Kayak Piece

The Baranov Museum Hosted a Historical Writing Workshop in the fall of 2010. This is a version of what I wrote as a teacher / participant in the class.

When we study kayaks of Alaska, we often see them through the eyes of early Russian explorers. Baidarka is the Russian name for kayak, and it is not only the Russian language that filters our insight into this miraculously living boat. We construct an image of the kayak through the written words of awe-inspired and baffled Russian sailors, Naval Officers, and Missionaries. The kayak was “so light that a seven year old child could easily carry” one, noted Veniaminov, or St. Innocent of Alaska, a missionary who learned several Alaska Native languages and travelled by dog sled and reindeer around the North he loved. Lisyansky, famous or infamous depending on who you’re speaking with for his defeat of key Tlingit clans during the battle of Sitka, addressed the kayak in more practical terms: “At first I disliked these leathern canoes, on account of their bending elasticity in the water, arising from their being slenderly built; but when accustomed to them, I thought it rather pleasant than otherwise.” We gain insight and even awe about the kayak from these observations, but we have to dig through them like a midden pile to find salvageable truth about these man-made sea creatures that could approach even 10 knots of speed. Today’s kayak can go 5 knots at the fastest.

Veniaminov noted the kayak’s elasticity in water, and attributed it to their slender size. If we allow ourselves to approach the kayak with that same elasticity of imagination spiced with the ancestral memories and stories of Alaska Native peoples, we find ourselves awash with the elegance of nature. The elasticity emerges from dozens of joints constructed from animal bones; driftwood collected patiently over a period of years, each grain lovingly noted; female sea lion and sea otter skins oiled until their transparency reflected the ocean waves; thorough sinew stitching completed with the meticulous prayers of survival. The kayak was never complete and like any living creature required grooming, new skins, new oil on old skins, and patched punctures. The delicate creature-in-becoming offered the privilege of stepping into another world, an animal world, that of seal or salmon or whale. One Alutiiq elder from Old Harbor described her grandfather’s story of sitting in his kayak, holding his paddle between his teeth as the other end vibrated in the water, responding to waves and sea creatures. That was his sonar, his livelihood.

The Alutiiq kayak features a unique bifurcated bow that one can explain in many practical ways; the “bulb” effect in which waves are broken by a protrusion, and hull flexibility, a theory that is not particularly backed by any scientific evidence. Local children in the Baranov Museum consistently catch another, deeper meaning when examining the Kayak on exhibit. That looks like a salmon! Or That is definitely a Humpy or That is like a breaching whale! I smile at the immediate wisdom of the young. A sailor named Sauer integrated the practical and animal explanation in 1802, stating that “the head of the boat is double to the lower part, sharp, and the upper part flat, resembling the open mouth of a fish, but contrived thus to keep the head from sinking too deep in the water.” An unknown and unnamed Russian noted that “the entire stempost represents the head of an otter with its mouth open.”

It is perhaps too easy for me to create a gaping gulf between Alaska Native boat-builders and early Russian explorers in my desire to understand the kayak of yesterday. One Alutiiq elder I encountered in a language class seamlessly resolved this tension with her simple statement we have many Russian words – that’s now a part of our language. The grace of her acceptance of another language and culture despite the devastating changes amongst her people reminded me of a kayak dancing with the waves.

Kodiak's Whaling History

The recent spotting of the rare right whale in Uganik Bay, the recent return of a familiar orca pod, and the recent release of the Alaska-flimed, feel-good whale movie, “Big Miracle,” all point to whales receiving wide attention this winter. Add to this the highly rated reality t.v. show, “Whale Wars,” in which activists prowl the waters of the Antarctic for Japanese whaling vessels, risking their own lives in order to halt the hunt, and it’s clear that whales are on the mind, and the conservation of their species receives wide support.

