Alaska
Relocation of eroding Alaska Native village seen as a test case for other threatened communities • Alaska Beacon
The Yup’ik village of Newtok, perched precariously on thawing permafrost at the edge of the rapidly eroding Ninglick River, is the first Alaska community to begin a full-scale relocation made necessary by climate change.
Still, the progress of moving to a new village site that is significantly outpacing relocation efforts at other vulnerable Alaska communities, remains agonizingly slow, say those who are in the throes of the transformation.
“There is no blueprint on how to do this relocation,” said Carolyn George, one of those still living in Newtok. “We’re relocating the whole community to a whole different place, and we did not know how to do it. And it’s been taking too long — over 20 years, I think.”
George, who works at the Newtok school, was one of the self-described “Newtok mothers” who made comments at a panel discussion at the recent Arctic Encounter Symposium in Anchorage. The river waters, once at least a mile away, have edged closer and closer, and the village, once sitting high on the landscape, continues to sink as that permafrost thaws, she said.
Plans to move Newtok started to solidify in 2006 with the formation of the local-state-federal Newtok Planning Group, but that followed many years of debate and study that led to the decision to relocate. according to the Alaska Division of Community and Regional Affairs. The new site, about 9 miles away on the south side of the Ninglick River, is called Mertarvik, meaning “getting water from the spring.”
In 2019, the first Mertarvik residents settled into their new homes. As of now, more than half of the residents have moved to Mertarvik.
The latest count is 220 in Mertarvik and 129 still at Newtok, said Christina Waska, the relocation coordinator for the Newtok Village Tribal government.
The goal is to have everyone in Mertarvik by the fall, even if that means some people will be living in temporary housing, like construction work camps.
“Our ultimate goal is to not leave anyone behind,” she said.
With a single local government, a single Tribal government and unified services like mail delivery, Newtok and Mertarvik technically make up a single community. But often it does not feel that way.
George is among those coping with a sense of limbo.
Her five daughters and their father have moved to a new house in Mertarvik, but she remains in Newtok because of her job. That is a hardship, she said. “Being alone, I get anxiety, and I miss my girls, you know. Especially at night,” she said.
And the school where she works, and which is set to be demolished this summer, is in dire shape.
The four classrooms are heated by a small generator. There is no food cooked on-site for the kids. There is no plumbing – a situation that, for now, is being addressed with a “bathroom bus” that shuttles kids to their homes as needed.
Conditions are notably better at Mertarvik, said speakers at the conference.
Lisa Charles, another panel member, described the difficult conditions her family left behind in Newtok. The family was packed into a too-small, two-bedroom house with thawing permafrost below and mold growing inside. It took a toll on their physical well-being, she said.
But once the family settled in at Mertarvik, things improved, she said.
“After moving over to the new village site, we noticed all of our health improved, especially for my daughter that grew up with asthma,” Charles said. “After we moved over to our new home, she grew out of her asthma problem.”
There have been complications, like power outages affecting the school, attributed to demand that outstripped capacity.
Among the challenges is a timing mismatch. Waska and new Tribal administrator Calvin Tom started their jobs only recently, too late for them to place summer barge orders, and as a consequence, no building materials are expected to be barged in 2024 and no new houses will be built this summer in Mertarvik, Waska said.
There is still plenty of work to be done aside from construction, she said. And construction is seen as a process that will continue long after all residents are settled at Mertarvik, she added.
“It’ll never be done. If you look at every village, even Anchorage, Fairbanks, it’s always under construction,” she said.
While Newtok is the first Alaska village to relocate, others will follow.
Even two decades ago, 31 communities were identified as facing imminent threats that would make their locations potentially unlivable in the near future. Of those, nearly half were planning or considering some form of relocation.
Next after Newtok to relocate entirely may be Kivalina, an Inupiat village on the Chukchi Sea coast that is facing numerous climate stressors along with rapid erosion. The community now has a new evacuation road, completed in 2021, that can better enable movement to a new site.
But plans hit a snag after a study by the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers revealed that the originally chosen relocation site, called Kiniktuuraq, is also vulnerable to the same climate change stressors that are expected to make Kivalina uninhabitable in the relatively near future.
Napakiak, a Yup’ik village perched on a section of eroding land along the Kuskokwim River that is being quickly eaten away in large chunks, has also made progress. The community is now engaged in a partial relocation, a strategy known as “managed retreat.” Some families have already moved from vulnerable sites to safer ground upland, and there is state money available for a new school to replace the erosion-threatened building.
There is no single source of money to pay for relocation work, even for the Newtok-Mertarvik transformation, the most advanced of the projects.
The Newtok-Mertarvik move has been funded through various allocations over time. Among the recent infusions were $25 million through the Infrastructure Investment and Jobs Act and another $6.7 million from the Federal Emergency Management Agency. Napakiak received a similar $25 million grant through the infrastructure law and a $2.4 million infusion earlier this year from FEMA.
The combined costs of full and partial relocations for all the villages that need them are expected to be staggering.
