river images from around, near, and far. what we see. maybe not every day but it's here and over there.

these are a few pictures of our tanana river.  Yukon river images also included, since we are all connected to this vast water network of travel, communication, and support. village and city, highway and railroad, white and native, young and old.  the weave of it's sloughs, hidden shotcuts, main channel, and lakes makes the cord binding all of us together that much stronger.

all river photos here courtesy doug sturm unless otherwise indicated.  all rights reserved.  the above is a shot from the upper end of McKinley crossing, a stretch of about 5 miles with 4 major crossings within.  one of the few places that mt. Denali can be seen from the tanana r. on a good day.  definately a tricky spot when there's a couple hundred tons in front of you especially in the fall time low water.  this water looks to be mid to late summer, normal level.

close to nenana this bridge sits on the northern approach to the main river crossing. named after a local woman who became a prominent community activist in nenana, fairbanks, and statewide.  my cousin shirley was taken by cancer before her time.  a much loved and respected native leader.

locally built by ted suckling this race boat, the annual nail, crewed by locals, wes and mary alexander, and yours truly.  won the 800 mile race from fairbanks to galena and return for 5 consecutive years 1990-95.  now on display in nenana's alfred starr cultural center.  was a local favorite making the 800 mile run in 12 hours.  this picture was taken just below nenana by the Fairbanks daily news miner.  on step and hitting about 60 mph  she needs at least 6 inches of water and a steady hand.  stock 50 hp maximum outboard motor hung on a 24', 250 lb. boat, it wants to fly, see air traps along the hull.  can be a tricky job keeping the bow down on turns and with wind gusts. it wants to leave the water.  village race boat construction up and down the river can be a passion. with the yukon 800 as the ultimate test for everyone's craftsmanship and ingenuity. it's a healthy friendly competition in the shop and on the river.

crowley marine is the largest  river freight operation on the river.  here is their flagship the MV tanana resting in dock, while it's 2-300 ton barges are  loaded for it's next trip down the tanana to the yukon.

the tanana with light load, mostly fuel,heading down to the yukon. 8 miles below nenana, one of the few places that denali can be seen from the river.

crowley's rampart.  returning to nenana empty, for another load.  appears to be in a stretch of the river just above squaw point, but it's hard to be certain from this shot.

this unknown tug and barge not ideally suited for interior river navigation is typical of numerous entrepreneurs who get it in their mind that they can come up here to our river system, take equipment best suited for other waters, and make their fortune.  a rude awakening awaits them as they see their dreams fade in the wake of heavy silt, underpowered motors, and confusing channels.  it takes a special breed and equipment to navigate these waters.  yet some still try.  nenana sits across from the base of the hill in the background.  heading up river very slowly, there is still another 25 miles to go.  probably took him 2 days to reach that hill.

the old tolovana road house 65 miles below nenana.  was part of the winter dog team mail route to nome.  this picture was taken before the roadhouse was restored by doug bowers and his wife.  mostly restored now, although such work is never done. the bowers take in guests and give tours of the surrounding area.  this roadhouse played an instrumental role in the 1925 diphtheria serum run to nome as a relay station for dog teams and their drivers.

old cabin about to be recycled. a place called trappers crossing, 20 miles or so above manley hot springs.

my old tug, the MV ramona, landing with a load at the lower end of tanana on the yukon river.  depending on water levels, each community has several slips making freight transfer easier.  two barges here, very light load just for tanana.  quick turn around then back to nenana for another load.  nenana --tanana--and return is 400 miles.  taking 4-5 days depending on water levels, weather, and turn around time.

new load for the ramona heading to village construction sites unknown.  point in the distance is 18 miles below tanana on the yukon.  looks like early fall from the color of the sky and island 

the new ramona in port prepared for a trip to galena. summer '09

 

 c. demientieff photo

early fall ice just staring to run near nenana, '09

c. demientieff photo

more '09 fall ice early in the run

c. demientieff photo

'09 fall beach.  looking up river from the dock to the railroad bridge

c. demientieff photo

one of our many neighbors the village of ruby on the yukon river from the wheel house of my boat, the miss behavin', 2005.  350 miles below nenana.

