More than just the site

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 “We are more than just the place closest to the spill.”

Anna spoke these words about her village of Tatitlek, Alaska this morning. They have been echoing in my head ever since.    

“Instead of just doing fly-bys for documentaries, I wish people would talk about how we are family here.”

Although I was only in Tatitlek for 26 hours and 15 minutes, Anna’s words ring true.  I know Tatitlek is more than just the closest community to Bligh Reef, where the oil tanker Exxon Valdez tore open its hull and began spilling oil.

The ferry ride from Valdez to Tatitlek was all blue sky, sunshine, and splashing porpoises until we rounded Bligh Island and tucked towards the village.  Fog enveloped us, and I couldn’t see the village through the fog until the bowline was secure. 

As the fog lifted, though, the beauty of Tatitlek and the surrounding area was revealed.

Snow-covered mountains, trees draped in lichens, gentle waves splashing upon the beach.  Countless eagles glided overhead.  (I would soon find out why.)  Brilliant yellow-and-green skunk cabbage emerged from the sandy snow and brown of last year’s grass.  The brilliant pink of salmonberry blossoms caught my eye.  Thrushes and sparrows filled the air with their springtime trills.  The sky blue onion-domes of the Russian Orthodox Church were adorned with the traditional white cross silhouetted against an even bluer sky. Here – on a gorgeous spring day – everything looked pretty.  Even the trash dumpsters looked beautiful glistening in the sun with a fresh coat of paint

But the physical beauty of Tatitlek is only a small part of why this place is special.

After putting my bags in the IRA council office apartment, I realized I didn’t have much of a plan now that I was actually in Tatitlek.   I’ve developed a bit of a routine for such situations, so I started a kettle of water to boil.  When my tea was ready, I stepped outside to enjoy some more of the beautiful day and figure out what to do next.  While I was trying to find a good place to sit, a woman beckoned to me, “Warmer over here in the sun.”  I joined her by the steps to the mail boxes and we chatted.  The mail plane had arrived soon before, so our spot was popular.  It seemed like I met most of the village on those steps.

I revisited my spot later for an afternoon meal.  A woman waiting outside the post office suggested that a nearby rock would make a perfect lunch table.  She was right.

A call to the school led to a couple of presentations for the local students.  The younger kids seemed excited to have me there.  The older ones were interested to hear some authentic, down-the-bayou Cajun accents.  The teaching aide graciously obliged to an interview, the cook talked with me over coffee, the teachers helped me try to pin down a skiff ride back to Valdez.  Actually, it seemed like the whole village helped me get back to Valdez.

The ferry that brought me to the village doesn’t come back for another two weeks so I was sort of stranded.In need of more apples and keen to take his wife out on the water, the Village Public Safety Officer graciously agreed to take me the 26 miles to Valdez.  The skiff ride was wonderful.  A few gentle bumps as we made our way past glaciers, rocky islets, and green forests. 

The only disappointment from my trip was that I didn’t eat any seal meat.  I’ve eaten seal oil before, but never any actual flesh.  My timing was almost perfect.  The day before I arrived, local hunters had brought in a number of seals (mostly, I heard 3), a sea lion, and a porpoise.  Word of the successful hunt spread quickly as the fresh meat went to kitchens throughout the village.  The eagles heard the news too – the graceful contingent I saw soaring through the air when my ferry arrived were actually headed to the beach to pick away at what was left of the carcasses.  When folks at the IRA Council Office heard I hadn’t eaten seal before, they offered to bring me some.  But they cautioned that it was very rich and I should eat only a bite or two my first time. 

So perhaps it was for the best that my sample of seal slipped everyone’s mind as we tried to figure out skiff rides.  Although I would have been honored to try it, my mostly-vegetarian digestive tract might not have been up to the challenge.  One day, hopefully, I will get to eat seal.  And I'll try to make sure my body is more prepared.

For the time being, though, I was content to experience the “more” that Anna talked about through the friendly greetings I received as I walked around, the gentle sound of waves lapping at the beach in the evening sun, and the smiles I saw when people talked with each other about the delicious seal.

Indeed, Tatitlek is much, much “more than just the place closest to the spill.” Tatitlek is a place of family, and for a brief time, I had the immense honor of being a guest of that family, maybe even a very, very distant cousin-in-law. 

Originally written May 17, 2012