The movie, Big Miracle, and what I witnessed in real life, part 2: introducing Malik, Roy Ahmaogak, Price Brower, and the gray whales themselves; first physical contact

The movie, Big Miracle, begins with a scene in which Malik and his young grandson Nathan are in an umiak (skin boat) with their crew, paddling toward a bowhead. Later in the movie, Nathan makes a comment to his Aapa Malik that makes it clear that Malik does not use, or believe in using, motor boats to hunt whales.

Now I introduce you to the real Malik in a picture that I took about a week before Roy Ahmaogak discovered the three stranded gray whales. That's Malik - standing at the front of the boat, his baseball cap on his head, bill upturned, as it always seemed to be. The fluttering flag is the banner of the Patkotak crew of Barrow, captained by Simeon. With Malik as their harpooner, they have just harvested a bowhead and after a tow of many hours are about to land it at the edge of Barrow.

As you can see, Malik is in a motor boat. 

In real life, Malik, as Iñupiat hunters tend to be, was an adaptible and practical person when it came to hunting. In the spring, the Chukchi Sea offshore Barrow is covered by two platforms of ice - the grounded shorefast ice which usually extends four to seven miles offshore - and the polar pack ice, always drifting, floating, swirling around the North Pole.

A lead, sometimes very narrow, sometimes so wide one cannot see acoss it, develops between the shorefast ice and the polar pack. The bowheads that migrate through this lead system to summer feeding grounds in the eastern Beaufort Sea can appear anywhere within the breadth of the lead, but they often travel very close to the edge of the shorefast ice.

Then, the most practical and sensible thing to do is to camp at the edge of that ice, with a quiet umiak, and when a bowhead comes swimming close in, to launch, paddle to the whale, and harpoon it. If it is not an instant kill and the whale swims off, motor boats will be launched to give chase.

The fall hunt is a very different matter. While there may be plenty of ice pans and icebergs floating in the ocean, for the most part it tends to be open. In such conditions, a motor boat is a much more practical and efficient tool than an umiak. So, being practical, efficient, intelligent people, the hunters leave the skin boats behind and go out in motor boats - just as Malik and the Patkotak crew had done on this day.

As you can see, quite a bit of ice was floating around in the Chukchi near shore - more than is normal for early October. This early buildup would continue until ice conditions would become just right to trap three young, juvenile gray whales in its clutch.

In addition to the Patkotak Crew, the ABC crew, captained by Arnold Brower, Sr., an elder who would also play a crucial role in the gray whale resuce, landed a bowhead that same evening.

In the spring, the people use manpower to haul the whale out onto the ice, but in the fall, with the whales being brought to land at the edge of the village, it is practical and logical to use big D-9 Cats to pull the whales out of the water, so that is what they do and that is what they did.

Even so, the hard, heavy, work of cutting, dividing, cooking and storing the whale would remain an act of physically demanding, intensive, labor. The work would continue all night long, through the next day and beyond.

As soon as the Patkotak and Brower whales been taken care of and the community fed, Malik went back out into the Chukchi in a motorized, aluminum boat to harpoon for the Savik crew, captained by Lawrence Ahmaogak - Savik. Savik stayed on land and put his son, Roy, in charge.

Also in the boat were Billy Itta and Roy Okpik.

It was an overcast but calm day. Visibility was good, broken by small patches of fog. After they had been out awhile, Roy and crew heard a report of a nearby bowhead, spotted by hunters in other boats. Malik instructed Roy to head towards those boats. Some crews had tried to go for the whale, but it had dived and eluded them.

"When we got close," Roy recalled afterward, "the whale stayed up. It never tried to go away. It just stayed up, as if it wanted to give itself to us."

Malik stood at the front of the boat. He raised the harpoon over his shoulder as Billy readied himself with the shoulder gun. The whale waited as Roy steered the boat until it was practically on top of the bowhead. Malik, who had been known to jump right onto the back of a whale to harpoon it, thrust his weapon into the whale, sinking the harpoon, attaching the float and firing the bomb-loaded darting gun. Billy then fired the shoulder gun and Okpik tossed the float. The explosions of the bombs reverberated through the boat. Nearby crews helped put another four bombs into the whale and in 15 minutes it was dead - its gift given and received.

A total of 22 boats joined in the tow and it took many hours to drag the bowhead through the water to shore, where the hunters were greeted by many happy people. That's Malik, in the foreground at right, exchanging a hug with Darlene Matumeak Kagak. Behind him is Roy Ahmaogak, holding his young son, Bennie. James Matumeak reaches out to embrace them both.

To their side is Jana Harcharek, an educator who, in 2009, was named Iñupiat of the Year for her leadership in in developing Iñupiaq language curriculum for students of all ages.

