The indispensable knife: how it came to me

At the end of August, as the EMN crew gathered in the home of whaling captain Edward Nukapigak to eat before boating to Cross Island, Isaiah handed this knife to me. He said I could use it through the whole trip. If you want to eat with the Iñupiat a good knife is essential. That flimsy thing they call a steak knife in mainstream America? It just won't cut it up here - literally. Try it on a piece of frozen maktak or caribou - it just won't cut it.

I used to always carry a good knife, but after 9/11 I kept losing them to airport security. I quit carrying. Before 9/11, I was in New York City and I ordered a pretzel from a street vendor. To get to my wallet I had to pull my knife out of my pocket. The vendor's eyes went big and he let out a fearful gasp. Not everybody looks at knives the way folks up here do.

Anyway, Isaiah's knife served me well all the way from Nuiqsut to Cross Island and back - and then - I lost it! I looked every place I thought it could possibly be but could not find it. I felt terrible. I told Isaiah I would replace it. "It's ok. Don't worry about it," he said. "I've got lots of knives."

Just before I left Wasilla this time, Margie found it in one of the extra pockets of the heavy-duty overpants I wore. Yesterday afternoon, I dropped in to visit his parents. Isaiah woke up and came out. I pulled out the knife and returned it to him. He handed it back. "You keep it," he said. In Iñupiat culture, you cannot turn down a gift. I accepted it back but first took this picture. Isaiah's niece, Caitlyn, suddenly decided she wanted to be in the picture, too.

Now I must be certain to always pack it away and never let airport security get it.