be more than 10 years ago that Mike Rostad approached me with the idea of arranging a festival centered around the film material  I had collected throughout the years. It was a good idea, but kind of daunting so I pushed it off into a distant future, but Mike didn’t give up. He kept asking me year after year, coming with different ideas about a Scandinavian film festival.

I think it was in the fall of 2013 that the plans began to ripen. I told Mike that, if there was going to be a festival, we needed to decide on a date and start planning. We were four people around the dinner table at the Rostad house: Sonny Vinberg and myself, as well as Mike and his wife, Kathy. We decided on a date in 2015 which was later postponed to 2017. All good idea need time to ”ripen.”

Last fall, 2016, we called our first meeting, planning for the festival. There were many different ideas and opinions about what should be included in the festival, but Mike took the helm and steered the committee until November 2017 when the first Kodiak Scandinavian Culture & Film Fest opened. The festival was a great success and all who participated were amazed and grateful that we had organized an event like this on Kodiak.

For my part the festival became a sort of film editing marathon. I began last winter to organize the enormous amount of material I had accumulated over 30 years. All available time went to working with he films I planned to show at the festival. But, like so often happens, I was working up until the very last minute. I planned to show seven longer documentaries, plus a few shorter bonus films. This was, as far as I remember, the largest project I have ever worked with.

Luckily I had jetlag from the 10 hour time difference from Sweden. I’d wake up at 2 am every morning, but that was ok. I’d get up and start working and then continue throughout the day. For 10 days prior to the festival and throughout the festival week I worked nights polishing the films I would be showing. There is always small details that need adjusting – sound, lighting, music and transitions – things most people don’t notice but that I wanted to get done to make the films as nice as possible.

There were many people involved, and who were a tremendous contribution to the festival. Four of our friends from Minnesota, Ross, Art, Bruce and Char came to Kodiak and added luster with their music and dance. Everyone on the planning committee and in charge of various events deserve a round of applause, but without Mike and Kathy Rostad’s early vision and diligens the festival could never have happened.

Plans for another Kodiak Scandinavian Culture & Film Fest are already underway! The vision lives on!

If you missed the festival the films will soon be available on our Vimeo pay per view site. Check the festival website for details

Capone’s Mechanic

One day, we took a boat to Larsen Bay to visit with Jerry and Elaine Johnson. I knew that Jerry had some interesting stories about his father, who was born in Norway and had been Al Capone’s personal mechanic.

“My dad was a fantastic mechanic, who could tell what was wrong with an engine just by laying his hands on the fender,” Jerry told me. “He only had three years of schooling, but he was a mathematical genius. He couldn’t do figures on paper, but he could solve just about any mathematical problem in his head.”

Alphonse Gabriel “Al” Capone, a.k.a. Scarface, the notorious Chicago gangster of the 1920s, is probably best remembered for the Valentine’s Day Massacre in which he annihilated members of the O’Bannion gang. “Dad said that he was a good employer. He always paid on time, and he never tried to cheat you.” It was his attention to detail that finally got him arrested. He kept careful records on all his business deals and was convicted for tax evasion.

“Two goons stood guard, 24 hours a day, at the garage. Any time Capone wanted to go somewhere, they called my dad. If a part was needed, the goons could find one within 15 minutes. Capone had good contacts,” said Jerry laughing. “Capone’s cars were tanks. ‘Bulletproof,’ dad said. Whenever Capone came back from a trip, my dad was called in to service the cars. He wasn’t involved in smuggling, prostitution, or murder, of course; he was just the mechanic.”

When Capone went to jail, Jerry’s family moved to Alaska, and his dad got a job as an engineer at the cannery.

“One day he was mugged. The police found him lying on the ground behind the cannery and declared him dead. They called Gravedigger Odell, who also declared him dead, loaded the body in the back of the hearse, and filled out the necessary papers. Inside the hearse, it was warm and dry. Odell jumped in and began to drive to the morgue. Half way there, my dad sat up and asked, ‘Where are we?’ Gravedigger Odell nearly had a heart attack and almost crashed the car. My father survived, however, and lived many more years.”

Excerpt from the book “Kodiak, Alaska – The Island of the Great Bear” which can be ordered from Camera Q.

At the Kodiak Scandinavian Culture and Film Fest I will be premiering a new films about the Scandinavian-Sugpiaqs of Kodiak.  See festival site for more information.

Kodiaks Scandinavian Heritage – Reindeer herders

Lois Stover in Sami dress

People were drawn to Alaska for various reasons. Some arrived almost by accident, others came on a mission.

