About the Author
J. V. Lofgren spent five years in the arctic of Northwest Alaska working as a computer consultant and programmer (1982-1987). During his time in the arctic he was befriended by an Inupiat healer-medicineman-shaman. Lofgren asked his new friend if he was an Eskimo. To which his friend replied. "I've lived in the arctic all my life and traveled it from Canada to Siberia but I've never met an Eskimo nor have I even seen an Igloo. These are white man's names and myths. I am Inupiat."
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
ELMER'S JOURNEY Finger Point, Alaska In the late evening twilight, Elmer Omnik leisurely drove his three wheeler past the Whaler's Inn, west toward the ocean. His bright red Honda bounced and twisted its way over a sea of small, smooth stones that formed the finger of land thrusting into the Chukchi Sea. He drove past the episcopal cemetery with its picket fence of bleached whalebones. He drove around the new airport runway and past the sod house ruins of old town, out to the point where the ancient ones were buried. The village had been in shock since hunters brought word of the disaster. Elmer, as corporation president, decided to see for himself if last week's terrible storm had really washed away the bones of the ancient ones. He came for that and much more. He stopped, watched and waited. His dark brown eyes gazed longingly over the strip of open water between shore and ice pack. Soon sub-zero cold would grip their village and the open water would be gone, locking the Inupiat people in a world of ice. An hour passed, then two, and still he waited. Elmer waited until convinced no one had followed. He snapped the motor back to life with a pull of the starter cord. Shifting into low gear, he drove slowly down to the pebble beach and circled past the sleeping village. When clear of the village, he rolled the hand throttle into full speed and raced east toward the Brooks Range that was barely visible on the horizon a hundred miles away. Leaning over the handlebars, he drove at breakneck speed through the dim light of the Arctic evening. The ATV bounced and twisted over the undulating tundra, not yet stiffened by the winter freeze. When it bogged down in loose gravel or mushy tundra, he jumped off and, while churning wheels spit muck and mire, gave a hefty shove and as it popped out, remounted the surging vehicle like a cowboy mounting a bucking bronco. Every so often he stopped on a knoll, shut off the motor and listened. His dark eyes anxiously searched the western horizon. He waited and watched for long minutes before continuing up the Kukpuk river trail as it meandered southeast out of Finger Point and on up to the foothills of the De Long Mountains that lay on the western tip of the Brooks Range. Elmer loved the land. It was a powerful land. A land of spirits. Those spirits he understood but not the spirits he encountered in Seattle. Just beyond Siglualik Creek, Elmer followed the cut off that ran along the shore of the Chukchi Sea near Cape Thompson. After swinging south for about 10 miles, he reached the place where the Alolukrok Creek flowed into the Siglualik Creek. There he stopped, momentarily uncertain the direction he should turn. It was rolling unbroken country, consisting of undulating round hills, which looked like frozen ocean swells. No tree grew that far above the Arctic Circle, only low brush that cringed in sheltered gullies. There were few landmarks for guidance. Elmer knew the land and its forces. He appreciated the wisdom of his people, who never confronted nature's power but bent in harmony with it. Moving slowly up the trail, his eyes swept the horizon like searching radar. About noon of the second day, Elmer saw a small dark shape on a knoll far away. From the distance, it looked like a man. But as he drew near the shape took on definition. It stood like a sentinel on the barrens. The Inupiat call them Inukshuk, "people rock" or "spirit rock." In ancient times, they were made to appear more human, sometimes with arm-like appendages. They were created to make the desolate land appear inhabited; a reminder to both man and animal of the spirits. But few Inukshuks remained. For most visitors, they were only directional markers, relics from the ancient past. During the twilight of the third evening, Elmer approached his destination. He stopped, half a mile short; to gaze overhead at the brilliant, star filled heavens. The wind against his face made him feel alive, connected, and hopeful. The Arctic silence felt good. As he watched, the Aurora Borealis made its dancing entrance on the overhead stage. Elmer remembered the first time Father Wilson saw the Northern lights. He had just arrived in Finger Point from New York State, twenty years ago. Father Wilson was so excited. He ran out of the rectory pointing to the heavens and shouting. "Look up my people! Its God's finger writing in our sky. God is confirming his promise to be with the faithful remnant of his Inupiat people. Like the ancient Hebrews who had their rainbow we have the Northern Lights." Elmer's attention was drawn to a high knoll beyond the distant campfire and to the man standing silently beside an Inukshuk. Elmer saw the man slowly raise his arms over his head; his palms turned to the sky above, in the manner of the ancient ones. In the soft evening breeze Elmer heard the sound of whistling in rhythm with the undulating lights. Wheeee Wheeee Wheeeeeeee Wheeeeeee. The whistling continued for several minutes and then it happened! The Aurora Borealis began to dip, sweeping in folds and swirling eddies, like streams of water flowing in opposite directions, sheets of red and yellow glowing brightly before turning to shades of green that faded into purple, and then glowing soft pink. As it dropped it became a shimmering, undulating wall of light, descending from red to white to blue. The whistling continued as the Aurora Borealis dipped down, down, down, until it rested on the upraised palms of the man and he glowed with a bluish radiance.
