50 Years in Alaska by Carl Lomen

Introduction by Elaine Hepner

A couple years ago we were browsing in a bookstore in Snohomish, Washington. My eyes nearly "popped out of my head." There, on the shelf was Fifty Years in Alaska by Carl Lomen. The book was long out of print, and very popular in the Northwest. My mother, Ellen Balto Stenberg, reminded me years before, "If you ever see that book, buy it. It is the best book I have ever read about Alaska."

I thought Árran readers would be interested in these stories and I would like to share highlights from this very special book. This introduction is for those not familiar with it.

From the forward by Rear Admiral Richard E. Byrd, USN: "As a boy of 19, Carl Lomen went with his father on a summer 'vacation' to Nome, where the gold rush was in full swing. Before long, the whole Lomen family had moved from Minnesota to Alaska. The resource of greatest interest was the reindeer. They saw a future for Alaska and the Eskimo people, and to this unique enterprise they gave their utmost in energy, vision, and backing. Carl Lomen's family have long been prominent in the business affairs of the Pacific N.W. and Canada.

From the author, Carl Lomen: "Perhaps I was destined to spend nearly a half-century with reindeer in Alaska. In 1900, when I first heard of this gentle animal, my interest was aroused. Maybe it was in my blood, as both my parents were Norwegian. My father was Judge G.J. Lomen and had the spirit of adventure in him. In 1923 he received the Order of St. Olaf from King Haakon of Norway in recognition of his assistance to Capt. Roald Amundsen in his polar expedition. We sincerley believed that we were helping in the building of a new industry, one which would prove valuable to Alaska and also contribute to the economy of the U.S."

From my mother, writing about the author's sister: "Helen Lomen was my Sunday School teacher and I loved her. Helen gave me some lovely dresses. One of them was a beautiful blue, trimmed with black velvet, and I am sure it was just as beautiful as 'Alice's blue gown.'"

According to my mother, the Lomens immersed themselves in civic affairs in Nome, and had much to do with the gala festivities, especially Christmas. I noted in reading the book that Carl Lomen referred to the Sami as his friends. In one place he made reference to mom's uncle as "My old friend, Samuel Balto."

In closing, Carl Lomen writes, "...a domestic animal that can live without shelter in the Arctic the year round and feed itself, that lives free of disease and furnishes fine meat and beautiful skin to make the warmest garments ever developed for arctic wear. For our part we are deeply thankful to have had the opportunity to add a few chapters to the history of that magnificent animal and good friend of man - the reindeer."

Selected Excerpts

The mining season was over, winter set in, and I spent much of my time - when you're young you have an eternity - getting acquainted with the Lapps who had come over the expedition from Norway in 1898. They impressed me with their intelligence and friendliness. I met the Nilimas, Baltos, Hattas, Nillukas, Vests, Kjelsbergs, Boynos, Klemetsens, Bahrs, Bals and Bangos, to name a few. Every time I visited with these expert deer men my interest in reindeer grew stronger.

Under Dr. Jackson the Reindeer Service developed an apprenticeship system whereby young, progressive Eskimos were engaged to tend the reindeer under Lapp instruction. In addition to his maintenance, each young man was given a few animals every year. At the end of the five-year apprenticeship period he was graduated to ownership, with some forty head of reindeer; and as an owner he could, if necessary, employ an apprentice himself.

The Lapps, under their contract with the Government, had the right to request a loan of 100 head of reindeer, usually 75 females and 25 bulls. They would hold them for a period of three to five years, and then return a like number and kind to the Government, retaining the increase.

The Norwegian Lapps did not as yet know the extent of their rights as prospective citizens of the United States. Consequently, they were being bulldozed unmercifully by the political gang of pirates formed for the specific purpose of looting the gold fields. There was one thing the looters did not bargain for. This was the willingness of the original discoverers to spend their hard-earned money to fight for their rights. But since Judge Noyes himself was actually one of the "gang," it was an uphill struggle.

During 1900 a plan was made to attempt to secure a shipment of the superior "tunguse" reindeer from the neighborhood of the Okhotsk Sea, to improve the present Alaska stock, which were a small type of animal. Lieutenant E.P Berholf of the United States Marine Service was detailed by the Secretary of the Treasury to proceed to St. Petersburg, Russia, to clear with the Imperial Government the purchase of reindeer and then proceed on the long trip across Siberia to the Okhotsk. After weary weeks of strenuous travel Lieutenant Bertholf had lengthy negotiations with the Tunguse deer men. Finally, he loaded several hundred reindeer on board a steamer at Ola and transported them to Port Clarence Bay, where, in the spring of 1901, 254 were landed.

