Briggs - Never in Anger

8/19/2019 Briggs - Never in Anger

1/39

Jean L. Briggs Never in Anger

Portrait of an Eskimo Family

Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts,

an d London, England


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Introducti

I . The Study

In t h e summer of 1963 I went to the Canadian Northwest

Territories to make a seventee n-month anthropological field

study of the small group of Eskimos w h o live a t the mouth of the

Back River, northwest of Hudson Bay. These twenty to thirty-

five Eskimos, w h o call themselves Utkuhikhalingmiut,

1

a re t h e

sole inhabitants of an area 35,000 or more miles square. T h e

nearest other people are 150 miles north in Gjoa Haven, a small

missiori-and-trading settlement of perhaps o n e hundred Eskimos

a n d four to five kaplunas.

2

T h e Utku usually camp near th e foot of Chantrey Inlet, the

sound seventy-five miles iong a n d nearly a third as wide, into

which Back River empties. I t takes o n e an d a half to two weeks to

make

th e

round trip from Chantrey Inlet

to

Gjoa Haven

b y

sled

1. Hereafter Utkuhikhalingmiut will be abbreviated to Utku.

2. Qaplunaaq is the Canadian Eskimo name for white ma n; this is often angli-

cized to kabloona (here kap una) in Canadian Arctic literature.


3/39

in winter; in summer t h e trip is impossible altogether, because

t h e open water of Simpson Strait lies between t h e inlet a n d King

William Island, where Gjoa Haven is . Most Utku m e n make t h e

sled trip

two to

three times each winter

to

trade

fo x

skins

for the

kapluna goods they

see as

necessary

to

their

way of

life: weap-

o n s ,

clothing, bedding,

an d

cooking equipment, tools

a n d

tents,

t e a , tobacco, flour, and a holiday smattering of more frivolous

items. But on the whole, th e Utku live quite self-sufficiently in

their remote river country.

Contact between t h e Utku and the outside world h as been

slight until recently. Brief glimpses of three British a n d Ameri-

ca n exploring expeditions,

3

whose members spoke at most a few

words of Eskimo, and a visit of a few days with t h e Greenlandic

explorer an d ethnographer Knud Rasmussen in 1923 comprise

th e total of their early encounters with white m e n . Rasmussen

(1931) calculated on the basis of Utku reports that th e first guns

a n d modern tools were introduced to the Utku about 1908 by an

Eskimo trader from

th e

Baker Lake area

to the

south; since that

time

t h e

Utku have traded with increasing frequency, first

at

Baker Lake an d a t other posts on the Hudson Bay coast, later

a t Perry River, an d most recently in Gjoa Haven. But i t was

only after th e disappearance of the caribou in 1958 that cloth

a n d canvas largely replaced caribou as materials fo r clothing an d

tents. Similarly, it is only in this last decade or so that contacts

with kaplunas themselves—missionaries, government person-

n e l , an d most recently sports fishermen—have become an ex-

pected part, however small, of Utku life.

Anthropologically, too , the Utku have been very little studied.

Rasmussen's short visit in 1923 was made with th e purpose of

collecting ethnographic data; and in 1962 a French ethnographer

named Jean Malaurse made a trip of a few days to Chantrey Inlet.

B u t prior to my own trip no long-term studies of the Utku h ad

been made.

I chose this unusually isolated group as a subject o f study b e -

cause I w as interested in the social relationships of shamans.

I h ad been assured that t h e Utku were pagans, and I hoped that

in this place, presumably so far from missionary influence, I

3. Back in 1833 (1836); Anderson in 1855 (Rasmussen 1931:468); Schwatka

in 1879 (Gilder 1881).

2 N e ve r i n Anger

could still find practicing shamans. As it turned out , I was mis-

taken. T h e Utku encountered both Catholic a n d Anglican varie-

ties of Christianity about thirty years ago, and they a re n o w very-

devout Anglicans; their shamans are all , in their view, either

in hell or in hiding. But I d id not discover this until long after m y

arrival

in

Chantrey Inlet.

When

I did

finally ascertain that

n o

information

o n

shamanism

would

b e

forthcoming,

I was of

course compelled

to

find some

other aspect of life to study. T h e choice of subject w as d e -

termined in part b y factors beyond m y control, especially b y my

limited knowledge of the language and by the Utkus' reticence

an d , during a certain period of my stay, b y their resistance to my

presence. Because of the language barrier, during th e first year

of my stay at Back River I was confi ned very largely to recording

those aspects of life that were tangible a n d visible. After some

months

I

began

to

follow ordinary conversations

and to

feel that

there

w as

some likelihood

of my

understanding

t h e

answer

if I

ventured to ask a question. But a t about that time a serious

misunderstanding arose between

t h e

Utku

an d me . I

lost

m y

temper (very mildly a s w e ourselves would view it) at some

kapluna fishermen w h o visited th e inlet during th e summer an d

w h o broke one of the Eskimo canoes. This incident brought to a

head a long-standing uneasiness on the part of the Eskimos

concerning m y un-Eskimo volatility; and as a result of my un-

seemly a n d frightening wrath at the fishermen I was ostracized,

very subtly, fo r about three months.

During this period there

w as

simply

no use in

asking ques-

tions.

At

best, Utku consider questions boorish

a n d

silly; never-

theless, they will sometimes politely attempt

t o

answer them.

During this period

of

tension, however, they

d id not .

Moreover,

m y intense resentment a t the unpleasant situation resulted

in a spectacular decline in my own linguistic prowess. I could

no t remember even t h e simplest words, which h ad become

second nature to me.

T h e tensions were eventually resolved. M y vocabulary u n -

froze, an d people once more submitted with gracious cheerful-

ness to my impertinent inquiries. B ut even with th e best of

rapport there were subjects that m e t with great resistance. H i s -

torical matters in particular were difficult to discuss, as they

Introduction 3


4/39

were tainted with paganism. N o t only could I get no information

o n shamanism, I could n o t even obtain t h e genealogical data

necessary for a proper social structural analysis of the group.

Perhaps this

w as

because

of the

very un-Anglican marriage

practices that would have been unearthed in the recent, p re -

Christian generations. T h e Utku have heard that i t i s "bad" to

talk about the o ld days because " in those days people were very

confused."

T h e upshot of this situation w as that t h e aspect of Utku life

most accessible

fo r

study,

an d t h e o n e

most salient

in

terms

of rny

personal experience, w as t h e patterning of emotional expres-

sion: t h e ways in which feelings, both affectionate a n d hostile,

a r e channeled a n d communicated, an d t h e ways in which people

attempt to direct an d control th e improper expression of such

feelings in themselves and in others. Emotional control is highly

valued among Eskimos; indeed, t h e maintenance of equanimity

under trying circumstances is the essential sign of maturity, of

adulthood.

T h e

handling

of

emotion

is

thus

a

problem that

is of

great importance also to the Utku themselves.

I was in a particularly good position to observe this emotional

patterning both because

I was a

focus

f or

emotional tension

and

because I lived with a family a s their adopted daughter, sharing

their iglu during t h e winter a n d pitching m y tent next t o theirs in

summer.

I n this book I shall describe Utku emotional patterning in the

context of their life as I saw and lived it during m y seventeen

months in Chantrey Inlet. Instead of attempting t o make a formal

structural or psychological analysis (for which I lack t h e requisite

systematic data) I shall draw a series of vignettes of individual

Utku interacting with members of their family an d with their

neighbors. I feel that this approach will make maximum use of

t h e research situation: t h e smallness of the group studied, the

intimacy of mv living arrangements, an d t h e resulting richness

of the

behavioral data obtained.

