Rebekah and I had been planning a trip to Point Hope for weeks. Point Hope, Alaska, like many remote coastal villages, sits at the tip of a gravel spit along the Chukchi Sea. It’s part of the North Slope borough, though it’s closer to Kotzebue, and therefore it’s serviced by Maniilaq Health Center (the hospital that I work at) instead of Samuel Simmonds Memorial in Barrow. The village, with around 700 residents, is one of the oldest continuously inhabited communities in North America, with archaeological evidence showing human presence for at least 2,500 years. In fact, some experts believe that the Iñupiat people who live here are direct descendants of the ancient cultures that migrated across the Bering Land Bridge. This continuous habitation, especially in such an extreme Arctic environment, is remarkable.
Given Point Hope’s remoteness and lack of public transportation, we knew we couldn’t explore the village alone. Luckily, my friend Desiree, who grew up here and was eager to share her home with us, offered to be our guide.
When our trip day finally arrived, Rebekah and I were giddy with excitement as we boarded the tiny plane that would take us there. The weather had just turned cold, and the Arctic sunrise painted the sky in pastels, making the mountains, freshly glazed with a dusting of snow, glow in soft shades of pink and blue. Parts of the ocean appeared to have a layer of ice, indicating that winter was clearly on its way.
As is typical for village flights, we made a quick stop in Kivalina along the way. There, someone I knew from a different village got on the plane. This was one of those moments where I really felt like I lived here—a place where everyone seems to be connected somehow. I’ve only been in Kotzebue for 10 weeks, and already, I’m running into familiar faces in remote villages. It’s a small world, especially in this part of Alaska, where communities are tight-knit and many residents are related.
We landed in Point Hope after a short flight, greeted by crisp air and sunshine. Desiree met us at the airstrip with a van she’d borrowed from her church where her dad is the pastor. She took us to the other side of the airport first – “Old Town” – so we wouldn’t get stuck and unable to cross the airstrip when the next flight arrived, and from there, we wandered down to the beach to do a little beachcombing. We found starfish, lots of rocks, and even a dead crab. Desiree’s cousin, one of the local hunters, told us there had been walrus on the beach the night before. The people here
have a deep connection to the land and sea, and subsistence hunting is still a crucial part of daily life. The residents of Point Hope are known for their whaling culture—one of the oldest traditions in the region. Every spring and fall, they participate in traditional bowhead whale hunts. These hunts are vital for providing food, oil, and materials for the community, but they are also deeply spiritual events, bringing the community together in a shared effort to honor both the whales and the ancestors who passed down this way of life. We were hoping hoping for a live walrus sighting, but nature wasn’t quite on our side. While we didn’t see any that day, we did come across a very fresh walrus carcass.
One of the most striking things about Point Hope is the way the old and new coexist. Modern conveniences like snowmobiles and satellite dishes are part of daily life, but the community still adheres to its cultural roots.
We visited the remains of traditional sod houses, called qarigi, which I had been dying to see. While I had spotted some remnants in Barrow, what we found here was an entirely different experience. These qarigi, built from whale bones and covered in sod, once housed entire families. Some of the whale bones used in construction were massive—rib bones and jawbones from bowhead whales provided the framework. The houses were often dug partly into the ground to provide insulation from the harsh Arctic winds, with thick layers of sod covering the structure to keep the warmth in during brutal winters.
One of the sod huts was still standing, although parts of it were caving in. We were able to step inside and imagine what it might have been like to call this small space “home.” Desiree mentioned that up to 12 people could sleep in one of these huts. It’s hard to fathom. With snow filling in any gaps, these huts were surely well-insulated during the long, cold winters. The ingenuity of these homes is incredible, built to withstand the unforgiving elements of the Arctic. It was also easy to see how close-knit families had to be, physically and emotionally, to live in such close quarters.
After spending time in the historic qarigi, it was clear how deeply Point Hope’s past and present were connected to the natural world. Inspired by this glimpse into the village’s history, we set off with Desiree in hopes of spotting some of the Arctic wildlife that still thrives here. While we didn’t see any polar bears or Arctic foxes, we did catch a glimpse of a red fox darting across the ground. We also passed a beached whale carcass, which had been there for a while and had weathered into what looked like a large, grey rock. It’s always humbling to be in a place where life and death, nature and survival, are intertwined so deeply with the land, and this whale was a prime example of that.
We also made a quick stop at the local grocery store, which, as you might expect in a remote village, was small but stocked with essentials. Prices, like in any Arctic village, were steep, as everything has to be flown in. One of the more quirky sights in the village was an old arcade built into part of an airplane, a relic from another time.
During our drive, Desiree introduced us to the legend of the Little People. Having lived in Barrow for six months, I am still surprised that I had never heard of the Little People. In Iñupiat folklore, the Little People, or Ijiġlauraq, are said to be small, mysterious beings who live in the wilderness, often in caves or among the rocks. They are known to be shy and elusive, rarely showing themselves to humans, though there are many stories of those who have encountered them. Desiree does NOT want to be one of those people. Some say the Little People can be helpful, leaving behind food or guiding hunters who have lost their way. Others tell of their mischievous nature, stealing items or causing mischief for those who wander too far from the village. According to Desiree, many in Point Hope still believe in the presence of the Little People, and there are certain places you’re advised not to go alone, especially at night, for fear of crossing their path.
After hearing stories of the mysterious Little People and their connection to the land, we made a stop at the village cemetery—a place where the spiritual traditions of Point Hope are tangibly felt. The cemetery in Point Hope is one of the few cemeteries in the world that is lined with a whale bone fence, and it was beautiful. The cemetery itself felt quiet and peaceful, with simple wooden crosses and markers scattered across the frosty ground. There’s a separate cemetery for shamans, who held an important spiritual role in the community’s past. It was a powerful reminder of the deep cultural and spiritual roots that run through this village. Many of the graves in the cemetery reflect the blend of old and new—Christian crosses next to graves marked with traditional Iñupiat symbols. Desiree took pride in pointing out her mother’s grave, marked by a cross that she paints every few years.
Our flight out of Point Hope was scheduled for 4:20, with a check-in time of 3:35. Given that the “airport” is little more than a landing strip and a small shed, Desiree said, “We’ll go at 4:05,” and that’s exactly what we did. We arrived at the airstrip, checked in with the pilot by giving him our names and weights, and boarded the plane. It felt like we were leaving just as soon as we had arrived, but the day had been full of memories I’ll never forget.
On the flight back, the snow had melted off the mountains, a reminder that winter wasn’t quite here yet. As I gazed out at the ever-changing Arctic landscape, I couldn’t help but feel that I need to return one day. Point Hope is a place where ancient traditions and modern life coexist, and the deep sense of community runs through everything. It’s a blend that makes this remote corner of Alaska truly unforgettable.
