DIOMEDE -- Alaska is a land of extremes, but here, extreme is just a way of life.
The tiny Ingalikmiut Eskimo village of about 120 people is about as far one can go without tipping off the side of the Earth. Nestled in the middle of the Bering Strait, with Alaska to the east and the Russian island of Big Diomede to the west, it's one of the few places in Alaska where residents can actually see Russia from the stilted houses most residents call home. Not only can they see it, they can walk to it during the winter when the 2.3-mile-wide channel between the two islands is completely frozen.
Of course, this is only in theory. While the U.S. side is limited to the 40 or so residences, with nothing but a school and a few city buildings, on the Russian island of Big Diomede there's an entire military base staffed by about 100 people. Any crossing could pose an international incident.
"They're keeping an eye on us," said Robert Soolook, former mayor of the village. "They're very aware of us, and we are very aware of them."
Beyond the extreme political geography is the extreme topography. The village is on the island of Little Diomede, which sits like a misshapen jelly bean in the middle of the Bering Strait. Stormy seas are common in the area – often battering the island's rocky shores and making travel to and from the island next to impossible.
For most of the villagers, life is simple. On a bright sunny March day, villagers roamed around the island's shoreline on snowmachines, heading out to the sea ice to check their crab pots for blue kings. The season started only a few weeks earlier, but things were moving swiftly. Ernest Iyapana had just returned from the sea ice, where his pots had netted him 13 blue king crabs that day alone, bringing his count to 70 for the season.
He showed them off proudly, holding one crab in each hand as the half-frozen crustaceans lethargically wiggled their legs and claws.
"They're sweeter than lobster," Iyapana said.
Kids played with dogs near the sea ice, wearing little more than sweatshirts and light snow pants. Helicopters whizzed by the community, landing on a nearby helipad. Diomede gets mail service once a week, and it's some of the most expensive in the country, costing $250,000 a year. Since the 1980s, mail has been delivered by Evergreen Helicopters.
The village is nestled between the shoreline and steep cliffs of the island. During the summer, millions of birds congregate. Mackenzie Ahkaluk, 12, described it as a "tornado of birds" that live so close it feels like the residents could just step outside and grab one if they wanted.
It's not all pretty on the island. Despite cell phone coverage, the community has no piped water or sewer. Trash lays strewn on sea ice near the school.
In the summer, people climb to the top of the jagged island, using a well-defined trail. Stray from that and be prepared for trouble.
For example, don't go near "the castle" – a series of jagged rock outcroppings located on the upper west side of the island. It's close to the site of a plane crash, according to some of the locals, and even closer to the legend of a woman who climbed up one day carrying her baby. When she slipped on loose rocks, she fell and was "cut in half" by the rocks, according to the myth. It's not far from the local graveyard, full of wooden crosses and small boxes for the bodies, which cannot be buried on the island's rocky soil. The same rocky spot is close to an area the locals call Siniktawik – a sitting place, a good spot to watch for polar bears wandering across the sea ice.
Ronald Ozenna, Jr. had just returned from his vacation to Wales, another small village of about 140 people located on the Alaska mainland, just 28 sea miles from Diomede. Despite being back only a few hours, he had already heard rumors of a seal on the ice and was getting ready to go out to find it. The seal he'd caught weeks earlier had already been eaten – an easy prospect considering Ozenna's five children and his parents had all had an interest in the animal.
But Ozenna was taking his time in finding the seal, slowly helping his 2-year-old son, Jeremy, find their way back to house, reconnecting with fellow villagers along the way. He was just settling back into Diomede life, readjusting to its ebbs and flows.
That's how life goes in Diomede. Where things are extreme, but still move slow.
"Everywhere you need a license," Ozenna said. "Here you just throw that away."
Contact Suzanna Caldwell at suzanna(at)alaskadispatch.com