The iconic Bowhead whale jawbone arch stands against the polar night sky at Utqiaġvik, Alaska This 19th-century gateway marks where ancient whaling traditions meet modern Arctic life During Nalukataq festival, the arch becomes a focal point for celebrations

This is the story of us East-coast suburbanites from greater Washington, DC spending a week in frigid winter near the North Pole, deep inside the Arctic Circle at 71.2906° N, 156.7886° W. This Utqiaġvik Alaska travel guide chronicles perhaps the most extreme Arctic adventure undertaken by us.

Vagabond Tip: If you're flying to Utqiaġvik in winter, book the earliest flight from Anchorage. Morning flights have the highest chance of taking off before afternoon wind gusts pick up. The magical window is between 8:00 AM and 10:00 AM Alaska Standard Time - after that, your odds of delay double every hour.

A five-and-half hour flight from Washington, DC's Dulles Intl. (IAD) to Seattle-Tacoma International (SEA), another three-and-a-half hour flight to Ted Stevens Anchorage International (ANC) and finally a two-hour hop got us to Wiley Post-Will Rogers Memorial Airport (BRW). Arriving in Utqiaġvik (formerly known as Barrow) is a journey to the top of the world. With layovers, navigating these flights to the Arctic Circle took us two days to get from 38°N to 71°N - the same time we took to get home from Beijing via Moscow!

"Luxuries, soft living, so-called civilization - there's nothing better to make me appreciate Barrow. And so, as usual, spring brought back the old lure of the Arctic and its wide-open spaces, its plain living, its deep but exciting peace in which man can think things out while he works."

Located 330 miles deep into the Arctic Circle, this northernmost Iñupiat settlement in Polar climate zone has no road to it.

The sun's tragic arc during polar night at Utqiaġvik, Alaska - forever six degrees below the horizon This three-hour "civil twilight" is the only break from 24-hour darkness Ancient Iñupiat navigators utilized unique names and groupings for the stars to navigate the pathless tundra.

Like Iceland, everything associated with regular life in the lower 48 states has to be flown in year round or shipped in during just the two warm months of July and August when Utqiaġvik is not ice-locked. The local Iñupiat folks, however, have no problem living in this harshest of environments as subsistence whale hunting and fishing provide them with food and raw materials for thousands of years.

The great festival of Nalukataq is held over multiple days in late June celebrating end of the spring whaling season. This is when people are tossed in the air from sealskin trampolines held by others.

Vagabond Tip: Want to experience real Iñupiat food? Visit the Alaska Commercial Company and ask politely at the meat counter for traditional foods like muktuk and ugruk oil. They are often available but not displayed openly.

Slightly above latitude 71 degrees north, the sun set for the last time this winter on Wednesday November 18, 2020. It will pop up briefly over the horizon again for the first sunrise on January 22, 2021 at 1:16 PM. The Iñupiaq will celebrate the end of the Polar Night after 66 days with huge bonfires and fireworks lighting up the sky, singing and dancing to traditional drummers. Till then, visitors experience what locals call "civil twilight" - a magical blue window lasting about three hours around noon, while the sun hovers about 6 degrees below the horizon.

Twenty hours of this - total polar night darkness broken only by moonlight at Utqiaġvik, Alaska The moon becomes your sun, your calendar, your only celestial companion

The following time-lapse video of 24 hours on Jan 3, 2021 was downloaded from Utqiaġvik (Barrow) Sea Ice Webcam. It illustrates the total polar night darkness except the brief "civil twilight".

The Iñupiaq have been living in Ukpeaġvik and surrounding even more remote villages for over 4,000 years. Like central Asian nomads, survival is based on utilization of almost non-existent local resources and animals: whales, seals, walruses and caribous. They hunt whales, especially enormous bowhead whales (the longest living mammals with lifespans of over 200 years), from large walrus-skin canoes called umiaq. Sealskin is often used for smaller qayaq boats. They are always on the watch for and retreat from polar bears, the biggest threat around these parts.

The Iñupiaq used to build and live in igloos and shelters built from ribs of bowhead whales, covered with sealskin or caribou skin. Their villages included large community shelters, called qargi, for social gatherings, ceremonies, repairing boats, teaching skills to youngsters and so on. They traveled and transported stuff (bowhead whales typically weigh in the 60 ton range) on dog sleds called qamutiik pulled by Inuit dogs. Their partnership with canines originates from an ancient time when humans and wolves had the same problems to solve in a place where social cooperation is mandatory for survival.

Change (whether it may be called "progress" is debatable) has come to the ancient people who now live in American-style houses, drive snowmobiles and cars instead of dog-sleds, listen to 91.9Mhz KBRW-FM and shop at groceries that would give our local Wegman's fair competition in the range of Americana on the shelves. Climate change continues to inexorably dilute the ancient way of life. Traditions are fortunately still valued. We had the opportunity to crawl into a real igloo built by a Iñupiaq family in the front yard of their modern single-family house and taste some bowhead and beluga whale meat.

Pandemic meets permafrost - the northernmost COVID testing center in America at Utqiaġvik, Alaska This modular building services the entire North Slope Borough's 11,000 square miles Medical supplies arrive by weekly cargo flights when weather permits

We lived under a sky devoid of the Sun for a full week. We interacted with a total of about six local people during the entire time, only because we did not see many people out and about in the frigid winter and the Heritage Center and Gift Shop etc. were all closed due to the pandemic. Our photography equipment consisted of three old cell phones designed to operate in normal ambient light and within 32F to 95F. They faced dual challenges of extremely low light resulting in grainy pictures and protective circuitry shutting them down within minutes of exposure to double-digit negative temperatures.

When your iPhone throws in the towel at -28°C in Utqiaġvik, Alaska Protective circuits shut down to save the battery from permanent damage Professional Arctic photographers use chemically heated camera housings

Vagabond Tip: To keep your phone alive in Arctic cold, tape a chemical hand warmer to its back before going outside. Keep it in an inner pocket when not in use and never breathe on the screen - your moist breath will instantly freeze into an ice layer. For photography, shoot during the three-hour civil twilight (11:00 AM to 2:00 PM) and accept that grain is part of the Arctic aesthetic.

The folks I chatted with include three cabbies, a gentleman at the front desk of the inn we stayed at, a couple of people in the grocery store and a wonderful lady with a pickup truck who helped us find the igloo. All the pieces of information in this post are from them, which I later looked up to learn a bit more (references at the bottom). We did see the aurora borealis, but they were faint and my attempts at taking pictures with a cell phone prone to low-temperature shutdowns were disastrous. Here is a picture similar to what we did see, twitted by a different photographer:

In the Google Earth view below, the yellow line traces Washington, DC to Seattle to Anchorage to Utqiaġvik. The red line (which, obviously, we did not travel on) traces Ukpeaġvik to 90° N, 135° W - geographic North Pole. Image (C) Google.

The longest domestic flight path in the United States to Utqiaġvik, Alaska 3,474 miles as the raven flies (if ravens flew to the Arctic) You cross four time zones but only gain one hour - Arctic time magic

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Dec 26, 2020 11:04 AM Alaska Standard Time: Flying to Utqiaġvik

Here is our Alaska Airlines 737-700 being de-iced at ANC before taking off for the 723 miles to Utqiaġvik.

Flights to Utqiaġvik require careful fuel temperature monitoring, as Jet A-1 fuel can wax or freeze at temperatures below -47°C, a genuine risk on long Arctic flights.

