My Atiq Billy, who cannot see this photograph I took of him, yet I believe he will love it just as much as if he could

This is my Atiq Billy, held in the arms of his father Scott Huntsman and reaching out to his mother Emma. I have been slowly, slowly, slowly crawling my way through my Kivgiq pictures and now, after about ten days of initial editing of my five day take I finally reached the point in day 2 where Atiq Billy appears.

In the Iñupiat way, your Atiq is someone with whom you share a name. In the traditional way, Atiqs share not only the same name, but a deep spiritual link. On this night, as the maktak, caribou soup, frozen fish and other Iñupiaq foods, plus spaghetti, were being served and eaten, I came by the table where Billy sat with his parents.

"Your atiq is here," his mother told him.

"Is it Bill Hess?" he responded.

I was amazed. Bill is a common name, even on the Arctic Slope, and all of us Bills are also Billys. I knew this Billy had many Atiq Billys. Furthermore, he is blind and we had never actually met. How did he know of me and how did he know this particular Atiq Bill was me?

His mother explained to me they had attended the November 26 funeral of Eli Solomon and she had told him his Atiq Bill Hess was there, taking pictures. He wanted to meet me, she told me. "Once we tell him who the person is, or when they tell him who they are; he never forgets. He can recognize them by their voice, feel and sometimes the way they walk." That would be the sound of the way they walk. 

"His senses are superb and one of them is his memory." When Emma forgets someone's name, Atiq Billy will ask her to describe the person and tell him where they met him or her. Then he will tell her the person's name. "He is my memory bank," she says.

So, on this night, as he ate his food, we finally met by introduction. We shook hands. I felt something - not just the flesh of my hand in contact with the flesh of his hand, but a connection of spirit. I felt something strong about him. Not one day has since passed without the memory of that meeting asserting itself back into my consciousness. I did not take a picture of him right then, but a little bit later, after the dinner tables had been folded up and the congregation had been reseated in rows and the Kivgiq Singspiration had begun, I came by and said something to his mother.

"Is that my Atiq Bill Hess?" he stated - more as a greeting than a question.

Atiq Billy had recognized me. I took this picture.

Atiq's parents adopted him at birth, not knowing of his blindness. Emma - or UvaNa Iñupiaq - told me his eyes are perfect. "It is the optic nerve that registers from the brain to the eyes that had not fully developed," she explained.

Billy studies in Braille and has been named student of the month at Ipalook Elementary school, where the teachers describe him as "a role model for all students." He goes out duck hunting with his dad and he plays on playground equipment.

He cannot see my photographs, yet when we visited, he seemed to like my photographs, to be proud of them. Although he is blind, I think his mind sees much that many sighted people miss.

I am proud of him - my Atiq Billy.

The Swan Sisters: Lay down the burden of your heart; Ryan L'Herault remembered; moment of silence for all lost in past year

A few years back, I was already walking toward the door of the Kotzebue High School gym to go somewhere else when I heard the voices of Kivalina's Swan Sisters begin to

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The stairway at Kivgiq: I climbed up and down, up and down, up and down...

How many times did I climb up and down these stairs these past five days of Kivgiq? For readers who do not recognize these stairs, they connect the Barrow High School gymnasium with the indoor track built above to enable runners to work out even when the temperature is far, far, below zero and the wind howls. Other than the track itself, there is no floor on the running level, so the track provides a high view of the gym floor.

The angle is a little too high and a little awkward for most pictures, but still I go up and down these stairs again and again during Kivgiq. There was a time when I would take these stairs two at a time going up and sometimes leap over more coming down. By Kivgiq 2011, I was pretty much limiting myself to one stair at a time, but just the same I ran up and down them many times.

There were several individual dances when I shot a few overview frames from the track, then decided I need to shoot from the floor, so I would run down, shoot, and then, even before the dance was over, decide I needed another high shot and up the stairs I would spring - again and again, throughout the four days of Kivgiq 2011.

Exhaustion is the normal state of being for me, but this year I arrived at Kivgiq in a state of extreme exhaustion - in part for reasons readers who have followed my recent series of posts stretching from Utah to Hawaii to Nuiqsut to here in Barrow can probably surmise; in part for a reason I have not shared on this blog but will tomorrow, if I can find the time and energy to put up a real post.