At this time Alfred Nilima, one of the Lapps who accompanied the expedition from Norway, exercised his rights under the contract he held with our Government and request a loan of 100 deer. The selection had to be made from the animals of Port Clarence Station, and the only available deer there were the newcomers from the Okhotsk, a thin long-legged group of deer in poor physical condition because of the rough trip from Ola.

Nilima was dubious. Would these sorry animals prove difficult to herd? Would they be good meat animals? There was no choice, so Nilima's hundred head, together with another hundred loaned to the Friends' Mission, were driven to Kotzebue, 200 miles to the north and east, and arrived at their new home in December 1901. During succeeding years these Tunguse reindeer developed into the finest stock in all Alaska, and it became a Lapp's or Eskimo's proud boast to claim Tunguse blood in his driving deer.

In 1902 the last importation of reindeer from Siberia took place, When Dr. William Hamilton, Assistant Agent of Education in Alaska and later Assistant Commissioner of the Federal Bureau of Education, assisted by Captain Francis Tuttle of the Bear, secured thirty head of reindeer from the vicinity of Cape Ilpinski at the entrance to Baron Korf Bay. The Russians thereupon withdrew all permits for the exportation of reindeer from their domain.

The withdrawal of the permits would have been tragic had it occurred a few years earlier. Fortunately the original 1,280 imported, together with an increase of 1,654 fawns in 1902, and 2,214 born in previous years--were sufficient to form a sizeable nucleus for the new industry.

The venturesome, versatile, and friendly Lapps proved a valuable addition to the population of Alaska. They were facile linguists and had a good working knowledge of four languages: their own Lappish, Finnish, Norwegian, and Swedish. It did not take them long to add both English and Eskimo to their vocabulary.

The Lapps say that a house smothers a man once he has the smell, look, and feel of the tundra country in his blood. To them a house is close and shut in and full of little smells that are alien to their sensitive nostrils. They say a man with a roof over his head and four walls shutting him in cannot see the sky or feel the wind or even know the time of night by looking overhead. Herders of reindeer for countless generations, cradled in the snow and suckled on reindeer milk. They love the out of doors, nomadic by instinct, they are the perfect people for the work they love, far surpassing the Eskimo in the affection they have for the reindeer.

Andrew Bahr had been born among the reindeer in Norway. He had no peer among the deer men of Alaska in so far as an understanding of the animal was concerned. He felt that he understood the "language" of the reindeer, and that the animals understood him. Sometimes I was almost forced to believe that he did "savvy" their talk, since he could accomplish more with the animals than anyone else I ever knew.

The reindeer do indeed seem to talk to each other, their call being a peculiar grunt or bar, sounding something like "hrr." This call is continually audible in a large herd as the fawns call their mothers and vice versa. It is also heard when the buck is calling or "belling" the does. The male reindeer is polygamous and during the rutting season he gathers his harem. This is the time of love and hate. The bucks fight many duels over the does, sometimes to the death. At that season the clatter of horns is continually heard. The antlers of the battling deer occasionally become interlocked in such a fashion that the animals cannot separate themselves. If human help does not arrive, they both starve. Andrew Bahr always seemed to be able to pacify his reindeer herd, even in the rutting season, far better than the other herders.

"Sometime when I am driving a deer," he said to me one day, "it becomes frightened. I walk up to it, place my arm around its neck and, pointing to the willows, say, 'There is no bear over there.'

"'Yes,' answers the reindeer, 'there is a bear over there.'

"No,' I repeat, 'there is no bear over there, and when I am with you, you don't have to be afraid, for I will take care of you.'"

I recall his telling me once, some years later, that he was "just as big a man as President Coolidge." I asked him how he figured that out, and he said, "Mr. Coolidge has a job and does it well; I have a job and I do it well; both the same."

Another Lapp for whom I had great admiration was Johan Petter Johansen Stalogargo, a mouthful of a name, to be sure. Before coming to Alaska from Norway he had the distinction of being the most northerly mail carrier in the world, having for eight years carried the mail from Bosekop to North Cape, Norway, a distance of more than 100 miles. He covered most of this distance on foot. When he left for Alaska the Norwegian Government discontinued the route, as no one else could be found to carry the mail over such difficult terrain.

During 1900 a number of mail contracts were let by the United States Government for western Alaska, and mails were carried by reindeer. One of the routes - St. Michael-Eaton-Golovin-Kotzebue - required three round trips a year. Stalogargo was employed as carrier and successfully negotiated these trips, 1,240 miles each, with reindeer and through a wilderness without roads or trails of any kind. On another route, Eaton to Nome, round 480 miles, Nils Klementsen, also a Lapp, negotiated the four trips in from eleven and a half to fourteen days each. The efficiency of the reindeer for transportation and the expertness of the Lapp drivers are graphically shown by these examples of reliability and endurance.