Of 144 Alaska Native villages with damages from flooding, erosion, permafrost thaw or some combination of those impacts, costs for protecting infrastructure are expected to mount to $3.45 billion over the next 50 years, according to a 2020 report by the U.S. Bureau of Indian Affairs. An additional $833 million is needed to protect the hub communities of Utqiagvik, Nome, Bethel, Kotzebue, Dillingham and Unalaska, said the 2020 BIA report, which was produced in cooperation with the Denali Commission and other agencies.
The sources for the needed funding remain unclear, and bureaucratic hurdles are delaying progress toward necessary relocations, a recent report from the Alaska Native Tribal Health Consortium said.
There are fundamental obstacles in rural Alaska that make it extremely difficult for Alaska communities to work through the federal system, said Jackie
She cited an example during the Arctic Encounter Symposium forum. “Every federal agency requires you to have some type of reporting and in most of the cases you have to apply for the federal funding online. If you don’t have stable internet, how do you do that?” she said.
The ANTHC report recommends an overhaul to streamline a process that is a poor fit for remote Alaska villages.
In some ways, the Newtok-Mertarvik residents said, their split community has successfully overcome difficult challenges, making their relocation a possible example for other threatened communities in Alaska and elsewhere in the United States.
But those successes can also be bittersweet.
Relocation is absolutely necessary because the old village site is now an unhealthy place to live, Waska said. Nonetheless, she feels conflicted about abandoning the hometown she loves.
“Newtok is my home. It’s kind of sad. It kind of breaks my heart that Newtok is no longer going to be there,” she said.
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Alaska
Peltola challenges Sullivan in Alaska
Democrats are going after Alaska’s Senate race this year, and they’ve landed probably the only candidate that can make it competitive: Mary Peltola.
The former congresswoman on Monday jumped into the race against GOP Sen. Dan Sullivan, adding yet another hard-fought campaign to what Democrats hope is shaping up to be a wave year that could carry them in red states like Alaska.
Peltola certainly doesn’t sound like a typical Democratic candidate as she starts her bid: She’s proposing term limits, is campaigning on “fish, family and freedom,” and has already name-dropped former Republican officials in her state multiple times.
“Ted Stevens and Don Young ignored lower 48 partisanship to fight for things like public media and disaster relief because Alaska depends on them,” Peltola says in her launch video, referencing the former GOP senator and House member, respectively.
“DC people will be pissed that I’m focusing on their self-dealing, and sharing what I’ve seen firsthand. They’re going to complain that I’m proposing term limits. But it’s time,” she says.
Peltola is clearly appealing to the state’s ranked choice voting system and its unique electorate, which elevated moderate Sen. Lisa Murkowski, R-Alaska, over a candidate supported by President Donald Trump. The last Democrat to win an Alaska Senate race was Mark Begich in 2008, though Peltola won the state’s at-large seat twice — even defeating former Gov. Sarah Palin.
Sullivan defeated Begich in 2014, followed by independent Al Gross in 2020; Sullivan also recently voted to extend expired health care subsidies, a sign of the state’s independent streak.
Alaska
Wayne and Wanda: I love Alaska winters, but my wife has grown weary and wants to move
Wanda and Wayne,
My wife and I moved to Alaska four years ago for work and adventure, thinking we’d stay a couple of years and see how it felt. We fell hard for it almost immediately. But by our second winter, my wife started talking about how hard the cold and dark were on her, and every winter since that feeling has grown heavier.
This recent cold snap and snow dump really pushed things over the edge. She’s deeply unhappy right now, withdrawn, sad and openly talking about how depressing it feels to live here, especially being so far from family and old friends. She tries to manage it with running, yoga, the gym, but even those things she often does alone. She hasn’t really built a community here, partly because she’s introverted and partly because she sticks closely to her routines and her co-workers aren’t the very social. Meanwhile, I’ve found connections through work and the outdoors, especially skiing in the winter (cross country and touring, downhill, backcountry, all of it!), and Alaska still feels full of possibilities to me.
But now she’s done. She wants to move back “home” soon. She wants to start trying for kids within the next year and doesn’t feel like Alaska is the right place to raise a family. She worries about schools, politics, the economy and being so far from family support. We both have careers that could take us almost anywhere, as well as savings, and a house we could sell quickly, and many of the Alaska toys we could also sell. Logistically, it would be easy. Emotionally, I feel like I’m being told to leave after I just got settled.
There are places I still want to explore, trips I’ve been planning, seasons I want to experience differently now that we’re more established. I keep thinking: If we can just get through to summer, maybe she’ll feel better. But I don’t know if that’s hope or denial, and yeah, summer feels a long ways away and goes by pretty quickly. Honestly, now I’m starting to get bummed about the idea of leaving.
I love my wife and I don’t want her to be miserable. But I’m scared that if we leave now, I’ll resent her, and if we stay she’ll resent me. Is there a way to buy time without dragging this out painfully? Or is this one of those moments where love means choosing between two incompatible futures?
Wanda says:
If this was your first Cheechako winter here, or your second, I could write off your wife’s apprehension to culture shock or a sophomore slump. But this is year four, which means she’s endured winters of record snowfalls, weird snow shortfalls, terrible windstorms, bleak darkness and desolate below-zero temps. Sorry to say, but it’s likely there’s no number of laps at the Dome or downward dogs on the mat that will make her find the special beauty of an Alaska winter.