c.demientieff photos

that's it or now.   i will post more photos in a future blog called around town.  guess i better charge an extra camera battery and head to town, 5 miles from my home. I'll try not to embarrass any one.  but they will get self conscious as i record our village for you.  news travels fast here, and there are few secrets in our little village.  many will be watching, so will do it right and bring you images of daily life here as it's appropriate.

fur trapping and it's etiquette

i don't see as many people out trapping as i use to. it's much hard work and some are just not good or lucky with it. times have changed to be able to make a living trapping but there's still a need for local material to make the winter gear essential in the north.

seems the few i meet who are trapping are white newcomers. maybe wanting to try this lifestyle. part of the Alaskan experience. i don't know their motivations. nevertheless, having fur stretched and drying in your home is a very attractive activity for those making a life in village Alaska.
because of the need for fur sewing materials i think there will always be a place for trapping in Alaska.

when i was a young man  in my 20's it was one way to make a winter living, feed my family, and keep in tune with the country around me. there was never a dull moment on the homestead.

it wasn't uncommon to have the living room filled with stretchers and skins in various states of care. some with skin side out to dry, others turned with the fur side out to finish. some skins my wife at the time and mother would pick out to keep but most are generally graded, strung together, stored hanging in the porch or cache.

trapping starts in the first part of November and ends last week of February. after which it's time to snare beaver all march. some trap longer but risk rubbed fur, which has lost it's guard hairs. conversely trying to stretch the season by getting an early start has little advantage. it brings you fur that have not developed guard hairs. a good trapper needs a cold fall and winter to have quality fur. an early start might involve breaking the needed trail, setting up a canvas wall tent and stove at the end of your line, and a serious examination of the country intended for harvest. other preparation work may be in order depending on the trapper.

after a 4 month season working a line of 100 martin pole sets, 3 or 4 dozen fox, wolf, wolverine, and lynx house sets. it's time to snare beaver.

the first thing i would do when coming upon a beaver house is to count the number of blankets, medium & super blankets, and little ones in there. important to know so that one can pull the set and avoid over trapping. counting comes mostly from experience and a good understanding of the beaver family. size of the house and feed pile are the only clues needed to get a fairly good count, but if there's any doubt and your luck seems to drop off, then pull the set and leave the house for a year or two. a beaver line could be made up of as few as 2-3 houses close to home for food. or a dozen houses along a 40-50 mile line for fur. it is alot of work spearing good straight holes in the ice, skinning and stretching beaver pelts round and clean. a trapper can spend the entire evening skinning and stretching the prior day's catch.

when traveling and setting a line an active trapper may come upon the trail of another trapper. the proper protocol is to turn around  and go another direction. to the next valley, ridge, or lake. never ever cross another trapper's trail. even if it's just to turn around. crossing another's trail is like standing in someone's face saying "i'm here. whatcha going to do about it?" i'd always know which families trapped what areas, but even if i didn't know who is in the area, i would sometimes stop make a fire and wait if there's enough daylight to get my own work done. try to have a little lunch of tea and salmon strips ready. if no one comes i cut a little more wood to leave  for my neighbor trapper to come along see all my movement, and make his own tea on his next ride through. that way there's no mistake i respected his country and he will not cross my trail. the white people who don't know these things just run over everything, stomp on toes and then go home and complain that someone is in their country, having no clue who's country they were in to begin with. nothing more to say on this matter.

trapping areas are kept by families for many years. i trapped the area around mosquito dome, swinging dome, saddle mountain, american creek, and the head of the iditarod river. all east of holy cross and south of flat. a good area on the divide between the yukon and kuskokwim rivers. an area trapped by my father, his father and grandfather. ocasionally i would come across an old house set for lynx. i would then stop have tea, chew a salmon strip. then make my own house set all the while looking around carefully for old sign on just what my grandpa was doing there exactly. was always happy to find old cuttings and maybe a fire site. good place to pray and be thankful, ask for luck.