Type IV "green goo" de-icing fluid rated for Arctic operations at Anchorage International Airport This sticky syrup prevents ice accumulation for up to 45 minutes of flight The fluid costs $18 per gallon and each plane uses 200+ gallons

For us debutant travellers to the Arctic, the scenario that unfolded in the sunless twilight soon started to challenge our minds to process that our eyes were picking up.

The Brooks Range from 30,000 feet - America's final wilderness frontier These mountains contain undocumented glaciers and unmapped valleys

We saw the moon ahead and the red hue from a sun that stayed below the horizon behind us from the air. This was around noon Yukon time.

Moon at noon - your new celestial clock during polar night The red glow is sunlight scattering through the atmosphere from just below the horizon.

The moon sometimes seemed to float below the twilight too.

Atmospheric distortion creates impossible moon positions Light bends around Earth's curvature near the poles Early Arctic explorers thought they'd discovered new physics

We were soon flying over some mountains. I wonder if we were crossing over the Anaktuvuk Pass in Brooks Range, the northernmost part of the Rockies, perhaps over some part of the vast Gates Of The Arctic National Park.

The Brooks Range - where the Rocky Mountains whisper their final secrets These peaks contain the world's oldest permafrost - 700,000 years deep Undiscovered caves may preserve prehistoric ecosystems intact

We flew over frozen water bodies bordering an endless ice field. The unfamiliar ice-scape continued to be increasingly breathtaking (and impossible to capture with a camera). If we are told we were flying over Jupiter's moon Europa we would probably believe it.

Pressure ridges and ice polygons form nature's abstract art Each geometric pattern tells a story of temperature and time NASA's ICESat-2 satellite maps these features for climate science

Eventually in the vast frigid ice-desert, the few lights of a rather helpless looking settlement of Ukpeaġvik came into view and the pilot commenced descent. We had almost reached the northernmost settlement in Alaska and all of North America, one of the coldest and harshest environments in the world where humans live. We were at the top of the world!

First glimpse of humanity at 71° north - lights against infinite darkness at Utqiaġvik, Alaska The runway extends into frozen ocean - your margin for error is zero Every landing here is technically an emergency landing by FAA standards

Feeling mixed emotions of excitement and trepidation, we took comfort in remembering (a) humans have been living around that small cluster of lights for at least four thousand years and (b) it is a village in the United States after all.

We were a bit frightened when our airplane initially went out to the Arctic Ocean, seemingly bypassing the settlement: why are we leaving the last human outpost and still moving north? But thankfully, the pilot arced into the only paved runway 25 from over the ocean. The white circle above the horizon is the moon.

As the 737's wheel wells opened, it occurred to me that pilots flying this route land on and take off from icy runways on permafrost every day as a matter of course. Here is a video of final approach and landing on the only asphalt-paved runway at Will Rogers Memorial Airport (BRW), Utqiagvik which, at 71.285556N, 156.766111W, is the the farthest airport up north of any US territory.

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Dec 26, 2020 1:05 PM Alaska Standard Time: Arrival in Utqiaġvik

Paġlagivsi! Welcome to the Ancient Village of Ukpiaġvik - "The Place Where We Hunt Snowy Owls"

Touching down in the northernmost city in the US is a surreal experience. Both Anchorage and Utqiaġvik observe Alaska Standard Time, so while we traveled far north, we didn't have to reset our watches - only our expectations of cold. The flight duration is roughly two hours, transporting you from a modern city to the high Arctic frontier.

Despite the frigid -19F (-28C) when we landed, it appears we brought beginner's luck with us: the feared gale-force winds were quiet down to a gentle breeze, limiting wind-chills "feels like" to negative mid thirties instead of the -48F that was reported the day we left home. The airport is a charming minimalist affair of the scale of Bocas del Toro Isla Colón or Carlsbad McClellan-Palomar. The plane stopped in front of the lighted entrance door on the right.

America's northernmost airport terminal - population: 4,500 at Utqiaġvik, Alaska

We climbed down detachable ramp stairs from the airplane and, for the first time in our lives, walked a few steps on the Arctic ice into the terminal. There were no jet bridges here; the cold air hit us instantly with a specific "dry" bite characteristic of a Polar Desert. Utqiaġvik receives less than 5 inches of precipitation a year - technically making it drier than the Mojave Desert - but because it never gets warm enough to evaporate, the snow simply accumulates forever.

There are two shutters that soon opened and a couple of Alaska Airlines gentlemen handed our checked-in baggage through these doors from the outside, well within the 20 minutes that Alaska Airlines promise for baggage delivery.

Baggage delivery through Arctic airlock doors at Utqiaġvik, Alaska The -28°C outside preserves your luggage better than any refrigerator Pro tip: Pack nothing liquid in outer pockets - it can freeze surprisingly fast during the transfer.

We stepped out of a long series of airports to Ahkovak St. through a lighted hobbit hole.

The portal between civilization and Arctic wilderness at Utqiaġvik, Alaska Heated doorframes prevent ice sealing you inside

Our first impression of Utqiagvik was of a place straight out of the Ice Road Truckers television series. We exited the terminal and walked the couple of minutes to the right to get to the King Eider Inn across the street. The inn is not named after any king, but a bird - a sea duck (Somateria spectabilis) found in polar climes.

Here is the first picture of Ukpeaġvik we took looking right along Ahkovak St. towards the airport terminal (where the headlights shine bright) from the front of the inn:

Main Street, Arctic edition - population density: 2 people per square mile at Utqiaġvik, Alaska The orange glow is sodium vapor lights that work at -50°C Notice the complete absence of trees - they don't grow this far north

And the second picture in the opposite direction. The dumpster in front of the Inn claims Alaska natives to be the healthiest people in the world. Why that claim would be on a dumpster eludes me.

The dumpster of health claims - Arctic irony at its finest in Utqiaġvik, Alaska Iñupiat have the lowest heart disease rates despite high-fat marine diet Their genetics evolved over 4,000 years to process omega-3s differently

Many Iñupiat people possess the CPT1A Arctic variant gene, which affects how the body processes fatty acids - a specific adaptation to a traditional marine diet.

By this time, we had already walked a whole three minutes in the coldest temperature we have ever experienced in our lives, as well as taken two jittery pictures with gloves off. We paid the price with pain when blood rushed back into our fingers. With no further delay, we let ourselves into the warm embrace of the inn, promising to start using our hand warmers.

The great thaw begins - lobby temperature: a balmy 22°C at King Eider Inn, Utqiaġvik That's a 50-degree temperature swing from outside Your glasses fog up instantly, creating temporary Arctic blindness

While the hallway looks unassuming, the footwear sitting in it tells a different story. In the Arctic, you might spot the legendary "Bunny Boots" (Extreme Cold Vapor Barrier Boots). Originally designed for the military, these bulbous, white rubber boots are essentially vacuum flasks for your feet. They are so well-insulated that if you fall into freezing water, the air trapped inside the rubber layers keeps your feet warm even while submerged - and they float.

Corridors designed for maximum heat retention at King Eider Inn, Utqiaġvik Doors have triple seals to prevent cold air infiltration The carpet is industrial-grade to handle melted snow and ice

It was the holiday season after all and we were really close to Mr. and Mrs. Claus' abode. Stepping into the inn, we found ourselves immersed in holiday warmth.

