maurice martin : : freelance journalist & playwright

By Maurice Martin

from the November/December 1992 issue of ZooGoer Magazine

On the wall of the Kodiak National Wildlife Refuge headquarters hangs a giant map of Kodiak Island which assistant refuge manager Dick Munoz uses to illustrate the problem facing the Kodiak bear. Along Uyak Bay and Larsen Bay on the island's northwest flank, approximately 200 10-acre plots of pristine wilderness area were recently deeded, some of which have already been put up for sale. Over on Thumb Lake, a cabin has been built 12 feet from a bear trail leading to one of the refuge's richest salmon runs, an area that may have the highest seasonal density of brown bears in the world. At the mouth of the Ayakulik River, there's talk of building an airstrip that would bring an army of sport fishermen, hikers, and hunters to the western shore.

Pointing to the yellow areas of the map, Munoz indicates tracts of privately-owned land that until 1971 were part of the refuge system, and explains why they must remain wild for the bear habitat to remain in tact. "It looks like we have a lot of white space," says Munoz, pointing to the remaining 1.6 million acres of refuge land spread across Kodiak and two other nearby islands, Uganik and Afognak. "But it's important to think about access points."

The yellow areas hug the island's lakes, rivers, and bays. Since the only roads on Kodiak run along the far northeast shore near the city of Kodiak, human access to the back country means boat or float plane, right into those yellow areas. Bears need these same areas to access their main food source—the island's teeming salmon runs. "And people tend to land in areas where the fish are concentrated, because that's where the fishing is best," says Munoz. "That's where the bears want to be also. Everyone is focused in these key areas."

These key areas—lands referred to as "inholdings"—were part of the refuge when it was formed in 1941 and, like the rest of the refuge, were under control of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. In 1971, an act of Congress caused these acres to become privately-owned land. Now they're prime real estate, and airstrips and hunting lodges may soon replace dark stands of sitka spruce and salmonberry bushes. If that happens, concentrated human activity in the inholdings, spilling over onto refuge lands, would have serious ramifications for the refuge's status as prime bear habitat.

Paradise Under Pressure

Kodiak Island is now one of the best habitats for brown bears; because of the abundant supply of fish and berries, the Kodiak "brownie" grows to extraordinary size. Male specimens can weigh up to 1,500 pounds in autumn, just before hibernation, and large females can weigh up to 600 pounds. Though Kodiak, brown, and grizzly bears are all the same species, Ursus arctos, Kodiak Island's bears form an isolated population that scientists identify as a subspecies, Ursus arctos middendorffi. Between 2,500 and 2,700 bears make their home inside the refuge.

What's at stake on Kodiak is more than just a place for bears, although President Franklin Roosevelt established the Kodiak National Wildlife Refuge primarily for their sake. Other animals flourish there as well, most notably 350 to 400 nesting pairs of bald eagles; it's not unusual to see one wet its talons in a clear inland stream trying, like the humans and the bears, to catch a fat salmon for dinner. Beaver keep a wary eye on nearby fly-fisherman, spanking the water with their tails and diving when approached. Along the snow-mottled mountain ridges, hikers may startle grazing mountain goats or Sitka black-tailed deer; and those who arrive on the island by ferry from Homer or Seward often see the white, plumed exhalations of humpback whales and porpoises pacing their ship.

Last year, President Bush ranked Kodiak Island and its brown bears among the "crown jewels of America's National Wildlife Refuge system." Why then are marketing specialists staking out potential recreation centers there? The answer lies in the area's history—in particular, the federal government's relationship with the Native peoples of Alaska, which began when the United States purchased Alaska from Russia in 1867.

At that time, the federal government recognized the claims of Native peoples to certain areas of the Alaska territory, but did nothing to establish legal ownership of the land. Despite Native protests, Congress left the issue unresolved for 104 years, and did not act until Native land claims threatened to stop work on the Alaska pipeline. By that time, wildlife refuges had been established; some, like the one on Kodiak, included land traditionally used by Native villages.

The Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act (ANCSA) of 1971 created a number of Native-owned corporations: 12 representing different regions, and more than 200 representing individual villages. These corporations received a total of 44 million acres traditionally used by the villages and regions they represent, and a total of $962.5 million in cash spread out over a number of years. Supporters of ANCSA touted it as a sensible alternative to the Indian reservations created in the Lower 48—Native-owned corporations were to develop their land for profit, making the Alaskan Natives economically self-sufficient and part of the mainstream culture.

But ANCSA created a new problem on Kodiak. As Jay Bellinger, manager for the Kodiak National Wildlife Refuge says, "It's a shame the Natives weren't given a choice of where they could pick their land—they had to pick sites near their villages. So, on Kodiak, they had to pick a significant part of their acreage within the refuge." About 310,000 acres went from being part of the government-controlled refuge lands to Native corporation inholdings.

The Case of the Ayakulik

The Ayakulik River provides a small-scale example of how development will effect areas across the island. The bulk of this 45-mile-long river meanders through refuge land between grass-covered hills. Its mild current and lazy curves provide excellent fishing holes full of king and red salmon. And, like many spots on Kodiak and other nearby islands, the banks of the Ayakulik hold an archeological treasure. A population of 1,000 to 2,000 natives lived there 800 to 200 years ago, sustaining themselves by fishing, hunting bears and sea lions, and gathering salmonberries and other edible plants. Their village, long abandoned, lay forgotten by both Natives and whites until just a few years ago.

Access to the Ayakulik is by float plane near its confluence with Bear Creek, where the river straightens out just enough for a rough, Alaska-bush-pilot-style-landing. After unloading your rubber rafts, tackle, and camping gear, you leisurely make your way downstream, grinding over the flat, gravely stretches, stopping at any sandy curve or muddy bluff where it looks like the salmon may be striking. In the gray twilight that passes for a summer evening on Kodiak, the smell of cooking salmon—caught only hours earlier and grilled with the skin still on—mixes with that of brewing coffee in the fresh wind.

Encounters between bears and humans occur frequently along the Ayakulik. Paddling your raft downstream, you may see a hefty, 300-pound three-year old crashing through the shrubs along the bank, or an older sow bouncing away with a salmon in her jaws, glancing over her shoulders, worried that you may try to take her fish.

Walking through the abandoned Native village, which rests on a raised, earthen bank near the river, you'll see a series of wide, shallow depressions overgrown with weeds. These are the remains of collapsed barabaras—the semi-underground dwellings created by the Native people in ancient times. Some bears take refuge in these barabaras; you can see hourglass-shaped spots where the grass has been matted down by their heavy bodies. Bears like the barabara pits for the same reasons the humans did: they offer shelter from the wind, a good vantage point, and easy access to food and water.

At any time during the fishing season, there may be more than 40 people camping on the Ayakulik between Bear Creek and the beach where the river empties into the Pacific Ocean. This human presence can be fairly intrusive—rounding a seemingly remote and pristine wilderness bend, you suddenly come upon a party of sportsmen grousing over the day’s poor catch and wary of anything that looks like a bear.

Some carry guns, a natural precaution in an area with one of the highest density of bears in the world—Kodiak averages about one bear per 1.5 square miles. However, it is illegal to defend your hunting or fishing trophies against a bear; if a 600-pound sow wants your fish or the deer you just shot, you have to give it to her. You can only shoot a bear out of season in self defense, and then you'll have to prove to the fish and wildlife protection branch of the state troopers that the bear threatened your life and/or property. Still, some people panic, others unwittingly tempt bears toward their camp by leaving excess food around, and others just don't care about the law. As many as eight bears have been reported shot in defense of life and property in one recent year, and probably only half of those shot are reported.

But even more importantly, says Bellinger, "brown bears are a wilderness-dependant species. They never do well around a population of people." The strictly controlled bear viewing programs run by the state at McNeil River and a similar trial program run by the refuge at O'Malley River provide public access to bears in a controlled situation that officials hope does not displace the bears. By putting participants on a viewing platform, and controlling the timing and behavior of the viewers, the program makes the human intrusion consistent. But along the Ayakulik, sportsmen roam about freely and in greater numbers, intruding on the bear's daily routine.

It adds up to one thing: too many humans will crowd bears off of the Ayakulik River. Whenever there's a conflict, the bears will lose in the long run, either by being shot or hounded away from their feeding grounds.