In 1882, the United States government initiated a program to aid the native people who were starving in southwestern Alaska. Sheldon Jackson, a Presbyterian minister who had established many schools up and down the Alaskan coast, was appointed to lead the project. In Siberia, he had seen herds of domesticated reindeer kept by the Chukchi people and thought that it ought to be possible to raise reindeer in Alaska. With government funding, he purchased 171 reindeer and arranged for a group of Chukchi herdsmen to accompany the animals across the Bering Sea to Alaska and teach the Yupik people how to raise them. It wasn’t easy to teach the Yupiks to herd reindeer, however, and when relations broke down completely between the Russian Chukchi and the Alaskan Yupiks, the project was terminated.

In 1894, they tried again. This time they hired Norwegian Samis, promising them a three-year contract, good wages, and free room and board. A group of 13 Sami reindeer herders left Kautokeino in Norway to come to Alaska and teach the Yupik people how to raise reindeer.

Four years later, a second group of 113 Samis were contracted and 537 reindeer were purchased from Norway. The project was a success and continued for several years. The animals increased in number and were divided into several herds. When their contract was fulfilled, some of the Norwegian Samis returned to Norway or moved elsewhere in the United States, while others married native women and stayed in Alaska.

Lois Stover and her sister, Mary Eyman, are descendants of the Norwegian Samis from Kautokeino. Lois moved to Kodiak from Bethel, Alaska in 1959. When I met her at a Sons of Norway meeting, I asked if I could visit her and hear more about her ancestors. Her house, ensconced in a grove of beautiful spruce trees, was located on the outskirts of town. We sat on the deck, and she and her sister, Mary Eyman, showed me their collection of Sami clothing and handiwork.

Lois and Mary’s grandparents came from Norway with the reindeer herd in 1898. Their grandmother, Ellen Sara, was only 15 years old when she arrived in Alaska and was pressured into an arranged marriage with a considerably older Norwegian Sami man. Ellen cried throughout her wedding day. “It made me so sad to hear about her marriage,” said Lois. “Grandma had three children in her first marriage. Then she divorced her husband, married another Norwegian man, and had four more children.”

“I’ve heard that the Russian Chukchi were rather rough on the reindeer, especially their milking technique,” continued Lois. “They would throw the reindeer on the ground and then suck the milk out, spitting it into a bottle. The Yupik couldn’t accept the way the Chukchi treated their animals. It was easier for the Norwegian Samis to teach their milking techniques – using their hands much the way you would milk a cow or a goat. The Samis from Norway had a much better relationship with the Yupik people than their predecessors from Russia, mostly because they showed respect to both people and animals.

“I think another reason was that the Samis and the Yupik people had similar cultures. They ate similar foods and clothed themselves in a similar fashion. The Samis adapted quickly to the Yupik way of life.”

Lois remembers that her grandparents often spoke Norwegian to each other “When my father started school he refused to speak English, and had to repeat first grade three times,” she said. “My grandmother told him that, if he didn’t learn to speak English, he would be in first grade until he was 30! That didn’t sound very good, so he learned English really fast!”

Tim, Lois and Mary’s father, continued his studies and, in 1937, became the first Sami-Eskimo to graduate from the University of Alaska.

“We were taught to be proud of our Sami-Eskimo heritage and to fight anyone who teased us!” Lois laughed. “But, of course, we didn’t really fight anyone.”

The girls learned both Yupik and Sami traditions, including how to preserve fish and dry reindeer meat. “I still love reindeer jerky. We were raised on reindeer meat and cloudberries. Cloudberries grow all over the tundra around Bethel where we lived.”

It wasn’t easy to raise reindeer in an area where caribou roam. They inspected the herd every morning, looking for the larger caribou bulls, which had to be chased off or shot. If they were not quickly removed, they might take off with several of the reindeer cows and weaken the herd.

“Many of the Yupik didn’t really want the responsibility of taking care of the herd,” explained Lois. “They often abandoned their herds during the fishing season. You can’t do that. The herds must be protected from caribou and wolves. Many lost their herds that way.”

In 1922, a herd of reindeer was transported to Akhiok on Kodiak, but no one took care of them, and they turned wild. There are still reindeer roaming the hills of southern Kodiak. “It would be fun to round up a few reindeer and start a new herd,” said Lois, her eyes glowing with excitement. “Grandfather always said that we were not here for the reindeer, the reindeer were here for us.”