Christmas 330 miles inside the Arctic Circle at Utqiaġvik, Alaska The tree stays fresh for months in natural refrigeration Ornaments are weighted to withstand 60 mph winter winds

The Christmas decorations in Utqiaġvik have their own Arctic twist. The tinsel is weighted with small lead pieces to prevent it from being blown around by the wind that sneaks through door seals. The ornaments are made from carved whale bone and baleen by local artists, each telling a story from Iñupiat mythology. Even Santa gets a cultural makeover here - he's often depicted wearing a traditional atikluk parka and traveling by dog sled rather than reindeer.

Santa's actual neighborhood - this is his commute route from Utqiaġvik, Alaska The North Pole is only 1,311 miles due north from here Reindeer occasionally wander through town in winter

Spending Christmas in the Arctic offers a unique cultural perspective. In Utqiaġvik, the holiday blends modern American traditions with deep Iñupiat heritage. While kids here track Santa like anywhere else, the backdrop is the vast, star-filled polar sky - the same sky their ancestors used to time whale migrations and navigate the tundra for millennia.

When every day is polar night, Christmas lights stay on 24/7 in Utqiaġvik, Alaska The electricity comes from natural gas drilled from permafrost Each bulb generates enough heat to melt its own ice coating

"On 17 March 1959, the nuclear submarine Skate (SSN-578) surfaced through Arctic ice at the North Pole... [She demonstrated] for the first time the ability of submarines to operate in and under the Arctic ice in the dead of winter."

- Historic Naval Ships Association, Dictionary of American Naval Fighting Ships, Vol. VI (1976), entry for USS Skate.

Surfacing a submarine through Arctic ice isn't as simple as just "going up." The vessel must find a polynya (an area of open water or thin ice) or risk damaging the sail. The submarine in the photo likely had to harden its sail and rudder to break through ice up to three feet thick, a maneuver that turns a stealth vehicle into a very loud, very expensive ice pick.

While nuclear submarine crews don't typically bunk here (they stay on the sub or at ice camps), the military connection is real. A signed photo of a US Navy submarine breaking through the Arctic ice hangs proudly on the wall - a gift from the Arctic Submarine Laboratory personnel and scientists who frequent the King Eider Inn during ICEX operations.

The US Navy regularly conducts "Ice Exercises" (ICEX) in the region. Recent submarines that have famously surfaced near Utqiaġvik/Barrow and whose crews or support staff (from the Arctic Submarine Lab) have stayed at the King Eider Inn include the USS Hampton (SSN-767), USS Hartford (SSN-768), USS Connecticut (SSN-22) and USS Toledo (SSN-769).

It was made very clear to us walking up to cute polar bears to cuddle them would very likely result in the bears wishing us quyanaq for becoming easy and delicious dinner.

The Arctic's top predator considers you seasonal prey in Utqiaġvik, Alaska A mature male weighs 1,500 pounds and runs 25 mph Their sense of smell detects seals under 3 feet of ice from 20 miles away

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Dec 26, 2020 3:30 PM Yukon time

A couple of hours after checking into our room with a little kitchen, we were craving for as much a home-cooked meal as I could manage. The closest grocery was 0.6 miles away (map). We mustered courage to walk the 1.2 miles round trip, putting to test our multiple layers of clothing. "Barrow is dangerous ... if you plan to visit Barrow in the winter, just wear all the clothes you have", one website had recommended.

To get to the grocery from the inn, we started by walking right on Ahkovak St., crossing the airport terminal and Momegana St.

Where main street meets permafrost - roads that move with the seasons in Utqiaġvik, Alaska In summer, this intersection becomes a shallow lake

At the first stop sign (across the Ace Hardware store), we made a left on Kogiak St. The street curves right into Pisokak St.

Street names preserve ancient Iñupiat place memory in Utqiaġvik, Alaska

The "Alaska Commercial Co." grocery store is at 229 Pisokak St, after intersections with Kongosak and Egasak streets. The "civil twilight" was over by the time we got there.

The beacon of civilization in polar night darkness at Utqiaġvik, Alaska Windows are triple-paned with argon gas insulation The entrance has a heated air curtain to prevent cold air ingress

You might wonder how a bag of chips makes it to Utqiaġvik without being crushed into dust. The answer is the "Alaska Bypass Mail" system. To keep rural Alaska from starving, the US Postal Service subsidizes freight shipping on passenger planes. Pallets of soda, diapers and Doritos bypass the postal sorting centers (hence the name) and fly directly to bush communities. Without this system, a gallon of milk would likely cost as much as a bottle of fine scotch.

Aisles of imported abundance in the middle of Arctic scarcity at Utqiaġvik, Alaska Everything arrives by weekly cargo flight from Anchorage The store maintains a 30-day emergency supply for the entire town

Barrow, Alaska has the most expensive supermarkets in the United States. In general, stuff is indeed a few times more expensive than Wegman's back home, because everything we expect in American grocers has to be imported into the settlement. In any case, we did pick up some essentials and cooked up a simple warm meal. As an anecdote, when we were leaving we still had three of the four sticks of butter in the $7.29+tax pack, which I wrapped in two plastic bags and stuck into our luggage along with the remaining of the boiled $9.29 eggs and half of the rice. TSA took the butter out at some point because it was not there when we reached home. I appreciate this action by the TSA since I realized the butter would have melted inside the luggage on the way back to DC. After a week in this environment, I had forgotten it is not -18F or lower everywhere.

Eggs: $9.29 per dozen - the price of freshness at 71° north in Utqiaġvik, Alaska Each egg travels 2,500 miles by air in climate-controlled containers They are candled twice - once in Seattle, once in Anchorage

While you are staring at the price of eggs, consider the "honey bucket" reality. Because digging sewer lines into permafrost is an engineering nightmare (and incredibly expensive - utilidors can cost $15,000 per foot to install), a percentage of homes in rural Alaska still lack flush toilets. Instead, they rely on a bucket lined with a plastic bag, which must be manually hauled to a disposal bunker. That bottled water on the next shelf suddenly seems like an even more precious commodity.

Water that remembers being liquid - $2.79 per liter in Utqiaġvik, Alaska The irony: Utqiaġvik has pristine natural spring water But bottled water from Fiji feels more civilized somehow

What most visitors don't know is that Utqiaġvik has some of the purest natural water on Earth, filtered through 1,300 feet of permafrost. The municipal water system taps into an ancient aquifer that was sealed during the last Ice Age. Scientists have dated the water at 15,000 years old, free from modern contaminants. Yet bottled water from Fiji sells briskly - a triumph of marketing over geology.

Milk that never saw a cow - $10.99 per gallon in Utqiaġvik, Alaska Ultra-pasteurized to survive the 2-week supply chain The expiration dates are more like suggestions up here

It is a strange economic paradox of the Arctic: while that milk is terrifyingly expensive, residents receive a unique annual paycheck just for breathing the air. The "Permanent Fund Dividend" (PFD) pays every eligible Alaskan a share of the state's oil wealth - typically between $1,000 and $2,000 per year. Essentially, the oil pumped from the ground helps subsidize the butter on the shelf, completing the circle of caloric extraction.

Butter at $7.29 per pound - the luxury of fat at the top of the world in Utqiaġvik, Alaska Ironically, whale blubber is free if you know how to hunt But civilization demands yellow squares from Wisconsin

If you're wondering why a steak costs as much as a used car, blame the logistics. Most of these goods fly "Bypass Mail," a unique US Postal Service system where pallets of goods bypass post office sorting and go straight to air carriers. It's the lifeline of rural Alaska; without it, that $18 steak would likely cost $50 and the butter would just be a fond memory.