Visiting with Stalogargo one afternoon in our office, I suggested he should not travel alone on such hazardous trips during the winter season. I pointed out that an accident that would be of no particular consequence if he had a companion along might prove fatal if he were alone. Stalogargo threw back his head and roared with laughter at my cautious attitude. I realized that, to him, my advice was most amusing. Nevertheless, a short time later, on a mail run from Nome to Candle, by way of Teller, Cape Prince of Wales, Shishmaref, and Deering , the fearless mailman lost his life.

The tracks in the snow told the story. He had picketed his reindeer, pitched his shelter tent, and started a fire to warm up a mess of beans. Then he had evidently gone to look for his fur mittens - later found near the reindeer - and lost his bearings in the blinding storm. His body was found more than twenty-five miles from his camp, face down, his hands tucked up under his armpits as he stoically awaited inevitable death.

Most of the members of the Manitoba Expedition

The Lapps, too, were always prepared to look out for their own interests. When we were getting ready for the great drive of deer to Canada, we discussed many phases of the trip with Andrew Bahr and his Lapp lieutenants. Every one of these men was an experienced reindeer man. In the States we had obtained the finest trained sheep dogs we could get from one of the great sheep men of the western states. The Lapp, Ivar West, requested that he be permitted to take his own reindeer dog on the drive with him, so we gladly consented.

Ivar remained with the drive a year and a half, returning when the herd had traveled less than half the way. Final settlement of his wages was made at our office in Nome, where he received more money than he had ever had at one time before. Alfred, who paid him off, expected to see Ivar wearing a big smile but instead he was sullen.

"What is it, Ivar?" Alfred inquired. "Anything wrong?"
"I think I should have some rent for my dog."
"How much rent would you consider fair?"
"Maybe fifty cents a day."
"How long was the dog on the drive?"
"Eighteen months."
"Does your dog eat?"
"Oh, yes!"
"Whose food did your dog eat during the year and a half?"
"Your food."
"Well, Ivar, we will not charge any rent for the food your dog ate, and you will not charge any rent for the dog."
"All right!" And Ivar went away perfectly happy and content.

Although these Eskimo and Lapps were not highly educated people, they were most exact logicians, nevertheless.

Perhaps the earliest reference made to reindeer is the Cervus, mentioned by Julius Caesar, in which "males and females have antlers." Tacitus (A.D. 55-120), and Procopius (fifth-century Byzantine historian) refer to the Finns (Lapps) of Thule (Norway) as "hunters, who dress themselves in skins, fastened together with the sinews of beasts, that cover their whole bodies." Paulus Warnefridi, a Langobard author of the eighth century, writing of the Finns (our modern Lapps), says: "Among them is an animal which is not much unlike a stag. I have seen a dress made of the hide of this animal bristling with hairs. It was made like a tunic and reached to the knees."

...The first historical record of the domestication of reindeer among any people is, according to Berthald Laufer, to be found in the Chinese annals of the Liang dynasty. Laufer tells us, in a monograph published in the Memoirs of the American Anthropological Association: "In A.D. 449, the Buddhist monk Huei Shen returned to King-Chow, the capital of the Liang, and gave a fabulous account of the mythical country of Fuy-Sang, far off in the Northeastern ocean. As to means of conveyance, he reported, "the people there have vehicles drawn by horses, oxen and stags. They raise deer in the manner that oxen are raised in China, and make cream from their milk."

The allusion to domesticated reindeer is unmistakable. Laufer concludes that Huei Shen's account of the reindeer in connection with horses and cattle has doubtless hailed from the Baikal region, where, alone, the breeding of all these animals, in combination, occurs, particularly among the present Soyot.

Laufer also calls attention to the annals of the T'ang dyansty (618-906) containing mention of a reindeer breeding tribe, the Wu-huan, then settled in a region east or southeast of Lake Baikal: "In their country there are trees, but grass is lacking, while there is plenty of moss. The inhabitants have neither sheep nor horses, but keep reindeer in the manner of horses or cattle. They are trained to draw sledges. Reindeer skins, moreover, are utilized as material for clothing."