Mary remembered all the good food they made following the slaughters. “Mother filled the intestines with blood, oats and spices to make blood sausages that we boiled and ate either hot or cold. She also made bread from reindeer brains, brain bread. It was hard and brittle, like Rice Crispies.”

Excerpt from the book “Kodiak, Alaska – The Island of the Great Bear” which can be ordered from Camera Q.

At the Kodiak Scandinavian Culture and Film Fest I will be premiering a new films about the Scandinavian-Sugpiaqs of Kodiak.  See festival site for more information.

Burton’s Ranch

Narrow Cape, the beach at Burton’s buffalo ranch, is a place on Kodiak I return to often. This is, without a doubt, the end of the road – as far out into Kodiak’s wilderness that you can come by car. Indeed, before the Kodiak Launch Complex was built in the late 1990s, the road was sometimes impassable. Back then, the 45-mile trip from Kodiak to Narrow Cape could take two to three hours.

In the late 1980s, the only paved roads were in the city. “The Road,” as it is called, was only gravel, and often riddled with deep holes and large rocks that had to be carefully avoided. The trip was long and tedious, and very few people ever bothered to visit Narrow Cape.

To get to Burton’s ranch, you drive east from the city along the winding road that follows the rugged coastline, rounding three inlets, Womens, Middle and Kalsin Bay. With all the twists and turns, the distance is more than doubled, but behind every curve awaits a new awe-inspiring view. The steep mountain slopes are blanketed in plush, green vegetation, dotted with wildflowers in white, blue, red, and yellow.

Just before turning off toward Burton’s ranch, the road passes Pasagshak Bay, a cove that, in the right light, resembles a tropical sea. There are always at least one or two people fishing in the Pasagshak River, which empties into the bay. During the Silver salmon run, the riverbanks are crowded with eager fishermen from Kodiak.

After Pasagshak, the road turns up into the mountains where the buffalo graze. Twenty years ago, when the road was at its worst, it was necessary for someone to walk ahead to guide the driver past the worst of the holes and rocks. Just before reaching the ranch, the road crosses a small creek. Today there is a bridge, but when I first came out here, there were only a few logs thrown across the ravine on which to cross.

Visiting the ranch used to mean a lot of extra wear and tear on the vehicle. Several times I’ve had not one but two flat tires driving from the ranch. Once, when I was approaching Narrow Cape, we heard a loud crash followed by a nasty crunching noise under the car. Jumping out to inspect the damage, I saw that the exhaust system had caught on a huge rock. Carefully, I put the car in reverse and backed up slowly, but the exhaust pipe was torn loose. After that, the car sounded like a Formula 1 race car.

The first time I visited Burton’s ranch, I felt like I’d entered a time warp. Animals wandered freely between the rugged buildings. Horses stood, saddled and ready for use. Until the late 1990s, the horse was the primary mode of transportation on the ranch. Ranch owners Bill and Kathy Burton and their son, Buck, were living the life I’d dreamed of as a boy. The first time I met Bill, it was like reuniting with a long-lost friend. For Bill, no one was a stranger.

Bill Burton came to Kodiak from Florida in 1966, to work at Joe Beaty’s ranch by Narrow Cape, which at that time was a traditional cattle ranch. The following year, Bill and his wife, Kathy, decided to buy the ranch from Joe and stay on Kodiak.

“It was a constant struggle against the bears,” Bill explained. “Raising cattle on Kodiak is hard, they are easy prey. When I bought the ranch, bear hunting was not very regulated, and poaching was fairly common. But there are fewer cattle owners today, and shooting bears to protect livestock is no longer accepted.”

“In 1979, bears killed 127 of our cattle,” he continued. “We had to make a difficult decision – quit or try something else. We decided to stay, and the following spring, we bought 40 head of buffalo.”

Unlike cattle, buffalo retain their natural instincts and are better equipped to defend themselves against bear attacks. A bear that has once approached an angry buffalo will seldom make the same mistake again.

Exchanging cattle for buffalo proved to be a profitable venture. Not only can the animals protect themselves, but the meat is also more valuable, and the bulls are attractive trophy animals for hunters. Today the herd has grown to over 500 head and is the largest buffalo herd in the state.

The ranch is enclosed by a high mountain range that meets the ocean. There is no need for fencing and the buffalo roam freely. The road out to Pasagshak Bay is the only breach in the natural enclosure. When too many buffalo have wandered off, the Burtons gather a posse on horseback to drive the animals back over the Pasagshak River and up through the passage where the road winds along the bay. I’ve participated in a few of those drives. Sitting on horseback, driving a herd of buffalo through one of the most scenic areas on earth has been the fulfillment of all my boyhood dreams.