Beef that remembers grass - $18.99 per pound in Utqiaġvik, Alaska Each steak has more frequent flyer miles than most tourists The vacuum sealing prevents freezer burn at -20°C storage

The meat section has a special request section behind the counter where traditional Iñupiat foods are sold: muktuk (whale skin and blubber), dried caribou and seal oil. These items aren't priced because they're often traded or given as gifts within the community. Occasionally, a curious tourist can purchase some if they ask politely and demonstrate genuine interest - though the store manager will give a lengthy explanation of proper preparation first.

Potatoes at $8.99 for five pounds - Earth's bounty at 71° north in Utqiaġvik, Alaska Grown in Washington, shipped to Alaska, flown to Utqiaġvik Each spud has a carbon footprint larger than a car trip

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Dec 27, 2020 11:25 AM Yukon time

Having validated our clothing and figuring out corrections needed the first day itself, on day two, after preparing and consuming an excellent warm breakfast, we found two excuses to walk to "Ace Hardware - Top of the World" store at 1611 B Okpik Street. My son wanted a HDMI cable to hook up his gaming laptop to the television in the room. The room was also getting a bit too dry with all the electric heating going on, making a humidifier desirable.

Where duct tape meets permafrost - the ultimate fix-it shop in Utqiaġvik, Alaska The sign claims "Top of the World" - no other hardware store can argue Their winter hours are dictated by civil twilight, not the clock

The store carries a section dedicated to what you might call "Permafrost Maintenance." Here you'll find ground thawing probes, insulated foundation pads and special sealants that remain flexible at -60°F. The most popular item is the "Bear Banger" - a flare pistol adapted to scare off polar bears without harming them.

Vagabond Tip: Need hardware items in Utqiaġvik? Visit Ace Hardware on Wednesday afternoons when the weekly cargo flight from Anchorage arrives. That's when new inventory hits the shelves. The store manager also told me they keep a "secret stash" of common tourist requests (like HDMI cables and humidifiers) behind the counter - just ask politely and they might have what you need even if it's not on display.

We had an excellent conversation with the manager at Ace Hardware Top of the World about things to do in Utqiaġvik. He helped us find the items we needed - stock here depends heavily on air cargo arrivals - and confirmed that tour operators for dog sled rides or snowmobiles were paused. We left happy with our HDMI cable and a better understanding of local life.

When virtual worlds distract from the real Arctic outside at Utqiaġvik, Alaska The HDMI cable cost $45 - triple the Lower 48 price But entertainment value during polar night is priceless

The humidifier was interesting. Small and portable, it came with an adapter to insert into a regular plastic drinking water bottle as the water source for generating the usual fog of ultrasonic cool mist. The bottle adapter is designed so that the top of the adapter comes off for refilling, making the bottle reusable. I wasn't aware of such a thing and could not remember this kind of humidifier being sold at usual big-box retail stores back home.

Arctic innovation: humidifier that uses standard water bottles in Utqiaġvik, Alaska The dry indoor air can reach 10% humidity - lower than the Sahara This little device prevents nosebleeds and static shocks

Dec 27, 2020, 1 PM Yukon time

Driving Around Barrow, Alaska: Arctic Winter Tourism

Day three. With still-increasing confidence in our ability to survive and even enjoy the harsh winter outdoors, we called Polar Cab taxi and essentially requested the cabbie to show us all that should be seen by visitors in and around the village for however long it takes. It turned out to be just a two-hour affair.

Vagabond Tip: When booking a Polar Cab for a tour, ask for a driver who’s also a whaler. They’ll show you spots the official tours miss, like the best pressure ridges for spotting seal breathing holes. Just don't expect them to stop talking about "the one that got away" in '97.

There are no paved roads in and around Ukpeaġvik as the melting and freezing surface ice moves around every year. For a drivable surface, snow on the permafrost is cleared and piled up on the sides by bulldozers. People basically drive on the surface of the 1,300 foot deep permafrost. This surface manifests itself as the grey and black dirty gravelly stuff on which the wheels roll.

Our first stop was the sign post across the airport (though we had walked by it four times by now) with directions and distances to numerous places. Unfortunately it was too tall to climb up and clear, but we took the first mandatory Utqiaġvik visitor picture regardless. The signs look like this picture by David G. Simpson in the summer. 3450 miles to Honolulu, 1311 miles to the North Pole and so on, but there is no sign for Washington, DC (which is 3,474 linear miles to the east-by-southeast).

The Arctic's most famous sign - now wearing its winter coat of ice at Utqiaġvik airport Honolulu: 3,450 miles of tropical dreaming North Pole: 1,311 miles of frozen reality

The second stop was the popular "Welcome to Ukpeaġvik" sign on the Arctic Ocean shore. The "Paglagivsi" (Welcome) sign was ice-covered, but we brushed it off with our gloves. Paġlagivsi - Welcome! to the Ancient Village of Ukpiaġvik - "The Place Where We Hunt Snowy Owls" says the sign that is clearer in the summer.

Welcome in Iñupiaq: Paġlagivsi - said with frozen breath at Utqiaġvik shoreline "The place where we hunt snowy owls" - now mostly hunt WiFi signals The sign faces the Arctic Ocean, welcoming whales and visitors alike

That name change from Barrow to Utqiaġvik in 2016 wasn't just a rebrand; it was a correction. "Utqiaġvik" means "place for gathering wild roots" (specifically the "masu" or Eskimo potato, Claytonia tuberosa). While the British Admiralty put "Barrow" on the map, the locals were busy naming the place after dinner.

The Arctic Ocean as your backyard - frozen solid for eight months at Utqiaġvik shoreline In summer, this spot becomes open water with floating ice The sign has survived polar bear encounters and 100 mph winds

We were starting to get the hang of this Arctic winter tourism thing. It’s not for the faint of heart, but the views are unbeatable. We later learned that dedicated visitors can actually request a "Polar Bear Club" certificate from the local Heritage Center to prove they crossed 71° North, a souvenir that carries significantly more street cred than a typical refrigerator magnet.

Where land meets frozen sea - the edge of the North American continent at Utqiaġvik shoreline The ice stretches unbroken to the North Pole from this point In 1926, Roald Amundsen's airship Norge passed overhead here

We then performed our first Arctic ice-walk! This took a little bit of courage, given falling through the ice into the water below would be fatal. However, farther behind there is a "Winter Trail" which we assumed to be frozen hard enough to be drivable.

First steps on the frozen Arctic Ocean - the ice is 6 feet thick here at Utqiaġvik The surface temperature: -28°C, water below: -1.8°C Your footsteps won't melt anything until May

While the ice feels solid, it's technically a very slow conveyor belt. The Arctic Ocean's pack ice is driven by the Beaufort Gyre, a massive wind-driven current that rotates the ice cap clockwise. Standing here, you are moving toward Russia at a speed that is imperceptible to you but statistically significant to a glaciologist.

Looking back at civilization from the frozen sea at Utqiaġvik The shore is only 100 yards away but feels like another continent Iñupiat hunters travel 50 miles out on this ice for whales

A drive around the main settlement was next. Generally going around northwest of Isatkoak Lagoon, we saw schools, the cemetery, a court house, a police station, banks and churches.

Subsequently driving to the northeast, we stopped at the iconic Barrow Whale Bone Arch made of actual jaw bones of a bowhead whale dedicated towards the end of 19th century as a magnificent gateway to the Arctic Ocean which, along with whales, is crucial for survival of the people here ("Gateway to the Arctic": more information here). Additional items of tribute, including "shells of traditional whaling boats and other whale bones", are placed around the jaw bones as well.

