Friday, February 04, 2005

Eskimo Warfare On the Yukon

Top of the morning gents,

I've always been fascinated by the movements all of
you have made over the years.

We've seen lots of trashy and homicidal alcoholic bags
of shit work their way up north and out to the bush.
Exposure to precognitive domestic trauma seems to
yield the best character profile for absorption into a
community with unknown numbers of mass gravesites and
the place where the soils gone bad.

We've seen lots of 'save the natives' idiots try to
proselytize you savages away from Eskimo traditions of
historic violence and unparalleled breeding as a means
of offsetting the encroaching early deaths due to
habitual warfare.

Most archeological digs yield evidence of bodily wear
and tear like bronco busters, seriously lean years of
hunger, and from the pelvic bone data, girls oughta
get breeding early and frequent, lest we may never see
our best mates serving as police men in later lives.

What I'm trying to elucidate is the generally violent
tone absolutely necessary for a culture to survive a
hostile frozen ass subzero arctic environment, and
overtly hostile neighbors. Neighbors unheard of prior
to the year 800, when a huge fucking volcano shoved
bunches of Meso brained AmerInduns northward into
previously uncontested Eskimo killin' grounds.

Our dearly departed Grandma Mag told me a tale about
this age old battle over pussy, real estate, dead
meat, and slaves, when she was a child growing up in
the NANA Region during the 1920's and 1930's.

When she was a little girl, her mom would shush the
children at night with the threat of Induns sneaking
into camp and cutting your eyes out, so ya best keep
'em closed and go to sleep.

A smart Eskimo girl uses her Inupiaq intuition and
best knows to steer congenitally violent arctic men
towards the duties of collection of edible dead meat
and live slaves. Some slaves fulfilling dual
purposes.

The upriver triangle, Shungnak, Kobuk, and Ambler was
a defensible trio of settlements, most of the time.
Some hunting parties were extremely productive, but if
all the moms and kids were killed when the adult males
were away hunting, yer righteous homecoming return
with your delicious foods don't mean shit.

We may despise other cultures, but it sure fucking
pays to know and understand their idiotic hunting,
gathering and migration patterns.

Mind you, Grandma Mag relegated Induns to arrow
targets, food, and fertilizer. Moving aboriginal
targets are easier to hit, if ya gotta clue where the
fuck they're hiding. Eskimos may be short and
stubborn, but they are a quick study and rapid
learners my dear Dr. Watson. This is the catcher in
the rye.

Harvest time is also slaving time. So most hunting
parties performed a dual role; gather and stash mondo
meat and sneak over the mountains into Allakaket,
Huslia, Hughes, and perchance; even Nulato to gather
shrieking woman for wives, and young men 'to help with
the work.'

Our distorted picture of history from inside the
culture may hinder in maintaining objectivity and
fairness, so fuck 'em, Eskimos are the good guys,
Induns are the pockmarked bad guys. Deal?

No matter the geography, religion, and pragmatic
history of migration and hardship, the application of
indentured servitude by force is evident throughout
all Native Civilizations; from South America to Camp
Kuwoanna, outside Pt. Hope, where I'll likely select
as the Mrs. final resting place. She deserves a
century of Sundays, near the creek, close to Whale
Watch.

Due to my ethnocentric and highly biased perspective,
my interpretation and faulty recall still don't paint
a picture that can escape the institution of slavery.
Every human is half slave, half dictator. Fuck all.

Grandma Mag went on to tell tales of warring parties
going back and forth across the permanent mountainous
divide between Eskimos and scumbag Induns. The slaves
never lasted long enough to see adulthood, due to
harsh treatment, minimal foods, and subInupiaq
standard lodging. Now that's a hellish life. A
slave's lot in life is truly worse if yer an Eskimo
slave.

Magdeline went on to elaborate that she's lost some
kin to slave raids of uninvited warriors from the
Indunvilles of the Yukon-Koyukuk Drainage Basin,
better known now as Leadville, actually Galena, the
Russian word for 'soft metal place.'

Keep your friends close, your enemies closer.

Conflict between Eskimos and Induns came to an apex
simultaneously as the Russians were relinquishing
residence in Nulato. Indun/Russian conflict was of
minimal irritation, just a matter of time till the
beaver pelt biz slowed, and the gold rushes were
reversing.

One gold panner grew weary of the dwindling Klondike
invasion, so he assembled a gnarly treaded bicycle and
pedaled all the way down the frozen Yukon River to the
McGrath-Unalakleet portage to the Pacific Ocean, then
pedaled and hiked to Shaktoolik and on to Nome.

What he witnessed on this bike trek is significant.
He claims to have seen hundreds of Eskimos camped
upriver from Nulato, measuring ice thickness, ambient
temperature, stashing kayaks and weapons, chipping
genius patterns in the frozen river ice, and
apparently, simply waiting.

He retold numerous folks about this, and nobody
believed such a large group of Eskimos would be so far
out of their territory, and so fucking close to the
central locus of Induns and packing Russians.