When Roy had finished up his part of doing the cutting, storing, putting up the whale and feeding the community, he took a bit of rest. When he awoke, he got the urge to go back down to the ocean to see how conditions looked - perhaps even to spot a whale. Barrow had used up its strike quota but to the east, heavy ice conditions had forced the village of Nuiqsut to stop its hunt without using their three strikes. If conditions stayed good enough here, the odds were good that Nuiqsut's remaining strikes would be transferred to Barrow.

Roy wanted to be ready.

This time, Roy traveled not by boat but by snowmachine. He left his home in the Browerville subdivision of Barrow and traveled on and along the broad sand spit that ends at Point Barrow, about ten miles away.

It was Friday, October 7, 1988. Near Plover Point, just south of Point Barrow, he saw something quite unexpected. There was no open water now, but slush, locked in place between the shore and a high pressure ridge that had formed a few miles out.

Roy was surprised to see three gray whales, surfacing in three holes that they kept open in the slush. If they had been bowheads, the slush would not have bothered them. They would have sliced through it as if it were nothing.

But gray whales do not have the same thick, tough, ice-breaking heads that bowheads do.

Roy returned to Barrow and reported what he had seen to the North Slope Borough Department of Wildlife Management. 

Before much more time passed, Billy Adams, a whaler who worked with NSB Wildlife Management, led me by snowmachine to the shore from where the whales could be seen.

The slush had yet to harden into ice. It could not be walked on. Now, only two holes remained open, one a couple of hundred yards from shore, the other maybe 200 feet.

The holes were empty when Billy first pointed then out to me. Then, a snout rose into one, followed by that hollow, blast of a sound that a whale makes when it exhales.

Soon, another whale followed. Shortly thereafter, another. A bit later, the third - the smallest one, the tip of its snout already eroding from pushing through and scraping against the slushy ice.

After a bit, the whales moved to the other hole, and then they kept going back and forth between the two holes. It was both wonderful and horrible to witness. Wonderful, because it is always wonderful to see a whale, and to hear the hollow, blasts of their breath. Horrible, because in those breaths I heard both their desire and desperation to live - and I did not believe they had much time left to live. Their deaths could potentially be drawn out and miserable, as the slush hardened and the ice slowly enclosed over and suffocated them to death.

The best thing, it seemed to be me, would be for skilled hunters to come and quickly put them out of their misery. Yes, so far, all the hunters that I heard had agreed that these gray whales should be given some time, to see if maybe a hard wind would blow from the west and sweep the distant pressure ridge and this slush out to sea and so free the whales. If that failed, then perhaps the hunters themselves might think of something - I couldn't imagine what, but, again and again, I had been amazed at the incredible resourcefulness the hunters had shown in dealing with all kinds of challenges on their frigid ocean homeland.

Yet, how could they possibly deal with this?

Traditionally, the Iñupiat never hunted grays on a regular basis. A wounded gray whale can be very dangerous. The skin is so riddled with barnacles that the maktak - the skin and the blubber attached to it - does not make good food - but of course, the flesh would be good. Historically, when hunters have found sea mammals, be they seals, walrus, belugas... whatever... stranded in an ice hole, it was like a gift given to them from the creator, something to accept and rejoice over.

Still, in this case, the whalers were ready to wait a bit, give the whales some time, talk it over, see what developed.

How did these whales get into this predicament?

They were all young whales, juveniles with much to learn. No one can be certain, but perhaps they were like teenagers, lollygagging and having a good time doing whatever they pleased while their older and wiser forebearers and their more obediant young peers hurried off on their way to Mexico.

Freeze up came very early. The three gray whales found themselves trapped.

On the shore, just a yard or two from the slush, I found this seagull, frozen in the snow. Billy and I climbed onto our snowmachines and drove back to Barrow.

I think it was two days later when I boarded a North Slope Borough Search and Rescue helicopter along with Dr. Thomas Albert, Senior Scientist of the NSB Wildlife management and some other biologists. Between my first visit and this one, Oran Caudle, a videographer who worked at the North Slope Borough TV Studio, had been helicoptered out to shoot some video from the shore.

I knew that if word of these trapped whales reached the outside world, the major media would flood into Barrow. I had seen the huge amount of interest generated by the exploits of "Humphrey," the humpback whale who had repeatedly swum into the Sacramento River, migrated upstream and then had to be rescued.

I was certain that these whales would generate the same interest - but perhaps even more so, because their situation was so much more dire - impossible, it appeared to me.

I hoped that I could just quietly follow whatever was about to unfold until this saga reached what I was certain would be its tragic end. I did not want to disturbed by outside media. I hoped that Oran would demonstrate the good sense to keep quiet about what he saw and keep the tape close until the event had played itself out.

Before landing, we flew out over the hole for the aerial view.

Whale in the hole.