I

hope this behavioral description will also supplement

p re -

vious literature on Eskimos. A great deal, both professional and

popular,

ha s

been written about Eskimos;

f e w

peoples

so

fasci-

nate

t h e

outside world. Much

of

this literature, howeve r, consists

of generalizations about Eskimo life, based partly on the writer's

Never in Anger

necessarily limited observations

an d

partly

on

Eskimo infor-

mants' reports of what Eskimos do , or ought to do. As in all cul-

tures, there a re often discrepancies between what people say

about themselves on the one hand a n d their observed behavior

o n t h e other. Th e t w o kinds of data provide quite different p e r -

spectives o n a culture an d complement each other.

W e d o catch vivid glimpses of Eskimo individuals in a number

of works, anthropological an d otherwise. A partial list includes

Brower (1942), Ingstad (1954), Marshall (1933), Mowat (1952,

1959), Poncins (1941), Wilkinson (1956), Jenness (1922, 192S),

Lantis (1960), Stefansson (1951), Metayer (1986), Washbume

(1940),

an d

almost

all the

Eskimo publications

of

Rasrnussen

an d

Freuch en. Lantis' book contains short life histories

of

several

Southwest Alaskan Eskimos,

an d t h e

Eskimo autobiographies

edited b y Washburne an d Metayer a re particularly rich in detail

concerning th e everyday lives of Eskimo individuals. These

three books, as well as those of Marshall, Rasrnussen, an d Freu-

chen, a re especially valuable in that they provide insight into

th e Eskimos' o w n view of their behavior. Gubser (1965) does not

show us individuals as such, but h is book, too , gives excellent

data o n Eskimo views regarding interpersonal relationships,

since h is generalizations ar e based both on observation of Es-

kimo behavior

and on

Eskimo statements concerning

t h e

mean-

ing of that behavior. None o f these authors, however, i s concerned

primarily with emotional behavior. Moreover, t o date no attempt,

as far as I know, h as been made to analyze t h e terms in which

Eskimos speak about their relationships with o n e another. Thus,

both in its focus and in its use of Eskimo terminology I believe

m y report m ay constitute a contribution. I believe, too, that m y

experience as a "daughter" in an Eskimo family m ay cast n e w

light

on old

generalizations concerning relationships between

Eskimo m e n a n d women. Gubser, Jenness, a n d Wilkinson were

al l adopted as "sons"; Freuchen a n d Rasrnussen h ad Eskimo

wives;

but to my

knowledge

t h e

only other account written

by

o n e w h o played a feminine role in an Eskimo family i s the auto-

biography of Anauta (Washbume 1940).

T h e behavioral data that I utilize in my description of Utku

emotional patterns are of several kinds. In t h e first place, I

present observations made b y Utku themselves, both o n their

Introduction 5


5/39

personal feelings and on the feelings of others in various situ-

ations. Because Utku

do not

label emotions-exactly

as we do,

I insert in the text, whenever possible, t h e base of the Utku

term

fo r t h e

feeling that

is

described,

and in

several cases

I insert t h e base of the term for the behavior that expresses a

feeling. While these terms

by no

means exhaust

t h e

Utkus'

emotional vocabulary, they ar e among those most commonly in

u s e . T h e circumstances of their use are summarized in an ap-

pendix

to the

book.

4

Secondly, in addition to describing what th e Utku themselves

sa y

about feelings,

I

draw

on

more personal data.

O n t h e o n e

hand I describe m y observations of Utku behavior an d t h e

feelings that t h e behavior seemed to me to portray; and on the

other hand I describe th e feelings that I myself had in particular

situations. M y justification fo r this is that I was an intrinsic part

of the research situation. T h e responses of my hosts to my

actions a n d m y feelings, an d my o w n reactions to the situations

in which I found myself—my empathy an d my experience of

contrasts between m y feelings an d those of my hosts—were all

invaluable sources of data.

Conscious of the pitfalls of misperception to which such

a persona approach is subject, I shall tr y throughout to d is-

tinguish explicitly among th e various kinds of data on which

m y statements a re based and not to extrapolate from my o w n

feelings to those of Utku without cautioning th e reader that I

am doing so. I hope, moreover, to present t h e material vividly

enough so that t h e reader, sharing to some extent m y cultural

background,

5

can also experience empathy an d contrasts b e -

tween h is feelings a n d those of Utku, thereby enriching h is

understanding of the situation that is described an d making

h i s o w n inteipretations.

It is important to emphasise that th e picture of Utku life that

is drawn here is very much a still life: a product of a particular

4. See also th e glossary of emotional terms. Where terms are not given in the

text, it is occasionally because they would b e redundant: th e term ha s been given

once already

on the

same page

and in the

same context.

But

more often

it is be-

cause they are not available; either the conversation quoted was in English or

I do not know how the Eskimos labeled the situation.

5. In interpreting my statements, readers may find it useful to know that my

background is that of a middle-class, urban, Protestant N ew Englander.

N e ve r in Anger

situation,

a

particular

set of

human relationships

at a

particular

moment in time. I could never write th e same book again, nor

could an y other observer have written exactly th e same book.

This point w as brought home to me vividly on a return visit

to

Chantrey Inlet

in 1968,

when

in y

relationships with

the

same people were quite different: more familiar

a n d

more

peaceful. As a result, I saw, or attributed to the Utku, quite d i f-

ferent behavior an d motivations a n d hence observed somewhat

different characters, in certain respects. They saw n ew qualities

in me, as well, an d attributed a somewhat different personality

t o me . This is not to say that o u r earlier views of each other were

false, simply that they were a product of a different situation.

T h e

book

is a

still life also

in the

sense that Utku life, like that

of other Eskimo groups, is changing. Some of the practices

a n d attitudes described here already at this writing belong to

th e

past;

an d

there

is no

telling

h o w

long

t h e

Utku will remain

in Chantrey Inlet. B u t having made it clear that t h e book d e -

scribes a particular moment in time, for simplicity's sake I

shall avail myself of anthropological privilege an d refer to that

moment in the present tense.

T h e book focuses on a few individuals w h o , I think, illustrate

exceptionally well in their relationships with other members

of the camp th e points to be made concerning t h e patterning

of emotion. None of these central characters is an "ideal"

Eskimo. O n t h e contrary. I have chosen for two reasons to de-

scribe people whose behavior o r character deviates markedly

in one way or another from t h e ideal. M y first reason fo r this

choice is that it is often easier to learn what good behavior

is when it is thrown into relief b y misbehavior. Secondly, t h e

description of individuals whose behavior is considered inap-

propriate gives

me an

opportunity

to

describe

t h e w ay

people

try to control these undesirable tendencies, in themselves

and in others.

T h e introductory sections of the book describe th e geograph-

ical

an d

historical setting

of the

group arid

t h e

circumstances

of my arrival at Back River. T h e seasonal nomadic cycle an d

Utku family organization ar e also briefly outlined. Following

t h e

introduction, chapters devoted

to

descriptions

of

individuals

a n d their social relationships ar e interspersed with more general

Introduction

7


6/39

chapters intended to provide th e ethnographic background n e c -

essary in orde» tQ -understand t h e behavior of the individuals

with whom th e book is concerned.

T h e first person to be described is Inuttiaq, t h e religious

leader of the Utku an d my Eskimo father. He i s considered

b y h i s

feilows

to be a

"good person";

in

important ways

h is

self-expression remains within acceptable limits. But 1 think it

probable that h e maintains h is reputation at some personal

cost, as he seems to be a highly tempestuous person internally,

and in this respect i s far from th e Eskimo ideal. People of Inut-

tiaq's type

m a y

recur fairly frequently

in

Utku society.

I

have

t h e impression, both from Eskimo literature an d from conver-

sations with Eskimos about t h e personalities of shamans, that

such people often became shamans in the old days. In an y case,

Inuttiaq, in his relationships with hi s family a n d with others,

and in h is role as religious leader illustrates most of the ac-

ceptable modes of persona expression, as well as a few that

a re

subject

to

criticism.

