Top of the World

It's not just a great Imagine Dragons song but a wonderfully weaving road through amazing Alaskan scenery. After a short stay at a random campsite (very cozy when snuggled up in a small two man tent with Amandolin for expediency's sake in set up and tear down) and we were back on the road to Eagle.


The Mongols did a lot of things and 10-70 million were killed. Woah, easy Genghis Khan, you probably don't have to kill the entire world, but apparently you think you do.

But apparently we are close to Eagle so the end of the tale may never be told. At least we figured out how to fade the sound forward in the van so other thoughts can be thought besides imaginings of what the brutality of raping and pillaging done by the Mongols would have been.

It's Time for a Goodbye

I am not very good at goodbyes, they make me uncomfortable.

I do not know of anyone who likes goodbyes. I don't even like writing them. Admittedly, I left writing this post to come back to it. Sorry about the lack of order.

Leaving the Little John Site was a bit of a scramble but we managed it. As with most goodbyes, it was bittersweet. It's thought-provoking to be in a place and know you may never be back there again. The places I would go to and return to if money was no option. I'm definitely going to try to convince my parents who are picking me up in Whitehorse to make a drive through Beaver Creek, preferably on a Sunday or Wednesday for a last slow pitch game.

Because while the Archaeology was cool: hearths, obsidian flakes, a rodent tooth, bone fragments, and a preliminary or perhaps heavily eroded side-notched point in addition to other student's impressive finds of blades, a complete bison heel bone, a perhaps 13000+ year old game-changer biface, and the admittedly really cool, very old squirrel bones, behind all of those things except perhaps some of the bones, is people. The cultural material only exists because of people. Accordingly, it is the people that made my experience in Beaver Creek. People like Leslie, Chelsea, Tamika, Eddy, Blake, Bessie, Wilfred, Louis and Robert, Eldred, Jessica, Pat, Pat's wife (whose name unfortunately always evades me), Jolinda, Ryan, Glen, other Glen, Marilyn, DJ, Mike, Tristain, Leon, Tayla, Tom, Forrest, Ian, Martha, Julius, Susie, Selena, Roland, Star, Derrick, Ken, Doug, many more people and names I am forgetting, and of course Ruth and David. A list of names that may be forgotten corresponding to a community of people I intend never to forget.

Luckily, Tamika had the great idea to have hers and Eddy's birthday celebration before we left so there was a nice gathering that unfortunately ended with goodbyes. The birthday party felt like home: copious amounts of food, the older people eating first, and three types of dessert (because one just isn't enough).

It felt like home because of the parallel's to my own family's celebrations but also due to the welcome we were afforded in our time at the Little John Site: our welcome sign the first day, countless visits, teaching us Upper Tanana and how to make birch bark baskets, shotgun and rifle shooting, ball games, numerous other activities; their way of life. As David said, we are now ambassadors of their culture and if possible, I hope to be able to show some of the character the White River First Nation showed us.

No, I am not good at goodbyes. What do you say? How do you thank enough, wish well enough people who did so much yet you may never see again? Consequently of these thoughts, I am a most awkward person at goodbyes and perhaps do not look like I feel much, but as I put this goodbye on paper, I could cry.

But instead, I choose to smile at both David and Eddy describing my hair as bushy in one night, Eldred's well wishes to all of us, Ruth telling me to get over my fear of birds as she said goodbye, and huge hugs from Tamika and Eddy.

I will smile and remember fondly the people who made my time in Beaver Creek.

Mongols and Mountains

There is a remarkably large amount of remarks that can be made about the names  Mongols as a history podcast will tell you. Surprisingly, hours of this podcast remain interesting. Fun facts like horses were likely domesticated in what is now Ukraine. The podcast also reminded us that 15-16% of all people are thought to be directly related to Genghis Khan; an incomprehensible fact, yet a repeated one. 

We are on our way to Eagle, Alaska for approximately a week's worth of excavations with a man named Bob. 

Oddly enough, it is not far beyond the border that you can tell you left Canada. I mean besides the obvious US flags and passing through customs. I mean things like accents. A few hours from Beaver Creek and yes, there's an accent for Alaska. And plenty of fireweed.

I love road trips so I'm quite content to be in this car all day alternatively sleeping and sight-seeing, jumping out at Northway, Tok, and Chicken, and realizing that I'm once again under legal drinking age. Not that I'm too concerned, just an odd regression of things. 