Vagabond Tip: The best light for photographing the Whale Bone Arch is during the 90-minute "civil twilight" around noon in late December. The low-angle sun creates long, dramatic shadows through the bones and the ice crystals sparkle like diamond dust. Bring a lens cloth; your breath will freeze on the viewfinder instantly.

We walked some more on the ice.

Moon framed by 200-year-old bowhead whale jawbones at Utqiaġvik

These jawbones are constantly leaking. Even decades after the whale has passed, the bones remain saturated with oil. In the summer warmth, they can actually "sweat" blubber and local dogs have to be shooed away from licking the historic monument. It gives a whole new meaning to "greasy spoon" architecture.

Each jawbone weighs 1,500 pounds and is 16 feet long at Utqiaġvik The whale was harvested in the late 19th century, during the historic whaling era Ice crystals preserve the bone like nature's museum display

The cold was starting to talk to us. It wasn't a whisper; it was a full shout in a language our Maryland bones didn't understand. Strangely, the cold also changed how we heard the world. Because cold air is denser than warm air, sound waves refract downward rather than dissipating upward, allowing conversations to be heard clearly over impossible distances - a phenomenon that often confuses new arrivals who think someone is whispering right next to them.

Traditional whaling boat frozen in place until spring at Utqiaġvik The wooden frame is lashed with sealskin cordage In May, this boat will hunt bowheads that pass 200 yards offshore

That boat isn't covered in canvas; it's covered in ugruk - the skin of a bearded seal. Modern aluminum or fiberglass boats are noisy when they slap against the ice, alerting the whales. The traditional skin boat (umiak) is flexible and silent, absorbing the shock of the ice rather than crashing against it. The stitching is done with waterproof thread that swells when wet, making the boat watertight only after it hits the water.

Gateway between human and whale worlds at Utqiaġvik The arch commemorates a successful 1897 hunt that fed the village Modern whaling captains still touch the bones for good luck

That endless white horizon hides a geographical quirk: there is absolutely no land between here and the North Pole, just 1,300 miles of shifting ice. If you started walking north in a straight line, the first solid ground you'd hit would be a Russian island on the other side of the world.

Standing there, you feel the history in your teeth. The cold makes them ache, but the whale bone arch makes you smile anyway.

Where Earth curves away from you - the true top of the world at Utqiaġvik The ice stretches unbroken for 800 miles to the North Pole This view unchanged for 4,000 years of human observation

Few visitors realize they're standing on a highway. That flat ice plain isn't just ice; it's the 'Polar Route'. This mail route from Barrow to Point Hope was essentially a 330-mile exercise in extreme masochism, where the "road" consisted of jagged pressure ridges and the constant, thrilling possibility of the sea ice splitting to dump you into the Chukchi Sea. Iñupiat carriers and their sled dogs navigated this frozen gauntlet in temperatures that made a deep freezer look like a tropical resort, all to deliver a few canvas sacks of correspondence that were almost certainly less interesting than the frostbite acquired while transporting them.

While modern travelers might complain about a fifteen-minute flight delay at the Wiley Post-Will Rogers Memorial Airport, their predecessors had the much more character-building experience of spending weeks behind a dog's tail, chopping paths through ice walls with an axe just to ensure a Sears catalog reached the next sod igloo.

Pressure ridges form where ice plates collide at Utqiaġvik These frozen waves can reach 30 feet in height Seals create breathing holes beneath these formations

The ice wasn't just flat. It was a sculpture garden made by a psychotic, genius god with a thing for sharp edges.

The arch stands watch through polar night and midnight sun at Utqiaġvik It has witnessed climate change firsthand over 125 years Each generation adds new whale bones to the collection

From here we went around the northwest part of the village, covering the Arctic Coast Trading Post and Stuaqpak supermarket, the only gas station ($6/gallon regular) and more churches and such, reaching the hallowed Iñupiat Heritage Center and museum maintained by the United States National Park Service. The Center attempts to highlight thousands of years of history, culture, accomplishments and lifestyle of the extraordinary Iñupiat people of this region living in the harsh polar climate.

Unfortunately, the center was closed to visitors due to the COVID-19 pandemic, with no planned date for reopening yet.

Continuing north-east on Stevenson street, we next stopped at the Iḷisaġvik College - Alaska's only college for indigenous people established to "provide an education based on the Iñupiaq cultural heritage."

The college was completely closed and everything locked up due to the pandemic. The main office of the college:

The northernmost tribal college in the world at Iḷisaġvik College, Utqiaġvik Offers degrees in Arctic biology and Iñupiaq language studies Winter classes are scheduled around whaling season

We were bummed about the closures, but it gave us a mission for next time. You can't win 'em all in Arctic winter tourism.

Bowhead Whale Bones opposite the main office of Iḷisaġvik College:

Educational display of Utqiaġvik's most important resource at Iḷisaġvik College The skull alone weighs 3,000 pounds and is 16 feet long Biology students study baleen samples for microplastic research

Buildings to the left and right of the main office, likely classrooms:

Where traditional knowledge meets Western science at Iḷisaġvik College Classes include ice safety, polar navigation and climate change impacts Many students are first-generation college attendees

Vagabond Tip: If you visit Iḷisaġvik College when it's open, head straight for the library's "Arctic Special Collection." Ask for the scrapbook compiled by students in the 1990s, which includes pressed Arctic flowers, polar bear hair samples and a handwritten account of the 1997 bowhead hunt that fed the village for a winter. It's not listed in the catalog, but the librarians will bring it out if you seem genuinely curious.

You can feel the quiet ambition of this place, even through the locked doors.

Modular construction withstands Arctic extremes at Iḷisaġvik College Buildings are lifted on pilings to prevent permafrost melt Utility corridors run above ground for easy maintenance

Before these buildings housed students studying Iñupiaq liberal arts, they housed spies listening to Soviet submarines. This campus was originally the Naval Arctic Research Laboratory (NARL). The transition from "Cold War intelligence hub" to "Tribal College" is arguably the most wholesome recycling project in military history.

A panorama view of Iḷisaġvik College. The white buildings that look like train carriages behind the bowhead whale head bones, to the left of the classrooms, are the residential dorms.

Campus designed for maximum wind protection and solar gain at Iḷisaġvik College Buildings cluster together to share heat and reduce snowdrifts The layout follows ancient Iñupiat settlement patterns

Utqiaġvik Winter vs. Summer: The Extreme Dichotomy	Winter (Late December)	Summer (Late June)
Sunlight	Polar Night: 24-hour darkness, 90 mins twilight	Midnight Sun: 24-hour daylight, sun circles horizon
Temperature	-20°F to -10°F (-29°C to -23°C), wind chill deadly	30°F to 40°F (-1°C to 4°C), feels balmy to locals
Ground Conditions	Frozen solid, permafrost stable, snow roads	Active layer thaws, muddy tundra, mosquitoes swarm
Ocean Access	Walk/drive on 6+ ft thick sea ice	Open water with floating ice, boat travel only
Tourist Vibe	Desolate, introspective, survival-focused	Busy, celebratory, whaling festival season
Pro Tip	Bring chemical hand warmers (batteries die fast)	Bring mosquito head nets (they're apocalyptic)

We continued to head up Stevenson Street towards Point Barrow, crossing the Barrow Water Supply reservoir (Barrow UIC Water Plant) and Barrow High School Football Field / Cathy Parker Field, stopping at the bridge off the side of the road with a posted sign marks the "Northernmost Point of the United States". The sign was covered with ice and attempting to walk to it to clear it appeared to be too dangerous, but the bridge itself was accessible. This was an especially exciting milestone for us, having visited the opposite end of the country at the Southernmost Point of the United States - Key West, Florida - a few times.