Following a chapter on family life, Inuttiaq's children are

described in an attempt to show h o w t h e proper patterns of ex-

pression a re inculcated in children an d h o w deviations from

this proper behavior a re handled. Utku, like many other peopl es,

expect children, at least small ones, to behave badly. Allowances

a re made for them because they do not yet "know better" or are

n o t y e t motivated to conform to adult standards. Nevertheless,

attempts a re made to train children in the way they should

eventually go , and to observe this training is to observe what

Utku believe th e proper adult personality should b e an d what

methods a re appropriate in this culture to control and to educate

children to grow in that direction.

T h e fourth chapter describes in general terms t h e ways in

which members of different ki n groups behave toward o n e

another. This chapter

is

followed

by one

that centers

on two

specific k in groups: Inuttiaq's a n d Nilak's. Nilak's wife, Niqi,

appears to be the least intelligent of the Utku: she i s also t h e

least able to control h e r emotions. Niiak, like h is wife, is reputed

to have a b ad temper, as well as other unpleasant qualities such

as stinginess. Between the two of them, therefore, Niiak an d

Niqi illustrate a good many of the unacceptable modes of per-

8 Never in Anger

sonal expression and the ways in which these a re dealt with

by the community. — > •

T h e last relationship to be described i s my own with Inuttiaq's

household. Like Niqi's an d Nilak's, m y behavior illustrates

mainly th e unacceptable. However, t h e origin of the difficulty i s

different. Whereas Niqi failed to conform because sh e lacked

th e mental ability, I failed because I had been educated to a

different pattern. Some

of the

ways

in

which

m y

offensive

b e -

havior w as handled by the Eskimo community reflects this

difference

in

cause:

th e

fact that

I was not ,

after

all , an

Eskimo.

Nevertheless, t h e Utku measured m y behavior b y their o w n

standards; they disliked an d criticized it, as they d i d Niqi's.

T h e situations described in these chapters ar e obviously

quite different from o n e another. T h e common denominator

is the

fact that

al l

these forms

of

imprope r behavior attract critical

notice a n d provoke attempts to control them. I am considering

children, volatile Utku adults, a n d foreigners together in this

way in order to point o u t similarities an d differences i n t h e ways

in which Utku deal with t h e inappropriate behavior of these

different categories of people. Le t me stress that with regard

t o t h e particular forms of emotional behavior, t h e expressions

of

hostility

a n d

affection, with which this book

is

concerned,

there is, as far as 1 could tell, only o n e ideal, which is applicable

to all human beings, Utku or not, over the age of three or so.

I judge this from t h e fact that t h e emotional behavior of all

human beings is criticized in the same terms. This does n o t mean

that in all respects a child is expected to behave like an adult,

or a woman of twenty like a man of fifty, or a foreigner like a n

Utku, b u t t h e rule of even-tempered restraint does apply to all

categories of people (except for the smallest children); an d d e -

viations from that rale a re very likely to attract disapprobation,

regardless of how common such deviations are .

An appendix t o t h e book will summarize t h e kinds of behavior

that a re classified under each of the major emotion terms that

occur in the text, a n d outline th e situations in which t h e various

kinds of behavior are or are not appropriate.

Introduction


7/39

I I . The

Setting

Northwest of Hudson Bay, along th e northern shore of the Amer-

ican continent

a n d

southward

to the

tree line hundreds

of

miles

away, lies a n immense open tuncsra. l h e feel of the tundra is

that of a vast mountaintop—the same exhilarating, wind-clean

space, low-scuddsng clouds, a n d t h e peculiar silence, almost

audible in its intensity, that exists only where there is no tall

growth fo r the breeze to ruffie. It is a severe country, bu t one o f

moorlike beauty a n d dramatic change.

I n t h e Arctic each season sets it s stamp sharply on the land,

as

well

as on the

lives

o f the

people

w h o

inhabit

it. In

spring

a n d

summer, that is , from about t h e middle of June to the middle o f

August,

th e

thin soil nourishes

a

luxuriant though tiny growth.

T h e tallest plants, willow a n d birch, with twigs perhaps three

feet long

a t

most,

li e

spread-eagled along

t h e

ground

in the

marshy hollows

o r

pressed flat against

t h e

ledges, where they

seem much shorter than they

a r e . T he

ground itself

is

covered

with

a

hummocky

m a t o f

lichens

a n d

Alpine Sowers, none more

than

a f e w

inches high;

a n d

lichen-covered rocks

ar e

like

elaborate Japanese fabrics in orange, green, a n d black.

I n these months, t h e tundra harbors other life, a s well. Insects

swarm from

t h e

marshes, clogging eyes, ears, mouth,

a n d

nose,

a n d pattering like rain o n one's jacket. Ptarmigan whir up w i t -

lessiy

in

front

of

one's feet,

a n

easy target

f o r t h e

stones

of

chil-

dren;

a n d

plovers

r u n

swiftly over

t h e

tundra

on

their long sand-

piper legs, uttering th e thin frightened cries that give them their

Eskimo name: "Qulliq-quliik, qulliq-quliik."

In

August when

th e

berry leaves redden,

th e

land glows rusty

in the low sun till th e first snow transforms it overnight into

a charcoal drawing. Every d a y , flocks o f birds pass across the

gray

sky,

a n d once in a while,

a

loon, lost in the autumn land,

cries a shivering complaint. " H e i s cold," t h e Eskimos say,

Winter comes rapidly. Snow falls thinly during th e nights of

September a n d October, driving in ribbons across th e black

i c e

surfaces

of the

lakes

an d

rivers

to

freeze there, sculptured

into graceful tongues

by the

wind. After

t h e s e a ha s

frozen,

the

cloud

blanket

lifts, a n d t h e

black-and-white

landscape of autumn

becomes suffused with th e colors of the sinking s un . Then, too,

1 0 Never in Anger

th e moon reappears. In the strong light of summer i t ha d been

a

shadow, unnoticed,

b u t n o w ,

radiant even

a t

noonday,

it

seems

the one

living thing

in a

world whose silence

is

broken only

b y

th e

rustle

of the

ground-wind

on the

frozen snow

a nd the

thun-

der -crack of ice. Animal life h a s withdrawn into th e whiteness;

only t h e tracks of invisible ptarmigan, fox , a nd rabbit pattern

th e snow, and an occasional crow, startling in its blackness,

gaps heavily above t h e ground in search of food.

Finally, with th e returning warmth a n d t h e beginning of the

long summer da y in Ma y a nd June, t h e year is complete. T h e

long-forgotten gurgle a n d rush of water, cloud reflections, the

plash of fish rising to insects, earth-fragrant wind, a n d endless

su n bring liberation from a n imprisonment felt only in the c on-

trast.

This is th e country through which Back River flows. Rising

near Contwoyto Lake, on the edge of Indian country, it flows

northeast to the Arctic coast, where, more than tw o miles wide,

it

empties into Chantrey Inlet.

From an y hilltop near it s mouth t h e river dominates t h e scene.

N o matter where o n e looks it is there, winding broad, peaceful

arms around knolls

of

islands,

o r

racing narrow

a n d

turbulent

between confining granite bluffs. In th e spring, torrential with

melting snow a nd i c e , the roar of Itimnaaqjuk, t h e Franklin Lake

Rapids, c a n be heard at a distance of twelve miles o r more, a

bass murmur underlying th e fre net ic little freshets, a n d their

surf shows as a white line of breakers o n t h e horizon. In the

summer t h e churning surf subsides, b u t t h e current never

slackens. Even

in

winter

n o

scab

of ice

forms over

t h e

rapids;

and in

autumn their breath hovers

as a

black vapor over

t h e

hole

of open water.