Tomorrow we cross the Yukon River on some sort of boat. Sounds like it should be a good time. Niki, who has been here before says that it's only fun for like 15 minutes. I think she's underestimating my love of boats. 

I think I'm enjoying this Mongolian podcast more than the last one (about Egyptians and Persians) because the names are familiar. Genghis Khan is a big deal. Plus that Chinese ceramic paper I did last semester was focused on the Sung dynasty so I at least somewhat know about people like the Jurchins. Funny when information soaked up in school is actually relatable. 

Yes, there is a remarkably large amount of remarks that can be made about the Mongols. But the Alaskan mountains; the mountains, the scenery.They speak for themselves. 

Catch Up

My laptop's screen went black as I was trying to type up a blog entry one evening. So let's hope that is recoverable. 

Things that have happened in recent memory (list form because it's late and I'm sleepy).

(Order not necessarily correct).

1. Found another obsidian flake.

2. Perfected parody words.

3. Started preliminary choreography of parody music video.

4. Let Amandolin find 2 more flakes in my unit so that I could go spend time with the NCES kids. You're welcome, Amanda.

5. #4 makes my unit most productive. And we were all thinking it was a dud.

6. Started a coffee challenge competition with Thomas: who can go without coffee the longest, loser eats a half cup of grounds. 

7. Tried tricking Thomas into drinking coffee.

8.  Failed at #7.

9. Got tricked by Thomas into drinking a very vile and bitter tea/coffee concoction. 

10. Became even more bitter than that concoction. Drew a drawing entitled "Anger".

11. Felt better.

12. Became that weird, artsy kid in camp (or at least further embraced my role). 

13. Opened a new unit at N13 E06, found some burnt glass and charcoal. 

14. Saved some of said charcoal for art purposes and some for radiocarbon dating purposes. 

Thus further doing #12.

15. Hosted a tea with the crew for the community.

16. Fed a bird out of my hand (1/day is the goal). (Got to conquer that bird fear). 

17. Added to my dirt/ tan ring line.

18. Joined in a rendition of Barrett's Privateers by Stan Rogers/ learnt that song. Apparently not knowing this song makes me a failure of a Canadian. 

19. Went to Alaska border and traditional fishing camp of T'soogot Gaiy.

20. Learnt a stick gambling game.

21. Perhaps got too into said game.

22. Slightly cut thumb nail while hacking through O horizon (root layer) in N13 E06.

23. Realized I should not be trusted with a saw.

24. Failed miserably at pool against Eldred and Jessica. In my defence, Josh did not counter-balance my pool inability with pool ability.

25. Went fishing at the creek.

26. Further tangled the fishing line of the tangled fishing line pole's line and witnessed Amanda catch her first fish ever.

27. Cringed at the knife butt to the fish head that fishing requires. Also the lingering flopping. Also the face and gut removal. 

28. Got to meet David Yesner and his cool collection of rings and toe rings.

29. Peeled spruce root for birch bark baskets. Trust me, although this sounds like a counter-intuitive statement, spruce tree is necessary for birch bark baskets.

30. Failed at making brownies in the wood stove oven for the community tea.

31. Resurrected said brownies with canned pear and cinnamon/sugar mixture into a mud pie delicious mess in a cup, thanks to Trapline waiter, Doug's suggestion.

32. Hit a baseball that subsequently took a bad bounce and hit NCES Tim's face. (But at least I didn't pull a Niki and playfully push him out of the way to get to second base creating an imbalance and disallowing him to block the ball that then hit him directly in the nose like she did to our field crew Tim).

33. Said goodbye to Field Crew Tim.

34. Made plans to meet up with all the BC/AB kids at the 2013 Chacmool Conference at UofC.

35. Told other people to come to the conference.

36. Remembered how wonderful bubbles are thanks to Jamie. 

37. Participated in a random round of writing each other's names in other languages on people's hands, so Ukrainian, Polish, Hebrew, Arabic, or whatever languages other people knew.

38. Convinced Tim, Jamie, and Lisa that I knew how to write Chinese.

39. Wrote their Chinese "names" on their hands.

40. Convinced them that Tim's name was the longest in Chinese despite being the shortest in English because of the way the characters work.