Excerpt from the book “Kodiak, Alaska – The Island of the Great Bear” purchase it here.

At the Kodiak Scandinavian Culture and Film Fest I will be showing films from my 35+ years on the island. Meet Bill Burton and many other “old timers” in the film Voices of Kodiak. See festival site for more information.

Kodiak’s Scandinavian Heritage – Emil Norton

Emil Norton’s father, Johan Norgård, was born in 1870 to Swedish parents in Vasa, Finland. Their family was poor, so Johan left home when he was 16 and went to sea. He arrived in the USA later the same year, 1886, and tried to join the navy. The recruiter asked him how old he was.

“I’m 18,” replied Johan.

“Good,” said the recruiter, “what year were you born?”

“1870.”

“Then you’re only 16! Go home son.”

But Johan didn’t go home, he signed on to another ship for a couple of years and eventually ended up in Alaska. He was working on one of the mail boats when the captain told him that his last name, Norgård, was too hard to spell. Johan changed his name to John Norton.

In 1893, John came to Woody Island, a small island not far from the city of Kodiak, where he was offered a job as store manager/fur trapper with a salary of $15 a month. He married a Russian-Sugpiaq woman and, since he dealt primarily with native people, learned to speak fluent Alutiiq.

John and his wife had six children. When Emil, the youngest, was one year old, his mother died. The oldest girls helped raise their younger siblings.

Emil described his father as a big, strong man. One day an unusual cargo arrived at Kodiak’s harbor, large crates of gold that weighed 250-300 pounds each. John lifted a crate to his shoulder and carried it to land. Everyone watching was astounded by his strength. “The Scandinavian men came from good, hardy stock,” Emil declared.

Most of the Scandinavians that came to Kodiak were successful. They married native women and had large families, but they rarely spoke of their homeland or taught their children their own language. “The few words we did learn were swear words we picked up by eavesdropping,” says Frieda, shaking her head.

John Norton lived to be 88 years old. Emil remembers how, in his old age, his father talked in his sleep, in a language they couldn’t understand.

Emil began working when he was 14 years old. His first job was stamping fish crates for 15¢ an hour. He worked in the fishing industry for 61 years before he retired.

“Of course, you have to deduct a few years for the war,” interjects Emil. After boot camp he was sent to Italy. “We chased Germans and Italians in Northern Italy. We saw some hard battles and lost a lot of men in our battalion.”

“One day,” he continued, “I turned a corner and came eye to eye with three German soldiers. I lifted my gun and was just about to shoot, when the Germans suddenly threw down their weapons and raised their hands in surrender. I was shaking from fear and adrenalin but was so grateful that I didn’t have to shoot. I was the first in my company to take prisoners, but I didn’t get a medal.”

Excerpt from the book “Kodiak, Alaska – The Island of the Great Bear” which can be ordered from Camera Q.

At the Kodiak Scandinavian Culture and Film Fest I will be premiering a new films about the Scandinavian-Sugpiaqs of Kodiak.  See festival site for more information.

Good Friday 1964

Afognak was devastated by the earthquake and tsunami of 1964.

The 1964 Alaskan Earthquake, also known as The Great Alaskan Earthquake, began around dinnertime on March 27th – Good Friday. Emil and Frieda Norton and their children had just sat down to eat when the light in the ceiling began to sway and the table shook violently.

“We all jumped up and ran outside. We hung on to each other, because if we didn’t we would have fallen to our knees – it was shaking so violently. The asphalt in front of our house was rolling in two to three feet waves,” Emil told me. We had gathered at Gene and Phyllis Sundberg’s home to talk about their Scandinavian heritage, when the conversation drifted to the earthquake.

According to testimony, the entire town of Kodiak rolled, as if carried by a gigantic wave that lifted buildings up in the air and then lowered them again. Lasting almost four minutes, the earthquake was one of the most powerful ever recorded, reaching a magnitude of 9.2 on the Richter scale.

“I recall the mountain looked like a bear’s stomach, breathing out and in, and moaning. When I explained this to the scientists that came later, they said it was just my imagination,” Phyllis muttered derisively.

“You had to see it to believe it,” added Frieda.

“We thought it was the end of the world. We stood in a ring holding on to each other, praying the ‘Our Father’,” said Gene.

“When the shaking stopped, we hopped in the car and drove down to the cannery where I was the superintendent,” Emil continued. “We were stopped by a marine who told us we couldn’t go any further. He told us to turn around and go up to Pillar Mountain. At 11 o’clock the tremors had stopped, so we tried to drive home, but we were stopped again by a marine, who told us it was too dangerous to go back. So we drove up here, to Gene and Phyllis Sundberg’s house instead.”