We landed on the shore. The slush had turned solid, but was still very thin. Helicopter pilot Price Brower, an Iñupiat whaler himself, tested the ice with his foot and determined that it was strong enough for us to walk on. So we headed toward the holes. but I was nervous. I judged the ice to be no more than three inches thick, if that. Salt water ice has an elasticity to it that freshwater ice does not, and I could feel the ice fall and rise beneath my boots as we walked toward the holes - somewhat the same effect that one might experience walking on a water bed - but not quite so pronounced.

I feared the action of the whales might cause the ice to crack and break beneath our feet.

Price seemed confident, so we all followed.

And then, right at the edge of the hole, helicopter pilot and Iñupiat whale hunter Price Brower dropped down onto his tummy. He inched his way toward the hole. Even as he did, the snout of the whale directly in front of him glided slowly through the water towards him.

Price reached out and touched the whale. The first physical contact between humanity and the stuck whales had been made. It would not be the last.

When we got back to Barrow, I learned Oran Caudle had done the very thing that I had hoped he would not - he had sent his footage to Channel 2 in Anchorage.

I knew that was it. The world's attention would now be riveted on Barrow, and on the whales. I felt that a natural tragedy was about to unfold, and the world would witness it, live on TV. I would not get to shoot my exclusive, solitary, tragic, essay, but would have to contend with the sharp elbows and hard shoves of the national news media - TV cameramen in particular.

I made prints of the final two images above and put them on the next jet to Anchorage, addrressed to the Anchorage Daily News. The Daily News ran the photo of Price and the whale looking at each other across the full width of its front page, with the one of the touch inset directly below it.

The photo editor asked me if they could put them on AP. I said go ahead. So off these pictures went, to appear in the newspapers of the world, both large and small.

Because of this, when I would later be talking with my peers in print media, they would blame me for setting off the whole insane, terrible, wonderful, absurd, cruel, compassionate, ruckus that followed.

But no, it wasn't my fault. I was not to blame. It was Oran Caudle's fault, for sending the video out, for sending moving images of our fellow, breathing, gasping, creatures, the whales, struggling against all odds for another breath, into practically every TV-equipped living room in the world.

I merely acted in self-defense, so as not to be totally innundated by the media onslaught that I knew would soon follow. 

Even though I knew it would come, I didn't really know. How could anyone have known? The events that would soon take place would eclipse all preconception.

Now that I have started this gray whale series on my blog, I am committed and determined to finish it, but it is only now, as I prepare to post at 9:18 PM what I had anticipated posting between 3:00 and 4:00 PM that I have fully realized what a challenge I have given myself, what a time-consuming burden I have undertaken.

I am not an organized person. While the bulk of my gray whale rescue contact sheets negatives are all together, several are spread about elsewhere. I have not even located them all yet. I have no scanner with which to digitize them. Unless I had already scanned the images for my book, Gift of the Whale, the only means I have to digitize them is to photograph the negatives with one of my digital SLR cameras, then convert the negative images to a positives in Photoshop and then tweak that fairly low-grade (but still better, I think, than those produced by the low-cast scanners on the market) into a blog presentable image.

The process is more complicated and takes much longer than I had anticipated. Before I continue on, I need to regroup a bit, figure some things out, come up with better, swifter, methodology. I need to spend some real time figuring out not only what is in my contact sheets, but I must locate the negatives that are missing. I am confident that they are within six feet of where I now sit, but that doesn't mean they will be at all easy to find.

Tomorrow is Super Bowl Sunday. I figure that at least the US, if not the world, will be absorbed by the game. I think I will watch it, too. My family, or much of my family (Melanie is traveling in Southwest Alaska, Rex with Cortney in Hawaii and Caleb will probably join his buddies - I don't know what Lisa will do) will be here. So a great deal of my time is going to go, right there - to Super Bowl Sunday. I hope to eat more pizza than is good for me.

Other than this, I plan to spend the rest of my time exploring, figuring out what I have, trying to improve my camera "scanning" method and flow.

Maybe I will post something tomorrow, maybe not. By Monday, I hope to come back strong in the continuation of this series and then keep blasting away at it until it is done. It won't be early Monday, though. Early Monday, I must drive Marge back to Anchorage, so she can resume her babysitting duties.

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Complete series index:

Part 1: Context bowhead hunt

Part 2: Roy finds the whales; Malik

Part 3: Scouting trip

Part 4: NBC on the ice

Part 5: To rescue or euthanize

Part 6: Governor Cowper, ice punch, chainsaw holes

Part 7: Malik provides caribou for dinner

Part 8: CNN learns home is sacred place

Part 9: World's largest jet; Screw Tractor

Part 10: Think like a whale

Part 11: Portrait: Billy Adams and Malik

Part 12: Onboard Soviet icebreakers

Part 13: Malik walks with whales, says goodbye

Part 14: Rescue concludes

Part 15: Epilogue

The movie, Big Miracle, and what I witnessed in real life, part 1: Context - bowhead hunt

The movie, Big Miracle, released today in threatres nationwide, begins with a Barrow bowhead whale hunt, so I will begin my series on the Great Gray Whale Rescue of 1988 with a bowhead hunt as well - actually, fragments of different Barrow hunts, culminating in the spring of 1988 - the same year that the rescue took place.