twice a year i'd sell my fur. either in aniak or holy cross as the buyer came through on his rounds. several times he landed at my home on reindeer lake on skis. i would have already graded my fur and was ready with all the separate piles on a blanket on the living room floor. he would go through with his own grading. small, medium, large, dark, light, rubbed. eventually piles of fur would move back and forth as we agreed on a price. i knew what i wanted long before the buyer arrived. knowing from others the average market price. he landed his airplane, and now couldn't leave without fur.  i knew i had him as soon as the skis touched down.  he's loosing money if he takes off without fur. years later he told me he stopped for the food.
pushing notes across the table we eventually arrived at a price, might take a beaver or moose roast from mom. during my time a large dark martin would average $45-$60 each. a beaver super blanket might average $80, small $50. on a good season the total take might be $5,000. not much after paying for gas and supplies. but enough to raise a family. bring home food. and occasionally there's enough to fly one of us to aniak, bethel, or anchorage for a modest shopping spree for fresh vegetables and other treats.

i don't do these things anymore, primarily due to my brain injury. but also because fashions and prices have changed. people don't seem to know how to trap on a large scale anymore.  if i could, i would today be satisfied with a few dozen sets stretched across the lakes and countryside from my home to the head of the wood river, a 100 mile round trip is all i would need now. take an easy day to check and work. times have changed and this is good.  i'm positive  my old trapping country near reindeerlake is now restocked and as vibrant as it was during the time of my dad and his grandpa.
my traps still hang in bundles there today waiting for my return at key points in valleys and on ridges. now to be found by future trappers..maybe. some day i will talk with my kids and grandson with a map and show them exactly where the trail is and how to find the bundles hanging in the spruce. my blazes and marks were laid down to confuse any outsiders. but i'll tell the family how it works when the time is right. a little treasure map of sorts.

while working the line it's not uncommon to catch an occasional camp robber (grey jay) or squirrel. this is not good, except for bait. some times a weasel with a black tip tail is caught. although it causes your set to stop working for other larger animals, it is a sign of good luck and mom loved  keeping these.  eventually saving enough to make a hat or mittens for a child.  i'd come around the corner and there would sometimes be a weasel hanging from my pole set.  oh' i'd say, another one for mom!  rest of the line will be good.  more often than not, that day was always a good run.

spring, another change of season..the spice of life in the northland

whether it's spring or fall. changes in our weather bring a host of activities to the north land. spring is my favorite season.
but i can't really pick one.
the imminent season seems to always be my favorite. change being the common denominator, eagerness is the energy
i look forward to calling geese, 24 hours of daylight, making a fire in my yard,
an open door on a warm afternoon  the with a hot wood stove allowing the sweet smell of thawing sawdust to come in and remove the stuffy winter. and yes even those pesky mosquitoes join the party. it doesn't matter, besides the first ones are stupid anyway.

however i equally look forward to fall moose camp, hanging meat, signs of bears dening up, and lumbering RV's leaving our roads.

spring means icles growing on the eaves,

a crust on the morning snow,

winter birds active and plentiful,

dog racing teams testing their winter long training on the most difficult races in the world,

village families working in their yards cleaning and getting the BBQ and fire-pits ready for the first warm evening.

men working on their river boats and motors in anticipation of breakup.

our village swells with pride for the high school basketball team, hosting visiting teams from other villages. enthusiastically renewing a friendly competitive home spirit. years from now those same young men and woman "squeaking" up and down the court will recall as adults the nenana invitational tournament, who won & lost, where they stayed, and what a good time they had. surprised to discover," oh you were there too?"

and spring is an opportunity for everyone state wide to gamble on nenana.

this tower  will be attached by a line to a tripod on the river ice.  all designed to trip a clock recording the hour and minute the ice moves out.

many people state-wide will buy a chance to guess the date, hour, and minute the ice will go out on the tanana river.  the winner(s) take home a pot that's consistently around $300,000.  begun in  1917 by  alaska railroad works o pass time. the nenana ice classic has become an Alaskan icon and signals the unofficial start for the summer season.

 with the ice gone, people can travel easily between villages. the first boat ride is a time to check the ice damage from breakup. to find how the channel has moved. sandbars disappear and reappear below the next bend or stretch. a good time to update your mental files, reboot the brain and prepared for the work and heat of summer.