Eighteen people found shelter at the Sundberg home. Another fifteen stayed with the teacher who was renting the basement apartment. “One of them had an infant,” said Phyllis. “We didn’t have any diapers, but I told her not to worry; I had plenty of towels. We had to cut up the shower curtain to use for plastic panties.”

“With so many people in the house, and everyone using the bathroom, the first thing we ran out of was toilet paper!” Phyllis continued. “But there’s a little creek just outside, so we had plenty of water.”

“Now we have a lot of toilet paper stored up in the attic waiting for the next tremor,” laughed Gene.

The first Tsunami wave hit less than an hour later, destroying the entire harbor area, the canneries, and the shops along Main Street. The highest waves that swelled in over the city crested at 30 feet. The waves that destroyed Old Harbor and Afognak Village were an estimated 45 feet.

“We could hear buildings being crushed. I was looking through field glasses, focused on the Orpheum Theater, when all of a sudden, a boat sailed right past the window. I was so shocked, I screamed and threw the binoculars across the room,” Phyllis remembered laughing.

It took months before they could rebuild the city. “It was so depressing to see the fires that burned continually for months just to get rid of the trash,” sighed Phyllis. “They had to get rid of the old Kodiak before they could build the new.”

The fishing industry was hit the hardest – fishermen lost their boats and canneries were destroyed. Nearly a year went by before the cannery where Emil Norton worked partially reopened.

“Kodiak has a long and unique history. You know, despite the volcanoes and earthquakes, there is no better place to live,” concluded Emil.

The powerful earthquake triggered a series of tsunami waves that washed over Afognak, the second largest island on Kodiak archipelago, destroying most of the village Afognak. The ground sank six feet in some places, and wells and lakes were contaminated by salt water. The people of Afognak faced a difficult decision – rebuild or relocate.

The decision to relocate passed by one vote. The new village, built in a more protected location in Kizhuyak Bay, was named Port Lions.

An eerie silence engulfed the decaying village when I last visited Afognak village. Plates and cups were left standing on kitchen tables, and knickknacks lay helter-skelter on the shelves.

The schoolhouse that once echoed with the laughter of children, stood silent and empty. The church lay toppled on the beach, and the graveyard, with all the graves, had been washed away by the waves. In a few years, what was left of the village will be overgrown by vegetation or buried under the sand.

Excerpt from the book “Kodiak, Alaska – The Island of the Great Bear” which can be purchased here.

At the Kodiak Scandinavian Culture and Film Fest  November 6-12, 2017 I will be showing films from my 30+ years on the island. Don’t miss the film Good Friday 1964. See festival site for more information.

Kodiak’s Scandinavian Heritage – Old Harbor

Old Harbor (1988)

Old Harbor is certainly worthy of its nickname – Little Scandinavia. Most of the village’s 220 inhabitants are descendants of young Swedish and Norwegian men who arrived on Kodiak in the early 1900s. The village is nestled between a narrow beach and the steep slopes of the grassy mountains. Nearby islands protect the harbor from the Pacific storms.

Rolf Christiansen, was born in 1890 in Kristiania (now Oslo) during the time when Sweden and Norway were a union. Arthur Haakanson, was born in 1886 and came from southern Sweden via Langeland in Denmark. Both of them ended up, through remarkable circumstance and after many years at sea, in Old Harbor on Kodiak.

As a boy, Arthur Haakanson dreamed of going to sea, but his father thought that, at 14, he was too young, so he arranged for him to work at the docks instead. It wasn’t long, however, before he was offered a job on a ship heading for Greenland. Returning home a year later, Arthur found that a life at sea suited him better, and he soon signed on to a new ship.

In New York, he met a young Norwegian sailor, Rolf Christiansen. They became good friends but soon went their separate ways. Many years later, their paths crossed again when they ran into each other in a bar in San Francisco. The conversation drifted to Alaska and the possibility of making good money. The two friends separated again, but the thought of Alaska lingered in their minds.

Arthur got a job on the herring boat Hunter, en route to Alaska. On August 30, 1917, with its hold full of cod, the ship hit a rock outside of Chignik on the Alaska Peninsula. The ship sank in just four minutes, but everyone on board escaped in the lifeboats. The rock that sank the ship is still known as Hunter’s Rock.