I was awestruck by the whale in the opening scene of the movie, in part because I have never seen a bowhead from quite that perspective in real life, yet I have seen them almost exactly like that in my dreams. The difference being that in my dreams the bowhead always turns upward, pulls the surface of the sea up in a dome with it until finally its snout breaks through the dome and then the water cascades down its sides as it climbs straight up through the air towards me.

The bowhead whale above breached in front of the whale camp of George Ahmaogak, Sr. during a time of cease fire. Elsewhere on the water, crews were in the process of landing two bowheads. Until that task could be completed, no further strikes could be made. This happened in the year 1994 - when I returned to the Ahmaogak camp nine years after my first sojourn with them.

This whale has been keeping the Iñupiat people alive now since the days of antiquity. To some, it may seem incongrous, but the Iñupiat people not only know the whale better than does anyone else, they have a deep love and respect for the bowhead whale, the likes of which is held by no other group of people. They depend on the whale, they need the whale, they know the whale, they respect the whale, they love the whale, they hunt the whale.

The Iñupiat and the bowhead have shared this sacred, life-giving relationship for thousands of years. In these modern times, the Iñupiat, a modern people, remain bound to the whale just as their ancestors were.

This is George Ahmaogak, who, in May of 1985, opened the door that allowed me to enter the world of the Iñupiat, and of whaling in particular. That May, I spent 12 days on the ice with him and his crew. It was a hard season. No whale was landed in Barrow in that time.

George taught me many lessons, some of them difficult. Chief among these lessons was one that I would hear confirmed many times by the elders afterward: a hunter must be skilled and stealthful, a hunter must also be respectful and generous toward others. No matter how skilled the hunter is, he is not skilled enough to land this great animal unless it first chooses to give itself to him.

The whale will only give itself to respectful, generous hunters, who keep their ice cellars clean and share their food with others - especially the elderly, the sick, and those who cannot hunt for themselves.

Hence, the title of my book, from which these pictures come: Gift of the Whale: The Iñupiat Bowhead Hunt - A Sacred Tradition.

This is one of the hard lessons that he taught me. Whaling is hard work. Just to establish a camp, crews must make trails across the sea ice that can exceed 15 miles in length. They must cut their way through many pressure ridges.

I came to take pictures, but when it was time to cut through a pressure ridge, I could barely get off a frame or two before George would hand me a pick axe and order, "Put that camera down and get to work!"

This was an even harder lesson. A shard of ice can easily poke a hole through the bearded seal skins that cover the umiak, or even break the frame. To ensure that this does not happen, whalers, usually young and fit, run with the boat. Several times, we had to move camp. Each time, George ordered, "Put that camera down and run with the boat."

I did not put the camera down, though. I kept it with me and every now and then lifted it above my bursting lungs and tried to get a frame off.

This effort would completely fall apart in the pressure ridges, where I stumbled and fell a couple of times. Once, I struggled to get back on my feet - retching, feeling like I was heaving up my guts altogether. I got no mercy from George. He stopped his machine, got off, stomped back to me, scolded me, mocked my poor "run with the boat technique" and then demonstrated how to do it right. "You are a shock absorber! A human shock absorber!"

And so I was.

It was hard. I did not want to swing a pick. I did not want to run with the boat; I wanted to take pictures, which is hard enough even when you are not swinging a pick - but, just like a young boy, I had to earn my right to be in camp. I learned things I would never have known if I had not undergone all the different tasks that George put me through.

I first went out with George in the spring of 1985, on a freelance assignment for We Alaskans, the no longer published Sunday magazine of the Anchorage Daily News. At the end of that year, I started up Uiñiq - a new pictoral magazine of life in the eight Iñupiat villages of the North Slope Borough.

I wanted to document the efforts of a single whaling captain and crew to bring in a bowhead. As George was then Mayor of the North Slope Borough. As the Borough funded Uiñiq, it seemed to me that it would be a conflict of interest if I were to focus on the Mayor's crew. So I had to find a crew - but whose crew?

In the spring of 1986, I had no crew to follow, so I basically stayed on land but kept my ears peeled as to what was happening on the ice. When I would hear that a crew had struck and landed a whale, I would seek out a snowmachine ride and then head for the landing site. This happened two or three times, and each time the butchering process was well under way by the time I got there. There wasn't much left for me to take pictures of.

