Two Old Women: An Alaska Legend of Betrayal, Courage and Survival (6 page)

Days shortened as the sun sank deeper under the horizon. It grew so cold there were times when the women jumped as the trees around them cracked loudly from the cold pressure. Even the willows snapped. But as the women settled down they also became depressed. They feared the savage wolves that howled in the distance. Other imagined fears tormented them as well, for there was plenty of time to think as the dark days drifted slowly by. In what daylight they had, the two women forced themselves to move. They spent all their waking hours collecting firewood from underneath the deep snow. Though food was scarce, warmth was their main concern, and at night they would sit and talk, trying to keep each other from the loneliness and fears that threatened to overcome them. The People rarely spent precious time in idle conversation. When they did speak, it was to communicate rather than to socialize. But these women made an exception during the long evenings. They talked. And a sense of mutual respect developed as each learned of the other’s past hardships.

Many days went by before the women caught more rabbits. It had been some time since they had eaten a full meal. They managed to preserve their energy by boiling spruce boughs to serve as a minty tea, but it made the stomach sour. Knowing it was dangerous to eat anything solid after such a diet, the two women first boiled the rabbit meat to make a nourishing broth, which they drank slowly. After a day of drinking the broth, the women cautiously ate one ham off a rabbit. As the days passed, they allowed themselves more
portions, and soon their energy was restored.

With wood piled high around the shelter like a barricade, the women found that they had more time to forage for food. The hunting skills they learned in their youth reemerged, and each day the women would walk farther from the shelter to set their rabbit snares and to keep an eye out for any other animals small enough to kill. One of the rules they had been taught was that if you set snares for animals you must check them regularly. Neglecting your snareline brought bad luck. So, despite the cold and their own physical discomforts, the two women checked their snares each day and usually found a rabbit to reward them.

At nightfall, when their daily chores were completed, the women wove the rabbit fur into blankets and clothing, such as mittens and face coverings. Sometimes, to break the monotony, one would present a woven rabbit-fur hat or mittens to the other. This always brought wide smiles.

As the days slowly passed, the weather lost its cold edge, and the women savored moments of glee—they had survived the winter! They regained what energy they had lost and now they kept busy collecting more firewood, checking the rabbit snares and scouting the vast area for other animals. Though the women had lost the habit of complaining, they grew tired of the daily fare of rabbit meat and found themselves dreaming of other game to eat, such as willow grouse, tree squirrels, and beaver meat.

One morning, as Ch’idzigyaak awoke, she felt something was not quite right. Her heart pumped rapidly as she slowly got up, fearing the worst, and peeked out of the shelter. At first, all seemed still. Then suddenly she spotted a flock
of willow grouse pecking at some tree debris that had fallen not far away. With trembling hands, she quietly got a long, thin strand of babiche out of her sewing bag and slowly crept out of the tent. Selecting a long stick from the nearby woodpile, she fashioned a noose at the end and began to crawl toward the flock.

Nervously, the birds started to cluck as they became aware of the woman’s presence. Knowing that the birds were about to take fight, Ch’idzigyaak stopped for a few minutes to give them time to calm down. They were not too far from her now, and she hoped that Sa’ would not awake and make a noise that would scare away the birds. With knees aching and hands slightly trembling, Ch’idzigyaak slowly pushed the stick forward. Some grouse excitedly flew away to another patch of willows nearby, but she steadfastly ignored them as she continued to lift the stick slowly as the remaining birds walked about faster. Ch’idzigyaak concentrated on the grouse closest to her. It made small movements toward the noose, its head nodding back to
front. As the birds started noisily to run and fly off, Ch’idzigyaak shoved the noose forward until the bird’s head slipped right into it. Then she jerked the stick upward as the bird squawked and twisted until it hung motionless. Standing up with the dead grouse in her hand, Ch’idzigyaak turned toward the tent to find her friend’s face wreathed in smiles. Ch’idzigyaak smiled back.

Looking into the air, Ch’idzigyaak took note of a warmth in the air. “The weather gets better,” Sa’ said softly and the older woman’s eyes widened in surprise. “I should have noticed. Had it been cold, I would have frozen in my position of a sneaky fox.” The women found
great laughter in this as they went back into the shelter to prepare the meat of a different season to come. After that morning, the weather fluctuated between bitter cold and then warm and snowy days. That the women did not catch another bird failed to dampen their spirits, for the days gradually grew longer, warmer, and brighter.