In Chignik, the last ship going south had already sailed, so the crew boarded a ship headed for Kodiak where they had to spend the winter. At the time, the population was only 300, and the town had very little to offer the shipwrecked survivors. In the spring, a passenger ship arrived with cannery workers, and most of the crew from the Hunter booked passage south. Thirteen decided to stay – Arthur was one of them. He spent the next ten years working at different jobs around the island, until he was offered a position as foreman at a cannery in Three Saints Bay.

One day, he heard that a Norwegian whaling ship was docked at Port Hobron, near Old Harbor. A dance was held every weekend in Old Harbor, and the Norwegian crew was expected to attend. Arthur and several friends hopped in a boat and rowed to Old Harbor, a four-hour trip, to attend the dance and to meet the men from Scandinavia. As Arthur’s boat pulled into Old Harbor, he was surprised to see his old friend, Rolf Christensen, arriving in another boat. “What have you been doing for the last 15 years?” he shouted in greeting. The two friends had a lot of catching up to do.

At the dance in Old Harbor, Rolf and Arthur met young girls from the village. The following spring, a big double wedding was arranged for the two friends and their brides. Both families were blessed with many children, and in time, Rolf’s daughter, Mary, married Arthur’s son, Sven.

The most common name in Old Harbor today is Christensen. These are descendants of Arthur Haakanson’s best friend, Rolf Christensen, who arrived in Old Harbor in 1931. I met with Rolf’s son, Carl Christensen, at his beautiful fishing resort on the edge of the village.

“Dad said that he ran away from home when he was 15,” Carl told me, “and he sailed around the world three times before ending up here on Kodiak.”

Shortly after arriving, Rolf was offered a job as a cook at the Port Hobron Whale Station on Sitkalidak Island, just across the bay from Old Harbor. After meeting Sasha Kelly, a young Sugpiaq woman, he would row across the bay to Old Harbor every weekend to court her. When they married, Rolf was 41 and Sasha was 17. Sasha loved Rolf’s blue eyes and often said that she would like to pluck them out and eat them. Considering that seal eyes are a delicacy among the natives of Kodiak, it may not have been just an idle threat. Happily, Rolf held on to his eyes throughout his life.

Excerpt from the book “Kodiak, Alaska – The Island of the Great Bear” which can be ordered from Camera Q.

At the Kodiak Scandinavian Culture and Film Fest I will be premiering a new films about the Scandinavian-Sugpiaqs of Kodiak.  See festival site for more information.

Under Scrutiny

Painting by Anders Björklund
Painting by Anders Björklund

Bears are often regarded as unpredictable, threatening and dangerous animals. They have the power to topple a tree, break through the wall of a house, or even tear a human to bits with relative ease. However, after years of working closely with the Kodiak bear, I’ve found them to be very intelligent and gentle giants. Numerous times, I’ve witnessed that bears are both inquisitive and contemplative, and also very tolerant.

One September day, I was filming in a forest when a large boar came meandering down the path. Bears are creatures of habit, and he probably walked that path everyday. It was like a picture from Grimm’s Fairy Tales. The boar kept a respectful distance, and I understood that it would take some luck and a bit of preparation in order to capture him on film. I decided that I would be there early the next day, set up my camera and wait for the bear to appear.

I returned to the forest just before sunrise and, with great anticipation, focused on the path. He could show up at any moment. It was incredibly quiet in the forest that morning. Only the wind whispered mournfully in the trees, declaring that winter was approaching. Birds and squirrels awoke at first light and began eagerly preparing for winter, but my attention remained riveted on the path where the bear could soon emerge.

When the day was half spent, I dug out my sandwich, consuming it without taking my eyes from the spot where I expected the bear to appear. Afternoon waned into evening, but the bear never showed up. Disappointed, I packed up and hiked back to my tent.

Why hadn’t he come? Could he have already left the area? Had I missed him by one day? Hoping for better luck, I decided to return early the next morning.

Frost glistened in the grass and the air was crisp. The spruce forest slept quietly in the darkness when I set up my camera and sat in solitary silence by the path. When the sun’s rays began to seep through the spruce branches, the forest came to life as the birds and woodland creatures resumed their activities. With each passing hour it became increasingly difficult to remain focused on the path, waiting for a bear that might never return.

Midday, I took out my sandwich. Sitting there quietly chewing, I became aware of a squirrel rushing back and forth quite close to me. He was burying seeds, mushrooms, and cones in small holes that he had dug between the spruce trees. He was so intent on his work that he seemed completely oblivious of my presence. It was entertaining to watch him eagerly filling his winter pantry.