The Airstrip Alternative

As it is, there's a natural limit on the number of people who can float down the Ayakulik. The river empties into the ocean between two high cliffs. Most sportsmen fly out, so exiting the river means waiting for fair weather. Even then, takeoff from the rocky beach is a hair-raising event, because strong downdrafts from the nearby cliffs threaten to flip the overloaded, single-engine crafts and drive them back down into the rocks and surf. Unless they have a flexible schedule and a strong stomach, most anglers opt for more accessible vacation spots.

Still, so many people float the Ayakulik the refuge management has established a camp along the river to study its usage. Over the next few years, the refuge will determine what restrictions need to be placed on the Ayakulik and other river systems to maintain both the habitat and the quality of the wildlife experience for people who go there.

However, the situation at the Ayakulik may change before that. Although most of the river lies within the refuge, 420 acres at the mouth are owned by Ayakulik Inc., a Native corporation whose shareholders live in the village of Akhiok on Alitak Bay. Ayakulik Inc. is considering bulldozing one of the cliffs to put in an airstrip and a sportsmen's lodge. If that happens, the trickle of humans on the river would become a gush. As one observer puts it, "with an airstrip on the beach, you could float an army down the river every day."

No one wants to see this happen, least of all the Native owners of the land. Ralph Eluska represents Ayakulik Inc. and is president of Akhiok-Kaguyak Inc. (AKI), another Native corporation whose shareholders live in Akhiok. "We hope that the government will reacquire both the AKI and Ayakulik Inc. inholdings," says Eluska.

He and the shareholders he represents recognize that the precious, pristine nature of the land will be lost if development plans go forward. For the last eight years, the hope of government reacquisition "has been the sole reason for us not pursuing our development opportunities," he says. Reinvesting proceeds from the sale of their land to the government would allow AKI and Ayakulik Inc. to achieve the ANCSA-assigned mandate of economic self-sufficiency. But so far, the government has balked at the price tag—a buy out of all Native inholdings on the island would cost about $200 million.

Across Alaska, other Native corporations reap the benefits of their ANCSA land by harvesting timber, minerals, and fish. Meanwhile, the citizens of Akhiok continue a subsistence lifestyle, getting seasonal work on fishing boats or in canneries. Many are on public assistance and live in HUD-subsidized houses. As time goes on, they are more eager to take control of their economic future. "To the shareholders, development would mean pride in the ownership of a business, and job opportunities for our people," says Eluska. "And it's getting harder for us to believe that reacquisition by the government is going to happen."

Making a Federal Case?

Other Kodiak Natives are also actively seeking some kind of return on their ANCSA land. Those around Larsen Bay recently divided up their inholding land there and along Uyak Bay to individual shareholders, some of whom have put their property on the market.

Recently, the Kodiak Daily Mirror real estate listing included a plot of inholding land formerly owned by the Larsen Bay Native corporation—12 acres on Uyak Bay—for $30,000. One shareholder built a cabin on his 10-acre plot, which he plans to rent out to deer hunters. "If a majority of those get sold and get different kinds of development on them—commercial cabins, lodges, year-round residences, whatever—you can just take a big hunk of that area and chalk it off for brown bear," says Bellinger.

The Kodiak National Wildlife Refuge has a legal tool with which it may try to halt development of inholding land. Congress, foreseeing a conflict between wildlife refuges and land development, attached a string to former refuge land passed out by ANCSA. Section 22(g) of ANCSA states that if a village corporation receives land within the National Wildlife Refuge System, the U.S. has the right to repurchase the land if the Natives ever offer it for sale.

Furthermore, 22(g) specifies that even if the government does not repurchase the land, it must "remain subject to the laws and regulations governing use and development" of the refuge. In other words, it cannot be developed commercially.

Section 22(g) would therefore squash plans for an airstrip at the mouth of the Ayakulik. It could also be applied to the Larsen Bay inholdings if the argument is made that all the small parcels being sold off will have a cumulative negative effect on the habitat.