T h e river derives it s English name from that of the British

explorer, George Back, w h o first traveled it s length a n d mapped

it . Back himself (1838) called i t the Great Fish River, a translation

of the name, Thleweechodezeth, used b y t h e Indians w h o lived

near it s source at Contwoyto Lake. Bu t the Eskimos call the

river simply Kuuk (river).

T h e Utku a re one of three Eskimo groups w h o have inhabited

th e lower reaches o f the river. T h e territory of the Utkuhik-

halingmiut ( the people of the place where there is soapstone)

Introduction


8/39

lies between Chantrey Inlet

an d

Franklin Lake. Beyond, where

t h e river widens to form lakes Garry a n d Felly, was the heme

until recently of the Ualiakliit ( the westerners) arid of the fian-

ningajuqmiut ( the people of the place that lies across), that is,

t h e

river bend.

6

F o r

generations these three groups hunted

t h e great herds of caribou that migrated, spring an d fail, through

their territory, a n d fished fo r t h e trout, char, a n d white fish for

which th e Indians named th e river.

T h e early history of these three Eskimo groups i s not clearly

known. Current Utku traditions sa y that their o w n ancestors, an d

probably those

of the

other

tw o

groups also, came from

t h e

north,

from

the sea

called Ukjulik,

off the

west coast

o f

Adelaide Penin-

sula.

T h e

reasons given

for the

move

a re

various. Knud

Ras-

rnussen, w h o visited t h e Utku briefly in ]Q23, was told (1931:

473-474) that follo wing a famine in which many of their number

h a d

died,

t h e

remaining Utku families moved south into

t h e u n -

inhabited river country, seeking better game. Utkuhikhalik,

t h e country of the river mouth, w as rich at that time in caribou,

musk oxen, a n d fish, a n d seal were plentiful where Chantrey

Inlet widened beyond t h e river mouth. T h e Utku told Rasrnus-

s e n

that when thev first moved into their

n e w

country, they used

to go sealing every winter a n d spring in Chantrey Inlet; but

that when they obtained guns, which they d id in 1908 or there-

abouts, they gave

u p

sealing

an d

turned

to

trapping

fox ,

which

at

Baker Lake,

tw o

hundred miles

to the

south, they could trade

fo r modern tools an d white men's goods, including t h e valuable

guns. F o r foo d, they fished an d hunted caribou, ranging i n search

of the latter deep into t h e interior, as far as Garry a n d Pelly

Lakes, t h e country of the Hanningajuqmiut an d Ualiakliit.

A n encounter of the explorers Gilder a n d Schwatka with Utku

in 1ST8 supports t h e story of a move from Ukjulik, though t h e

o l d man they spoke with said that h e an d others h a d moved from

6. Robert Williamson (1968) tells m e that there are really only tw o groups:

th e Utkdhikhahngsniut and the Hanningajuqmiut. According to his sources

(Eskimos from th e interior who are now living at Baker Lake and on the west

coast of Hudson Bay), the Ualiakliit are a subgroup of the Hanningajuqmiut,

w ho live in the southwestern part o f Banningajuq. However, as my Utku infor-

mant expiicitly an d emphatically distinguishes th e Ualiakliit from the Han-

ningajuqmiut, 1 shall continue to speak of three groups for the moment, as

Rasrnussen does.

1 2 N e ve r in Anger

Ukjulik n ot because of famine b u t because they were driven

out by a neighboring band of warlike Netsiiirsgmiut (Gilder

1881:77). Nowadays o n e sometimes hears lluiliqmiut (whose

traditional territory also bordered on Ukjulik) claim th e credit

fo r driving out the Utku. My elderly Utku informant, on the

other hand, while telling m e about th e move from Ukjulik,

mentioned neither famine n or warlike neighbors; h e told m e

that th e Utku came south in order to obtain guns, an d when

they h ad guns they gave u p sealing a n d turned exclusively

toward t h e interior, living o n caribou an d trapping fox to trade—

a

change

in

subsistence which agrees with what Rasrnussen

was

told.

Accounts a re least in agreement concerning th e reasons for

th e

move

to

Utkuhikhalik

an d t h e

period when

it

occurred.

M y

elderly informant thought that th e Utku h ad moved at about the

turn of the century; h is older brother, h e thought, h ad been

among those w h o moved " to obtain guns." Rasrnussen, too,

says that t h e famine, which Utku told h i m h ad precipitated t h e

move, was "not so very long ag o " (1931:473). However, o n e

gathers that h e means i t was several generations before 1923,

which would place it well before th e turn of the century. I

think most other evidence also points to an earlier date, most

probably a date prior to 1833. The o ld man, Ikinnelikpatolok,

with whom Gilder a n d Schwatka spoke in 1879 (Gilder 1881:

77-78) said that

"h i s

family comprised nearly

all

that

w as

left

of the tribe which formerly occupied t h e west coast of Adelaide

Peninsula

an d

King William Land."

I t may b e

assumed that

h e

himself h a d moved from Ukjulik, since h e referred to himself

as a person from there; b u t h e must have been already living o n

Back River as a small b o y , since h e rememb ered having shaken

hands with Back when

t h e

latter passed through Utkuhikhalik

in 1833. Back, in h is travels down t h e river in that year, me t

tw o camps of Eskimos a n d found traces of Eskimo habitation all

along th e river, from t h e inland lakes to the mouth, in the places

w e n o w

know

as

Ualiakliit, Hanningajuqmiut,

an d

Utkuhikha-

lingmiut territories (1836:333-438). Back

in 1833

(1836:378-

386; 432-433), Anderson in 1855 (Rasrnussen 1931:468), an d

Schwatka in 1879 (Gilder 1881:198) al l found camps of Utku in

th e vicinity of the Franklin Lake Rapids, where Utku live today.

Introduction


9/39

A n d

these seem

not to

have be en just transient families, moving

through a foreign territory. T h e continuity or the Utkus' resi-

dence in Utkuhikhalik is shown by the fact that Ikinnelikpa-

tolok's son-in-law, whom Schwatka met in 1879 (Gilder 1881:78)

h a d been among those in the camp seen years earlier by Ander-

so n . Another fact that supports a sizeable move prior at least

to 1855 is that M'Clintock (1859:251) w as told in 1859 that

"formerly" many natives h ad lived at Ukjulik ("Oot-ioo-lik,"

in M'Ciintock's orthography), but ' now very f e w remain."

AH of these contacts with explorers seem to argue that the

Utku moved into their present area early in the nineteenth c e n -

tury,

in

flight from famine

o r

from enemies.

Bu t o n e

report

is

difficult to reconcile with this view. Rasmussen's Utku in -

formants told him of an "ancient tradition" which says t h e Utku

were once a warlike a n d arrogant people, a "great nation, so

numerous that all the hills looking over Lake Franklin were

sometimes enveloped

in

smoke from

t h e

many camp fires round

t h e lake" (1931:481). H o w i s this possible if the Utku really

moved into Chantrey Inlet just a few generations before Rasmus-

sen w as

there

an d

within

th e

memory

of the o ld man

with whom

Schwatka spoke in 1879?

Whatever their origins, within recent times these three inland

groups have h ad a harsh history. In 1923 Rasmussen (1931:473)

counted a total of 164 Utku a n d Ualiakliit combined, of whom

1 3 5 were Utku, or living with t h e latter in Chantrey Inlet.

7

B u t

according

to

Utku with whom

i

spoke,

at

some time within

T. Rasmussen (1931:473-477) thought he had included the Hanningajuqmiut

in his census, too, bat according to contemporary Utku informants, he was mis-

taken.

W e

therefore

do not

know

ho w

many Hanningajuqmiut there were

in

1923.