spring also means excitement and celebration. Fairbanks, a short 50 miles or one hour north of nenana, hosts the north American world championship dog races, a 60 mile, 3 day sprint can be very exciting especially as the warm spring weather becomes a player affecting dogs and trail.

this is also proxy season for the annual meeting of the for-profit doyon,limited. coincides with the native non-profit, the tanana chiefs conference full board meeting. many nenana people travel to take in these events. not unlike a major social event of the year. lots of village people travel. conferences/carnival being a good opportunity to see family and friends after a long winter.

the woods too become more active. the winter birds flock and make their rounds together. little tidbits of food start to show through melting snow, long lost evidence of the past winter gatherings. once puffed up and protected against the cold, they are slim and trim. warmed by a bright low spring sun as they fly without their parkas.

soon much larger birds will come here. once there's water along the river. the ice and snow gives way to patches of ground. i eagerly await for the last big major snow storm of spring. this is the signal and weather upon which geese and cranes arrive in huge bands, calling and circling. descending to the bounty that is our homeland.


frogs will wake up when water starts building in the lake. they will without delay start to sing to their sweetheart all night long. meanwhile cranes will follow the swans. the first to arrive, swans are also the last to leave in the fall. each patch of water, beach, or grass will host flocks of birds dancing, eating, and singing for their love. happy days.

the first batch of mosquitoes is a huge lumbering aggressive nuisance, bringing times of plenty for small birds and frogs. everyone and everything has it's place in our home. caring for this place is the gift we give our children. our spring is a renewal of life and a promise of better times to come. we borrow this homeland from our children.

so what can i say about our spring season? it's one of my favorites till the midnight sun arrives. home sweet home.

a native hunt, not much of a gut pile when we're done

again i must use caution when talking of these things. a matter of luck.

each village has their own way. some things i was taught are not done the same here in nenana. so i will be talking mainly of my own experience. strict traditional rules from a lifetime of running the river.

whether with my dad or best friend, we never mention the name of the animal we're about to hunt.

as preparations are made to go out it is as if the animal can hear it's name. intellectually i know this is not physically possible. be that as it may, keeping silent has to do with the energy of your soul.

occasionally mom would ask us in code what we were about to do. knowing we're looking for moose, she would carefully ask, if we see a "black" animal, the bear, will we take it? it would be about this time when she would talk of upcoming plans or guests she has coming. that was how she told us what was needed. never talking about the hunt, never vocalizing any names, never saying exactly what she needed or wanted. the power of woman, 'nother blog.

mom would only know where we were going and when we might be back.

to help us get ready she would feed us a big meal. the animals know when you are hungry and will avoid you.

not being as traditional as mom, dad would be eager to get started. we'd talk of where we last saw sign and the type of country we were about to visit. maybe decide which points we would run. guns sighted in, we load our boat with a small lunch, tools, tarps, and containers for choice parts.

dad would matter of factly say exactly what we were going to do. depending on the time of year, a bear may not be wanted. or we'll take bulls of a certain age only. still he'd never call their name. the biggest horns are not desirable nor are some spike bulls. once these decisions are sorted out, we'd cast off and only speak in whispers or sign language after we are there and right in the thick of all the sign reading where everything is moving and generally see what's happening in our country. that's when the hunt really starts.

see a moose on the way? take it in the midst of much rushing around. a hurried but deliberate effort to grab a rifle, pick spot to drop animal, aim, and..

time seems to slow during this quiet rush. slow motion excitement. it's like hunter and hunted know the inevitability of the moment.

only a head shot is good, one bullet per customer. don't want to waste meat or ruin good parts. still moving and not going to get up? never shoot again, unless it's trying to stand. stay away from the legs and cut the jugular to bleed it out. the faster it drains and cools, the better taste. good time to stop right there and give a prayer of thanks.

should not start dressing it out till muscles stop and life is gone. make fire if necessary to wait. muscle should not quiver when cut, life is still present. makes the meat tough to rush this.