41. Somehow in these shenanigans, stumbled upon the Chinese symbol for "five" in writing Lisa's name.

42. Told Thomas that I have 25% of the pain receptors of the average person. Why? Why not?

43. Took a couple naps. Delicious.

44. Made two spruce bark necklace pendants.

45. Realized I do not have carving skills and used some permanent marker on the "Yukon '13" on #43's pendants.

46. Ate some moose stew.

47. Ate my weight in bannock.

48. Ate my weight in peanut butter.

49. Continued carbo-loading strategy.

50. Woke up to freezing temperatures many a morning.

51. Found a Wisconsin quarter in my tent. Jackpot. 

52. Acquired a tshirt from NCES to put my total clean t-shirt count to 1.

53. Exaggerated a little bit on #52. An alarmingly small bit. 

It's Not the Colour of Your Skin

The past few days have been hectic. This will happen when you add 20 or so people to the camp and 15 of those people are kids.

We were joined by youth participants of the NCES and their resilience counsellors for the Art and Archaeology Program going on at Little John. This was something that I was very much looking forward to as both art and archaeology are two loves of mine as well as working with youth. Because kids are great. These kids were no exception. Despite the labels of "at-risk" and "troubled", they were pretty well like all other kids their age in that they want their surroundings to engage  them, many want to learn new things, try new things, they want to have a good life. Unfortunately, it's clear in a few minutes of conversation that events or circumstances have inhibited them from fulfilling this wish at many points in their lives. I hope that their time here was part of their good life.

The lavel "troubled" set me up to almost fear them or at least be intimidated by them. "At risk": at risk of what? Of making a better life for themselves? Of rising above their situation? Let's hope.

Labels aren't always just words. An image can be a label in itself. What do you think of when you think of a Native person? Do you think of a drunk brown man on 17th Avenue or do you think of a blonde, blue eye girl from the wolf clan who excavated her archaeology unit meticulously? If  you saw me on the street in my current state would you know me as a middle class university student or a homeless person? (Because rest assured, I look more like the later than the former).

We're not one thing, one entity, one label. And labels can't be made with our eyes alone. They probably don't need to be glued on at all. 

Inspiration and Indian Feet

My laptop is dead but the good news is that I have found my notebook, so I shall transcribe this later. It would have been nice to have this before the midterm. But it's ok, Stormin' Norman was generous with the bonus marks.

Today Sarah told me I inspire her. I asked why. She said I always have a smile on my face and she loves my quick responses. I have had several people ask me if I was sad on several separate occasions when really that's just my face. It looks sad. So Sarah may have been full of it, but it did cause a smile on my face.

This evening, we had many Upper Tanana visitors. First Tommy was over for supper. He's the oldest Johnny (The Little John Site being named after a Johnny). Unfortunately, I didn't get much of a chance to speak with him as I was cooking. However, I am sure I will get to hear more from him soon.

In the evening, our regular visitors, Eldred, his girlfriend Jessica, his father, David, his mother Ruth, sister Bessie, brother-in-law Wilfred, nephews Eddy, Blake, Louis, Robert, and niece Timika were all here. They're all insanely generous. We haven't even fully repaid Bessie and Wilfred for transporting a crazy amount of our groceries from Tok and already Bessie brought us something else-- a delectable rhubarb crisp which Timika helped me serve out to all our "customers".

I did spend the majority of their time here finishing up posters for Canada Day and hanging out with the kiddies. This is because as an awkward sort of person, it is easier to make a silly face than conversation.  I should work on that.

Plus Eddy, Timika, Blake, Louis, and Robert are full of energy and fascination. Kids are great.

As David was leaving and I said my goodbyes, he said that if I continued to walk around barefoot, I would get Indian feet; my feet would grow wide. I said I might reconsider going barefoot. But he wasn't saying it as a bad thing. Both him and Ruth assured me of this. It was merely a statement. By the end of this field camp, I might just have Indian feet. And there's nothing wrong with that.

Tent City

Sleep rarely eludes me. I can count on my digits the number of times I have spent the night tossing and turning. The thunder last night that was remarked upon as loud was something that I slept right through. It is 5:30 in the morning and this time, I’m awake. This is thunder.

