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For Anyone Remotely Interested, Atka Is About As Remote As You Can Get

By Eael Morgan

ATKA Alaska—This tiny village in the Aleutian Islands is one of the most satisfactorily remote spots in the whole United States. It'sa major achievement to get here, challenge to make your way out again, and while you're visiting Atka you're almost guaranteed that no one can reach you to bother you.

A settlement of 87 Russian‐Aleuts, the village has no zip code, no post office, no functioning dock, no airstrip, no scheduled transportation. Its only communication with the outside world is fickle 50‐watt radio transmitter that cannot be used for personal calls and an old‐Navy vessel that is dispatched from Adak Navy Base, 120 miles away, once a month, provided weather and military commitments permit.

The reason for Atka's isolation is sheer neglect. There are fewer than 3,000 natives in the whole of the Aleutians, 1,100‐mile‐long chain of 144 islands, and nobody—the Government, the promoters of civilization or travel agents—pays them any mind. The village of Atka, situated on the island of Atka, enjoys supreme neglect by virtue of being the westernmost, and thus farthest removed, civilian settlement in the chain. Its residents survive by working off‐island part of the year and by subsistence hunting when they return with their modest savings. Theirs is a hard life. Since most of the community has no electricity, there is no refrigeration, and constant hunting is required to keep the village stocked with fresh meat. But Atka is like one large, closely knit family, and few who have lived here care to leave it for long.

Says Dan Prokopeuff, a barrel‐chested Atka fisherman; “When I came back to Atka after World War II, my buddy said, Why are you going to the Aleutians? They say even the sea gulls are leaving there. I told him I was going because it's peaceful and quiet.”

Peaceful and quiet it may be to some, but the “United States Coast Pilot,” series of volumes containing sailing directions, says the Aleutians have the worst weather in the world. Another publication, “Pacific Island Book,” says, “The islands generally are bare, bleak and rocky. Many of their summits are volcanic ... [and] most of the year are wrapped in mists and fog.”

Yet there is much about Atka that is beautiful. The island, 200 miles in circumference, appears to be upholstered in soft green suede. In addition to the vegetation there are lazy volcanoes, misty hot springs, a hanging glacier, dozens of waterfalls, lakes and impressive rock formations, not to mention eagles, blue fox, sea otters, sea lions and a herd of 4,000 reindeer.

The village is cupped in sheltering green hills backed by rugged mountains. The houses are mostly of weathered board, like those of an old New England fishing village. Overseeing all is a handsome white Russian Orthodox Church with emerald green onion domes and bright red roof.

Despite the weather, which is said to be the worst in the world, few of the 87 residents of Atka care to leave their peaceful and quiet island for long.

The Russians discovered the Aleutians in the mid‐1700's. Every island in the chain at that time was settled by fierce, proud Aleuts, a people of Eskimo stock marvelously adapted to the world's worst weather, going without heated homes and often without footgear through gales and snow. But their bonetipped spears proved no match for the guns of the Russian fur traders, the Promyshleniki, who cared only for the rich coat of the sea otter.

In the early days a single voyage to the Aleutians could make its Russian promoter rich; carelessly the Promyshleniki slaughtered the furbearers, plundered the Aleuts and killed those who resisted. Entire island populations were wiped out, and sometimes the invaders killed simply to pass the time. One Ruse sian commander wondered how many men a musket ball could pass through; he lined up 12 Aleuts and reported that the shot stopped at the ninth man. In another village, by their own written account, hunters killed all the men and old women, sparing only the young “to serve them.” Then they kidnapped the young women for their homeward voyage, dropping them overboard when they sighted Russia.

By the time the Russians sold Alaska to the United States in 1867, the Aleut population had dwindled from an estimated total of 25,000 to 2,000. The sea animals on which the Aleuts depended for food, clothing and skinboats had been depopulated on about the same scale, and sickness and starvation were a way of life. In addition, the Russians had almost obliterated the culture, traditions and even tribal memories of the Aleuts. To replace them they left the Russian Orthodox Church and a written Aleut language.

During World War II the Navy evacuated Atka and burned it to deny it to the Japanese, who invaded the Aleutians in 1942 and occupied three of the islands—Kiska, Attu and Agattu. The following year American forces expelled the Japanese, and the Aleutians re mained unthreatened for the rest of the war.

After the war, Tea Banks 2d, an American anthropologist, moved in with the Atkans and predicted their demise. “It is a picture that is all too familiar to anthropologists,” he wrote in “Birthplace of the Winds.” “A once hardy populous group; admirably adapted physically and culturally to the rigorous environment — now impoverished, diseased and spiritually weakened, their numbers alarmingly reduced and their former culture all but destroyed. ... The Aleut seems likely to follow the Dorset Eskimos to extinction before our very eyes.”