But for centuries, humans did not view whales as sentient creatures worthy of conservation. Rather, whales were floating oil reserves, and the products that came from whales were essential to daily life. Rendered whale blubber and spermaceti from the head of the sperm whale illuminated American and European cities. Whale oil lubricated the gears of the Industrial Revolution (and later, our forays into space, where sperm whale oil continues to be used as a lubricant). Whale oil was used in soap, in cosmetics and cleaners. Ambergris, another sperm whale product, was essential in the making of perfume. Whale meat was turned into fertilizer. Baleen was used where we employ plastic today- not only in outmoded products like corsets, but also in umbrellas and other goods that required a durable and flexible material. In general, consider the wide array of goods made from petroleum now, and there is a good likelihood that if a similar product was around in the 1800s, whale was used instead of petroleum in its manufacture.

Telescope, Kodiak Historical Society, 81-4-1.

The waters of Kodiak were central to this whale oil boom. In 1835, Yankee whalers from Nantucket “discovered” the Kodiak Grounds, also known as the Northwest Coast Right Whaling Grounds. The Kodiak Grounds encompassed more or less the Gulf of Alaska, including the waters that fall north and west of Vancouver Island. Soon after the discovery, hundreds of Nantucket and New Bedford whaling vessels crowded the waters around Kodiak, inaugurating what historians now call the Golden Age of Whaling. During the height of whaling intensity on the Kodiak Grounds, it was our waters that provided 60% of the whale oil that pumped back to East coast home ports, making the towns of Nantucket and New Bedford very wealthy.

However, these American whalers were hunting in Russian waters. Indeed, it was the partially due to the incredible number of American whalers throughout the waters of Russian America that the Russians began to see the sale of Alaska to the U.S. as a sure eventuality. In the meantime, the Russians belatedly tried to profit from commercial whaling, entering the industry in 1851 when the Russian-Finnish Whaling Company launched its first whaling vessel. Several Alutiit from Three Saints Bay even worked as crew on the Turku. However, by the 1850s it was harder and harder to hunt whales in the over-harvested Kodiak Grounds, and soon the Crimean War broke out, meaning that British vessels could seize Russian whalers at any point. The Russians never profited from whaling in the Kodiak Grounds.

This ceremonial bowl from Woody Island continues to ooze
what is likely a mixture of seal and whale oil.
Kodiak Historical Society, 70-167-9.

Whales were not a source of profit for the Russian American Company, but they certainly were a crucial resource in Kodiak. Boiled and pickled whale meat and oil were important food items for RAC employees as well as the Alutiiq, and whale oil provided light, lubricated the grist mill at Mill Bay, was used in making caulking, paint, and a wide variety of other goods.  Alutiiq whalers, or ar’ursulek, surrendered from 1/3-1/2 of a whale for colonial use. According to an 1833 report, the settlements that provided the most whales were Karluk, Afognak, Alitak, Old Harbor, Angiskoe (between Kodiak and Spruce Islands), St. Paul (modern day Kodiak) and Igak (possibly Ugak or Ugat). Alutiiq whalers at Kodiak killed between 150-300 whales a year during this time. At Three Saints Bay, several individuals were employed in butchering and processing whales that floated south from Afognak and St. Paul.

In the early 1830s, Russians hired an American whaler to try to modernize the whale hunt, only to find that the traditional methods were more effective. Alutiiq whale hunting methods were dangerous, secretive, and efficient. Rituals surrounded each aspect of the hunt, from preparation to processing. Whalers seemed to live separately from the rest of their community. Whaling was a hereditary occupation that involved such secretive rituals that even apprentices were not allowed to participate fully. Within caves, whalers kept totemic objects and talismans that helped to insure the success of a hunt. In these caves, whalers sequestered the bodies of recently dead, prominent community members in order to render the fat from the corpses. Sometimes the bodies were turned into mummies. In fact, a whaler reportedly told Aleksandr Baranov that he would try to steal Baranov’s corpse once he died.

