Kak, the Copper Eskimo

by Vilhjalmur Stefansson; Violet Irwin

“Hurrah!” he yelled, and instantly stifled the cheer so as not to rouse their dogs.

The beauty of the Arctic dawn was wonderful and had to be expressed. Out there in the open he felt he could achieve. And this was going to be a gorgeous day, a marvelous chance for doing things—but what things? The boy balanced first on one leg and then on the other, trying to decide. He took a turn standing on his hands and viewing the world upside down. This helped, maybe because all the blood rushed into his brain, I don’t know. You will have to try it for yourselves sometime—anyway, when he swung on to his feet again, he had a big idea.

Why should he not go a-hunting all day by himself? If he could catch a seal it would make him a man. How Hitkoak’s eyes would snap with envy, for he had no sons to help provide. Kak’s last exploit, fine as it was, had lacked one notable feature—the joy of dragging the evidence home. A boy cannot carry even a snow house about on his back like a snail, so not one of the girls actually saw his famous building; and just yesterday Noashak had been very saucy about it, suggesting the boasted shelter was only a dug-out in the side of the drift. Now that sort of sisterly slam must be stopped. Kak felt it was up to him.

Urged by this need to do and to dare the boy stole into their tunnel, which is also an Eskimo’s storehouse, and took from its place his father’s harpoon with its stout rope of reindeer sinew, the ivory bodkin used in sealing, a fox skin to keep his feet warm, and extra lengths of thong. The last article showed his good sense.

“I’m a small boy, after all,” he reasoned, “and not nearly so strong as a man; and I’ve seen seals pull pretty hard. I’ll wrap this line around my middle, tie it to the ice pick, and I don’t care if I catch a whale!”

To kill a seal as Kak proposed doing is no easy matter. It takes infinite patience and a whole lot of time. The lad expected to be away hours and hours, so he gathered up some dried meat for his breakfast and lunch; and gave Sapsuk a good feed before starting. Then, rather alarmed by his own boldness, balancing the long harpoon firmly in one hand, and holding the dog leash in the other, he started on his day’s hunt.

Kak knew the seals’ ways: he had often watched his father and the neighbors catch them, and sometimes had been called upon to help. The thrill of his present enterprise lay in doing it all alone. For that he had started early before the family waked, and kept Sapsuk cowed with harsh whispers while he was feeding. No one would know where they had gone or what they were up to, until they came galloping over the ice, bringing the seal behind them.

Kak thought it immense fun to be off for a day with Sapsuk. The dog was a good hunter; just as knowing about seals as Taptuna himself, and absolutely necessary to the game. For since the seals live in the water under the ice, and the ice is covered with several inches and sometimes feet of snow, how could man or boy hope to find their tiny breathing holes scattered about that vast, white plain? It was easy for Sapsuk. He ran with his sharp nose close to the snow and sniffed and sniffed; and as soon as he smelt seal he commenced to run around in circles, scratching and pawing. Then his owner jerked him off quickly, lest he scare the game, and having marked the spot, took doggie away to a safe distance and tethered him on a jag or block of ice.

So that you can thoroughly understand Kak’s horrible predicament later, I want to explain what was going on below the ice as well as what happened above. Seals are not like fish which can live in the sea always. They have to come up into the air every little while to breathe, just as you do after diving and swimming under water. While it is summer, with all the ocean lying open, the seals have an easy time. They can drop down to fish or climb out to sleep in the sun, and enjoy all the best things of life without any trouble about it. But when Jack Frost comes along and begins forming his shining roof over their playgrounds, the poor animals have to look sharp. They must breathe air, and so they must keep holes open to breathe through. At first it is simple. They just dash up below the thin ice and bunt a hole in it with their heads. But Jack keeps on working; the ice grows thicker and is soon too strong to be broken; and then the seal, instead of crashing through in a minute, must gnaw and gnaw for hours, and keep on gnawing to keep his precious hole from freezing over. As the ice thickens it must gnaw all the quicker and all the harder. Sometimes in the middle of winter, the ice freezes six or seven feet thick, and the poor seal is still busy gnawing and gnawing and gnawing.

Though these holes are only the size of a half dollar at the top they must be large below, big enough for the animal’s entire body, so it can swim up and poke its nose to the surface of the ice. The moment the seal sticks his nose up for that long breath is the hunter’s single chance of spearing him, so he has to look sharp.