In designating people as "Utku" I have followed the Utkus" o w n definition,

as Rasmussen apparently did in the census referred to here. Th e term Uikuhih-

halingmiui (people of the place where there is soapstone) seems to he essen-

tially, but not wholly, a territorial concept. A. person is Utku if he is bom in

Chantrey Inlet and lives there during hi s childhood, but he may lose hi s Utku

affiliation

b y

moving

sway an d

staying away

for a

number

o f

years. Then

he

will

be referred io as "formerly Utku." On the other hand, a person who was born and

raised elsewhere, then moved to Chantrey Inlet as an adult, may or may not be

referred

to as an

"Utkuhikhalingmiutaq," dependin g

on the

context

of the con-

versation. Sometimes he will be referred to as "an Utkuhikhalingmiutaq—but

no t really (-marik. genuinely) an Utkuhikhalingmiutaq." I did not push the con-

cept to its limits in discussing it with Utku.

Never i n Anger

their memory

8

famine a n d illness destroyed many of the Ualia-

kliit a n d Hanningajuqmiut. Those w h o were left moved away

to

join oth er groups, such

as the

Utku

a t the

river mouth

an d t h e

Qaicjniqmiut

at

Baker Lake. Utku

sa y

that when

t h e

last remain-

in g members of th e "real" Hanningajuqmiut h a d left th e area,

then some of the Utku moved in , since Hanningajuq w as usually

very rich in caribou an d fish. B u t between 1649 and 1958 there

were again several famines in Hanningajuq, and in 1958 the

government evacuated t h e survivors, taking them to Baker Lake,

to Rankin Inlet, and to Whale Cove, communities on or near the

Hudson

Bay

coast (McGill

1968;

Williamson 1968).

A few

families have since moved in an d out of the area, but no one,

to my knowledge, h as returned permanently to Hanningajuq

(McGill 1968; Thompson 1967; Williamson 1968).

In the

spring

of 1958

there

was a

famine

in

Utkuhikhalik

at

th e river mouth.® A t that time, people d i d n o t depend o n fish

fo r food in all seasons as they d o n o w . Instead of catching fish

in the

autumn

for use in the

spring when

t h e

river

is

empty,

they used to go inland in search of caribou. But in 1958 the

caribou failed to coine. By t h e time this w a s apparent, t h e fish

h ad gone. People tried to hunt seal, b u t owing t o b ad weather,

hunting w as poor. A few people died; others moved away: to

Baker Lake,

to

Spence

Bay, to

Gjoa Haven. Before

the 1958

famine, too, some Utku families h a d moved away: t o H an -

ningajuq and to the kapluna communities. In 1956 there h ad

been 10 0 Eskimos, mostly Utku, living in Chantrey Inlet, b u t

during

th e

winter

of

1963-1964, when

I

lived there, there were

eight households in the camp,

10

a total of thirty-five people a t

maximum count, excluding three adolescent children w h o were

away a t school. O f these eight households, tw o we re only periph-

erally attached t o t h e camp; they d id not join t h e Utku every

winter. They m a y possibly have come only to share t h e novelty

and the resources of the anthropologist. T h e following year,

1964-1955, there were only twenty-one pe ople , five households,

in the

winter camp;

t h e t w o

peripheral families were camping

8. Robert Williamson (1968) thinks it was around 1927.

9. The information in this paragraph wa s obtained from various sources in

Gjoa Haven an d Chantrey Inlet.

10. Household composition is shown on the charts in Appendix III.

Introduction


10/39

elsewhere, and a third ha d disintegrated. Three of its six raera-

«*- bers h ad died of illness, an d t h e survivors ha d m o ^ d away.

Once in a while Utku remark on their shrunken numbers as

they walk among the o ld tent rings or along the top of the bluff

where in former days Song rows of fish were hung to dry in the

sun; or as they si t drinking te a beside th e tents in the summer

nights, looking

o u t

over

t h e

blue river

to the

empty hills.

Twenty-one people in an expanse of thirty-Eve thousand or

more square miles, their nearest neighbors several days' travel

distant.

To t h e foreigner w h o i s accustomed to having a l l the space

within

h is

awareness filled with people,

th e

Utku world

can

seem either lonely or refreshing, depending on his inclinations.

I do not

know whether

th e

remaining Utku have either

of

these

feelings. O f t h e land itself, with it s plentiful fish a n d occasional

caribou, they speak, so far, with contentment. They a re grateful

fo r t h e

kapluna goods that make their life easier—and they have

a surprising number of these, ranging from Coleman stoves to

cameras

b u t

they have

not yet

learned

to

value

a

kapluna

way

of life above their o w n . "Gjoa Haven," they say , "—dreadful

(hujuujaq) place, there's nothing to eat there. B u t here w e never

lack fo r food; th e fish never fail." They s ee beauty, excitement,

a n d pleasure in their world, too . Their eyes shine as they

describe th e thunder of the rapids in the spring an d t h e might

o f t h e

river when

it

lifts huge

ic e

blocks

a n d

topples them,

crashing, into itself. When th e first ic e forms i n September adults

a n d

children slide, laughing,

on its

black glass surface. "When

winter comes yo u will learn to play," they told me—vigorous

running games o n t h e moonlit river. A n d t h e men , mending

torn

d o g

harnesses with long awkward stitches, sway heads

a n d shoulders in imitation of a trotting dog, as they discuss a

coming trip. Other

m e n ,

whittling

a

winter fishing

jig out of a

bi t of caribou antle r, jerk i t up and down tentatively in the hand,

imitating

th e

gesture

of

fishing, while humming

a

soft

"ai ya ya ,"

a s they d o while jigging, then laugh at themselves. " I t ' s pleasant

(qttvia)

to

fish, they

say. And in the

spring, when

t h e

breeze

loses it s bite, there a re endless hills of the sort " o n e wants to

see t h e fa r side of."

1 8 Never i n Anger

H I. Arrival

I

w a

s flown in to Back River at the end of August 1963 in the

si n

gi

e

_

e n

gined plane that th e government chartered in those

days to service th e remote camps an d villages of the Central

Arctic. In the ordinary course of a year t h e plane made just four

trips down

to

Back River.

In

late winter (weather permitting)

it

brought th e Utku population out to Gjoa Haven fo r chest X-rays

an d medical examinations an d took them back again. In t h e fall,

children w h o wished to go to boarding school were picked u p

from all the villages an d outlying camps in the Central Arctic

an d flown to the government school in Inuvik, a thousand miles

away on the Alaskan border. In the spring they were brought

home again.

I t was the

school pick-up trip that took

me in to

Back River,

a fact that h a d uncomfortable implications fo r me . Though I had

spent t h e month of August in Gjoa Haven, trying to learn some

of the rudiments of the Eskimo language, m y success h ad n o t

been so spectacular that I could regard with equanimity t h e

prospect of being abandoned in a completely non-English-

speaking community. Th e t w o o r three school children w h o

would leave o n t h e plane that brought m e were, I knew, t h e

only Utku w h o h ad h ad an y exposure at all to the English

language.

I had other cause f or trepidation, too, as I watched Gjoa Haven's

warm wooden houses recede beneath m e . Flurries of snow h ad

fallen

for a

week

or

more already,

an d t h e

ground crunched

frozenly, though it was only August. Would I b e able to survive

th e Arctic winter without benefit of any of the accoutrements

of civilization? Al l too few of the kind a n d anxious people, both

white an d Eskimo, w h o h a d given m e advice h a d really thought

m y

project feasible.