Alutiiq whalers went out in single hatch kayaks and targeted smaller, humpback and fin whales. Slate whaling lances were smeared with monkshood, a local flower that contains the poison aconite, and human fat. The fat acted as a bonding agent. Aiming at the fins or tail, once the whaler had lodged the lance in the whale, it took several days for the poison to paralyze the targeted region. Around three days later, the whale died and washed ashore. In order to assure that a hunter would claim his whale, the whaler drew a line with human fat across the mouth of the bay in which the whale swam, creating a spiritual border through which the whale could not pass. He also marked his slate spears with personal, identifying marks. During the Russian period, slate lances were sometimes marked with Cyrillic initials, and sometimes contained both symbols as well as initials. Examples of such lances are on exhibit at the Baranov Museum.

Look closely and you will see the Cyrillic initials inscribed on this slate whaling lance. Kodiak Historical Society, 85-24-1.

Alutiiq whaling methods were so effective that the RAC dispatched Alutiiq whalers throughout the region in order to teach other Native groups. Rewards were offered to whalers who successfully apprenticed others. Although Alutiiq whaling persisted into the early 20^th century, many of the sacred rituals were no longer practiced after the 1838 smallpox epidemic ravaged the archipelago. By the 1850s, Alutiiq whaling had seriously declined, a drop that can be attributed to the epidemic as well as the rapid shrinking of the whale population due to the incursion of Yankee whalers in the Kodiak Grounds.

Port Hobron shore whaling station, located on Sitkalidak Island in the Kodiak
archipelago, Kodiak Historical Society P 552-6.

In the 1920s there was resurgence of whaling in Kodiak. It was during this decade that the American Pacific Whaling Company constructed Port Hobron on Sitkalidak Island. From this shore whaling station, three catcher boats were dispatched to hunt the waters around Kodiak. Large, bomb-loaded harpoons were mounted to the bow of the vessels. Once a whale was killed, the catcher vessel would pump it full of air, mark it with a flag, and continue hunting for the rest of the day before tugging the day’s catch to Port Hobron. Once at port, large steam winches drug the carcasses onto flensing platforms, where several of the hundred or so employees went to work butchering the whales. Every part of the whale, including the bones, was rendered into oil that was separated into three grades. The whale oil was sold to Proctor & Gamble, the company that makes Ivory soap. Alaska Steamship Company vessels made weekly stops at Port Hobron to drop off supplies and pick up oil, and tourists and other passengers disembarked and got to witness shore whaling first hand. Port Hobron was even included in travel literature as a destination in the 1930s. After nearly a dozen years of operation, Port Hobron closed due to financial issues.

The Carolyn Frances is photographed whaling near what
appears to be Monashka Bay in the city of Kodiak.
Kodiak Historical Society, P 368-5-34

Also during the 1920s, the Carolyn Frances, the Erskine family charter vessel, whaled around Kodiak. Captained by Louis Lane, the Carolyn Frances was a modern incarnation of the off-shore whaling vessel of a century before. Alongside the boat, whales were butchered and on deck the blubber was rendered into oil. Whenever Captain Lane was in town, the Erskine family would join him on a whaling trip. Ever the photographer, local businessman W.J. Erskine brought along his camera to document the action. Within the Baranov Museum photograph collection are pictures of the vessel whaling off Spruce Cape, including photographs depicting each step in the hunt, from preparing the dories to flinging the blubber into the melting pots. After the Carolyn Frances was sold, Captain Lane returned on other vessels to whale around Kodiak, and even sold whales at $500 a pop to local fox farms, where the whales were converted into fox feed.

Whaling did not end in the waters around Kodiak after international agreements curtailed the practice, beginning in the 1930s. Soviet and Japanese whalers continued to hunt for whales just beyond 3 miles offshore, which were considered international waters. Kodiak fishermen recall watching large, industrial whaling ships as they hunted and processed whales right off Kodiak. In an ironic twist, now it was Russian whalers that were not welcome in American waters, while one hundred years earlier it was American whalers who angered the Russians for whaling the Kodiak Grounds. 

The Kodiak Grounds are no longer the domain of whalers, but whales continue as an important local resource. Rather than being a source of oil and food, they are a source of tourism and scientific dollars. Kodiak has a complex relationship with whales and whaling, a relationship which is explored in the new temporary exhibit at the Baranov Museum, Whaling the Kodiak Grounds. Please stop by to learn more about this fascinating story.