most of the time there is much more work in hunting a moose. on those river points where there are fresh tracks going in but nothing coming out, we would "run" the point. dad drops me off in the elbow of the bend, young legs. he then returns to the point, stops across the river where he can watch both beaches of the point. soon as i hear the motor stop, i walk into the brush and find it. occasionally drop it right there but most of the time it will come out from all the commotion. maybe even run deeper into the point to another lake or river bend. i follow to see what's happening then walk out, never chase. knowing the country we make our plan, reset then go get it.

once the moose is down the work really starts. and the talking and stories can swing into full speed. willows are laid out along the kill to keep everything clean. never use an axe or saw if there are teething children at home, to avoid splinters and other danger. everything that needs to be done can be accomplished with just a sharp knife and stone.

if you know where to cut each joint, rib, or connection you'd see that the moose is perfectly designed to come apart. even a small pocket knife can do this. a fancy hunting knife says more about the hunter than the job at hand. experienced hunters can dress out a kill in about 20-30 minutes. the gut pile is stretched out more or less as it's being removed. the lace or fat from around the stomach and intestines is removed in as large a piece as possible and hung to dry on surrounding willows or grass, whatever is handy and clean. good to chew while packing meat, loading the boat. the heart is split, opened up and laid out to drain. a dish pan is good for liver and kidneys since they will take a long time to drain.

favored parts saved, the intestine is stretched out and cut into manageable lengths. brought to the river, cleaned and turned. mom will later clean again, soak and stuff this to bake. makes a wonderful layer of moose fat around your scraps and ground meat. the head remains with it's horns and placed upside down so the tonge is easy to remove.

most families have their own preferences and ways. but in the end it's all the same. very little left for the camp robbers and magpies who have been sitting and waiting close by all along.

once our catch is home and hung to age. then we rest. tomorrow we skin, remove the tenderloin, trim head and neck if needed, sometimes add smoke. take care of our luck. mom's first breakfast was usually eggs, fried liver and onions, diced potato. oh the joy!

for those unfamiliar with this activity, i don't mean to make you squirm with blood and guts.

you don't like it? i don't care. this is our food fresh out of the garden and it was a garden of Eden till they paved Paradise to put up a parking lot.

great care is taken to do everything right on a hunt.

there are no trophy hunters here. taking a life is not something to brag about, to hang on your wall. native people relive the hunt through stories with young folk hanging on to each problem wind movement, cracked stick, and mosquito bite. that's how we "brag". a native man never says how good a hunter he is. by sharing his luck he lets other people talk big about him.

i hope I've done right here by the moose. guess I'll know next fall when i go out.

adapting this technology to my upbringing and beliefs is a steep learning curve for me and I'm a bit apprehensive.

maybe now outside hunters will care more for their meat by reading this. i don't like to see horns on top of a boat load of butchered, souring meat. makes me sad and mad.

the native funeral potlatch

I'm going to talk about this tradition as if you've never been to one. it's difficult to do since we don't normally talk of these things when it's not happening right now. it's like tempting fate. and the last thing a native man wants to do is chance losing his luck..talking about karma.

but I'll do my best here since the genesis of my blog came from a proposal of a south central urban government body to limit the taking of a moose for potlatches. made my hackles stand as it did for many people in our little village. as well as all along the river. the moose is absolutely essential for a funerary gathering. how people treat their dead goes right to the essence of who you are and how you give respect. any suggestion to restrict or otherwise limit this tradition hits our people right where we live. it cannot be stopped and woe to those who try.  we've fought and won this battle before.  supported by the courts and well financed, we still feel and hear urban alaska threats.

how we put away our loved ones starts with a loss. the native community comes together very tight. bad news travels fast everywhere, and the river grapevine is more than just amazing, now fueled by technology like this. people start getting ready, start traveling if needed, call the grieving family to see what they need done and to give love, to see how things are indian timed, to get into the rhythm of what is about to happen.

a potlatch doesn't just happen in a vacuum. it grows from our culture and is the central event of a funeral capping off many days of work. grief then a final dinner after feeding visitors, friends, and community three meals a day for the entire time it takes, usually around 3-4 days. anthropologists might describe this as a redistribution of wealth. whatever.

