Wildlife Tragedy Unfolding in Alaska

Our ship Alcyone sailed in a stiff wind across the Bering Sea to Round Island, site of the largest gathering of Pacific walruses in the northern oceans. More than 12,000 bulls stretched out along the rocks at the Alaska state sanctuary, their ivory tusks gleaming white against leathery brown faces.

Under the U.S. Marine Mammal Protection Act, only native Eskimo people are permitted to hunt walrus, and no part of the animal can be wasted--a provision that is entirely consistent with traditional Eskimo belief and practice. Only native Eskimo people can possess uncarved ivory. And the only ivory that can be legally sold is ivory they have carved. Trade in raw ivory is illegal for everyone.

Nevertheless, the walrus may fall prey to pressures no one foresaw when the act was written in the early 1970s--namely, the vulnerability of the native culture to outside influence, among them the drug trade. Already, there are reports of Eskimo people trading raw walrus tusks for drugs.

Arrests have been made recently in Alaska involving the illegal selling and trading of walrus ivory for cocaine and marijuana. There have been reports of a single whole walrus skull, worth about $800 with tusks attached, being traded for six marijuana cigarettes; 10 walrus heads bring an ounce. Most grisly of all, the walrus heads are hacked off with a chain saw, the carcasses left headless--not only violating the lives of the animals, but all rules, civil and traditional, against waste.

In villages on the distant Bering Sea, walrus carving is a traditional art form of the Eskimo, and the walrus hunt a traditional form of sustenance. For centuries, the walrus has provided numerous staples--meat for food, skin for leather and boat coverings, oil for fuel, even intestinal tissue for raincoats. And, of course, ivory for tools and weapons.

The temptations to illicitly harvest walrus ivory may worsen. This month, nations that are signatories to the Convention on International Trade of Endangered Species will meet to discuss a full-scale ban on trade in African elephant ivory.

Although they detest walrus poaching, Eskimo carvers are concerned that attempts to control the problem may impinge on their traditional hunting and carving rights in a region where the walrus is a critical resource, not only for its products, but for the cash that ivory carvings can bring.

On remote Little Diomede Island, one hunter and Eskimo carver, John Iyapana, told me, “We carve in nine months maybe $150,000 worth of ivory carving. You see all that ivory carving in the store? In the fire hall up there? All that ivory is taking care of us.”

Each year, Eskimos take roughly 1,700 walrus, according to an Alaska Department of Fish and Game bulletin. An equal number are killed or wounded by hunters, but are lost in the frigid waters. This means about 3,400 walrus are killed annually by Eskimos.

Once the Eskimo hunted walrus with harpoons, the harpoon head itself made from sharpened ivory. But today, walrus are mainly hunted by rifle. Indeed, some offenders have been found trading ivory for rifles, presumably to shoot more walrus for more ivory.

In most of the Eskimo villages I visited, young people were torn between the world of their ancestors and the world of modern ways--city ways that too often include drugs and quick money. Traditional culture competes against televisions, video games, designer jeans, alcohol and sheer boredom.

At Little Diomede, I watched an elder work on an umiak, a walrus-skin boat that is as seaworthy as a Viking craft. Around him, children played basketball, oblivious to what he was doing. The skill will die with him, I thought, for the young see no reason to learn it. Under such conditions, the illegal walrus trade can prosper.

It would be not only a wildlife tragedy, but a human one for the Eskimo people and all of us if, as the valve on ivory is properly closed off in Africa, another valve opens in Alaska.