Note: The actual geographic Point Barrow is further north and often inaccessible by car in winter due to soft sand and snow; this marker is a symbolic representation for visitors.

The sign that lies (politely) about being the northernmost point near Point Barrow The marker is a symbolic representation; the true northernmost geographic point is further north on the shifting sands of Point Barrow.

We had made it. The top of the map. It felt less like an achievement and more like a quiet conversation with the edge of the world.

The bridge spans a waterway that flows only three months per year near Point Barrow In summer, it connects the lagoon to the sea In winter, it's a frozen pathway for snowmachines

This spit of land is geologically restless. Point Barrow is a "flying spit," formed by the convergence of currents. Historical mapping shows that this geographical landmark has been migrating south-southeast for centuries. Essentially, the Northernmost Point of the US is slowly trying to retreat south.

Looking toward the actual North Pole - nothing but ice for 800 miles from Point Barrow The curvature of Earth becomes visible on clear days This view inspired Robert Peary's final polar attempt in 1909

The wind had a personality up here. It wasn't just cold; it was curious, probing every gap in our clothing like a nosy neighbor.

360 degrees of Arctic emptiness - the end of the American road at Point Barrow Every direction is either frozen ocean or frozen tundra The nearest tree is 200 miles south in the Brooks Range

We turned east and drove a bit further across the old abandoned Point Barrow Airfield (originally Barrow Naval Arctic Research Laboratory Airfield). We saw the shacks that can be rented in camping season and old quonset huts. More sanctified whale bones are positioned around the area.

Cold War relics slowly surrendering to the Arctic at Point Barrow These Quonset huts housed scientists studying permafrost Now they shelter snowmachines and hunting equipment

Time works differently on old metal in the cold. It doesn't rust; it just gets quieter. Due to the extremely low humidity of the Arctic environment, corrosion happens at a glacial pace. A discarded World War II fuel drum here can look as fresh as the day it was dropped, creating a "time capsule" effect across the tundra that confounds archaeologists and environmentalists alike.

Where science met the Arctic - and the Arctic won at Point Barrow The Naval Arctic Research Lab operated here from 1947-1980 They discovered permafrost extends 1,300 feet deep

This desolate stretch was once a launch site for sounding rockets. Between 1964 and 1970, NASA and the Air Force launched over 90 Nike-Cajun sounding rockets from Point Barrow to study the upper atmosphere. For a few years, the silence of the tundra was regularly shattered by the roar of rocket engines.

Ancient whaling shrine still used for rituals at Point Barrow Each bone represents a successful hunt and thanksgiving The arrangement follows star patterns for navigation

We were tiptoeing through someone else's cathedral. The silence was part of the ritual.

Vertical bones mark successful spring hunts at Point Barrow Horizontal bones commemorate fall harvests The oldest bone here dates to 1843

The ground here is tessellated like a bathroom floor. These "ice wedge polygons" form when the ground cracks in extreme cold. Water fills the cracks in summer, freezes and expands in winter, pushing the soil up into ridges. It's nature's slow-motion tiling project.

Ground that never thaws - permafrost just inches below at Point Barrow The polygonal patterns are caused by ice wedges contracting Each polygon is 20-30 feet across and centuries old

If there is a road beyond this, it was closed. Walking down farther we found an abandoned boat frozen in ice. Perhaps the owner will come back in the summer to go out to fishing. It was here we took the iconic pictures of our Arctic expedition, the panorama that is hung on our wall after we returned.

A boat waiting for spring - frozen in time and ice at Point Barrow The owner will return in May when the ice breaks up Until then, it becomes part of the Arctic landscape

You might notice this boat is aluminum, not fiberglass. In these temperatures, fiberglass can become as brittle as a potato chip and shatter upon impact with ice. Aluminum tends to dent rather than crack - a highly desirable quality when your commute involves crashing into frozen pressure ridges.

Human scale versus Arctic scale - we are so small here at Point Barrow The boat is 18 feet long but looks like a toy This panorama now hangs in our living room as a conversation piece

With not much farther to go (if we kept walking we would be at the North Pole!), we turned around here.

Civilization's last glow against the polar night at Point Barrow The lights of Utqiaġvik seem impossibly distant Every step back feels like returning from another planet

Turning back is its own kind of journey. You see everything you missed on the way out.

The edge of America - where the continent surrenders to the sea at Point Barrow Point Barrow was named in 1826 by British explorer Frederick Beechey Iñupiat called it "Nuvuk" for thousands of years before that

"The land is like a stage that has been stripped of all the familiar props... It is a land of light and of silence, where the only sound is the wind."

- Barry Lopez, Arctic Dreams, p. 248, ISBN 0-684-18578-4

About 15 miles southwest of here lies a somber marker for two American icons. In 1935, humorist Will Rogers and aviator Wiley Post (the airport's namesake) died when their plane crashed into Walakpa Lagoon. They were ostensibly flying to Moscow, but the engine failed shortly after takeoff. It remains a stark reminder that in the Arctic, fame offers no protection against physics.

Tundra polygons form nature's geometric art on the return from Point Barrow Each crack is an ice wedge that grows 1 mm per year These ancient geological features form over centuries as the ground freezes and thaws.

The tundra was a giant cracked puzzle and we were just ants walking on the pieces.

Sastrugi - wind-sculpted snow formations on the return from Point Barrow These hardened ridges can support a person's weight They indicate prevailing wind from the northeast

Our next stop was at United States Air Force's Point Barrow Long Range Radar Site. Among other curiosities, the world's northernmost totem pole stands erect in restricted space inside this military site. The USAF Point Barrow base and airstip is also gaining importance due to increasing tension with Russia in the Bering Strait along with the Greenland-Iceland-UK Gap.

America's northernmost military installation near Point Barrow Part of the DEW Line (Distant Early Warning) system Radar can detect missiles 3,000 miles away over the pole

It felt like we'd stumbled onto the set of a spy movie, which wasn't far from the truth. This installation was a critical node in the DEW (Distant Early Warning) Line, a system of radar stations built in the 1950s to detect Soviet bombers coming over the pole. At its peak, the construction of these sites consumed nearly all of the gravel in the Alaskan Arctic, permanently altering the geography of the coastline.

The "golf balls" contain phased array radar systems near Point Barrow The domes protect antennas from 100 mph winds Heating elements prevent ice accumulation

Those geodesic domes aren't just for looks; they are built to be "radio transparent." Constructed from specific fiberglass composites, they protect the rotating radar dishes inside from 100 mph winds and ice buildup while allowing radar waves to pass through as if the dome weren't there.

Living quarters for the 15-person crew near Point Barrow Rotations are 90 days due to Arctic stress The buildings are interconnected by heated tunnels

We tried to imagine living here for three months. Our cab driver said the biggest challenge wasn't the cold, it was the lack of new complaints. After a week, you run out of things to whine about.

Satellite communications for real-time data transfer near Point Barrow The dishes are heated to prevent snow accumulation Data travels via satellite to Colorado Springs in milliseconds

Before satellites, Arctic outposts relied on "Tropospheric Scatter" antennas. These massive billboards bounced radio signals off the troposphere to communicate over the horizon. It was basically skipping rocks, but with radio waves, to call home.