Then, the final alloted strike of the season was made. A good lady by the name of Sally Brower let me ride on her sled and she drove me to the site where Jonathan Aiken, Sr., better known by his Iñupiaq name, Kunuk, had brought his whale. The whale was pulled out of the water even as we approached. I jumped off the sled as Kunuk climbed atop the whale with two of his tutaliks - his grandsons.

I shot this picture. I quickly ascertained that Kunuk was a quiet, humble, man - gentle and kind. I knew his was the crew I wanted to follow.

I made the request of Kunuk - that he let me follow his crew. For the next 11 months, whenever I would follow up, usually through his oldest son, Johnny Lee Aiken, the response would always be, "he's thinking about it. We'll let you know."

Soon, final preparations for the spring hunt of 87 were under way. Next, I was listening to KBRW and I heard the announcment that the Aiken crew was about to give out candy at Kunuk's house. This meant they would be going down to the ice within an hour or so.

So, feeling very depressed, I went over to get some candy and to see the crew off. Maybe, if I did so respectfully and without complaint, and then Kunuk thought about it for another year, he might take me in.

When I arrived. Kunuk and all his crew were dressed in their hunting parkas, with their bright, freshly sewn, white covers. Kunuk looked at me through dark sunglasses that gave me no hint of what was happening in his eyes.

"You coming?" he asked.

Here is Kunuk, pulling the umiak as his crew follows. I took these pictures, then scurried back to where I stayed, donned my arctic gear, hustled back to Kunuk's house and soon caught a ride out to camp.

Kunuk's camp, May, 1987 - waiting for a whale.

Kunuk's crew, May, 1987 - watching as a whale moves up the lead, past another crew.

Kunuk's crew, May, 1987 - they paddle for the whale.

Kunuk's crew, May, 1987 - they look for the whale after it dives.

Kunuk's crew, May, 1987 - they scrape the slush off their paddles before it hardens into solid ice. "Oh, well," Kunuk says.

Whalers like the east wind, but not the west. The east wind keeps the pack-ice separated from the shorefast ice - it holds the lead open. The west wind blows the pack ice back to the shorefast ice and closes the lead. If a large iceberg crashes into the ice, it can shatter and break it apart. Unwary whalers can be pitched into the sea or crushed in crumbling ice.

The wind has shifted to the west. Kunuk studies the advancing ice.

Kunuk deems the advancing ice to be too dangerous. He gives the order to break down camp, pack up and head for safe ice closer to land. In about 15 - 20 minutes after I took this picture, this campsite was completely vacated.

Kunuk and crew - on their way to safe ice.

Closed lead time is a good time to hunt eider ducks, which pass by the thousands, the hundreds of thousands, the millions.

It is also a time to relax on the caribou skins in the tent, to drink coffee (I never did drink coffee until I started to hang out with whalers) tell stories, and play pinochle. Raymond Kalayuak studies his hand as Eli Solomon peers over his shoulders.

On a few different occassions that season, we would hear that another crew had received the gift of the whale. Some of the crew would go to help with the landing - I would sometimes follow, nervous that a whale might come to Kunuk while I was off taking pictures such as this.

Some might look at a whale and say, "What a giant animal - how could the people possibly consume it all? But Barrow is a big community. After helping land and cut up a whale, different members of Kunuk's crew stood with their shares. They would get more at the feasts of Nalukatak, Thanksgiving and Christmas, but still one whale would not be even close to enough.

They needed more.

In 1977, based on information produced by scientists who did not yet know how to count bowhead whales in the Arctic, the International Whaling Commission and the US government believed the western Arctic bowhead population to number as few as 600 whales and no more than 1800. So IWC imposed a moratorium - a quota of zero - and the US agreed to enforce it.

From their own observations, the Iñupiat and other Alaska Eskimo whalers knew the government numbers to be wrong and so organized the Alaska Eskimo Whaling Commission and sent their leaders to IWC and Washington.

IWC and the US backed off a bit, but imposed a severe quota of only 12 landed whales, with no more than 18 strikes, for all ten (now 11) of Alaska's recognized whaling villages. Barrow's quota was four landed with no more than five strikes to land them. A decades long census effort was launched in cooperation between the US, AEWC, and the North Slope Borough. AEWC would manage the hunt, but would be under constant scrutiny. Eskimo whalers taught scientists how to better live on the ice and observe what was happening, there were aerial surverys and high-tech sound systems set up to detect and count whales that could not be seen from atop the ice or due to fog and weather condition.

In time, the census, subjected to rigorous peer review and then accepted by IWC and the US, proved that the bowhead population numbered more than 10,000 and is growing every year. The current, five-year block quota averages out to 67 strikes per year and the population continues to grow.

In 1987, the quota was still very tiny. It was not enough. Hunters had to double down on their efforts to catch caribou, seal, walrus and other animals of the Arctic - which supplement, but cannot replace, whale. Because they lead active lives in a frigid climate, they consume five to ten times the amount of flesh that other Americans do.

