Article archive / June 1, 2014
Originally published: . Volume 5, No. 10. Source pages: 1, 12, 13.
Dr. Yael Banai Goes Up, Up, and Away to the Alaskan Bush “What I Did on My Winter Vacation.”
[Editor’s Note: Dr. Banai has joined the Times’ staff and launches with this delightful travel and photo review of her year in Alaska, working in the schools.] I always knew that in post retirement, I would continue to do something, whether it be pursue my passion in photo- graphy or simply private practice/consulting. However, when my colleague Erin Powell did not show up for the Executive Council Meeting of Louisiana School Psycho- logical Association in the fall of 2012, and I was told she had taken a job in Alaska, I was intrigued by the possibility. As those who know me can attest, I have always had a taste for adventure. What could be more adventurous, I wondered, than a year's sojourn in a land known for it's spectacular landscapes and wide expanses? As a southern girl born and bred, the fact that I had never seen more than a temporary snowfall of more than three inches in my life did give me at least momentary pause; however, the lure of the unknown proved too strong and I was up for a new phase in my life. The organization that I worked for is the Southeast Regional Resource Center (SERRC) formed by the Alaska legislature to provide itinerant professional resources (occupational, physical, and speech therapists, and school psychologists) to the far-flung native communities in the Alaskan bush. The areas I served ranged from the Aleutian chain in the south, to the vacation spots of Cordova and Valdez on the coast, to Aniak and Dillingham in the interior. Although English is the official state language and is virtually universally spoken, the older generation does continue to speak their native tongue, whether Yu'pik, Athabascan, or any other of a myriad of local dialects. The local English is spoken in a lilting, almost lyrical tone.
In the bush, the school is usually the largest and most substantial building in the entire community, although often the total student population might be as low as 10 students. Given the remoteness of the location, the facilities bristle with technology: satellite dishes, a computer lab filled with Macintosh computers, and an iPad for each student. E- therapy is also popular with speech therapy frequently conducted via this means.
In places like Dutch Harbor (the location of the TV show “Deadliest Catch”), Cordova and Valdez, the population is typically of Scandanavian or Russian descent, the local occupations being either in the fishing or the oil industry. Hundreds of Philipino workers rotate in and out seasonally to work in the canneries. Elsewhere, the village populations are primarily native Alaskan, with a sprinkling of Caucasians.
He who would travel throughout Alaska does so by air, either in the 20-30 seat prop jets, or into the bush proper via 4-8 seater Cessnas. Alaska bush pilots are a cross between cowboys and New York cabbies: often colorful yet irascible fellows, excellent fliers, who fly in all but the worst weather. In my early journeys in the fall, I was invariably accompanied on these small planes by burly, bearded men in camo with a variety of hunting rifles who of course had come to hunt bear or moose.
However, there was one more mode of travel which is available only about 5 months of the year which is of course transversing the frozen rivers in an SUV. On one of my last trips to Aniak, we did indeed make the 40 mile journey on the “ice road” of the Kusquoquim River to Kalskag— interestingly divided since the 1940's into “Upper” and “Lower”, a division prompted by religious conflict between the Roman Catholic and the Russian Orthodox populations.
Insofar as school psychological services are concerned, we were primarily consumed with evaluations. In many of these communities, the special education population runs as high as 50% of the total. In terms of the Response to Intervention paradigm, the practice I encountered was virtually identical with what I found in Lafourche Parish after completing my doctoral work: high referral rates and all students received a standard battery of tests. Though RTI [Response to Intervention] is spoken of, and indeed, there are some districts in which a staff member is charged with implementation, Louisiana has a much more highly articulated and implemented system.
There is a story they tell in Gambell (in the Bering Straits) which is likely apocryphal, but telling nonetheless: that in the 20s a biplane landed with various trading goods along with a crate of bibles and a crate of liquor. The proof in this pudding is reflected in the abysmally high rate of Fetal Alcohol Syndrome (some estimates put it at 30% higher than in the lower forty- eight) and the equally appalling youth suicide rate.
In working with students, with rare exception, they virtually all desire to remain with their villages post school completion. Of course, “home is home” no matter how remote or forbidding the environment. Yet, the employment opportunities are few. Aside from what they call “subsistence” (which is hunting, fishing and trapping), the primary employment opportunities lie in the school (which may only have one teacher and an aide) or the local native store.
As one might imagine, there is a tremendous staff turnover in the schools, likely running at 50% in some places. Staff typically consists of folks seeking a year of experience, idealistic retirees, or the religiously motivated. Although there are certainly some native Alaskan staff, they are by far in the minority.
Much to my great disappointment I found that the primary mode of transport consists of four-wheelers, driven by everyone from the age of 14 and up. (Dog teams tend to be maintained by dedicated Caucasian hobbyists, but have virtually disappeared in the bush.) Upon arriving at the bush airstrip, you and all your gear (test kits, food and water, and a bit of clothing) are transported to the school, in the fall through the mud, and in the winter through the snow, straddling behind your “driver” who may himself be a student at the school.
The parameters of the school population were remarkably similar to those I encountered in Lafourche Parish so long ago: intellectual profiles a standard deviation below the mean with spotty educational performance, as well as a breathtaking dropout rate. Complicating issues was also rampant student absenteeism: with little parental supervision, the kids are often buzzing about on four- wheelers during the days of the midnight sun. In winter as the light wanes (and dawn may be at 9:30 AM), students play video games all night. I remember encountering students who simply lay down in the hallways and slept. The free breakfast and lunch might be their primary sustenance for the day. Caseloads were also daunting: I found a statistic on the National Association of School Psychologists website stating that the average caseload for a school psychologist was 70 evaluations per school year (along with other services). By the end of October, I had completed 74 evaluations with essentially back-to-back trips, pausing perhaps for a day or two in Anchorage to do laundry and replenish food stores. In addition, SERRC required a two week turnaround on reports. Needless to say, there were many long nights in remote schools, hunched over a laptop as wolves howled in the distance.
I did, however, receive two bits of advice: always carry your “Bear- Bell” (which is just what it says), and keep a tree between you and a moose! Other than the wildlife viewed from the air in the bush planes, my only wildlife encounter occurred in Anchorage when a female moose wandered through our neighborhood and munched on low-hanging foliage. As you might imagine, while we in Louisiana have the familiar road signs for deer crossings, in Alaska, the crossing signs are reserved for moose.
Happily, the people I met were engaging and laid back souls, rather unexpected on my part. Perhaps it is the forbidding nature of the environment: no one, for example, would pass you by if you were stalled by the side of the road. Or it may be that a substantial percentage of the population has come from elsewhere, which may breed a sensitivity and compassion for the newcomer. However, my personal impression was of helpful pleasant folk who freely offered a helpful hand when needed, or a ride to or from the airport when all other modes of transportation were unavailable.
It was an irreplaceable experience, one that I highly recommend!
Winter sunrise at Togiak, Alaska. Dutch Harbor in the Aleutians, Alaska. Bering Straits, Savoonga Dr. Yael Banai (R) on the Tundra and a map of Alaska, courtesy of Mapsopensource.com. If you enlarge the page you will find the Aleutians at the bottom left, a string of small islands out from the lower mainland.
This article is part of a historical newspaper archive. Read the original issue for its original layout, photographs and graphics.