Last year, Koniag Inc., the regional Native corporation for Kodiak Island, built a cabin on tiny Thumb Lake, twelve feet from a bear path leading to one of the richest salmon runs on the island. Bellinger cited Koniag for violation of 22(g), and this citation has been passed on to the regional office of the National Wildlife Refuge system. If the case goes to court, it will be the first test of 22(g) on Kodiak. However, the results may not be good for the refuge.

"If there's a court battle, we'll win it," says Uwe Gross, CEO of Koniag Inc., "and the refuge won't have any protection on the private inholdings." Indeed, two strong legal arguments could be used to overturn 22(g): By definition, restrictions on public land use do not apply to private lands. Also, a later law, the 1980 Alaska National Interest Lands Conservation Act (ANILCA), explicitly states that inholdings are not subject to public land regulations. If a court declares 22(g) invalid or inapplicable, developers who had previously been scared away from Kodiak by 22(g) would rush in; the floodgates of development would be open.

Even if 22(g) were upheld, it runs counter to the goal of ANCSA, which was to give Natives the opportunities to generate profits for their corporations—and ultimately dividends for their shareholders—by using their land. "We got the land, but 22(g) says we can't do anything with it," says Eluska. "If they don't allow us to develop, and they don't reacquire the property, then really what did we get in the settlement?"

Priority Parcels

Government reacquisition of the land could be, as Bellinger puts it, "a win-win situation". Not only would it ensure the land's continued service to the refuge, but, since Title A of ANILCA guarantees Native subsistence hunting and fishing rights on government land, it may also help preserve some of their traditional lifestyle. "I personally can't think of a better utilization of that land than having it back in the public domain," says Gross. "That would serve all of our shareholders in the best possible way."

The government may not even have to raise the cash for the deal. A land swap for Kodiak inholdings wouldn't cost the government anything, and could provide the Native corporations with land outside the island of equal value to the inholdings. Between Savings and Loan bailout properties and newly shut-down military bases, the U.S. government currently has lots of land with which to deal. Or, funds from the Exxon Valdez settlement—which includes $900 million for the restoration and replacement of natural resources damaged by the 1989 tanker accident—could be used to purchase the land.

There are other options besides government reacquisition—private conservation agencies, such as The Nature Conservancy, could step in and buy the land. Should any of these plans pan out, the refuge has already identified some priority acquisitions based on location and importance to the wildlife habitat. Generally speaking, the refuge would like to acquire inland inholding first—especially those inholding plots that are completely surrounded by refuge lands.

Specifically, the Karluk Lake area has a high priority, owing to the fact that it includes some of the best bear habitat on the island. Acquisition of the 420 acres at the mouth of the Ayakulik would make that river the one important salmon stream entirely within the refuge—an important feature for management purposes. The Native corporations may not want to sell their land in the order that the refuge wishes to purchase it, so the acquisition process will probably involve give and take on both sides.

Everyone agrees that if anything will happen to save Kodiak, it will have to happen soon. "If we are to retain our belief that something is going to happen, we would have to see something on the table soon, or at least a very serious promise," says Eluska.

Barring that, AKI and the other Native corporations will proceed with their plans, either selling, leasing, or developing their properties. This summer, AKI built a hunting cabin on South Olga Lakes. Depending on the outcome of the dispute over the Thumb Lake cabin, the refuge managers may also cite this new cabin as a violation of 22(g).

Fortunately, the issue has gotten extensive coverage in the press and on television, and public interest is high. This fall, Congress debated legislation that contained provisions for acquisition of the inholdings. Although the provisions were struck down in the last frantic days before Congress adjourned, its supporters plan to reintroduce the legislation in January. If enough people write to their congressional representatives in support of reacquisition, the deal could move forward within months.

In the meantime, conflicts between sportsmen and the bears pop up all the time. In June, a newly-weaned bear wandered near a shelter at the mouth of the Ayakulik and was later found dead, peppered with buckshot. "That lower river really isn't used for feeding," says Bellinger. "But it's a travel lane." He speculates that a bear family traveling through found food from a messy campsite and stayed. "That incident just illustrates that everywhere out there is important to the bears. Human use has an impact."

Ralph Eluska also sees it as emblematic of the bear/human conflict and its inevitable results. "When the bear comes to town," says Eluska, "he's going to lose."