A

blessed

two or

three

d i d

think

i t was;

a few others fervently hoped i t was. (And I noted with relief

that optimism tended to be positively correlated with expe-

rience in the Arctic.) Bu t . like "civilized" people everywhere,

th e majority of my advisors cherished horrendous images of

th e "primitive." O n e g o t t h e impression that th e Chantrey Inlet

Eskimos were al l morons a n d murderers. Some said there were

no Eskimos living there at all any more; they had all died of

Introduction


11/39

starvation. A n d whatever their views o n t h e local population

(an d

t heir less directly -expressed views

on my

motivations

and

sanity), m y advisors were agreed on the impossibility of the

climate. I was visited one day in Gjoa Haven by an Utku ac -

quaintance w h o w as living there. Uunai h ad heard that I planned

to spend t h e winter at Back River. With vivid shivers drama-

tizing h e r words sh e told me : " I t ' s very cold down there; very

cold. If we v/ere going to be down there I would b e happy to

adopt you and try to keep yo u alive.'' T h e expression s h e used,

I later learned, w as o n e that mothers u se when exhorting their

children to take good care of the baby birds they find a n d adopt

as pets.

T h e image of myself as a perishable baby bird d id not increase

m y

peace

of

mind

as I

looked down from

th e

plane

a t the

empty

expanse of broken ice, a gigantic green-edged jigsaw puzzle,

that lay bejow us. It was expected that w e would find t h e Es -

kimos settled in their traditional summer c ampsite just beyond

t h e foot of Chantrey Inlet and beside t h e rapids a t the mouth of

Franklin Lake.

As we flew over th e inlet, land reappeared, first o n o n e side,

then on the other: lo w sandy promon tories , rocky islets jost led

b y t h e floating ice , and high capes, whose weather-ravaged

faces dropped sharply into

th e

water.

Th e i ce

thinned

a n d

gave

w ay t o choppy water, dull under a gray sky. From the a i r the

land seemed so barren, so devoid of life, that when w e landed

partway down th e inlet to cache some of my supplies near

t h e expected winter campsite, i t was startling to find there two

families of Eskimos from Gjoa Haven camping for the summer

to net whitefish.

T h e country grew more rugged a s w e flew south, with small

lakes sunk in hollows among granite -knolls. T h e pilot an d t h e i n -

terpreter in the cockpit began to scan t h e landscape, looking for

signs of life. T h e interpreter pointed. Looking down at the

camp that w as my destination I was pierced by its fragility:

racing water between tw o steep bluffs an d t w o white to y tents

side by side o n a narrow gravei beach under one of the bluffs.

Nothing else

b u t

tundra, rolling russet

an d

gray

to the

horizon.

A tiny knot of people, perhaps six or seven, stood clustered in

Never in Anger

front of the tents, watching th e plane circle to land in a quiet

backwater.

They were waiting by the plane in the same quiet knot when

th e door w as opened, t h e men an d boys slightly in the forefront.

As the pilot, t h e interpreter, an d I emerged, th e Eskimos smiled

and, smiling, came silently forward to shake hands, th e "shake"

no

shake

at all but a

gentle squeeze almost entirely lacking

in

pressure.

At the

time

I

read

it as the shy

greeting

of

strangers,

of

Eskimos fo r kapiunas; b u t later I found husbands a n d wives,

fathers an d children greeting o n e another after an absence with

th e same restrained, tentative-seeming gestures. Even a n e w -

born baby is welcomed into life in this way by i t s family an d

neighbors.

I w as

embarrassed when

t h e

plane began

to

disgorge

m y

gear

without

so

much

as a by

your leave

or any

sort

of

explanation

offered to th e Eskimos. But I was helpless, fo r t h e first of many

times,

in my

ignorance

of the

iangu&ge.

T h e

Eskimos obligingly,

unquestioningly, caught t h e bundles as they emerged a n d laid

them o n th e beach. I could only smile, as they d i d , hoping for

acceptance, an d trust to the later efforts of the interpreter.

I had with m e letters of introduction from t h e Anglican mi s -

sionary

an d h i s

wife

in

Gjoa Haven. This missionary,

an

Eskimo

deacon named Nakliguhuktuq, w as overseer n o t only of the Gjoa

Haven Anglicans b u t also of the Utku, an d h e an d h i s wife,

Ikayuqtuq. h a d very kindly taken upon themselves t h e re -

sponsibility of introducing me t o t h e Utku. They h ad written to

th e latter in the syllabic script in which most Canadian Eskimos,

including those at Back River, a re literate. T h e letters said

that

I

would like

to

live with

th e

Utku

for a

year

or so,

learning

d ie

Eskimo language

an d

skills:

h o w t o

scrape skins

an d sew

them, h o w t o fish, an d h o w t o make birch mats to keep t h e

caribou mattresses dry on the iglu sleeping platforms. They

asked t h e Eskimos to help m e with words a n a with fish and

promised that

in

return

I

would help them with

t ea an d

kero-

sene. They told t h e people that I w as kind, a n d that they should

not be s hy and

afraid

of me : "Sh e i s a

little

b i t sh y ,

herself

";

an d assured them that they need n o t feel, as they often d o feel

toward kapiunas, that they had to comply with m y every wish.

Introduction


12/39

They said, finally, that I wished to be adopted into an Eskimo

- family an d t o iive with them in their igius. And in order to fore-

stall an y errors, Nakliguhuktuq specified that I wished to be

adopted

as a

daughter

and not as a

wife.

T h e idea of being "adopted" into an Eskimo family h a d been

suggested

to me in

Ottawa

b y t w o

Arctic scholars, both

of

whom

h a d traveled as members of Eskimo families. In addition. I had

read an account written b y a man w h o h ad lived for a year as a

" so n " i n an Eskimo family to learn what it felt like to be an

Eskimo. There were logistic advantages to the idea: it would

b e warmer living with other people than living alone in an

environment where body heat is a major source of warmth.

A n d I

thought vaguely

it

might

b e

"safer"

i f one

family

h ad sp e -

cific responsibility fo r me . Th e idea had a romantic appeal, also,

as since early childhood I, too, had wanted to know what it

felt like

to be an

Eskimo;

an d

secretly

I

thought

of

this trip partly

as a fulfillment of that dream. O n my t w o previous field trips

to Alaskan Eskimo villages I had identified strongly with the

Eskimo villagers b y contrast with such elements of the kapluna

population as I had had occasion to meet. I had had no problems

of rapport, an d I expected t h e same to be true again. Indeed,

never having felt very American in my outlook, I rather hoped

I

might discover myself essentially Eskimo

a t

heart.

I

voiced

n o

such romanticism aloud, however.

I was

rather

ashamed

of my

"unprofessional" attitude;

and I had a

number

of qualms concerning t h e wisdom of being adopted, in terms of

loss of "objective" position in the community; drains on my sup-

plies which would result from contributing to the maintenance

of a

family household;

a n d

loss

of

privacy with resultant difficul-

ties in working. Therefore I was not—so I thought—seriously

considering t h e idea of adoption.

Nevertheless, when one day in Gjoa Haven Ikayuqtuq asked

m e w h y I wanted to live at Eack River for a year. I spontaneously

told h e r that I wanted to be adopted by an Eskimo family in

order to learn to live like an Eskimo. I put i t this w a y partly

because I wanted—I think n o w , wrongly—to conceal from h e r

that I would b e "studying" t h e Eskimos. I was embarrassed by the

scholarly analytical aspect of the enterprise, thinking s h e would

consider it prying. Eskimos d o n o t like to be asked questions;

Never i n Anger

thev have an extremely strong sense of privacy with regard to

their thoughts, their feelings, an d motivations; and I feared

to offend it.

I

particularly wished

to

avoid telling Ikayuqtuq that

t h e p ro -

jected subject of my study was the traditional shamanistic prac-

tices

of the

Utku.