On the first day of Kivgiq 2013, in my state of exhaustion I found the climbing and descending of these stairs to be a struggle. I did not run up or down. I certainly did not take two at a time going up or leap over more coming down. Even so, I climbed, many times.

Give the schedule of Kivgiq and my determination to be present for every performance, I knew I would not get any real sleep throughout the week of Kivgiq. If the first day of stair climbing and descending was that tough, how the heck would I get through the rest of the week?

On Wednesday, the second day of Kivgiq, despite having had almost no sleep the night before, I was surprised to find the stair climbing a little easier. As each day passed, I grew ever more tired, yet it became easier and easier to climb and descend the stairs.

Yesterday, Saturday, the final day of Kivgiq, I found myself running down the stairs many times and several times I even ran up them. Yet, from the beginning of the day's activities, which for me began a bit before 10:00 AM to the end, which for me came about 3:00 AM, I continually felt as if I was about to drop from exhaustion.

Yet, once again, during those moments when I felt circumstance demanded it, I was running the stairs - slower than in 2011 perhaps, but running still.

Today I slept in late, got up and had an excellent combination omelette at Pepe's and drank two or three cups of coffee. All the day since, I have felt as though I am made of lead. I am stiff. I am sore.

Yet, as tired and exhausted as I was, I loved every minute of Kivgiq. As Savik said, "there was a lot of love on that floor." There was. So much love. It was the drums, the songs, and the love that picked me up in my exhaustion and carried me through.

I have not yet begun to edit my photos. I spent several hours today downloading and backing up, but not one minute editing - other than to go grab this picture.

I hope to make a better post tomorrow that will say a little bit about my personal Kivgiq experience. Beyond that, I won't start editing until sometime next week after I am back in my house in Wasilla. It will then take me a solid month of work, spread out over two or three months, to edit my take. The Kivgiq Uiñiq I will make is scheduled for release July 2 - the 41st anniversary of the North Slope Borough.

On that note, I thank NSB Mayor Charlotte Brower for the opportunity to make this Uiñiq and wish her a speedy recovery.

Myrna and Savik

On Saturday, April 25, 2009, I sat across the table from Savik and Myrna Ahmaogak at Osaka Restaurant in Barrow. It was their 51st wedding anniversary. We shared dinner together and later I joined them at their home for ice cream and cake.

I sat across the table from Savik and Myrna many times, usually not in a restaurant but in their home, which they kept open to me as though it were my home. They fed me everything from bowhead and caribou to hamburgers and french fries. I'm sure I have pictures from some of these meals, but I don't know where they are.

Today, Myrna was buried in Barrow. She passed away right after I arrived in Utah.

I was not able to go to Barrow to pay my respect and honor to this generous woman and her loving family, so I pay them my respect, honor and love here. 

God bless you all. Thank you for all you have done for me. I am far away in body, but close in spirit.

Remembering Raymond Neakok, among the first of Barrow ever to invite me into his home and the last I visited on my most recent trip

One of the first people ever to invite me into his house in Barrow was Raymond Neakok, seen here in May of 1982, showing me his kamiks and some blubber. He was pretty angry. "All they've left me is this little bit of blubber and my Eskimo boots," he told me.

That spring, thanks to a very low strike quota imposed by the International Whaling Commission without good science to back it up and with the support of the US government, Barrow landed no bowheads. Raymond knew the bowhead population was strong, healthy and growing and did not believe that any law should override Iñupiat law in the Arctic and he was a leader in tribal government. He was fighting back.

He did his part to prove to the world that the Iñupiats were responsible people capable of managing their own hunt through the Alaska Eskimo Whaling Commission and it was an Iñupiat right.

On my final night in Barrow earlier this month, Pat Hugo and I stopped in to visit him. Raymond knew his cancer would soon end his life. He had lost much weight and was suffering considerable pain and discomfort, yet he was friendly and even through his suffering showed his pleasure with a happy smile when Pat and I sat down to eat Iñupiaq food with him - including fresh boiled uunaalik from a bowhead whale.

Thank you, Raymond for always sharing what you had. My condolences to wife Marie, daughter Sarah, grandchildren and all of your large group of extended family and friends.