SILENT SENTINELS — The whale bones at Point Hope's west Qalqi were the center of last weeks whaling feast.
Point Hope celebrated the harvest of four bowhead whales last spring.

HANDS UP IN PRAYER—The feast started with putting up the skinboats used in whale hunting up on racks, symbolizing the end of this spring's whaling season. Successful crews such as the Rock and Frankson crew of the Qalqi (clan) Qagmaktuuq arrange the paddles pointing skyward. Upright paddles symbolize outstretched arms in thankful prayer.

TOOLS OF THE TRADE—In whale hunting, the people of Point Hope still use harpoon guns. Once the whaler strikes, a crew member throws the buoy attached by rope to the gun into the water to track the whale.

WHALING CAPTAINS—Ramona and Rex Rock only had a short minute to relax in the midst of preparing for the feast.

WHALEBONES—Point Hope has two clans with separate campsites, marked by whalebones year around. The clan of Qagmaktuuq celebrated on the east site of town joined by folks from Noatak, Kivalina, Kotzebue, Nome, Anchorage and Selawik.

FLYING HIGH—Michael Tuzroyuluk of Point Hope is catapulted up in the air at the whaling feasts blanket toss ceremony. Read more about the meaning of the blanket toss and why it is important to whalers and young mothers of sons in next week's paper.

The King Air's monotonous buzzing has a tranquilizing effect, but watching the landscape change underneath is like sitting in a time machine. Going directly from Nome to Point Hope means leaving budding spring and green hills behind and following the winter, sending its chilly breath over Point Hope high above the Arctic circle.

The foothills of the Brooks Range still wear a camouflage of white snow patches on brown earth. On the ocean, sheets of ice look like precious chinaware broken into a million small pieces.

After almost two hours, the airplane circles over a sandspit, pointing like a finger into the cold ocean. Ice-free in the south, still covered with yellowish ice floes on the north side of the spit. As the plane flies low, a graveyard comes into sight. It has whalebones as tombstones. Hundreds of whalebones arching skyward resemble silent sentinels protecting the dead.

Whales are the guardians in life and death. This is the first indication that Point Hope is a whaling community through and through. Not only because they hunt whales to feed their people. No, it's because the entire lifestyle centers around the dependency on the gift of whales. Over the centuries of uninterrupted whaling, Tikigaq's destiny merged with that of the cetacean giants to the point where a distinction between physical appearance and spiritual reality ceases to exist.

Father's Day weekend was a very special time for Point Hope. This spring, their four whaling crews caught as many whales. Also, for one whaling crew, it was the first whale catch.

Devoutly following tradition, Rex Rock Sr. had waited until his father Elijah Rock turned over his boat to his oldest son this year. Although Rex Rock has hunted whales all his life, being whaling captain is a whole different ballgame for him and his family. "It's a great honor to be a whaling captain," says his wife Ramona Rock as she's busy preparing tons of food for the upcoming three-day feast. It's an honor that comes with great responsibility and a strict code of conduct throughout the year.

Says Ramona, "It's a year-round preparation starting with sewing ugruk skins for the boats, making sure that the animals are hunted in a good way, to butchering and sharing the meat, to preparing the feast and feeding the people." And all is done with a prayer.

At this time, the Rock's home is like a beehive. People of all ages come and go, bring food, help bake cakes or just relax on the couch watching CNN news on the big screen TV.

A painting depicting a whaling scene hangs on the wall above the couch, where Ramona rests for a second, already near exhaustion. Her hands are always busy. Now she sews a ruff on her daughter's parkie.

She admits shyly that she feels nervous about her new role as the whaling captain's wife. So many traditions to follow, so many rules to obey. Since this is their first whale, tradition calls for giving away the entire whale to other whaling crews and distributing the meat among widows and women that have nobody who hunts for them.

The only part left for the Rocks is the lip and some baleen of the 28-foot bowhead whale. "When you catch your first whale, the elders can come to you and ask for anything in your possession," Ramona explains." The elders have powerful prayers and they are very important in our society." The elders came by and claimed the Rock's 4-wheeler, Ramona's sewing machine, wolverine furs, a KitchenAid and a meat rack among other things.

Her husband Rex comes in followed by his son Rex Jr., a 23-year-old student at UA majoring in biology and law. Young Rex as well as his sister Rachel come home from school in Anchorage once whaling season comes around and help their family.

Rex and his son just finished cutting up the ugruk skins that used to cover the skinboats and that are now turned into the blanket for the upcoming ritual of the blanket toss. Amidst all the chaos on this day before the feast, Rex Rock takes the time to sit down and talk about how he caught the whale that all the hoopla is about now.

It was on Easter Sunday, whaling season has just started and the ice was good. "We went out at about 7 a.m. We took the boat out, set up camp and waited all day long in the boat. We saw a lot of beluga and some whales.

"I was alone with my Dad in the boat. Suddenly the whale surfaced right next to our boat. I took out the harpoons and thought at the same time, ‘it's a gift'! I struck once; the bomb went off and almost tipped the boat. We let the buoy out and then watched as it slowly disappeared under the ice. Dad said, ‘Pray!"'

After fifteen minutes, the whale surfaced again, offering himself to be taken for the people. Other whaling crews hustled to the scene to finish the job and soon the churchbells rang to let the village know about the catch.

Leaving the house, it is almost midnight. Children are still playing in front of their houses, jumping on trampolines or riding their bikes and dodging fast 4-wheelers racing along the few roads. The fog has lifted and the sun is out, but a cold north wind still blows, chasing clouds of dust across the town built on sand and gravel. Tomorrow the feast will begin.

Read more in next week's Nome Nugget about the feast and the intricate system of customs and beliefs centered on the great whales in Point Hope.