© Jill Heinerth
I got up at 4:30 as the sky was brightening. I wanted to explore the village in the early morning. It was extremely quiet, except for the many dogs I seemed to be awakening as I tramped through the town. One soggy pup was eager to make friend and bumped against my leg and jumped up on my hip with his wet paws encased in cold gravel. I met a lone fisherman on the dock and decided to share space with him. I did not want to invade his tranquility with a barrage of questions. The morning felt serene and didn’t need conversation.
I said, “Beautiful!” and he replied, “oh yes.”
The cast of his rod and he added, “here they come.”
A school of Arctic Char chased after his shiny lure as he skillfully gigged and danced the line through the shallows. A slick streamlined fish was induced to take a bite and he set the hook with mastery. It landed with a thud on the cement pier and bled as it tried to flop back towards the ocean in vain.
“He’s trying to sneak away,” I said.
“He is a good one,” he replied as his tipped the fish with his foot, back toward to the center of the pier.
“No bait?” I inquired.
“My people say, it is better to be a sly fox than a blue one,” he smiled through a gap in his front teeth.
I stood quietly and watched him land one more small fish. He looked around the pier and told me he was late.
The rain drizzled on wet dogs in the harbor and I knew I was in a remarkable place.
© Jill Heinerth
It is worth noting that families here are challenged by the fact that there is a moratorium on hunting caribou… a staple that they ate every day before the change. Food here comes on a boat that has not arrived yet this season. Families must plan in the fall to stock up for the winter. Food by air is unbelievably expensive (have you ever paid $29 for a raw chicken breast?) and worries about food supply are always in their minds. A meal of Arctic Char is an important part of a family’s ability to forage in a tough environment.
