I drove to Southwest Point—approximately ten miles out of town via one of the island’s three roads—to watch the fury and majesty of storm-driven waves. This part of the island always seemed magical and different from other parts. Elongated twelve-foot-high basalt rocks peppered the landscape, lobbed by a now dormant volcano in the center of the island, giving it an eerie look, especially at twilight. During summer, the winds come gently from all points south; in the winter, waves are driven in from the west by cold Siberian storm systems cycling down into the center of the Bering Sea. The storms push waves in from the west so that they breach the tops of the sixty-foot basalt boulder cliffs. I loved to watch the awesome power of the water, its highly variable shades of blue. Sun shining through the clouds illuminated a diverse palette: some parts of the turbulent waters were sinister and dark, while the surface near shore was a very light blue.
One cold, blustery winter day the snow was coming down sideways as it often does in this place we call the “Birthplace of the Winds.” I watched from my four-wheel-drive pickup as an occasional lonely gull flew by, surfing precariously in the forty-mile-per-hour winds. I always wondered at the skills and abilities of what some might call the lowly gull. It is able to stay near the island year-round, even in the winter when food is scarce and the moist sea storms are bone-chillingly cold.
I grew to love the seagulls in my childhood. My childhood home was next to the town dump, put there by the federal government. Every morning I would wake to the sound of gulls foraging in the garbage. I could tell, by their calls, when they found food because they sent out calls for others to come to the feast they had uncovered. Great teachers, these gulls. Even though they were highly competitive, they didn’t hide their finds. Even as they wrestled with each other over the scraps, they called out for every gull to join and never hurt each other, ever.
I loved to hear a particular kind of call that would tell me, without looking out the window, that it was going to be a glorious, wonderful day of play—sledding or ice skating, as the sound of many gulls sang out a long “currrrrrrrrrrr, currrrrrrrrrrrr,” signaling that it was a beautiful sunny, windless morning with snow on the ground. It was the only time they made that particular sound.
Now, watching the thunderous waves crash against the cliffs left me feeling . . . what? Humble? Awed, strangely peaceful in the knowledge that there are powers greater than we humans, comforted by my security and warmth inside the truck, I was in a state of reverie when, suddenly, the truck engine quit. I quickly looked over the gauges. Gas tank was full. Engine didn’t overheat. I cranked the engine over. Nothing. Maybe it is flooded, I thought. I will wait awhile. I waited, headlights and all electrical items off. A couple of minutes later I cranked the engine again. It kicked over, but no ignition. “Whuh, whuh, whuh, whuh, whuh, whuh.” I waited another few minutes. “Whuh, whuh, whuh, whuh.” Nothing.
I looked outside. I could tell a storm was cooking—a blizzard was beginning to stir as the snow moved from right to left across the windshield. “Whuh, whuh, whuh, whuh, whuh, whuh,” the engine said. I got out to look under the hood, not sure what I was looking for—maybe a loose wire? I checked the oil: full. I tried to start the engine once more, with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. It isn’t going to start, I thought to myself. Shit! What am I going to do if it doesn’t start? “Whuh, whuh, whuh, whuh.” I could hear the battery starting to run down. Damn! I couldn’t walk or run back. I was wearing a pair of jeans, gym shoes, a parka, and a pair of work gloves, but that was not enough. If I tried to walk back, I would freeze to death after a short time in the growing wind and snow. The chill factor had to be at least thirty below zero.
I centered myself to think. Well, this is a frequently traveled road; there are only three roads on the entire island, and my fellow Unangan like to “joy-ride” as much as I do. Someone will come, I thought hopefully. I will wait it out. By this time it was about 4:00 in the afternoon and getting dark. In Alaska, we have only a few hours of daylight in the winter months, and this was February when the total was about three and a half hours. I could only wait and hope. Six, seven, eight, nine o’clock came and went—still no one came up the road. By ten o’clock, I knew I was there for the night. No one would drive out there at that time of night. I hunkered down in my truck, feeling sure someone would come the next day. The windows of my pickup iced over as my moist breath hit the cold glass. Soon the entire interior was frosted a thick white. I could feel the beginning of a chill setting into my body. “Must keep moving, must keep awake,” I said to myself, taking comfort in my own voice as the wind whistled and groaned in the complete darkness.
As a hunter, I was used to sitting next to the sea and waiting for hours in cold wind for ducks or the occasional Steller sea lion to come by. This is easier, I thought.
Daybreak came around eleven o’clock the next morning. I felt a mild sense of accomplishment—I had gotten through the night in good shape. I was cold but not shivering cold. Anticipation rose in me as I thought of having a hot cup of tea when I got home that day. I got out of the truck and ran briefly in circles to keep my circulation going while I waited for somebody, anybody, to drive up. Noon, one, two, three, four o’clock came and went, and nobody came. It was getting dark again. Six, seven, eight . . . my heart sank. God, am I going to have another night here? My last sleep was two nights ago. If I fall asleep tonight, I won’t live to see another day! I will stay awake; someone will know I am missing, and they will come looking. I bolstered up my determination. I was beginning to shiver. Not good if I do this for hours, I thought, too much energy loss. “Think warm, think warm, think and feel warm, think and feel warm” became my mantra throughout the night. Finally, after what seemed like the proverbial eternity, daylight finally came again. I was cold but alive! I knew someone would come that day—they had to. I wouldn’t be able to stay awake another night. One, two, three o’clock . . . noon. My feet were getting very cold, and my thighs were starting to feel numb.
I rubbed out a circle from the frost on the windshield so that I could watch the road. I was startled to see a bulldozer flying over the hill toward me, then a front-end loader, then a truck. Flying! Oh, shit—now I am hallucinating! I realized that if darkness came again, I would die. By four o’clock on the third day, I decided to make a run for it. Hallucinations were not a good sign. At least I was doing something, and that was good!
It was twelve miles through blistering cold wind and snow, through four- and five-foot-high snow drifts, to get to the village. I figured that if I could hold a steady trot, I could do it. About a quarter-mile into the run, my lungs began to hurt from taking in gulps of extremely cold air. Within a half-mile, my legs were numbing out. My body got so cold, so fast. I was still determined to live, but my body was not cooperating too well.
I decided to stop and say a prayer of release. I gazed into the blizzard, toward where the sunlight was barely coming through in the west, and I prayed in that direction: “Creator, I surrender to you. If it is time for me to leave my body, then I go knowing I led a good life and I thank you for that with all my being! I thank you, Creator. I thank you for giving me this life and now I let go to you. But, Creator, if you would send even a drunk driver out here right now, I would be equally grateful!”
No sooner had I completed the prayer and turned to trot again that I saw what had to be headlights shining through the twilight blizzard, careening from side to side down the road toward me. When it got close enough, I could see it was a VW Beetle. I wondered if I was hallucinating again. “I don’t know how that car is staying on the road in a blizzard,” I said in a somewhat dazed state. What a ridiculous sight. “The Creator is playing with me!” I laughed, not caring if it was a hallucination or not. It was such a funny sight as the car struggled to stay on the road, zigzagging its way toward me. When it stopped, I recognized the people, and it was obvious they’d been partying.
“Looks like you need a ride, eh?”
The small car was full—six people. I got in, sitting on the lap of a guy who grinned at me, nearly toothless. I loved these people, and I didn’t care if I was sitting on another man’s lap for the first time in my life. I had made it! I survived! Not only that, I also found out that the Creator does have a sense of humor!