My McKinley “Kluane 3” tent—an inaccurate name meaning whitefish—was covered by an industrious blue tarp three weeks prior when we arrived at the Little John Site KdVo-6. Though I feel glad of this (I do not overly want to test the waterproofing of my tent), the cloudburst that seems like it is occurring right over my head is overstated by the pit-pats that are rain hitting plastic. I think for a moment of peeking out and seeing the true, unenhanced force of the rain, but I cannot be bothered. Besides, the clouds have yelled their anger once more, and the only thing of importance to me, is that it’s loud, loud enough to keep even me awake.

“Tent City” is what we have been calling this portion of the archaeological field camp. We crammed our tents closely together at the beginning. So close that it is possible for me to give a notebook, a bandanna, or perhaps a camera from my tent to the owner of the nearest tent to me without ever leaving, save for sticking my hand out to pass on the desired item. It was even more packed before. One tent has been removed.

At our arrival, I feared bears but I will pretend as though it was for the practicality of using one large blue tarp over an amalgamation of tents that I placed my temporary home so near the others. “City” is a term that when you’re in an isolate of civilization, approximately fifteen people in the bush, and a bumpy, twenty-minute drive from the nearest town of perhaps eighty people, means only four tents. Tents apart from Tent City are quite near to us as well, but most of these have individual tarps, a tedious project but necessary to work around the labyrinth of trees.

Camping like this is strange to me. Not the tarps or the closeness so much as the lack of clearing—wedging even small tents into the limited spaces had been difficult. Some people took the time to remove stumps, add moss to their sleeping surface. For my part it seemed unnecessary, it is the first time that I have camped on the layer of decaying trees and forming organic soil that covers the ground here, instead of the hard dried out ground of the Prairies in mid-summer.

I know soon that I will have to properly awaken, attempt to squirm into clothing in my sleeping bag, staying at a cozy temperature and then making that first brave movement out of the warmth. Donning my yellow rain jacket, an obnoxious article of clothing to walk in the small gap between my tent and my neighbour’s to turn left and walk down the path which quickly changes into boards (so we are not quite so uncivilized) to the fire, covered by a shelter that is extended by a tarp, grab breakfast and sit on one of the crowd of benches and chairs.

Follow this path back and on my right I will see the square Rubbermaid containers, a blue one and a white one, that almost always contain dirty water. Sixteen people digging in an assortment of sediment cannot hope to keep water clean.

Further along is the large, rectangular canvas tent that consists of our camp laboratory. Contained within are collections, a microscope, and additional toilet paper, amongst other things. If I continue along this path, I will reach the road, which the Americans call a “street”, a strange term I think as it is in fact the Alaska Highway. One of the first days, a group constructed a marker of sorts—three poles tied together, like the start of a tipi, with orange flagging tap that flies with the wind. But if I am not to cross the road, I can go left, and this is the path that passes where the grouse laid her eleven eggs and the van, containing all our items that are scented are stored. The van that drove us up here and will presumably drive us back. Past this is the “red box of hell”, as Colin likes to refer to it, the outhouse, a necessary place to visit but somewhere that is avoided at almost any cost. Within hell, a quote on the wall, Einstein, or a poem that Amandolin and I painstakingly copied and yet somehow managed to still make look messy—fitting for the surroundings.

A few metres south of the red box is the deepest excavation unit within the field camp, one that was a test of the pit crew who dug it, who willed it to produce one artifact and has produced only a razor blade and a collection of small animal bones. Neither are of particular interest but were celebrated nonetheless. Further south is my pit crew’s excavation unit, of a lesser depth but of more archaeological importance.  Here we have lamented out of frustration, bickered, rejoiced over finds, and swatted at the ruthless, continuous cloud of mosquitoes.

A small unit is east of ours, and beyond that, the “Pit of Despair”, deep and with plentiful paleosols. South and east of my crew’s unit, there are a few shallow pits. Here many flakes have been found but they are within the end of their units, having hit moraine and unable to proceed downward. These units are near a cleared area from which low, tree covered mountains carve the sky. A pier projects off the hillside—a perfect place for watching the sunset.  A path near the pier supposedly runs to the creek of which a sliver can be seen. Another path to that same sliver of reflecting light goes by the red box. Both must cross through the muskeg—round mounds stick up and look like something out of Dr. Seuss. A few large trees are interspersed. But if I head back here at the end of the day, to the pier, it is a perfect place to watch the sunset. The sun pierces its way through the birch, orange and pink often crop up above the horizon and subsequently begin to fade. And though the sun hangs there, barely below the hillside, it still marks the end of another day.