Before I came to Kotzebue, I’d never gone berry picking in the Arctic. In fact, it had been years since I’d been berry picking, period. I’d heard people talk about it—how the tundra comes alive in late summer with hidden patches of fruit—but I didn’t really understand what that meant until I was out there, crouched low to the ground, scanning the mossy earth for tiny pops of color. It’s quiet work, kind of meditative, and really one of the most peaceful ways I’ve spent an afternoon up here.
I went berry picking twice during my assignment, and both times were special in their own way.
The first time was extra special and exciting—one of the midwives I worked with invited me out. She’s lived in Alaska for years and knows the land well. We walked out onto the tundra just outside of town, the air cool and crisp, with that faint salty scent from the Chukchi Sea. I had no idea what to expect, but once we got going, I realized just how abundant and generous this land is.
She taught me how to look close to the ground and be patient—berries here don’t grow on tall bushes like I was used to. They hug the earth. We mostly found wild blueberries—not the big, plump ones you see in the store. These were smaller, darker, and absolutely bursting with flavor. They’re a little tart, a little sweet, and they taste like summer in the Arctic—intense and pure.
We spotted a few aqpiks (cloudberries), but not many. They’re golden-orange when ripe and kind of squishy, with a flavor that’s somewhere between a raspberry and a mango—sweet, tangy, and a little musky. I had heard so much talk about aqpiks that just finding a handful felt like a treat. They’re prized up here, and I totally get why.
There were some lowbush cranberries (also called lingonberries) too, but they weren’t quite ripe yet—still a little firm and extra sour. We left most of those to finish ripening. And then there were crowberries—small, black, and kind of mild on their own, but really good in baked goods or jam.
I filled a small container mostly with blueberries that first trip, and when I got home, I decided to bake a berry buckle. If you’ve never had a buckle, it’s kind of like a coffee cake that’s been taken over by fruit—moist, buttery, with berries bursting in every bite. The wild berries added this layer of flavor I’ve never tasted in store-bought ones. Earthy and rich. I shared it with my coworkers, and let’s just say it didn’t last long.
The second time, I went out alone. I had been on a trip and landed back in Kotzebue that morning to big, beautiful snowflakes falling. The snow didn’t last long, though, and once the skies cleared and the sun began to shine, I decided I should take what may be my last chance to go berry picking. I bundled up, grabbed a small bucket, and headed out. No aqpiks that time, but I still found plenty of berries. There were still some leftover blueberries on the tundra, as well as quite a few now-ripe cranberries and even a few more crowberries than before. It was peaceful in a way that just sinks into your bones. No traffic, no people—just the soft squish of moss under my boots and the occasional bird call overhead.
That second batch of berries turned into another buckle, although this one ended up kind of mushy. I think it was because I didn’t have enough tundra berries and supplemented them with store-bought blueberries. Nonetheless, my coworkers enjoyed it – even the soggy parts got eaten! I’ve never been someone who bakes a lot, but there’s something about using berries you picked with your own hands that makes the whole process feel different.
Berry picking in Kotzebue is more than just a fun thing to do—it’s a way of connecting with the land and the people here. It’s quiet, grounding, and sweet in every sense of the word. If you ever get the chance to come up here—take it. And if it’s berry season, grab a bucket and head out onto the tundra. The berries are waiting!