After observing him for a while, I took the camera off the tripod and, placing it right next to one of the squirrel’s holes, settled down to wait. It didn’t take long before he was back, stuffing more winter provisions into the ground. I got some wonderful footage. Lying down across the path, I pushed the camera a little closer to the holes. When the squirrel returned with another load, he nearly jumped into my lens.

The solitude, which had begun to be oppressive, was quickly transformed into curious camaraderie. Another fascinating citizen of the forest had replaced my obsession for the absent bear. I filmed that little squirrel for about two hours. Completely absorbed by his antics, I was unmindful of any movement nearby.

I was waiting for the squirrel to return with another load of seeds when I suddenly perceived that I was being watched. Furtively, I turned my head and glanced over my right shoulder . . . and there he was! The bear stood a foot away, staring down at me where I lay stretched out over his path.

I have often lectured hunters and nature enthusiasts on how to act if you meet a bear in the woods, but this was an unusually close encounter. I concentrated on remaining calm. With my camera in one hand and the tripod in the other, I slithered over the squirrel’s pantry, keeping one eye on the bear. His puzzled gaze followed my peculiar movements. Half expecting him to pounce at any moment, I raised myself to a crawl and then, in a crouched walk, proceeded in a large half circle to return to the path about 30 yards in front of the bear.

Back on the path, I noticed that the bear hadn’t moved. I set up my tripod, but when I tried to attach the camera, my hands were shaking so badly I couldn’t slide it onto the base.

After two days of waiting, I finally had my chance to capture this bear on film. It was now or never. Exerting great self-control, I managed to still the shaking enough to slide the camera carefully onto the base until it clicked into place. With my eye to the viewfinder, I located and focused on the bear. Just as I pushed the button to start the camera, the bear began lumbering toward me. When he came close, he stopped and waited while I retreated 30 yards to set up and started filming again. We did this three times before the bear proceeded down the path to the river to fish.

I’ve often thought about that bear and wondered how he felt about our encounter on the trail. He was undoubtedly just as surprised as I was and probably also curious about this strange creature stretched out over his path. I’m convinced that he also contemplated just how to react. Bears have an unforeseen ability to think and solve problems, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he realized that I had been waiting for him the whole time.

(Excerpt from “Kodiak, Alaska – The Island of the Great Bear”. The book can be purchased from Camera Q)

Don’t miss our first ”Kodiak Scandinavian Film and Culture and Festival” on Kodiak, Alaska, November 6-12, 2017. See Camera Q for more information.

Gone in Seven Minutes

Uyak Bay, Kodiak, Alaska
Uyak Bay where the SS Aleutian went down in 1929.

The S.S. Aleutian sailed from Seattle in the spring of 1929 with 300 passengers. Her captain was John Gus Nord, a Swedish-American with an unblemished, 30‑year career sailing the North Pacific. During the night of May 27th, most of the passengers disembarked at one of the canneries where they would be working over the summer. The weather was calm and the visibility good as the ship continued deeper into Uyak Bay with the remaining 15 passengers and a 135-man crew on board.

At 5:30 a.m., just south of Amook Island, there was a violent tremor, followed by a horrifying noise coming from the hull. The flagship of the Alaska Steamship Company had struck a submerged rock. Captain Nord, who understood immediately what had happened, ordered full steam ahead, hoping to beach the ship, but she was too damaged. The rock had torn an enormous hole in the hull, and the ship quickly filled with water. With her propellers high in the air, she sank, just seven minutes after the collision. An eerie silence was all that remained after the ship went down, reported one of the crewmembers. Not even a ripple disturbed the surface of the water.

In what was later lauded as the most efficient act of live-saving at sea, the captain and his crew deployed the lifeboats and evacuated everyone on board, with one exception. Manuel Dorras, a young crewman, drowned when he left the lifeboat, returning to the sinking ship to rescue his lucky horseshoe.

Everyone was stunned by the tragedy and their narrow escape. Captain John Gus Nord never quite recovered from the shock. He mourned his ship as if it were his own child.

It was assumed that the S.S. Aleutian had sunk in very deep water, and no attempts were made to salvage her. In 2002, seventy-three years after the accident, Steve Lloyd, author and shipwreck historian from Anchorage, Alaska, found the ship resting just 220 feet below the surface.

Following the dive line into the inky darkness the first sight of the ship is the two masts, now covered in white anemones, rising out of the darkness like ethereal watchmen. The ship is still intact after all these years despite the powerful currents. Shipworms have devoured most of the wood fittings but the hull remains, and the Aleutian is now a living museum, deep below the surface of Uyak Bay.

