With the threat of drilling on the jagged horizon of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, a skier and conservationist looks to the local Indigenous community for answers. Words and photos by Brennan Lagasse
This article was originally published in The Backwoods Issue | No. 156. To read more, pick up a copy, or subscribe to see our stories when they’re first published.
The bush pilot looked at our gear.
We knew we were heavy, given all it takes for an Arctic expedition. Skis and boots should have been hidden away, but the ice axes were intentionally left out. It’s protocol with most aircrafts to pack the sharps individually. To me, there was more danger in them looking like extra pieces of loose, nonessential gear than poking someone in the plane. Weight allotments and cargo space are a crux of any Arctic expedition. I doubt the pilot cared that our ski boots were “super” light.
He paused at the skis.
“So, you think you’re going skiing?”
Smiling, I replied, “As long as we can fit the gear.”
Luckily, we did. None of the 13 trips I’ve done over the past 10-plus years to the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge have been focused on skiing. It’s always a part of the dream. The main goal is to honor the invitation Neets’aii Gwich’in Elder Sarah James made to me years ago to visit her, to experience her land and to bring others to learn from her and her community about a place that might end up a sacrificial zone for what’s under its (for now) permafrost ground. However, this time around I was with another friend, Robert Thompson, an Iñupiat Elder from Kaktovik who had invited me to shoot photos and short slices of film to continue telling a story about why this land deserves protection.
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