T
he routes on this map were taken from a regular map of the Yukon Flats area, with the help of my mother. The winter trails are not historically accurate in detail but do show the general areas through which the Gwich’in people traveled for many years before the coming of the Western culture.

Many winter and summer paths were used by the Gwich’in people but through the years, these trails either have been forgotten or changed by younger generations seeking shortcuts, or by natural events.

S
oon winter was gone and the two old women spent more time hunting game. They feasted on the feisty little squirrels that bolted from tree to tree and on the flocks of willow grouse that seemed to be everywhere.

With the warm days of spring came the time for muskrat hunting. The women long ago had been tutored in the skills and patience required. First, special nets and traps had to be made. A willow branch was bent into a circle and bound securely at the ends. The women wove thin strips of moose leather into the frames until each formed a crude but sturdy net. Then, on a
sunny day, they set out in search of a muskrat tunnel.

They walked a long way before they came to a cluster of lakes with signs of muskrat life. They picked out a lake with little black lumps of muskrat houses still showing on the rotting ice. After locating the muskrat tunnel, the women marked each end of the underground pathway with a stick. When the stick moved, it meant a muskrat was coming through the tunnel and when it emerged from the opening, one of the women would snatch it with her net and end its life with a blow to the head. The first day, the women caught ten muskrats. But they were worn out by the stress of bending down and waiting, so the walk back to camp seemed long.

The spring days brought little time to talk or to reflect on the past as the women kept busy catching more muskrats and some beavers, all of which were smoke-dried for preservation. Their days were so full they hardly took time to eat, and at night they slept deeply. When they decided they had caught more than their share
of muskrat and beaver, they packed everything and hauled it back to their main camp.

Still, the women felt vulnerable. The area was rich in animal life now, and they felt in time other people might come. Normally, other people meant their own kind. But since being left behind on that cold winter day, the women felt defenseless against the younger generation and had lost trust that they knew they never could regain. Now, suspicion left them wary of what might happen if anyone were to come upon them and find their growing store of food. They talked about what they should do, and in time they agreed they should move to a place less desirable—a place other people would not wish to explore, perhaps a place where it would be hard to manage the mighty swarms of summer insects.

The women did not relish having to face the many blood-thirsty mosquitoes that awaited them in the thick willow bushes and trees. But their fear of people was greater. So they packed all they had and began the unpleasant trek to the hiding place. They decided to work in the heat of the day when mosquitoes seemed to hide. At night, they sat near a smoky fire to protect themselves. It took days to transfer the camp, but at last, the women stood by the creek and took one last look around, wishing a wind would blow away any hints of their presence.

Before deciding to move, the women had torn large amounts of birch bark from the trees. Now they recognized their mistake. Although by habit they took pieces of bark from trees spaced far apart, the women knew that any alert
eye would take notice of this detail. But they also knew that nothing could be done about it, and in resignation they left the camp for their less desirable place within the thickets.

The two women spent the remaining days of spring trying to make their new camp more hospitable. They put up their shelters under the deep shade of tall spruce trees and hidden among many willows. Then they found a cool spot where they dug a deep hole that they lined with willows. There, they laid their large cache of dried meat for the summer. They also placed a few traps atop the ground to scare off any sharpnosed predators. The mosquitoes were everywhere, and as they worked, the women relied on long-used methods of shielding themselves to keep from being eaten alive. They hung leather tassles around their faces and their thick clothing to keep the small insects from biting into their skin. When it seemed as if they would be carried away, the women covered their skin with muskrat grease to repel the masses of flying pests. Meanwhile, they charted a small hidden path to the creek where they got their water and, with summer nearly upon them, made their fish traps. Once the traps were set, the women had no trouble catching fish and found they had to move nearer to the creek to keep up with the task of cutting and drying. In time, a bear began helping himself to the fish the women had stored. This worried them, but in time they reached an unusual agreement with the bear. They carried the fish guts far from the camp where the greedy bear could laze about and eat at his leisure.