On April 26, 1988, the Aiken crew was the first to go down to the ice. They were soon joined by two other crews - Jacob Adams and Oliver Leavitt. I came too. We had to cut our way through a jumble of young, broken, jagged, sharded ice to get to the tenuous spot that Kunuk had chosen for our campsite.

As always, when swing a pick, I worked up a sweat. In previous years, that sweat had caused me to freeze not to death but into a state of perpetual misery. Nobody ever heard one word of complaint out of me, but I suffered. Now, I planned to sit out all day and all night for at least 24 hours and wait for a whale. I did not want to freeze. So, shortly after the tent was established, I went inside to change into dry clothes. I felt very nervous about this. What if a whale came right at the moment that I had removed my sweat-soaked clothing?

I thought about my previous three seasons on the ice. In all that time, only one whale had come within paddling distance of camp. What were the odds that one would now come in the few minutes it would take me to change into dry clothes?

I started to strip off my wet clothes, still feeling nervous. Claybo had laid down upon the caribou skins covering the tent floor to take a nap.

At the moment that I stripped down to my skivvies, Johnny whipped open the tent flap. "Whale!" he whispered. I jammed my feet back into my boots, didn't worry about anything else, grabbed my cameras and slipped quietly out through the tent flap. I was surprised to see the whale RIGHT THERE, just yards in front of the tent. It had the appearance of almost bowing to to Kunuk, who had raised his harpoon. To me, it looked felt like the whale was offering itself, just as I had been taught it would.

My angle was bad. Staying crouched, I slipped maybe four feet to my right, then saw that I could not take even one more second to better my position, so I raised my camera. My breath hit the manual Canon F-1 viewfinder and froze on it, covering it with frost. I could not see through the viewfinder to focus and this was in the time of manual focus. I did not have a motor drive but only a thumb lever. I focused on instinct, fired the shutter, cranked my thumb as fast as I could.

Kunuk thrust the harpoon into the whale, triggering the darting gun that would fire a bomb. Eli Solomon followed with the shoulder gun, to fire another bomb. The whale disappeared beneath the surface. We felt the reverberations of the two bombs come up through the water and the ice. We waited...

... in just seconds, the whale rolled to the surface, flipper up. Kunuk raised his hands above his head. "Praise God!" he prayed in thanks. It was an instant kill. 

Johnny and Claybo embraced. They were joyous. This whale had brought its gift to their crew. They would now have the honor of feeding the community.

Two months later, the Aiken crew joined with three other successful crews. Crew members gathered around the prepared whale, joined hands, and prayed. The feast of Nalukataq was about to begin. All who came would be fed generously. All would leave with generous portions to take home with them - as they would in the upcoming feasts at Thanksgiving and Christmas.

A blanket made from the skins of one of the successful umiaks was brought out. The first people to be tossed during breaks in the afternoon serving were children. Come night, in the time of 24 hour sunshine, the youth and adults took over the blanket.

Big Boy Neakok performed his famous flips.

In the movie Big Miracle, Malik is the captain who guides the paddling of the umiak toward the whale in the opening scene. He is a fictitious Malik, but is named for a real Malik who I have been told harpooned more bowheads in his life than any other hunter. In the movie, Malik proves to be the leading force in the whale rescue. The real life Malik would play a similar role, but with different nuance.

Tomorrow, I will introduce readers to the real Malik, together with Roy Ahmaogak, who found the three gray whales while out scouting in the hope of spotting bowheads. The three graywhales will appear in tomorrow's post as well.

p> 

Complete series index:

Part 1: Context bowhead hunt

Part 2: Roy finds the whales; Malik

Part 3: Scouting trip

Part 4: NBC on the ice

Part 5: To rescue or euthanize

Part 6: Governor Cowper, ice punch, chainsaw holes

Part 7: Malik provides caribou for dinner

Part 8: CNN learns home is sacred place

Part 9: World's largest jet; Screw Tractor

Part 10: Think like a whale

Part 11: Portrait: Billy Adams and Malik

Part 12: Onboard Soviet icebreakers

Part 13: Malik walks with whales, says goodbye

Part 14: Rescue concludes

Part 15: Epilogue

Margie and I go to the Anchorage Premiere of "Big Miracle." Now I must figure out how to blog it as I saw it

The other day, I visited the website for the movie, Big Miracle, scheduled for national release Friday and in the storyline read this:

"Local newsman Adam Carlson (Krasinski) can’t wait to escape the northern tip of Alaska for a bigger market. But just when the story of his career breaks, the world comes chasing it, too. With an oil tycoon, heads of state and hungry journalists descending upon the frigid outpost, the one who worries Adam the most is Rachel Kramer (Barrymore). Not only is she an outspoken environmentalist, she’s also his ex-girlfriend."