all who can, first gather at the home of the grieving family. this is called having tea. a normally busy native home gets full real quick. people eat, visit, find out who's traveling, what's going to happen tomorrow, and have tea, time to sync your indian time. elsewhere craftsman are at work, new lumber is acquired for talented, experienced local carpenters to start building a casket. these village men are usually the same skilled and experienced carpenters called on during each such time to perform their much appreciated task, creating beautiful containers befitting the respect and love of the departed. once the casket is done, the women come in with cloth and dress the casket with lining. truly a family and community effort. we're all family..upriver and downriver.

meanwhile there are young men out digging a grave. rain, snow, or shine. -40 or +80 doesn't matter. frozen ground will not stop them. sometimes new ones just learning how to work want to pause and look around their town with all these visitors around. but it's just one of those jobs where a talk from an uncle is handy here. the kind of work which once started should not stop till it's done. a hole in the ground is made. the area cleared and cleaned around the places people will be. dirt pilled neatly and tarped..stays dry and soft for later.

a moose is taken long before this time by other young men from our village happy for the opportunity to hunt during a calendar period when the season is normally closed.

the gift of this moose is quartered and hung. the head set aside. all soon to become the central focus of the traditional potlatch meal, moose head soup.while homes are cooking everywhere, men prepare the soup on an open fire. carefully tended since burnt soup is a big no-no.

for the young men happy to hunt there is much pride to do everything right. the moose gave it's life to them. gives life to us all.

some people might see this as the rub with parts of urban Alaska. i don't think so, not here in Nenana. but that's another blog.

if someone tells you the potlatch will be 6:30 Indian time. it means you should reach sometime between 5:30-6 if you want to find a easy place to park and a good seat. many will come early and find their seat, visit, help in the kitchen, more visit, lots of work, mostly work, then more visit, then where you sitting?

right on indian time everyone is seated. freeze paper is rolled out all along the rows of seats in George hall. then the moose arrives. met by song and dance. life enters the hall. food is given out in a traditional manner, usually by a male village leader and young people.

part of a rite of passage in our village culture. starting with the moose head soup served by young men, this distribution is detailed, sometimes complex and material for another blog.

for now. lets just say you're stuffed with good food, have extra to bring home and caught up on all the news from your visit. time for speeches. relaxing. don't worry you won't have to make a speech. but should the inspiration and urge strike, anyone can step forward and talk about what's happening here.

the family who suffers their lost thanks all for coming. thanks the hunters, the grave workers, the cooks, all who helped. everyone is given respect and validated in one way or another. there's a place for everyone. life is renewed.

then it's time to sing and dance. bring your goodies home. come back to the hall if you want and native dance till you're ready to go home and rest. maybe after the small snack.

so you see is really quite simple.

through our loss, hard as it may be, we find strength and comfort in our tradition. the moose gives it's life to us so that all can live. especially those students and family who cannot be here during a time of sorrow.

then for years to come people say with pride, "we did it right, good potlatch".

enough for now. i didn't mention the give away, memorial potlatches, or stick dances. our traditions are as complex as the number of villages and tribes throughout alaska. maybe others up & down river and asnywhere reading this can add to what i've already put down, correct my mistakes, and help keep my luck.
ana baasee

indian time. everybody has it and we're contagious.

i don't think indian time is a matter of simple genetics. first of all no one here is from india. but ~chuckle chuckle~ native people follow indian time.
i wonder if anyone ever checked with the river people of the ganghis to understand how they are able to launch community events, to gather and start precisely at the right time when all were there and ready. an amazing feat.

we live here on river time, same as indian time, big river, lots of "indians".
our concept of time is much larger than the round machine hanging on our walls. there's a time for picking berries and hunting in the fall. i so enjoy moose camp. a time to put away fish when the cotton flies in the summer. a time to party, play, and celebrate. spring carnival and dog racing season right now. and a time to put away our loved ones and show respect, potlatch time. more on potlatch tradition another time :-).

so i guess everyone native, white, old, young, newcomers or visitors in our village are indians, since the mechanical measure of the sun across the sky is more or less just a reasuring guide to set our pace of life.
that's the vill in a nutshell. we all have this conditon. it's genetic there's no cure. it's how we share laughter and tears between going to work and getting the kids ready for school.