Says Nadesta Golley, village secretary and mother of a lively teen‐ager, “He told us that, too. But we're still going strong!” As a matter of fact, the Atkans are living a little better than they used to Game is plentiful again, and while there are no government or private programs to provide jobs, secondary schooling and a better standard of living for the village, at least there's nobody around any more to bother the Aleuts.

In consequence, the Atkans are finding a new joy in their cultural heritage. They have managed to retain their Eskimo‐related Aleut language in the purest form known. Once banned by American educators, it's now taught in their own Aleut grammar school. It's a beautiful language, so soft it is almost impossible to shout in it. The word for “wind” is like the sound of wind: “sla‐hooo.” And, “help” is “kee‐doo‐ten.” There is a definite, lack of negative thinking in Aleut, and one of the teachers in the grammar school even insists there is no word for “no” in the language.

The Atkans are also preserving the art of basket weaving. The village grandmothers, traditionally fine weavers, are passing the art along to their granddaughters. The mothers, of the displaced war generation in between, had no grass to work with and so had lost the skill. In addition, fathers are teaching their sons to be hunters and expert boat handlers, which have always been the marks of a good Aleut man. And on top of that, much that was Russian remains intact. Family names, for one thing: Snigaroff, Nevzeroff, Golodoff. And cooking: a two‐crusted salmon pie called peruga, crispy fried bread, called aladika, and Russian Easter bread. And the church. ...

When the Russian church bell rings, every Atkan musters. Actually it's not church bell but a fire extinguisher, which a young Aleut whacks with crowbar, a clever substitute necessitated by the fact that the Atkans have not been able to afford a new church bell since the Navy burned the village. But the villagers' faith is still strong.

For all the tradition, Atkans are also very much into the 20th century. Last year six Atka parents passed their high school equivalency tests, and most of the younger people are fluent in both English and Aleut. Movies (old but reasonably sophisticated) are shown weekly, and the island has a large library.

This combination of cultures makes Atka an interesting place to grow up in, Youngsters bicycle and roller skate on the board sidewalks, slide down the grassy hills on scraps of cardboard or metal, make pets of sea gulls and seals, go berry picking, run free in the hills or spear migrating salmon with hooks or hunting knives tied to sticks. The older children go camping and hunting with the adults, and most Atka boys have bagged their first reindeer by the time they reach their teens. Later they are forced to go off‐island to attend high school, but a good majority return because, like Dan Prokopeuff, they like the Aleut life and find the island peaceful.

As for visitors, they're welcome if they're polite, but the village can accommodate only a few at a time. Usually visitors are offered the spacious home of the Russian Orthodox priest, since he is in residence only about one month a year. The house, like the church, is white with a red roof. The interior is painted an airy green with white trim and red floors and is modestly well furnished, with Russian icons guarding each room. The house is wired for electricity, but it takes a clanking generator and an endless supply of fuel to produce the current. There is plumbing, a kitchen sink and a huge, deep bathtub.

Rent is reasonable and so are the Atkans. If a visitor enjoys island life, they enjoy the visitor and are generous about including him on picnics and even hunting trips if he is a good marksman or there is room for deadweight in the boat. And if it's just peace and quiet a guest is seeking, a chance to enjoy the solitude of nature in the beautiful Atka hills, that can be arranged, too, because solitude is close to the hearts of the Aleuts. They've been isolated so long they've come to enjoy it. There are times, they believe, when it's good to be left alone.

If You Go ...

... to Atka, the only way to get there is through the Adak Naval Base, and military clearance is required. Would‐be visitors can write directly to the Base Commander, U.S. Naval Station, FPO Seattle 98791, or make arrangements through Reeve Aleutian Airways, which flies from Anchorage to Adak six times weekly and charges $346 for a round trip. The 12‐hour boat trip from Adak to Atka is usually free but uncomfortable, especially in the rough winter weather. Sometimes the vessel anchors two or three days at Atka, giving a visitor a good chance to tour. Sometimes it stops only a few hours and tourists must decide between a quick tour or stopping over a month or two until the next boat puts in.

Atkans are hopeful of instituting better communication and transportation systems when they come into funds stemming from Federal settlement of the Alaska native land claims suit, but such projects will require time as well as money.

To make arrangements for village housing, letters should be addressed to the Village Secretary, Atka, Box 99, Naval Station Adak, c/o FPO Seattle 98791. Since there is mail delivery only once a month the answer will be long in coming, but it might be worth the wait.—L.M.

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