Tuesday, November 14, 2006

Pace yourselves. We have 6 months of arctic festivities ahead of us. Annie git yer guns.

Top of the morning gents,

"Space Madness" (Ren and Stimpy) and it ain't even
March yet.

Over the weekend my house was inundated with visitors:
broken demons and healing angels. I had half sisters,
half cousins and half-wits nipping at my heals for
egress to the Viking speak easy and off-site rogue bar
for graying gunslingers and uniformed felons. For me
to encourage my in-laws to partake in my leisurely
activities would most likely be suicide.

Domestic life here in the house of Sukun-nunu is back
to domesticities manifold. My blessed Siberian Mrs. is
burning rubber on a brand new sewing machine
assembling killer camouflage polar fleece pullovers
and bright festive hats in accordance to my cultural
adherence to winter festivities and gatherings.

Long before our blessed carpenter was affixed to
lumber and lynched us Nordic motherfuckers celebrated
the darkest days of the year in pagan ritual akin to
partying in the Pacific Northwest. Baked goods,
fermented goods, sweets, pastries and Indun fried
bread in the company of fermented loved ones and baked
First Alaskans.

On both Friday and Saturday night I was spoiled beyond
all expectations. I booked over to 6Killer's place for
an adhoc bullshit and distillery sesh and then
Saturday night he paid me a visit for ever further
elaborative chit chat and strong drink. Good ideas
ring my bell and all long discussions of heightened
discourse end with a deep sigh and good slumber.

Life here north of 70 lat is an interesting challenge.
We have some fuel, energy utility bills that are
ferocious and weather even nastier. A week of high
winds, rain and snow make even the most cheerful
Inukun pissy and the most imaginative Suomen grim,
gray and morbid.

This grim morbidity is beyond my control. My whole
life I've been surrounded by Finns that start
celebrating the dark winter months with seasonal
music, foods and drink: long before we paint our faces
and don gay apparel. I'm just grateful I found a few
stragglers from other equally ancient yet more rugged
cultures that find my Mr. Winter activities agreeable.
One of them is my pretty Eskimo wife. She absolutely
loves a warm house filled with jingling music, warm
familial love and cooking and sewing hobbies

Exactly the way I like it.

As me and 6Killer debated policies federal and state,
we also delved into more racist topics related to
subsistence hunting and fishing clashing with sport
hunters from outside Alaska beyond the edge of the
Earth.

We've witnessed a barrage of game enforcement at the
request of local Inuit hunters that has served all us
human beings divided opinions and heated xenophobic
ethnocentricity. In response to anger at the sheer
number of non-Inukun hunters speaking continental
dialect and gibberish, our local social collective
hunters demanded stepped up enforcement of boating,
hunting and meat salvage regulations.

Yup. Much to the chagrin of our aboriginal neighbor
hunters, the policy enforcement was equally applied to
all humans pale, dark and darker.

Every boat was approached to advise all mariners
aboard that next year all boats need license tags, all
hunters need license tags and that to chastise only
the pale hunters would violate civil rights with
selective application of the law. Somewhere in the
devilish details of state law is the overlooked clause
declaring all Alaska's resources available to all
Alaskans.

This clause is not found in fed regs nor local
practices: subsistence priority is still off the books
thanks to the pear shaped folks whoring in JewNo. To
date this puts the state of Alaska out of compliance
with the federal mandate allowing local
hunter-gatherers preferential access to the most game
most of the time.

The result is a lot of citations for game wasting and
failed meat salvage that now has filled our court with
folks of all ethnicities cited with numerous game
violations. Gotta hand it to the Troopers, they
vigorously served everybody: as they should.

This fulcrum division is a bitch. State lands are
governed with slightly differing policies than the
federal lands. This is significant and due to the
startling fact that only 1% of Alaska land is
privately held and the rest public, putting state regs
out of compliance with the feds.

I understand the notion of equal access that all of
Alaska's resources should be available to all
Alaskan's but our paler brethren on the road system
have all but decimated game numbers nearby due to the
easy poaching and fly by night bag limit ignorance.
The moose, caribou and goat numbers near the belt way
have seen significant declines while our arctic herds
are the largest in recorded history. Hence the big
dollar business of guided hunts with the use of
chartered planes and plum campsites directly in the
path of our dangerously large herds.

