National Outdoor Leadership School - Index

National Outdoor Leadership School - brochure - Index

Becca Goldklang
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required to attend sessions with community and family
to instill the Tlingit values and of respect, love and
forgiveness. This form of justice has been extremely
helpful in a society torn between Western culture and
native tradition.
Mike spoke seamlessly about time. Yesterday and
3,000 years ago were intertwined in his descriptions of
events and places. “Fifteen years ago a humpback was
bumped unto shore by killer whales and 1,000 years
ago that rock out there was not below water.” He said
his people had been living and learning in these islands
since “time immemorial,” or before remembered time.
He harvested some devil’s club, the only North
American relative of ginseng, and showed us how to
prepare it. Students Ted Balboni and Josh Stansfield
were “fully stoked” when they heard it would give
them extra energy for paddling.
In years past, NOLS kayaking courses running out
of our base in Petersburg had visited Kake—a Tlingit
community of about 700 on the northwest coast of
Kupreanof Island along Keku Strait, with a fishing, logging
and subsistence lifestyle—so Mike had heard of
NOLS before and talked with groups. He gave us praise
for our Leave No Trace camping practices. He saw the
practice as respectful of Tlingit lands and consistent
with traditional ethics. “NOLS respects places and that’s
who we (Tlingit) are. We are a place. We have names for
each cove, each point and each rock.”
Mike waxed philosophical about interconnectedness.
He described ecological connections between
salmon and trees, trees and whales, and humans and
the environment. On a rare clear night, we watched
the sky turn crimson and he referred to the whales we
heard by name. He assured us that the sighting of an
orca pod was a good omen for our expedition. Upon
his departure, we thanked him and he taught us that
in the endangered language of Tlingit “Gunalcheesh”
meant thank you and “Ho Ho” was something like
“you’re welcome.”
After Mike’s visit, we decided that we would paddle
all the way into Kake to learn more about this First
Nation culture. Although the village has many modern
accoutrements, many of the traditional life pathways
are still active and a large percentage of Kake residents
still rely on subsistence hunting and gathering for food
and income. Historically, the Tlingit used sites like Kake
for wintering and would spread out in the summer to
“satellite villages” to harvest
salmon, halibut, seal and sea
lion. Subsistence has been
called “a poor word for a
rich way of life.” The richness
of this life and culture
was just becoming apparent as we paddled ashore.
Most people in town are either Eagle Clan or
Raven Clan. These complex matrilineal moieties, or
clan divisions, are just one example of how sophisticated
Tlingit culture is. Along with intricate organization,
incredible art and mythology are a few other
byproducts of the ample leisure time Southeast
Alaska’s abundant resources provided. At low tide, we
pulled in front of the old theater and soon became a
local show. Fifteen outsiders schlepping loaded kayaks
across fifty feet of intertidal muck.
With our kayaks tied up, we hiked through town to
the salmon hatchery on Gunnuck Creek. There, in the
center of town, was a spectacle of black bears perusing a
humpy-choked salmon stream. After just five minutes
of viewing, Mike appeared and gave us a tour of the facilities
and an explanation of the fish hatchery. Then we
were whisked away to the top of the bluff where we
stood before “the world’s highest totem pole” (one of five
in the Pacific Northwest) and were given an in-depth
explanation of its significance while reflecting on the waters
we were to paddle in the coming weeks.
Serendipitously, a feast was being held in honor
of a distinguished government guest. We were invited
to join. So, wearing our poly-pro, wind pants and a
week’s worth of funk, we entered the community gymnasium
where we were then treated to a banquet of epic
proportions of fresh salmon, smoked salmon, pickled
salmon, seaweed, and donuts. Then, we were honored
with a performance by the Keex’ Kwaan dancers. The
groups told traditional and modern tales through dancing
stoically to the steady beat of a skin drum.
Mike narrated and chanted with his grandson
Shawaan Thomas at his side. The dancers ranged from
ages 3- to 70-years-old, all delighted in our interest in
Tlingit culture. Their garments were red and black
with emblems of clans on them. Mike, pausing, removed
an old mask representing a raven in its Northwest
coast style of ovoid and contours, red and black
colors. He declared, “If the mask fits you, you are a
Raven.” Raven in Northwest coast mythology is a
FALL 2007
11
NOLS courses offer unique opportunities to
interact with local people in remote regions of
the world. Locals offer knowledge that can’t be
found elsewhere & fill in the gaps of sense of place.
Josh Stansfield
trickster, a culture-hero who is both mischievous and
benevolent. Mike placed the mask on my white-bearded
colleague’s head. To his delight, it fit. And so it was, that
the iconoclastic Craig officially became a Raven.
In celebration, we were invited to dance. Hesitatingly,
we began the Tlingit two-step until we found
the beat and told our own story. We donned capes and
Opposite page: (Left) Paddling near
Kake, Alaska and (middle) the town’s
totem pole. This page: Students from
a NOLS Southeast Alaska Sea Kayaking
course (below) make the most of their
time in Kake, paddling a traditional
dugout canoe (far left) and learning
memorable lessons from from Tlingit
leader Mike Jackson (left).
Josh Stansfield
touched carvings and shook rattles. We exercised our
limited Tlingit vocabulary. “Gunalcheesh, Ho Ho.”
Outside of the gymnasium-turned-potlatch, we
cooled down and reflected in wonder and awe on all
that had come to pass and felt fulfilled. Minutes later,
Mike invited us to paddle a traditional dugout canoe.
We hurried down to get our PFDs from our kayaks,
and all fifteen of us traded our fiberglass paddles for
hand-carved wooden ones and our ten boats for one.
With Mike in the stern, we paddled out into Keku
Straight, working on our rhythm to Mike’s paddling
songs. We paddled out around a logging vessel being
filled to send logs to Japan and fishing boats from
Hawaii in a brief glimpse of how global forces affect
local resources.
Then we paddled up Gannuck Creek, which hours
before we had been viewing from above, thousands of
spawning chum salmon below our paddles, flashing
dark shades of red and green. Black bear cubs were
wrestling on shore; others were fishing up stream. So
full of salmon, they couldn’t be bothered with people.
There we were. “In it.” Canoeing through a scene
of complex ecological interactions. It clicked, how a
subsistence culture like the Tlingit saw themselves as
part of nature. I realized how valuable the pedagogy of
this archipelago is.
With the Alaskan dusk encroaching slowly, I
shook Mike’s hand and said “Gunalcheesh.” I couldn’t
have meant it more. I had learned more in the last 24
hours than I had in some college classes and my five
years of research, reading and paddling in Southeast
Alaska. Guest instructor Mike Jackson had fulfilled his
own phrophecy; the pod of orcas had been good fortune
for our pod of kayakers.