To add to their justifiable disbelief, Eskimos NEVER
went on warring or hunting raids during spring break
up. A stranded Inupiaq in Indun territory is a dead
Inupiaq.

When the bike trekking gold panner arrived in Nome, he
read the headline splashed across the Nome Nugget
claiming a new Indian War.

The hundred or so Eskimos were on a trip to finish
some unfinished business, namely revenge for a
horrific slave raid by the Induns just last fall.
True to first invader creed, revenge is a dish best
served cold. Break up keeps a body cool and
delicious.

In true Eskimo tradition, they performed an analysis
of their battleground, their foes and reciprocatory
weaponry, and the likelihood of escape and return to
their families waiting for them back at the upriver
triangle of Shungnak, Kobuk, and Ambler.

What happened is why we may never have any more great
battles between the Eskimos and the invaders from Meso
America. Eskimo history is now validated. Induns
NEVER crossed the Bering Land Bridge, these pockmarked
fuckers arrived from the lesser 48 and Canada, fixing
to exterminate any and all Inupiaq derivatives of the
Siberian Races.

Ain't gonna happen on this day.

True to the biker gold panners story, there were about
a hundred Eskimos camped upriver from Nulato,
measuring ice thickness, ambient temperature, stashing
kayaks and weapons.

As the predictable spring weather patterns emerged,
this gang of Eskimos started chipping large patterns
in the Yukon River ice, stacking small igloos and
weapons into low profile turrets. Dressed in their
white winter camouflage they climbed into their ice
turrets and laid low till break up.

As the frozen Yukon River started moaning and groaning
from the stresses of break up, this flotilla of
heavily armed Eskimos proceeded to float slowly
downriver towards the newly vacated Russian beaver
pelt fort, newly inhabited by Induns who never claimed
Alaska as their homeland, but a territory up north,
dominated by ruthless Eskimos; vast hunting grounds
for both moose, fish, and very edible Inupiaqs.

Eskimos used to dominate most of Alaska, as far inland
as The Volcano, as far south as Unalakleet, and all of
the Arctic Coast. Newly arriving Induns from the
other continent would eventually force Eskimos back
from the interior to the mountains separating Ambler
from the Koyukuk River, and it's new Indian
trespassers. From this time forward, Eskimos will
never reap the bounty of salmon from the Yukon River,
despite being it's previous landlord.

As the mighty Yukon began its break up, the Russians
packed the last of their possessions and departed from
Nulato, whilst the Induns were moving in. All busy
with frosty spring-cleaning and completely unaware of
a hunnert strength band of Eskimos floating silently
downriver, dressed in winter whites, concealed in the
low profile turrets.

Break up on the Yukon River is usually noisy with low
thuds, screeches, and crackling. Not one Indun soul
detected the huge flotilla of heavily armed Eskimos;
neatly concealed, bows taught, arrows set on target.

A small group of women instantly died where they
gathered clean ice from the river. 3 children sucked
arrows further up the beach. Not a peep. Nobody ever
expects arrows to fly from the ice sheets whistling into
their Indun hearts, necks, and faces.

From out of nowhere, a whole army arose from the ice
flow and proceeded to perform a traditionally perfect
alien life form eradication operation.

No war cries, no hoorahs, just silent cleaners
snuffing out nuisance life forms that nearly
exterminated all Eskimo life at the upriver triangle a
year before.

All told, nearly 500 souls departed the stinky sack of
Indun flesh they inhabited heretofore. So quiet was
this kill zone, that most of the evidence leads a
smart investigator to assume they died in their sleep.


Murder? No. Ethnic cleansing? Not even. Sending a
message to the world that a small band of stealth
fighters ain't gonna take shit off no scumbag Induns?
Most likely.

During the time of our happy slaughter hour, interior
Induns outnumbered Eskimos 4:1. Clovis detachable
speed loader armaments don't mean shit, if you ain't
awake to use 'em. Old school micro-edged arrows and
spears work just fine on unconscious and unsuspecting
foe. Superior tactics always prevail over larger
numbers and better weaponry. Chance favors the
prepared mind. Fuck all.

Next time you watch the Eskimo Olympics, superimpose
an image of glorious slaughter and slavery into each
of these events.

In the big picture of rising and falling empires;
examine the battles Eskimos had to endure, then tell
me its unfair to utilize camouflage, off season
engagements, and deadly trickery to save a small part
of Alaska from these northerly invading mix breed
Indun motherfuckers.

It don't mean shit that we have children of our own.
Genetic and racial success is only determined if your
own offspring have offspring.

Other words. He, who fucks last, fucks best.

Gentlemen, do you now understand your inherent
cleverness and congenital deviousness in the
expression of your hobby killing and leisurely
murders?

Most of these Eskimos settled the new villages of the
lower triangle; Kiana, Noorvik, and Selawik.

See your connection to some of the world's trickiest
murderers?

Killers, all of you. Carry on.

Karl.

0 Comments:

Post a Comment

Links to this post:

Create a Link

<< Home