the river and barging

i've been asked to talk about growing up in a family barge business. as good a place to start as any. since the river has been so big a part of my life and has become a metaphor i know, i will predict that much about my growing up will show through my words as i talk about my people and my home.

as a native man these brown eyes do not only see tracks on the snow or a mud beach. i see a story. i was taught to pay close attention to detail. probably why i so eagerly took to reading water. i see the shape and depth of the river in the action of it's surface and banks, river tracks.

eight miles below nenana on the tanana river. doug sturm photos

Sam cook sings," every wind in the river finds it way to the sea." every now and then the drift gets thick and there is much weaving and dodging all the while making your way along a generally straight line. was not planning on talking about myself here. but let me tell you a little of my story.

i first took the wheel of a tug in the summer of 1960 at the tender age of 10 yrs. it was our first year on the river and we had just left Tanana with our new home-made covered barge containing a general store, known then along the river as the store boat. so eager i was to steer the outfit and try this new experience, at first my dad would only let me hold the wheel while he steered the tanana river. but always there was the promise that when we get to the Yukon, i can take the wheel and steer on my own. i did not know then that the tanana does not forgive mistakes like the yukon. Tanana was our 1st Yukon stop for the store boat. after a couple days it's time to move on to the next village, ruby.  many years later dad changed vessels into a freight business, taking advantage of new village construction fuel by new pipline money.

MV ramona landing in tanana, doug sturm photos

on the first stretch below tanana after dad made the crossing..I'm already in the wheel house barely able to contain myself. dad finally gives me the wheel as i stand on a gas box for a height adjustment, then he tells me a story. told me about the steamer Nenana coming up through here and how after going around this sandbar could see a point way down there. "after the timber and a channel marker on a short cutbank, favor the point then you'll see a stretch. i could only imagine the steamer nenana puffing smoke way down there. after the story dad says, ok you ready? i'm going to lay down rest. no problem, his bunk is just off the galley one level down and close to the pilot house. at the time i was sure he went to sleep and i was really all alone at the wheel. it was what i wanted right? i was petrified. in retrospect, he probably never slept, just laid down with his book.  picture above is 18 miles below tanana where my training started and this story took place.

about the time his story about the steamer nenana ended and my knowledge of the river was running out, dad reappears in the wheel house with a cup of coffee thankful for the break he got and happy to take back the wheel. the yukon river was getting pretty big for me about that time.

and that was the first of many stories i'd hear about the river. eventually all the stories came together in my mind and made one very long river, my tug boat home. it wasn't many trips and several years before i began to tell stories of my own, to show my dad i knew what was on the other side of the sandbar, because i had been through there on the last trip. guess i was trained by the best in a most gentle and wise way. now i can close my eyes and see each and every bend from nenana to the mouth of the yukon. helps to see it in your head when it's pitch dark in the fall time. there are lots of village men who can do this and can keep going in the dark as long as a tree line or ridge can be seen, "nativeGPS". everyone knows their own backyard.

mitch & kathleen demientieff singing native songs for then gov. palin

 much like our river homeland,the native community is an ancient, wise, tough, and proud people. despite thick drift, darkness, cold, fish & game. we don't tie up for whitecaps. long as we can make this crossing we can get around the next bend.

nenana, ak.

for those in the know, our little village is fondly known as rivercity. our little village is many communities in one.
but i'll not talk much of the religious or political community here.
i want to talk of our native community, the traditions and reality of our lifestyle. making everyone, without exception, in nenana part of a vast river community. yes we are many, many communities in one.
rivercity is much like every city in america. 'cept we have a river.. ha. but the rest is purdy much the same.
people have to make a living, raise families, build memories, pay bills. make a fire. do what's right. the essential elements making a community rely on eachother. the traditions of native people are the same.

our little village is much like our river.  maintaining long time ties with all  other villages sharing the river. and bridging the cultural and spiritual divide with urban Alaska.  still we are only one little village of 500, give or take.  with pride i will write of my home and people. careful always  to be as accurate and real as possible without offending my neighbors, or violating cultural traditions.

those who support our lifestyle and traditions are welcome to say so here.  become part of our community in a virtual sense.