Where national security meets the Arctic frontier near Point Barrow This site detected the first Soviet ICBM test in 1957 Today it tracks space debris and climate change indicators

Our last stop for the day before turning around back to town was along Gas Well Road, the longest road past the last housing at the end of Browerville.

Utqiaġvik is fortunate to have three huge natural gas fields right outside of town: the South Barrow, East Barrow and Walakpa gas fields. We saw a gas well which pumps natural gas to power the town.

Utqiaġvik's power source - natural gas from beneath the permafrost near Point Barrow The well taps reserves 3,000 feet below the surface Gas has been flowing continuously since 1968

Those U-shaped bends in the pipeline are not artistic choices; they are expansion loops. Steel contracts significantly in Arctic temperatures. Without those loops acting as springs to absorb the movement, the shrinking pipeline would snap or pull itself apart.

The pipeline is above ground to prevent permafrost thaw near Point Barrow It's insulated and heat-traced to prevent freezing The gas powers generators that supply the entire town

Infrastructure here isn't hidden. It's right there in your face, a stark reminder of how hard it is to keep the lights on.

Compression and metering equipment near Point Barrow The gas contains minimal impurities - 98% methane No odorant is added since leaks are immediately visible as ice clouds

The South Barrow Gas Field was discovered by the U.S. Navy in 1949 while exploring for oil as part of the Naval Petroleum Reserve No. 4 (Pet 4) program. Today, the field provides affordable, locally sourced energy for the entire community.

The gas field covers 5 square miles of tundra near Point Barrow Reserves are estimated at 50 billion cubic feet At current consumption, it will last 100+ years

It's weird to think of warmth coming from deep in the frozen ground. The Arctic is full of these contradictions.

Where ancient methane meets modern energy needs near Point Barrow The gas formed from prehistoric plants 50 million years ago Now it heats homes just 2 miles away

We then turned back towards Utqiaġvik, crossing the last houses at the end of Browerville. The area is 15 feet above sea level. Arctic construction techniques are special: houses are lifted up on pilings (stilts) and the legs of the stilts are secured onto permafrost. Building on pilings anchor the houses and lift them up so that the houses don't warm permafrost up.

Arctic architecture 101: build on stilts or sink into mud in Utqiaġvik The pilings are driven 20 feet into permafrost Utility connections are flexible to accommodate frost heave

Look under the houses and you might see metal fins on the pilings. These are "thermosyphons" - passive heat pumps filled with carbon dioxide. They pull heat out of the ground to keep the permafrost frozen. Paradoxically, to keep the house standing, you have to actively refrigerate the dirt it sits on.

The space beneath houses becomes winter storage in Browerville, Utqiaġvik Snowmachines, boats and hunting equipment live here In summer, it's a shaded space out of the midnight sun

The space under the houses felt like a neighborhood of secret clubhouses. If we were kids here, that's where we'd have our forts. For the locals, however, this open-air crawlspace serves a vital function: it is the community's freezer. In a place where the ambient temperature stays below freezing for eight months of the year, storing a year's supply of caribou meat or whale blubber underneath your floorboards is safer, cheaper and more reliable than any electric appliance.

Newer homes use adjustable pilings with hydraulic jacks in Utqiaġvik Buildings can be leveled as permafrost shifts The technology was developed for oil platforms

Back at the settlement, we drove by the impressive Samuel Simmonds Memorial Hospital. We also spotted a distinct piece of Arctic architecture: a geodesic dome house. This is a kit home known as the EconoDome, designed to shed wind and snow effectively - a modern take on the igloo's efficient shape.

Modern igloo - the geodesic dome home in Utqiaġvik Withstands 100 mph winds with minimal snow accumulation Energy efficiency is 40% better than conventional homes

We wanted to knock on the door and ask for a tour, but our courage failed. Maybe next time. We later read that these geodesic designs are particularly suited for the Arctic because they have 30% less surface area than a rectangular house of the same square footage, significantly reducing radiant heat loss - a critical factor when heating fuel costs over $6 a gallon.

The shape minimizes surface area to volume ratio in Utqiaġvik Less heat loss means lower heating bills Snow slides off naturally without shoveling

The streets of the town are a fascinating winterscape and notably, they are almost entirely unpaved. This isn't due to a lack of funds, but physics: black asphalt absorbs solar radiation (the albedo effect), which would transfer heat downward and melt the permafrost, causing the road to collapse into a muddy sinkhole. The gravel surface acts as an insulator, keeping the ground frozen and the road drivable.

Streets become snow canyons by February in Utqiaġvik The snow banks reach 15 feet on either side Pedestrians walk in the street - there are no sidewalks

Walking down these streets felt like being in a white-walled maze. If you got lost, you'd just follow the tire tracks.

Snow removal is a constant winter occupation in Utqiaġvik Bulldozers work 24/7 during storms The snow is dumped into the ocean or lagoon

Speaking of snow management, the local high school football team, the Barrow Whalers, has the most unique home field advantage in America. Because grass refuses to grow here, they installed a bright blue artificial turf field located just yards from the Arctic Ocean. Before the turf was installed in 2006, the team played on a field of gravel and flour (for yard lines), which explains why their tackle game was so aggressive - no one wanted to be the guy hitting the rocks.

The endless winter of Utqiaġvik greets us with streets that look more like arctic canyons. Everything is simplified here: colors, sounds, even the concept of time.

This was our last look at the town before heading back to the hotel. We had crammed a lifetime of cold into a few hours.

The town feels like a frontier settlement clinging to existence in Utqiaġvik. Every building here has survived storms that would flatten structures elsewhere.

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Dec 29, 2020 4:30 PM Yukon time

WHALE MEAT: AN IÑUPIAT WELCOME

Back at our hotel, we experienced a moment of genuine Arctic hospitality. A local Iñupiat gentleman working at the Alaskan Airlines airport gave us a gift that felt both ancient and profoundly generous: whale meat served on a plate with salt.

Vagabond Tip: When offered whale meat, always accept with both hands and say "Quyanaq" (Thank you). It's a sign of deep respect. If you're squeamish, at least try the cooked maktak – it's chewy but rich, like beef jerky that swam the Atlantic. Don't ask for soy sauce; you'll get a look that could freeze boiling water.

In Utqiaġvik, sharing food isn't just politeness - it's survival encoded into culture. The meat arrived in three distinct presentations, arranged clockwise from the bottom: raw bowhead whale meat, raw beluga whale meat and cooked bowhead whale meat. Each piece told a story of the sea, the hunt and a people's relationship with it.

"The whale gives itself to the community. The sharing of its body, from the captain's share to every crew member's family, reaffirms the bonds that hold us together through the dark winter. It is not just food; it is social contract, history and identity on a plate."

The black and white strips were maktak - bowhead whale skin with its underlying blubber, typically harvested from the fins and tail. This isn't just any cut. In the precise social calculus of a traditional whaling crew, these prized pieces are reserved for the umialik, the boat captain who bears ultimate responsibility. The distribution follows a strict protocol documented in anthropologist John Bockstoce's field notes from the 1970s, where each crew member's role - from harpooner to the person who first sights the whale - determines their share, a system ensuring both reward and equitable distribution in a place where nothing can be wasted.

The ceremonial presentation of whale meat, a gesture of deep cultural welcome in Utqiaġvik. Each piece represents a specific part of the hunt and the animal's anatomy.