Good grief! Except for the parts about "can't wait to escape the northern tip of Alaska" and "the one who worries Adam the most is Rachel Kramer (Barrymore)... his ex-girlfriend," it was like I had just read about myself.

In fact, among the real people of this earth, there is no one but me who those lines could have described.

I also read in the Anchorage Daily News about how all kinds of Alaskans, including our Congressional Delegation, had attended the Washington, D.C. premiere. According to the article, just about all the Alaskans there had come in a bit skeptical but had left with praises for the movie.

The article also reported that there would be a "by invitation only" premiere in Anchorage on Sunday, January 29, in the Tikahtnu Stadium 16 theatres. I do not want to sound like a petty person, but I felt a bit miffed. When I visited the movie set by invitation in November of 2010, my book, Gift of the Whale: The Iñupiat Bowhead Hunt - A Sacred Tradition, was everywhere. People kept bringing it to me for autographs and describing it as their "Bible" from everything to creating sets to costumes, and for helping them to understand what actually happened out there.

Yet, they had not sent me an invitation to the premiere. So I sent an email to director Ken Kwapis, who had treated me very well on the set and who I found to be most likable and down to earth. He immediately emailed back, apologized for the oversight, and let me know I should receive tickets online before the day ended.

The tickets came. So here I am with Margie standing in the concession line to pick up the free popcorn and drinks that came with the tickets. She is rubbing her hands together because they are cold. It has been pretty cold lately. In our neighborhood, it was -34 F yesterday morning and, at the warmest part of the day, struggled to break -20.

Of course, it was much colder in the cold parts of the state - Fairbanks, down into the mid - 50's and when I checked last night at 10:00 PM, Fort Yukon was -60.

When we left our house today, with Kalib and Jobe strapped into their car seats, it was -18. In downtown Wasilla, it was -7 and at Tikahtnu it was a pretty warm -2. Still, as we unbuckled the boys and turned them over to their parents, then walked from the mid-parking lot to the movie, Margie's hands got cold.

As we walked down the hall to Theatre 1, I spotted Tara Sweeney, mother of Ahmaogak Sweeney - the young Iñupiaq boy who played in one of the starring roles.

This is him: the young star, Ahmaogak Sweeney, who spoke briefly to the audience before the movie started. In his hands he holds a short message from Director Kwapis, who could not attend. Ahmaogak read the statement for him. I should have recorded it or taken notes, but, without quoting, I can report that Kwapis stated that he had never been to Alaska before the shooting of Big Miracle, but now he is determined to come back. He found Alaskans to be warm, friendly, and hospitable people and was amazed at the acting talent this state produced.

Of the actors, none - not even Drew Barrymore, Ted Danson, John Krasinksi, or Dermot Mulroney - outshone young Ahmaogak. He did great. He added a big dose of warmth and enthusiasm to the screen. I would not be at all surprised to see more of him in future films.

My favorite scene of the entire movie was the opener, where young Nathan sat with his grandfather Malik in the front of an umiak as the whaling crew paddled toward a bowhead. Awesome! In real life, Malik, Ralph Ahkivgak, was a most highly respected and successful Iñupiaq harpooner who brought his talents to a number of different crews. The movie Malik was not the real Malik, but a fictitious character who carried the real Malik's name.

He was played by John Pingayak, a Cup'ik from the southwest Alaska village of Chevak. Pingayak also did a superb job. I respect and admire him greatly, yet I could not help but want to hear an Iñupiaq voice, singing the Iñupiaq way, backed up by Iñupiaq drums.

I just couldn't help it - I wanted to hear those drums. I wanted to hear those Iñupiat voices.

This takes nothing away from John Pingayak. He performed superbly. His character had genuine Native depth and soul. I just wanted to hear Iñupiaq songs in Iñupiaq voice, with Iñupiaq drums. So beautiful. So powerful - These voices and drums should be heard in a movie about Iñupiat people.

Ahmaogak is being photographed by Bill Roth of the Anchorage Daily News. who I first met when he came to Barrow to photograph the rescue effort for the paper.

Going into the movie, I figured there was two different ways that I could view it. I could view it as someone who experienced the rescue operation from beginning to end, someone who has spent a lot of time in Barrow, who has come to love the place and who knows what everything looks like and where everything sits. If I were to view it this way, then I knew I could not help but be disappointed.

Or I could just relax, kick back, understand that it is impossible to make a feature film based on a real event that actually unfolds the way the real event did. I could watch it as a movie, made to entertain. So that is what I decided to do. I would not stack it up against what I experienced and what I know, but would watch it to be entertained, to be told a hopefully good story, even if not a wholly factual story. There was one thing that I felt the movie had to do. It might not be able to go deep into Iñupiat culture, it might have many non-Iñupiaq actors playing Iñupiats, it might not get every little thing just right, but it had to show respect to Iñupiat people and culture - their hunting way of life.

