Killimiq Island, McLelan Strait, Labrador
He was Inuk – "a person". He and the members of his small band of Inuit – "the people" – lived on Killimiq Island, separated from the northern tip of Labrador by narrow McLelan Strait. For much of the year they lived in houses of sod and stone that were partially dug into the shallow soil for protection from the cold of winter. The people had inherited this land, this spot, from their ancestors, and they would pass it on to their descendents. The swift flowing tidal currents of the Strait brought a richness of seals upon which the people of the band depended for food and clothing, and for that reason generations too numerous to count had lived at this site. He had learned from his father, and his father from his father before, to launch his kayak on a flooding tide and ride the current to the hunting areas, and to return home on the current of the ebbing tide. While he was away in the never-ending quest for food, the children scampered over the hillsides, perhaps interrupting their games of chase to harvest a trove of blueberries that stained their tongues and dribbled down their chins. Their elders would have told them to watch out for Nanook, the polar bear, and hurry home if he was sighted. Occasionally they would gaze out over the sound, hoping to see father returning safely. Spotting his small kayak, they would run down the hill and shout the good news into the long, low tunnel that was the entrance to the house, keeping the precious warmth within. Mother and Grandmother would interrupt their domestic chores to crawl through the tunnel, don their fur parkas, and rush down to the shore of the protected inlet. There they would help pull up the kayak and give thanks for the seal that was balanced across the fragile craft. They would give the seal a drink of fresh water to thank it for giving itself to them. By following this ritual they assured that the spirit of the seal would return to the sea and tell the other marine mammals that these were good people and they, too, might give themselves. Within minutes the seal was skinned, and sectioned, its steaming liver eaten warm and raw on the spot and the meat distributed to the several households of the band, for hunger was never far away. As the most successful hunter of the group, father shared his catch and thus earned status and respect as their leader.
This morning we visited this site where the remains of Inuit across several distinct cultures, Paleo-Eskimo, Dorset, and Thule, have been found. We rode the swift current, clocked at 9 knots, in our Zodiacs and landed in that same inlet. We gazed into the remains of the houses, trying to imagine ourselves living the lives of their occupants. We walked over the hillsides where the children once played. Keeping a sharp eye, we spotted Nanook crossing a distant ridge. Generations of occupation have brought nutrients from the sea to the land around the village site; perhaps that patch of rich and green grass marks where the dogs were once staked out waiting for a scrap of food to be tossed their way. Where nutrients are rich plants often remain in flower later in the season; we admired the last yellow Arctic cinquefoils and white mouse-ear chickweed flowers of the season, even as the leaves of the low, mat-forming willows around them had turned yellow and orange, and the alpine bearberry a vivid scarlet, to signal the return of winter.
Following our morning excursion fog grasped the landscape, giving us a physically restful but intellectually active afternoon with a presentation on polar bears and another introducing Labrador sandwiched around afternoon tea. The day concluded with a showing of the classic documentary film Nanook of the North, which shows the lives of the Inuit of Labrador in the early years of the 20th Century.
He was Inuk – "a person". He and the members of his small band of Inuit – "the people" – lived on Killimiq Island, separated from the northern tip of Labrador by narrow McLelan Strait. For much of the year they lived in houses of sod and stone that were partially dug into the shallow soil for protection from the cold of winter. The people had inherited this land, this spot, from their ancestors, and they would pass it on to their descendents. The swift flowing tidal currents of the Strait brought a richness of seals upon which the people of the band depended for food and clothing, and for that reason generations too numerous to count had lived at this site. He had learned from his father, and his father from his father before, to launch his kayak on a flooding tide and ride the current to the hunting areas, and to return home on the current of the ebbing tide. While he was away in the never-ending quest for food, the children scampered over the hillsides, perhaps interrupting their games of chase to harvest a trove of blueberries that stained their tongues and dribbled down their chins. Their elders would have told them to watch out for Nanook, the polar bear, and hurry home if he was sighted. Occasionally they would gaze out over the sound, hoping to see father returning safely. Spotting his small kayak, they would run down the hill and shout the good news into the long, low tunnel that was the entrance to the house, keeping the precious warmth within. Mother and Grandmother would interrupt their domestic chores to crawl through the tunnel, don their fur parkas, and rush down to the shore of the protected inlet. There they would help pull up the kayak and give thanks for the seal that was balanced across the fragile craft. They would give the seal a drink of fresh water to thank it for giving itself to them. By following this ritual they assured that the spirit of the seal would return to the sea and tell the other marine mammals that these were good people and they, too, might give themselves. Within minutes the seal was skinned, and sectioned, its steaming liver eaten warm and raw on the spot and the meat distributed to the several households of the band, for hunger was never far away. As the most successful hunter of the group, father shared his catch and thus earned status and respect as their leader.
This morning we visited this site where the remains of Inuit across several distinct cultures, Paleo-Eskimo, Dorset, and Thule, have been found. We rode the swift current, clocked at 9 knots, in our Zodiacs and landed in that same inlet. We gazed into the remains of the houses, trying to imagine ourselves living the lives of their occupants. We walked over the hillsides where the children once played. Keeping a sharp eye, we spotted Nanook crossing a distant ridge. Generations of occupation have brought nutrients from the sea to the land around the village site; perhaps that patch of rich and green grass marks where the dogs were once staked out waiting for a scrap of food to be tossed their way. Where nutrients are rich plants often remain in flower later in the season; we admired the last yellow Arctic cinquefoils and white mouse-ear chickweed flowers of the season, even as the leaves of the low, mat-forming willows around them had turned yellow and orange, and the alpine bearberry a vivid scarlet, to signal the return of winter.
Following our morning excursion fog grasped the landscape, giving us a physically restful but intellectually active afternoon with a presentation on polar bears and another introducing Labrador sandwiched around afternoon tea. The day concluded with a showing of the classic documentary film Nanook of the North, which shows the lives of the Inuit of Labrador in the early years of the 20th Century.