(Excerpt from “Kodiak, Alaska – The Island of the Great Bear”. The book can be purchased from http://www.cameraq.com/eng/books.html )

Don’t miss our first ”Kodiak Scandinavian Film and Culture and Festival” on Kodiak, Alaska, November 6-12, 2017. See www.cameraq.com  for more information.

Finding the Kad’yak

Newspapers
The discovery of the Kad’yak made headlines all over the nation.

The California gold rush, which started in 1849, flooded the state with people and increased the general wealth. Along with a higher standard of living came a greater demand for ice, which was a difficult product to obtain and deliver.

By the mid-1800s, the economy in Russian America had hit bottom. The sea otter population had diminished, and the fur trade on Kodiak collapsed. Thankfully, a new source of income presented itself. In 1852, the lake on Woody Island, an island near the city of Kodiak, became one of Alaska’s most valuable assets. In the winter, the ice on the lake was sawed into blocks and shipped to San Francisco. When the first load sold for $75 a ton, the Russian American Company realized that ice was a very profitable commodity. They soon had competition, however, when the first ice machines were invented. Twenty years later, machines had taken over the business entirely.

The Kad’yak was one of The Russian American Company’s smallest ships. She was a three-masted bark, 120 feet long and 30 feet wide. Her hull was covered in copper to prevent the growth of barnacles and other marine organisms.

On March 30, 1860, the Kad’yak left Woody Island bound for San Francisco, loaded with 356 tons of ice. Perhaps he was running late, or perhaps Captain Illarion Arkhimandritov was not superstitious. For whatever reason, he failed to observe the usual custom of paying his respects at Father Herman’s grave to receive a blessing for the voyage. Locals would later blame Kad’yak’s fate on this omission.

Shortly after setting sail, the ship hit a rock, tearing a large hole in the hull and quickly filling with water. The crew abandoned ship and went ashore in the lifeboats. But the ship didn’t sink. Her cargo of ice kept her afloat, drifting between the islands. Four days later, she sank in Icon Bay, off of Spruce Island. Ironically, the top of the ship’s mast and yardarm, still visible above the water, formed a cross marking her watery grave, directly in front of Father Herman’s chapel.

Since the 1970s, people had been searching in vain for the sunken Kad’yak, using the location parameters recorded in the ship’s log. Bradley Stevens suspected that those parameters had been misinterpreted and,143 years after she sank, believed he had new clues about Kad’yak’s position.

On July 21, 2003, we left the Kodiak harbor on board the Melmar. Our captain was Joshua Lewis, a teacher and fisherman from Kodiak. With great expectations, we arrived in Icon Bay, lowered the magnetometer into the water and fastened it behind the boat. A magnetometer, a device that resembles a miniature submarine, is an ultra-powerful metal detector that can detect metal buried or submerged far below the surface. Towing the magnetometer back and forth, we mapped the floor of the bay. When we reached the position Bradley had marked on his map, the magnetometer indicated the presence of large metal objects. Could it be the Kad’yak?

We began diving that afternoon, and by evening, we had found several pieces of copper. Cautiously optimistic, we returned to Kodiak.

Early the next morning, we were back in Icon Bay, and on our first dive, we found what appeared to be part of the ballast. We also found two cannons, an anchor, and a chain that matched the time period of the Kad’yak. Convinced that we had made a substantial discovery, we reported our findings. The news spread across the nation, and all diving was stopped in Icon Bay. Because of the historical significance of our find, all exploration rights for the shipwreck had automatically transferred to the State of Alaska.

The following summer, the East Carolina University organized a marine archeological excavation of the lagoon, and we who had found the shipwreck were invited, somewhat reluctantly, to join the expedition. With support from NOAA and the National Science Foundation, the university had the resources and the competency to complete the task. Though many artifacts were uncovered during the excavation, the most significant find was the copper hub of the ship’s wheel with the name “Kad’yak” inscribed in Russian letters, which positively identified the shipwreck.

When the excavation was completed, the remains of the Kad’yak were again buried in sand. A large portion of the hull and other artifacts from the ship lay in wait for someone with the authority and the resources to uncover her secrets. Barring that, Captain Arkhimandritov’s old ship will rest in peace at the bottom of the lagoon for centuries to come.

(Excerpt from “Kodiak, Alaska – The Island of the Great Bear”. The book can be purchased from Camera Q )

Don’t miss our first ”Kodiak Scandinavian Film and Culture and Festival” on Kodiak, Alaska, November 6-12, 2017. See Camera Q for more information.