M y

feeling that this

was a

delicate area

of

investigation w as strengthened by tales 1 had heard about d e -

voutly Anglican Eskimos in other areas w h o h ad committed

suicide

from guilt after being persuaded by an anthropologist

to discuss th e ancient practices an d sing shamanistic songs. I

d id not intend to mention shamanism to anyone at Back River

until people voluntarily mentioned i t to me, which they p re -

sumably would after a certain amount of acquaintanceship

and development of trust with regard to my intentions. Thus m y

naVve thought. As it turned out , ironically, t h e Utku never

were willing to discuss shamanism with me ; an d Ikayuqtuq

herself became

m y

most interested

an d

helpful informant

o n

th e subject. But a t the time I could n o t foresee this; I saw her

stereotypically as the wife of the Anglican missionary, t h e most

unlikely

of persons with whom to discuss pre-Christian tradi-

tions. So I withheld m y professional purposes from h e r a n d told

h e r only in the most general terms what I w as doing in her

country. I told myself, again with vast naivete, that after I

ha d "learned t h e language" a n d "developed rapport" I would

b e

able

to

explain

th e

other aspects

of my

work

to the

Utku.

Later,

at

Back River,

I

sometimes remembered that conversa-

tion with Ikayuq tuq an d t h e resulting letters t o my Eskimo hosts,

an d

wondered

in my

frustration whether

I

would have been less

rigidly defined as a learner-of-words-and-skills if I had been

more open with Ikayuqtuq

in the

beginning.

B u t

perhaps

not ;

perhaps in any case th e Utku would have defined m y role in

seme such narrow, relatively harmless way in order to keep

m e safely t o o n e side of their lives, to keep their privacy invio-

late.

O r

perhaps these tangible aspects

of my

role were simply

th e easiest fo r t h e Eskimos to see , as I never d i d discover h o w

to tell them that I wanted to learn their "ways of iife" until t w o

years later when I was on my way home to my own way of life.

Ikayuqtuq h a d counseled m e that o n my arrival a t the Utku

camp

I

should tell

th e

people through

t h e

government interpre-

Introduction


13/39

t e r w h o

would accompany

t h e

plane that

I

would like

to

live

• • with them for a year; I should, however, withhold m y letters of

introduction until after t h e plane h ad left. "Tell them once,"

sh e h ad said, "then give them time to think about i t ."

Ikayuqtuq h ad written a letter to each adult woman; Nakiigu-

hufctuq h ad written h is letter to all of the men collectively, b u t

h a d addressed t h e envelope to Nilak, w h o , h e thought, would b e

t h e most appropriate father fo r me . There were only t w o suitable

fathers in the group, since there were only tw o mature house-

holders w h o h ad wives alive and a t home. O n e o f these was

Nilak; t h e other, Inuttiaq. Nilak had a wife an d an adolescent

daughter. Ikayuqtuq an d Nakliguhuktuq thought that I might

b e less of a burden on Nilak than on Inuttiaq, w h o h a d three

daughters

to

support

in

addition

to his

wife. However, Nakligu-

huktuq's letter told t h e men that they should talk about it among

themselves a n d should decide among themselves w h o wanted

to

adopt

me.

I was uneasy about this arrangement. While I agreed in not

wanting to be a burden to anyone, I had discovered that Nilak

occupied a much more peripheral position in the group than

Inuttiaq did, in terms of his family ties an d h i s camping habits.

Nilak, it was said, sometimes camped alone in the summe r when

t h e Utku customarily scatter into small widely distant camps.

Moreover, I h ad heard that Nilak's wife, Niqi, w as "kind of dif-

ferent"—a characteristically Eskimo euphemism fo r negative

traits. T h e condemnation w as somewhat unspecific, but I had

t h e impression that Niqi prefe rred sociability to hard work. I n

a n y case, al l these factors combined to make m e wish to post-

pone an y decision until I had bad an opportunity to look m y

prospective parents over in situ. It also made m e anxious to

reserve

th e decision to myself; b u t Ikayuqtuq assured m e that I

could veto t h e men's decision if I wanted to. I could even change

m y mind about being adopted if circumstances warranted it. I

w a s much reassured.

O n that first day, however, n o adoption problem arose, as both

Nilak a n d Inuttiaq, together with all the other able-bodied Utku,

were somewhere out in the distant countryside, hunting caribou

f o r winter clothing. T h e camp in which I w as deposited, Itim-

naaqjuk ( t h e Rapids), h ad been t h e summer fishing site of four

2 2 N e ve r in Anger

of the eight households that were living in Chantrey Inlet in

1963, and had I arrived a week or so earlier I would have found

all four households there. As it was, only t h e t w o elderly broth-

ers , Pala an d Piuvkaq, remained, tending a small agglomeration

of dogs, daughters, an d granddaughters w h o would have been

superfluous on the hunt.

M y introduction to the community w as quickly over. We sat

hunched on stones under an uncomfortably slanting tent wall

while t h e interpreter checked th e registration numbers an d

parentage

of the

departing students, then proceeded

to

account

for my presence. I told h im to ask whether th e Eskimos would

mind if I stayed with them for a year to learn their language an d

ways; whether they would help m e . T h e younger of the two old

m en smilingly assured m e they would help m e . T h e interpreter

called

to roe:

"Have

a

good winter,"

an d t h e

plane

w as

gone.

I t was

only

as the hum of the

motor faded into

th e

snow-heavy

clouds that I fully realized where I was. Realization came in the

form of a peculiar sense not of loneliness but of separateness, of

having n o context fo r my existence. With th e plane h a d vanished

th e last possibility of access to my familiar world until t h e strait

froze in November, and as yet no bond of language, of under-

standing, or of shared experience linked m e with th e silent E s -

kimos behind

me .

T h e

feeling remained with

m e

that night

as I lay in my

sleep-

ing bag and listened to the flapping of my tent, accented n o w an d

again b y a staccato gust of sleet on the thin canvas barrier. But

already a n ew context w as beginning t o form. I felt it in the warm

welcoming courtesies of the Eskimos, their smiles, an d their

amused attempts to bridge th e linguistic gulf between us. It was

also in the physical warmth of the sleeping b ag , t h e snug bright-

ness of my tent—its kerosene storm lantern suspended from the

ridgepole. Flaps tied against th e windy darkness, boxes an d

duffels ranged along th e walls to serve as seats for the ever-

present visitors, primus, cooking pots, a n d cups se t out tidily b y

d ie door, th e tent seemed very much home, a molecule of the

familiar an d personal in the wilderness.

Later

I

often felt this fragile cosiness

of

Eskimo camps

at

night,

seeing

th e

glow

of a

tent illuminated

b y a

fish-oil flame,

th e

trans-

lucent dome

of a

traveler's iglu

on the sea ice , or a

covey

o f

sparks

Introduction


14/39

darting u p from a campfire—pockets of Human warmth in the

blackness.

ts

O u r

camp

of

three tents

iay at the

edge

of a

quiet inlet,

a

back-

water

of the

rapids whose roar

was a

pervasive undertone

to the

yippings a n d clatterings of camp life. T h e rapids were confined

o n either side by granite bluffs; on one side, crowned with rows

of small stolid cairns, stood Itimnaaqjuk, t h e bluff that gave the

area its name, on the other side Haqvaqtuuq, o n whose shoulder

m y tent w as placed.

T h e

Eskimo tents stood below

by the

shore,

a t a

little distance.

Peeking o u t between th e flaps of my doorway, fastened against

the icy

wind,

I

could look down

to the

tents with their flaps open

o n t h e inlet; th e gulls dipping an d soaring over t h e fishnets,

whose rows of t in can floats patterned th e water; t h e chains of

ragged dogs curled in sleep; th e frozen piles of tea leaves set to

dry on boulders; t h e little cluster of women an d children by the

twig-banked outdoor fireplace, o n e crouching to blow a t the

reluctant blaze or to encourage it carefully with a twig while the

others watched or chased each other, laughing, around th e fire.