The book that served as the starting point for the movie, Freeing the Whales - How the Media Created the World's Greatest Non-Event, by Tom Rose, did not show respect to the Iñupiat. It did not show respect to Barrow. It did not show respect to hunters. It did not show respect for truth. It was a terrible book. It sensationalized almost all that it touched. I say, "almost all," because it did show repect for a Colonel in the National Guard and a woman from the Reagan White House who fell in love and got married.

I'll give Tom Rose that, but not much more.

Early on, I heard that the movie storyline had broken away from the book upon which it was based. That fact, coupled with the fact that my friend Othneil Oomittuk, who I have great respect for, and the open warmth that I found in Mr. Kwapis and that I heard that a young Iñupiat, Ahmaogak Sweeney, had a big role, gave me hope that the movie would paint a different picture than did the book.

Here is Ahmaogak, after the movie, posing with a movie goer.

Indeed, the movie did paint a different picture than did the book. Even with its fictional inaccuracies, it did show respect to the Iñupiat whaling and hunting culture. I think viewers who know nothing about Iñupiat culture will leave the theatre with a warm feeling towards it. It was greatly entertaining and I enjoyed it - but to fully enjoy it, I had to put myself out of myself.

Here is Ahmaogak, after the movie, posing with his mother and with actors Liam Boles and Maeve Blake, who played the Lower 48 brother and sister, Cooper and Shayna Dobler, who watched the rescue on TV.

So I did enjoy the movie and I would recommend it to anyone, especially families - it is good family entertainment. Afterward, Margie and I stopped in at the nearby Red Robin for dinner. As we ate, there were some things that I could not stop myself from going back inside myself and wondering about. 

I won't give anything away, but there was one scene that if it had happened that way would have resulted in many fatalties among the rescuers. That was a little hard for me to watch, because I kept expecting everyone to get killed, even though I knew they wouldn't be.

And there's one more thing that kept bothering me a bit. It is a small thing, and again, it might sound petty. At the end of the film, at the end of the credits, they had a long list of thank yous. They could have listed Gift of the Whale, but they didn't.

One of the most dramatic scenes of the movie took place at night. Again, I will not give anything away, but to a signifcant degree that scene was partially accurate. It wasn't 70 below, it wasn't 50 below, but the whales were, indeed, in dire danger and their fate rested with two fellows from Minnesota. No one in all the media that had come up from elsewhere understood the situation and they were all back on land in Barrow, feasting at "Amigos" - Pepe's in real life. One video team, the same Adam Carlson, played by John Krasinski that I referred to at the beginning and the blond reporter, Jill Jerard had figured it out and got out onto the ice in time to document the event.

In real life, the media had also all retreated to Pepe's, except for myself and Jeff Berliner, a reporter for UPI. When the event upon this dramatic scene was based happened, it was documented by one media camera and one only. Mine. The picture is in Gift of the Whale. Without that picture, the filmmakers would have had little idea what the scene even looked like.

When I was on the set, the filmmakers let me know that they extensively used Gift of the Whale as a guide. So it might be petty of me, but I think that Gift of the Whale, with me as author and photographer, should have been named in the "thank you" part of the credits.

It would have been a very simple thing to do.

When I learned the movie was being made, I came up with a rough plan for this blog: I would dig up my negatives of the rescue, edit and scan them and then, beginning on the day that the movie is released, I would blog it, so that I could show it as I experienced it.

Recently, I had all but given up on that idea. I no longer have a working film scanner. There are cheap ones, but the quality of their scans is cheap, too. Towards the end of last year, I priced the good ones and there was no way I could buy one. Plus, I have been so busy. That plan has seemed impossible.

But now I have resurrected it. I have until Friday to figure out how to do it. Ideas are cooking in my head.

I might not spread it out over two weeks, but I am going to blog the gray whale rescue, as I experienced and witnessed it, as best I can.

On the drive back, Margie and I saw this tipped-over car at the side of the highway. I hope no one was badly hurt. I shudder to think of what it could be like to be driving in a light jacket and then get trapped in weather such as this, which at this place was about -10.

Complete index to the rescue series that followed:

Part 1: Context bowhead hunt

Part 2: Roy finds the whales; Malik

Part 3: Scouting trip

Part 4: NBC on the ice

Part 5: To rescue or euthanize

Part 6: Governor Cowper, ice punch, chainsaw holes

Part 7: Malik provides caribou for dinner

Part 8: CNN learns home is sacred place

Part 9: World's largest jet; Screw Tractor

Part 10: Think like a whale

Part 11: Portrait: Billy Adams and Malik

Part 12: Onboard Soviet icebreakers

Part 13: Malik walks with whales, says goodbye

Part 14: Rescue concludes

Part 15: Epilogue