That rubbery whale skin isn't just a delicacy; it was the original scurvy-fighter. Muktuk (whale skin and blubber) is surprisingly packed with Vitamin C - comparable to citrus fruits. For centuries, British sailors died of scurvy while exploring the Arctic with holds full of salted beef, while the Iñupiat thrived right next door by eating the raw skin of the bowhead whale.

The texture and color differences between raw maktak and cooked meat are striking in Utqiaġvik. This is cuisine that predates refrigeration by thousands of years.

We learned later that bowhead whales here can live over 200 years, meaning some of the animals harvested contain historical biomolecules from the Napoleonic Wars era. The Iñupiat have legally harvested bowheads under the Alaska Native Whaling Commission quota, a right protected since the 1972 Marine Mammal Protection Act, with each community's take meticulously recorded in federal ledgers. The taste? Imagine the richest beef you've ever had, then add a profound oceanic minerality and a texture that demands respect. Eating it felt less like consumption and more like participation.

A complete tasting of Arctic protein, served with a sprinkle of salt in Utqiaġvik. The salt adds a strangely democratic touch to an ancient ritual.

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Dec 30, 2020 8:30 PM Yukon time

IGLOO: THE SNOW HOUSE SCIENCE

We heard whispers that a local family had built an igloo near a gas station. Our cab driver, surprisingly, hadn't heard of it. At the gas station, we asked around. A wonderful woman in a pickup truck overheard us and, with the understated helpfulness that defines Alaska, simply said, "Follow me." She led us to this perfect, hemispheric snow house, an authentic igloo standing quietly in the twilight.

The igloo is real. Though modern Utqiaġvik live in American-style homes (on stilts), they do build igloos to keep their tradition alive, especially to teach their children how to build these marvels.

"The snow house is built of snow-blocks, arranged in a rising spiral and finished with a keystone at the top. The structure, when completed, is dome-shaped and the building of it is a fine art, requiring much skill and practice... The warmth of the occupants' bodies, together with a small oil lamp, suffices to raise the temperature to a comfortable degree, while the snow walls themselves are excellent non-conductors of cold."

Vagabond Tip: If you find a family igloo, never enter without permission. It's considered a home, not a tourist attraction. Leave a small token of appreciation if you take photos - a pack of gum or a few dollars for the kids goes a long way. And for heaven's sake, don't lean on the walls; you'll leave a permanent butt-shaped dent that will be the talk of the village.

This wasn't the cartoonish ice dome from children's books. A proper igloo is built from blocks of wind-hardened, aged snow (pukaangajuq), which has superior insulation properties over fresh powder. Different snow types are selected for specific structural roles - foundation blocks differ from dome blocks. The architecture is deceptively sophisticated, involving a rising spiral that culminates in a keystone, creating a structure strong enough to support a person standing on top.

The iconic dome shape, perfected over millennia for wind deflection and structural integrity in Utqiaġvik. This family-sized model is a masterpiece of transient architecture.

The builder had left a low entrance tunnel, which serves as a cold air sink, trapping warmer air inside the main chamber - a simple yet brilliant passive climate control system. Larger communal igloos, sometimes triple this size, might include a roof hole for a seal-oil lamp chimney, a feature that immediately sparked a connection. It reminded us of the ger or yurt used by Mongolian nomads. Two distinct cultures, separated by a continent and an ocean, each developed round, portable, insulated dwellings to solve identical problems of extreme climate and mobility. One used snow, the other felted wool; both represent human ingenuity at its most pragmatic.

The view from within: the entrance tunnel acts as a windbreak and cold air trap in Utqiaġvik. World outside, quiet sanctuary inside - the original tiny home concept.

The interior wall revealed the construction artistry. Each block was meticulously carved and placed with beveled edges, creating a seamless, strong curve. The snow had a faint blue cast, filtering the dim arctic light into something serene and otherworldly.

The precision of the snow blocks is astonishing - each one cut and placed by hand in Utqiaġvik. This is architecture without a single nail, screw, or drop of glue.

We crawled inside. The silence was absolute. It was like being inside a giant, frozen seashell.

The joints are so tight you'd struggle to slide a knife between blocks in Utqiaġvik. Snow, when handled by an expert, becomes a legitimate building material.

The blue light inside an igloo isn't just pretty; it's science. Snow crystals act like tiny prisms, scattering sunlight and filtering out the red wavelengths. What's left is blue. This phenomenon is called 'Rayleigh scattering', the same thing that makes the sky blue.

From behind, the igloo's perfect geometry was even more apparent. The dome wasn't just a pile of snow - it was engineered. The rear profile showed how the blocks spiral inward, creating compression strength that distributes weight evenly. In a storm, winds would flow smoothly over the curve, while a square building would catch the wind and strain. The igloo is aerodynamically sound architecture.

The elegant, wind-slicing profile of the dome from the rear in Utqiaġvik. Nature's geometry harnessed for human shelter - form following extreme function.

We left the igloo with a new appreciation for "simple" survival technology. This snow house, built in an afternoon, could maintain an interior temperature 40°F warmer than outside with just body heat and a small lamp. The Britannica article is indeed a good start, but seeing it in situ, in Utqiaġvik where this knowledge has been passed down for a thousand winters, was humbling.

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Dec 31, 2020

HEADING HOME: SUNLIGHT AND SCREENLIGHT

The flight out of Utqiaġvik felt like re-entry into a different world. I watched "The Matrix Revolutions" for the umpteenth time as we hopped from Barrow to Anchorage to Fairbanks to Seattle to Washington, DC. The film's simulated reality seemed less far-fetched after a week in a place where reality itself is so starkly, beautifully minimal.

About halfway to Anchorage, a miracle occurred: sunlight streamed into the cabin. We saw the sun in the sky and actual liquid water below for the first time in a week. It was a visceral lesson in gratitude for things we never think to appreciate - the simple, persistent presence of a star, the unfrozen state of H₂O.

"Everything that has a beginning has an end."

The line resonated differently this time. Our brief Arctic beginning had reached its end. To close this chapter, we'll reference a remarkable artifact: the 1949 documentary "The Alaskan Eskimo" commissioned by the U.S. Office of Education. It captured Iñupiat life in Utqiaġvik and surrounding villages with a respect rare for its time. We hope to return someday to spend real time in one of the remote Iñupiat villages - perhaps Nuiqsut (AQT), Atqasuk (ATK), Umiat (UMT), or even Anaktuvuk Pass (AKP), the last remaining settlement of the Nunamiut inland caribou-hunting Iñupiat.

Our week in Utqiaġvik taught us more about resilience and adaptation than any guidebook could. The Arctic Circle isn't just a line on a map - it's a living classroom where ancient Iñupiat wisdom meets modern survival. From the whale bone arch standing guard over the polar night to the $9 eggs that represent triumph over geography, every aspect of life here tells a story. If you ever get the chance to visit this northernmost settlement during the polar night, bring every layer you own, embrace the darkness and listen - the ice has stories to tell that you won't find anywhere else on Earth.

MISSED OPPORTUNITIES: THE LIST THAT HAUNTS US

Before arriving, I'd emailed the general manager of the popular Top of the World Hotel (closed for the pandemic). A wonderfully detailed reply arrived within hours - Alaskans really are built different when it comes to hospitality. We left the day after receiving it, so these gems remain on our "next time" list, mostly quoted from that email:

MORE READING: DIVE DEEPER THAN THE ARCTIC OCEAN

The end.