Stones clattered underfoot

as one of the

women

or

children

crossed t h e beach a n d bent from a boulder to fill th e teakettle

in the water; a paddle clunked against t h e side of a canoe as one

o f t h e men pulled wriggling whitefish out of the net with his

teeth a n d dropped them into t h e boat; then as the boat ap-

proached

t h e

shore came

th e

fr antic yipping

of the

dogs, tugging

a t their chains in anticipation of a meal.

Life in the waiting camp moved with t h e same stillness as the

waters of the inlet, rising an d falling in their faint tides. Every

morning shortly after dawn, Pala, t h e younger an d more vigorous

of the two brothers, made himself a kettle of tea, then, taking h is

kapluna fishing reel or a coiled throwline, h e went to cast from

t h e ledges where th e surf foamed over t h e gray rocks. H is catch,

t w o o r three or four salmon trout o r char, each weighin g betwee n

t en an d twenty pounds, provided t h e camp's food for the day.

Meanwhile Piuvkaq and h is widowed daughter, Maata, woke,

an d Maata brewed tea for her father, herself, a n d an y of the chil-

dren w h o might have wakened. Pala, bringing one of h is fish

to contribute to the meal, joined t h e others a t their t ea . Later in

2 4 Never in Anger

th e morning, or perhaps in the afternoon, t h e men , each with a

c a r g o - b f daughters

an d

granddaughters

in his

canoe, paddled

out to check th e fishnets. Piuvkaq might take h is line and go to

fish

in the

rapids.

A nd

sometimes

the two

women, Maata

and

p&la's grown daughter Amaaqtuq, seeing that t h e high bank of

twigs around t h e fireplace ha d dwindled, would take their ulus,

th e half-moon knives that a ll Eskimo women use , and a rope, and

go off across t h e tundra in search of dwarf birch bushes , stopping

in the lee of knolls to rest and eat the tiny seed-filled crowberries

that grow there; then plod slowly home again bent beneath

loads so b ig that th e bearers were almost invisible beneath the

burden. "He eaavy " they laughed. "Tiiiringi"—the ir vowels

drawn out for emphasis. " B u t after one has felt tired for a little

while o n e will stop feeling tired." At home they collapsed jok-

ingly on top of the cast-off load, then refreshed themselves with

tea and large slices of raw trout.

Late afternoon was the busiest time. Then, as the sun was

sinking behind Haqvaqtuuq, th e women took their ulus again

an d

went down

to the

beach where

t h e men h ad

tossed

t h e n e t -

te d whitefish into a silver pile. Drawing into their parka hoods

fo r

protection against

the icy

breeze

a n d

sucking their

w e t

scaly

fingers to thaw them, t h e women gutted t h e fish, slicing out the

oily belly flesh

in two

smooth cuts

an d

tossing

it

into

a

bucket

to be boiled fo r food and fuel. N o w an d then somebody would

remark with a little laugh: "Uuuunai (it 's eoooold) "

With fish gutted an d dogs fed and watered, people gathered

around t h e blaze of the twig fire while Maata o r Amaaqtuq boiled

th e

remains

of the

morning's catch

for the

evening meal. Only

Piuvkaq, becau se he was o ld and tired, lay on h is bed, smoking

hi s pipe as the light faded or crooning "ai ya ya's"—brief songs

in which people speak their thoughts an d feelings. T h e songs

had a poignancy out of all relation to their monotonous four-

or-five-note structure.

T h e evening meal w as eaten together, th e steaming fish heads

iadled with

a

caribou scapula into

a

single tray, around which

people crowded sociably; only Piuvkaq, if he were in bed, was

taken

a

separate bowl.

Th e d ay

ended

as

quietly

as i t had

passed.

T he evening fire darted its arrows into t h e night an d faded as a

half-invisible figure carried

a

steaming teakettle into

a

tent;

Introduction


15/39

shadows moved against th e glowing tent wall as people drank

their tea; and the camp faded into darkness. •*-

M y arrival in Itimnaaqjuk altered, if not the tenor, at least t h e

pattern, of the day's activities. Visiting th e kapluna woman b e -

came t h e major diversion. M y tent w as never empty, from t h e

time I awoke in the morning (an d sometime s before) until, frayed

to exhaustion, I retreated into t h e warm protection of my sleep-

i n g b ag , leaving m y departing visitors to t ie the te nt flaps behi nd

them. Life in those first days was a matched battle between an -

thropological conscience o n t h e o n e hand and an overwhelming

desire fo r recuperative solitude on the other, a n d every night I

was as tired as if 1 had in fact waged battle all day. I felt wooden

within an d without: m y face from smiling; m y mind a n d tongue

from hours

of

struggling with unaccustomed

an d

meaningless

sounds; an d my body from endless sitting in a frigid tent, enter-

taining visitors.

I w as

still burdened

b y t h e

illusion that

it was

necessary to "entertain" visitors, in the kapluna tradition, an d

to stay with them as long as they chose to remain. I t was some

days before I made t h e happy discovery that t h e Eskimos them-

selves rarely adapted their activities to the presence of a visitor.

They exchanged smiles with a visitor when h e appeared, and

talked a b i t now and again if there w as something to talk about.

Eventually,

if the

visitor stayed long enough,

as he

usually

d id ,

t h e hostess would probably serve a kettle of tea . Bu t for the most

part

t h e

visitor either spontaneously joined

th e

family's activities

or sat quietly on the periphery, ignored, to my foreign eye. If the

host h a d business elsewhere h e simply announced th e fact and

went o u t , whereupon i t was incumbent upon t h e guest to leave

also.

M y neighbors were t h e most benign a n d considerate of visi-

tors. I knew it at the time, even as I wearied of their presence;

and I realize it more vividly n o w , hearing m y colleagues' ac -

counts of the very different peoples they have lived with. T h e

Eskimos, unlike these others, never begged, never demanded.

They frequently offered to trade bone toys fo r tobacco or for

bits

of my

carefully hoarded food supplies,

b u t

they rarely

co m-

plained of the amounts I gave them. They were never noisy or

obtrusive; they just

sa t .

quiet

a n d

observant, around

th e

edges

of my

tent.

If, out of

concern

fo r my

dwindling

t ea an d

kerosene

2 6 Never in Anger

supplies, I let them si t unfed fo r more than two or three hours,

one of the adults might remark o n t h e warming qualities of tea

or , more indirectly still, ask if my water supply w as l o w an d offer

to replenish it . They noticed when m y fish was a l eaten and

brought ir»e more. And if I was a bit slow in attacking t h e slimy

ra w body, they assumed I d id not know how to cut i t , so they

filleted

i t for me.

They laid

a

gravel floor

in my

tent

to

lesser-

t h e

dampness. They

li t my

lamp when

m y

fingers were

to o

stiff with

cold, they fixed th e primus when it clogged, an d sharpened m y

knife when they saw i t was dull—all without m y asking.

Their unfail ing anticipation

of my

needs (even when

m y

needs

did not coincide with theirs) w as immensely warming. I feit as

cared-fbr a s a three-year-old, and I am sure that is precisely o n e

facet of the light in which th e Eskimos regarded m e . Their at -

tentions also awakened in me guilt concerning t h e o n e need that

would never occur to them: my desire fo r solitude. I knew I

should regard their constant visits

as a

sign

of

friendly accept-

ance an d curiosity , as w ell as hunger for the luxuries of tea and

bannock, and so I d id ; but I could n o t help seeing them also as

an invasion of privacy. I felt trapped by my visitors. I longed to

see the

view from

t h e

bluff-top,

to

explore

t h e

Sedges

by the

rapids; I would even have welcomed an opportunity to pay a

return visit to the Eskimo tents. Nothing depresses m e more

than inactivity, an d when th e site of the inactivity was a tent

per

Documents

Briggs - Never in Anger