One of Lapland's immortals was Johan Turi, author and sage. Writing of the reindeer, he said: "The reindeer were created before man, and man was created simply to look after them and follow them wherever they go, and support himself by them. In his own estimation, man is much wiser than the reindeer; but in spite of that he must trudge along behind the reindeer wherever they go. It is quite reasonable that the reindeer ought to do what man thinks; but man has not the sense to do it in just the way the reindeer thinks. Man assumes he is looking after the reindeer, whereas the reindeer probably thinks he is looking after men."

Once our field superintendent, Dan Crowley, happened to be covering the Teller range during the fawning season. He came upon a very young fawn that seemed lost from its mother. A quarter of a mile away he could see a number of deer, so he tried to "shoo" the fawn in their direction. The little thing would run a short distance, then circle back to the spot where it was found. Realizing that the little one could not be driven. Dan walked to the adult deer and drove them back to the fawn.

When they were still some distance from the youngster, a female deer separated herself from the rest of the herd and ran to the fawn. For a moment she nuzzled it, then struck it a severe blow, knocking it flat on the snow. Dan ran toward the mother, angrily calling her a brute. But the fawn picked itself up, and fawn and mother trotted peacefully back to the rest of the herd.

What had happened was that the mother had left her youngster in a sheltered place to rest and it was supposed to stay there until she returned for it. The mother carefully trains the youngster to remain still while she is gone, in order to avoid the danger of an attack by some predatory animal. Unwittingly Dan had caused the fawn to be punished, by forcing it to move when Mama wanted it to stay quiet.

After we had acquired several herds, in 1918, we tried to improve the living conditions of both Lapp and Eskimo. The year following the purchase of the Buckland herd, Alfred (the author's brother) made a trip to the north by dog team, to the winter quarters of the herd. The weather was extremely cold, 50 degrees below zero, and he was surprised to discover that the winter camp consisted of only a few canvas tents.

"Why don't you build some log cabins here?" he inquired of the natives. "They would certainly be more comfortable."

"We don't know how long we'll be here."

"How long has this location been your winter camp?"

"Oh" - a pause - "about eighteen years."

Arrangements were shortly made for logs to be cut on the upper Buckland River where there were good stands of spruce timber, for both cabins and corrals. Under the joint efforts of Lapp, Eskimo, and whites, sufficient logs were cut during the winter months. They were floated downstream following the spring breakup of the river, and a new Buckland village constructed at a more advantageous location, with the Eskimo occupying one bank and the Lapps and whites the other.

I often wondered which had the stranger habits, the Lapps or the Eskimo.

Andrew Bahr was a man of great self-confidence. It was not conceit, but rather a realization of his knowledge of conditions in the North country, of trail travel, care of the person, equipment, and clothing, and of the reindeer, gained during a lifetime, for Andrew was born at a reindeer herd in Lapland.

Once on a long winter trip to the Buckland village Andrew encountered a severe blizzard. He plodded on, at times leading his reindeer. On downgrades he rode the sled. Visibility was nil. After hours of travel he suddenly stopped. "I should be there right now," thought Andrew. Knowing that it was futile to proceed, since he had covered sufficient distance to have reached the village, he tied the deer to the side of his sled, crawled into his sleeping bag, and went to sleep. Some hours later he was awakened by the Buckland school bell. Andrew was in the village.

During another severe storm one of his Eskimo boys came to him and shouted, "We are lost!"

"Can you see me?" asked Andrew. "Yes," said the boy.

"Well, as long as you can see me, you are all the same as home."

The Kotzebue herd was brought in for marking one summer and was to be driven across a narrow neck of land onto Choris Peninsula. A score of more herders followed the animals, but the deer became frightened and continued to break back. Finally Andrew ordered the men to get out of sight of the herd. He decided to move the herd of more than 10,000 animals across the neck of land--alone. He carried a long stick in each hand. Advancing slowly and quietly, with his arms spread out, moving one stick and then the other toward some unruly animal, he went forward step by step until the leaders reached the point where the land widened. There they suddenly broke for the peninsula with the entire herd following. Such a man was Andrew Bahr.
Published in 1954 by David McKay Co., Inc., NY

I hope that other  readers who are descendants of the "Manitoba Expedition" will, as I did, get a "peek" into that time in Alaska that many of our parents, and grandparents never talked about, lest they give away the secret of their (our) identity.

Carl Lomen probably had no inkling that many years later, his stories of the everyday life of the Sami reindeer herders would make fascinating reading for their descendants. I think that Carl Lomen even made my mother appreciate her Sami heritage.
Elaine Hepner

Elaine Hepner is the daughter of Ellen Balto Stenberg. She has made numerous contributions to Árran.  Elaine lives in Oregon, and is a contact for the Northwest Siida. She may be reached at: