Alaska's Artist Jon Van Zyle: My Colorful Life of Art and Adventure
By Jon Van Zyle; Epicenter Press; $19.95
Description: As a youth, Van Zyle remembers his artistic mother encouraging him and his twin brother to express their creativity. It worked. Both Jon are professional artists: Jon in Alaska and his brother in Hawaii. A love of the outdoors lured Van Zyle to Alaska and the 49th state has become his inspiration.
As a painter and musher, Van Zyle has immersed himself in Alaska's rugged outdoors and the community. Twice he ran the famed Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race, and since 1979, he has been the race's official artist. In 2004 he was inducted into the Iditarod Hall of Fame. Mushing, wildlife, fishing and the mystique of Alaska are favored subjects of his featured in much of his work.
Jon and his wife, Jona, raise and train sled dogs at their home in Eagle River. Their dogs are not only models for Van Zyle, they are also working dogs that partner with him and Jona on adventures in the rugged wilderness.
Excerpt: Upon arriving in Alaska in 1971 with Sears, I immediately began painting. I incorporated into each painting the colors, the mountains, the spindly spruce trees, and the bigness of Alaska, or at least as big as I knew it to be with my limited experience. Human beings were never included, perhaps because I felt they spoiled the idea of the vastness, but probably because I had not had enough of my own personal experiences in the state yet to put "myself" in them.
Christmas 1975, my mother suffered a massive stroke and passed away as she waited at the Honolulu airport for me to arrive from Alaska for a Christmas visit. Although I'm sure she knew, I never got the chance to tell her how much her art training, dog knowledge, her care, and life lessons mattered to me, and how I had used them daily in my life in Alaska. The following year, I dedicated my first Iditarod race to her memory. When I was invited in 2010 to join the Pioneers of Alaska, Igloo No. 1 in Nome, a particular honor given to those with over 30 years in Alaska who have chosen to represent Alaska values, I dedicated this honor to my mother, who in my mind always was an Alaskan at heart, and who fueled my love for this state from the beginning. I miss her still.
My art is strictly from my own life, my own stories. At first, it was hard for me to relate all this beauty that surrounded me and include myself in it. It wasn't until my second Iditarod race, in 1979, that I began incorporating many human forms in my art.
I'm getting ahead of myself though. While working as the Sears display sales manager, my schedule was pretty grueling. After an eight-to-10-hour work day, I would drive 15 to 20 miles back home on bad roads, train my dog team for a couple of hours and eat dinner. Then, I would paint until one or two o'clock in the morning, sleep, and get up the next morning to do it all again.
Although I participated in sprint races with my dogs on some weekends, my joy was winter camping trips with them. With every trip, I gained much needed knowledge of the Alaska outdoors and experiences in the extreme cold of the Alaska winter.
In my first Alaska years, I produced upwards of 200 paintings a year: everything from paintings on gold pans to regular paintings on Masonite panels. I knew I needed to attract the national gallery market if I wanted to become known outside of Alaska. In 1975, when my art sales equaled or exceeded my Sears salary and I felt secure in being able to support my family, I quit Sears to become a full-time professional artist.
Wisdom Keeper: One Man's Journey to Honor the Untold History of the Unangan People
By Ilarion Merculieff; North Atlantic Books; $14.95
Description: Ilarion Merculieff weaves the remarkable strands of his life and culture into a fascinating account that begins with his traditional Unangan (Aleut) upbringing on a remote island in the Bering Sea, through his immersion in both the Russian Orthodox Church and his tribe's holistic spiritual beliefs. He recounts his developing consciousness and call to leadership, and describes his work of the past 30 years bringing together Western science and indigenous people's traditional knowledge and wisdom to address the most pressing issues of our time.
Tracing the extraordinary history of his ancestors — who mummified their dead in a way very similar to the Egyptians, constructed one of the most sophisticated high seas kayaks in the world, and densely populated shorelines in North America for 10,000 years — Merculieff describes the rich traditions of spirituality, art, dance, music, storytelling, science and technology that enabled them to survive harsh conditions. The Unangan people of the Aleutian Islands endured slavery at the hands of the U.S. government and were placed in an internment camp during World War II, where they suffered malnutrition and disease that decimated 10 percent of their population.
Merculieff describes how the compassion of indigenous elders has guided him in his work and life, which has been rife with struggle and hardship. He explains that environmental degradation, the extinction of species, pollution, war and failing public institutions are all reflections of our relationships with ourselves. In order to deal with these critical challenges, he argues, we must reenter the chaos of the natural world, rediscover our balance of the masculine and the sacred feminine, and heal ourselves. Then, perhaps, we can heal the world.
Excerpt: Death was very personal in the village. Local carpenters like my dad, John Paul Merculieff, built the coffins. Local people dug the graves and reverently washed and clothed the bodies. The coffins, frequently open, would lie in state in incense-filled living rooms or be taken to the church for three days. Mirrors would be covered in the homes because too many had seen the ghostly image of the deceased in them. All the members of the community would come to the deceased's home to pay their last respects and to demonstrate emotional support for those left behind.
After three days, the body was removed to the Russian Orthodox church, where final ceremonies were performed. The church was always packed with community members. Muffled crying was heard as cathartic a cappella funeral songs were sung. The priest sang as if he were moaning, symbolically expressing the pain of loss felt by everyone. There were no seats, so everyone would stand through the one-and-a-half-hour ceremony -- men and boys on one side, women and girls on the other, all wearing their best Sunday clothes.
I was no stranger to death; no one in a village is. But I had a peculiar experience of being handpicked at age 9 to watch over the coffins when they were placed in the church. I was given this job because I was willing to take it. It was a job few chose because it required a person to be alone in the church with the body throughout the night (unless he or she had a friend willing to join). I was never able to get any friend to join me. I can't say I blamed them. I don't know how many times I imagined the person moving inside the open coffin if I looked at it long enough. My hair would stand on end, and I would go into cold sweats. Nevertheless, I stayed at my post.
The tradition of watching the coffins before burial began many decades before because something inexplicable had happened to one coffin in the church when it wasn't watched. When local people returned to the church the day after a closed coffin had been left alone there, they found it off its pedestals and on the floor. Thinking someone was playing a cruel joke, they locked the church doors. The next day, they found the same thing, so the priest asked folks to stand guard outside the church even though the doors and windows were locked. The next day, they found the coffin on the floor again. From that day forward, all coffins were watched.
Rookie No More: The Flyfishing Novice Gets Guidance From a Pro
By Cecilia "Pudge" Kleinkauf with photos by Michael De Young; Epicenter Press; $14.95
Description: "Rookie No More" is a lifesaver for novice fly-fishers struggling with unanswered questions about various aspects of the sport. Compiled from hundreds of questions that guide and instructor Pudge Kleinkauf has responded to throughout her career, this book presents many of those same questions right here in black and white. As you strive to master new and complex situations, you'll be able to turn to this book for help with: various casts and their use; fly-fishing equipment; different flies for different situations; fishing techniques; safety on the water; and handling different situations, such as hiring a guide.
Novice fly-fishers have a large amount of information to absorb as they build their skills but don't always have access to help from a more experienced angler.
This little book can be a handy resource, easily carried in your day pack.
Excerpt: Q: Is there a cast besides the roll cast that can help me stay out of the trees, bushes and the boat driver's hat?
A: Yes. It is called the steeple cast. The steeple cast is a cast that you'll find yourself using quite a lot, especially if you fish from a drift boat or in an area with thick vegetation or other obstructions behind you. Think of the steeple cast as one that goes up and the slants down and out to reach the two casting stops, rather than going back and forth between them.
Many people are taught to cast using the clock analogy, with the basic overhead cast going from eleven o'clock to one o'clock in a straight line. Instead of propelling the rod back to eleven o'clock, however, the steeple cast propels it up to a twelve o'clock stop to help it clear the hindrance behind you before slanting down to the one o'clock stop toward where you want the fly to land.
Don't try to make your casts too long as the breeze is more likely to catch this cast than a regular cast. Also, because your arm will tire quickly, don't make too many false casts.
As with many other casts, I recommend you get out your phone or video recorder and video yourself while practicing this and other casts so that you can see the differences between them.