This place is tough. For every old-timer who jokes, “I came for two years and I’m still here,” there are plenty who maybe made it that long and bailed. While the state shines with possibilities, rugged beauty, unique traits and cool people, it’s also far from basically everything, pretty expensive and definitely extreme. Some people will thrive here. Some people won’t. No one’s better or worse, or wins or loses. Were you on your own, at a different point in life, you may have made your forever home here. But instead you pledged forever to your wife, and I’m afraid it’s time to start out on your next adventure — in the Lower 48.
Your wife gave this a real shot. She’s stayed four years. That’s four long — and for her, miserable — winters. It was also four seasons of no doubt incredible summers, full of fresh halibut and farmers markets and quirky festivals and blue skies at 11 p.m. If these special aspects of Alaska haven’t yet been enough to convince her the winters are worth it, they won’t ever be.
Wayne says:
Sure, your Alaska bucket list is still growing faster than you can check things off, but take it from a lifelong Alaskan: You’ll never do it all. People fall in love with this place in a million different ways. You and I? We believe there’s always another season of adventures ahead, another trail and another corner of the state to explore, and we’ll always feel some serious AK FOMO when we’re stuck at the office working while everyone else is ice skating on a perfect winter day or dipnetting during a hot salmon run.
Here’s the perspective shift you need. You love your wife. You’re committed to a happy life together. And by any reasonable measure, you’ve made the most of your four years here. So ask yourself this honestly: Is another spring of shredding pow in the Chugach more important than her mental health and your marriage? And why resent her for being ready for a new chapter after she showed up and gave Alaska a chance? When you frame it that way, “incompatible futures” sounds dramatic and “buying time” sounds selfish.
And Alaska isn’t going anywhere. You know that. It’s a flight or two away no matter where you end up Outside. Maintain your friendships, stay on the airline alerts, narrow your must-do list to the Alaska all-timers, and plan to come back regularly. And imagine this: years from now, bringing your kids here after years of telling them stories about the winters you survived and the mountains you climbed. That’s not losing Alaska, that’s carrying it with you wherever you go, along with your wife and your marriage.
[Wayne and Wanda: How can I support my partner’s hardcore New Year’s reset, even if it’s not for me?]
[Wayne and Wanda: I kissed my high school crush during a holiday trip home. Now I’m questioning everything]
[Wayne and Wanda: My girlfriend’s dog fostering has consumed her life and derailed our relationship]
[Wayne & Wanda: My husband has been having a secret, yearslong emotional affair]
Alaska
The Alarming Prices Of Groceries In Rural Alaska — And Why They’re So Expensive – Tasting Table
Many households across America have been struggling with their grocery bills due to inflation that hit the global markets after the COVID-19 pandemic, but for families in Alaska, especially in rural communities, the prices of basic goods have reached alarming heights. Alongside inflation, the main issue for the climbing prices is Alaska’s distance from the rest of the U.S., which influences the cost of transport that’s required to deliver the supplies.
Given that Alaska is a non-contiguous state, any trucks delivering grocery stock have to first cross Canada before reaching Alaska, which requires a very valuable resource: time. According to Alaska Beacon, “It takes around 40 hours of nonstop driving to cover the more than 2,200 highway miles from Seattle to Fairbanks” on the Alaska Highway. That’s why a fairly small percentage of the state’s food comes in on the road. For the most part, groceries are shipped in on barges and are then flown to more remote areas, since “82% of the state’s communities are not reachable by road,” per Alaska Beacon. As such, even takeout in Alaska is sometimes delivered by plane.
Planes, trucks, and boats all cost money, but they are also all vulnerable to extreme weather conditions, which are not uncommon in Alaska. Sometimes local stores are unable to restock basic staples like bread and milk for several weeks, so Alaskans struggle with high food insecurity.
How much do groceries cost in Alaska?
Groceries in Alaska cost significantly more than in the rest of the U.S., but even within the state itself, the prices vary based on remoteness. You’ll find that prices of the same items can double or even triple, depending on how inaccessible a certain area is. The New Republic reported that prices in Unalakleet, a remote village that’s only accessible by plane, can be up to 80% higher than in Anchorage, Alaska’s most populated city. For example, the outlet cited Campbell’s Tomato Soup costing $1.69 in Anchorage and $4.25 in Unalakleet. Even more staggering is the price of apple juice: $3.29 in the city, $10.65 in the village. Such prices might make our jaw drop, but they’re a daily reality for many Alaskans.
As one resident shared on TikTok, butter in his local store costs $8 per pound — almost twice the national average. Fresh produce is even more expensive, with bananas going for $3 a pound, approximately five times the national average. It’s therefore not surprising that most of the people who live in Alaska have learned to rely on nature to survive.
Subsistence living has great importance for many communities. They hunt their own meat, forage for plants, and nurture their deep cultural connection to sourdough. For rural Alaskans, living off the land is a deep philosophy that embraces connection with nature and hones the survival knowledge that’s passed down through generations — including how to make Alaska’s traditional akutaq ice cream.
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