Here's a point to consider. With our herds so
dangerously large that bag limits are impossible to
attain, why should we bitch about outsiders paying a
king's ransom to fly out here and aim for the biggest
racks and trophy horns?

You tell me, but I'm thinking that the real issue is
the hued tissue of these non-Inukuns.

Ya see, it's okay to hate the white man. It's okay to
pitch humorously prejudicial epitaphs at the white
devils or pale negroes. The power of an elected
republic lies directly in the ignorance of its
electorate. And that is the keystone or lynch pin of
opportunity we can address.

As long as folks foolishly fear over hunting by
outsiders, the sentiment is apparent. To further this
fear and loathing we shant mention of a possible
massive die off of our mammoth herds unless we step of
population control by inviting non-native hunters to
come up north, spend a fortune in our economy and kill
a few thousand excess animals.

According to State Biologist Jim Dau, our giant herds
have outpaced the terrestrial carrying capacity and
that larger numbers of predatory number reduction is
the only way we can forestall starvation, blight and
herd collapse.

With the price of gasoline prohibitively excessive, we
also witness fewer and fewer village hunters getting
out and filling their boats with piles of meat. As a
matter of fact, Mr. Dau claims he's never seen rivers
so clean due in part to reduced participation of local
hunters, further exacerbating the rapid climb in
aerial herd counts.

The problem is quite simple to elucidate: we have a
rapidly growing arctic herds, fewer local hunters
culling these herds, and simple racist resentment at
outside hunters doing the job for us.

To be a hunter too poor to fuel up, boot and jacket up
with lots of ammo and go upriver to perform a
culturally specific domestic activity makes for much
stinging resentment and more stinging hatred.

The seasonal transition from harvesting greens,
berries and fish to the dark winter seasonally
important customs of hunting, butchering and storing
lots of really good meats brings about a change in the
human activity cycle. Killing and celebrating is
within us all. Darkness removes the stigma of ruthless
murder and brings a sensational ballistic relief to
unmet needs in the cellar, sigluk and soul.

Killing for food, family and community is a healthy
humanistic pursuit. Watching others taking big game
from your favorite hunting territory is grounds for
murder and stokes resentment for a wholesale slaughter
of an entirely different kind. .

Pray for us all. The sun is vanishing before our eyes
and the darkness inevitable yields propensity for
constructive violence necessary for plates and plates
of yummy foods. Misplacing this propensity for
constructive violence yields empty plates, fuller
jails, hungry neglected children and more visits up to
boot hill to throw dirt on our loved ones that have
gone astray.

A brilliant idea I cannibalized in cooperative
discourse and strong drink with our blessed gray-eyed
6Killer is to set up meat drop sites nearby each
village. This can accommodate hunters desiring only
trophy antlers and meat for the taking at each of our
forbidding remote arctic Eskimo communities, thus
adding to the usefulness of our blessed paler Negro
hunters from beyond the edge of the Earth.

The whole world is battling for easy access to cheap
energy sources. But the economic rules of game meat
scarcity aren’t an issue. We may have to work with,
albeit depend on richer hunters from other continents
and cultures to fill our bellies, hearts and pantries.


Call me a dumb ass. But without open dialogue and
sharing of our resources and until Alaska conforms to
the Federal Government local subsistence preference,
game management mirrors perception management. Our
region may inevitably witness a massive herd die off,
whilst the populations hateful and naïve will explode.
In the meantime, I’ll continue to serve my guests
lavishly and encourage lots of good chats. Take a look
in our freezers: all of us are heavily dependent upon
subsistence fish and game.

I can’t speak for a North/South divided Alaska, but
hell, if 2 lads from opposite sides of the Earth can
gain consensus in issues emotional and painful, the
rest of the arctic sure as hell can.

I like the sound of that: “North Alaska and South
Alaska bordered by the mighty Yukon River.”

Gotta keep ‘em separated.

Karl.

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