Category: Education

Source: US State of Connecticut

Alaska Native peoples have been hunting, fishing, and gathering wild resources for as long as people have been in Alaska, says Dillon Patterson ’24 Ph.D., but after the United States took control of Alaska, laws were passed that challenges their access to these resources and traditional lifeways. Patterson, first as a graduate researcher and now an anthropologist for the Alaska Subsistence Program in the United States National Park Service, is collaborating with Indigenous communities to work toward the goal of restoring subsistence access for Alaska’s original residents.

Patterson embarked on his studies in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic in the Fall of 2020, but he benefited from the unique situation in a way that propelled his dissertation field research. When he saw a posting for a student position with the National Park Service (NPS) in Alaska, it caught his attention. At the time, he had not yet settled on a research topic, but Patterson was interested in the position’s focus on subsistence issues, and since all but one of his classes were online, he thought it was something he could make work. After clearing the idea with his advisor, Department of Anthropology Assistant Professor Elle Ouimet, he applied and was offered the job.

Patterson says it is not uncommon for anthropology students to travel far for their research, so he seized the opportunity and moved 3,000 miles to Alaska and got started on his project in the Katmai National Park and Preserve, which benefited from the longer-term fieldwork and collaboration he was able to incorporate into his study.

The History

Knowing the history of Alaska’s national parks is important to understand the challenges the Indigenous population faces. Patterson says the laws the United States passed after taking control of the territory focused on land settlement and resource rights issues and are primarily aimed at stripping Alaska Native land claims and presenting opportunities for nonrenewable resource development, and as a result, they have greatly limited Indigenous subsistence ways of life.

The most important law regarding subsistence was passed and signed by President Jimmy Carter in 1980 called the Alaska National Interest Lands Conservation Act (ANILCA), Patterson explains. It created most national park lands in Alaska and nearly doubled the number of national park lands in the U.S., where most of the designated NPS units were also authorized for the continuation of subsistence use.

“A lot of folks wanted there to be an Alaska Native priority for subsistence, a priority over all other consumptive uses, to ensure Alaska Native subsistence rights were protected,” Patterson says. “Ultimately, the Act didn’t distinguish between Alaska Natives and non-natives and the subsistence priority was given to rural Alaska residents.”

This presents an issue since much of Alaska’s population of 700,000 lives in cities, with half of the population in Anchorage alone. This means Alaska Natives who live in Anchorage or Juneau are not qualified subsistence users, and that happens a lot, says Patterson, because people move to pursue education or to accept jobs in the city.

Examples like this demonstrate how rigid bureaucratic constraints can challenge Indigenous ways of life, and Patterson is trying to help address this.

Learning from Knowledge Holders

Over the years, Patterson says caribou population numbers have fluctuated dramatically due to climate and human development as well as natural boom and bust cycles characteristic of the species. Patterson’s work focuses primarily on the Mulchatna Caribou Herd, which is one of many large barren ground caribou herds in Alaska and the largest herd in the southwest region of the state. The population peaked in the 1990s at around 200,000 caribou and has reduced in number to around 14,000 today. The hunt was closed in 2019 for all caribou in the Mulchatna Herd range in hopes the population would rebound.

Patterson’s research started by focusing on a small population of caribou in the Katmai National Preserve that supported two villages, Kokhanok and Igiugig, which are approximately 15 miles north of the northern boundary of the Katmai Preserve.

The villagers asserted the smaller Katmai Herd is distinct from the Mulchatna Herd. Before the hunt was closed in 2019, the Katmai Herd supported local needs without jeopardizing the Mulchatna Herd’s numbers.

“When the Mulchatna Herd was healthy and large in number, it didn’t matter if this small population in Katmai was managed as part of the Mulchatna Herd. Now it’s a problem because you’ve closed hunting due to conservation concerns for the Mulchatna Herd, which shouldn’t apply to this small population.”

Patterson started working with knowledge holders from the villages, where he applied an activist research approach to collaborate and document the vast knowledge from the local and Indigenous populations about the caribou. Since Alaska Native peoples have lived and hunted the region’s animals for millennia, Patterson says that these knowledge holders have a far deeper understanding of the caribou population than the limited research done by Western science thus far and are also the most invested in the survival of the caribou population.

While gathering supporting evidence to make the case for differentiating the herds, Patterson also learned about the long history of problems with access, including some confusion within the NPS about how to process formal requests for off-road vehicle access for subsistence hunters. By identifying these hurdles, Patterson worked with the communities navigate the bureaucracy and submit a formal request to perhaps get decision-makers to adapt the policy to account for changing circumstances.

 ‘The subsistence way of life will always find a way to persist’

Hunting caribou requires traveling, sometimes as many as 40 miles into the sprawling 308,000 acres of Katmai Preserve. If the hunt is successful, trekking back with hundreds of pounds of harvest is an arduous task without the right equipment, especially since there are no roads in the area.

From a preservation perspective, the tundra landscape is easily damaged, and movement across the landscape, especially by motorized vehicles can lead to damage so the subject of whether or not to allow all-terrain vehicle (ATV) access is tricky.

While some parks and preserves allow access via ATVs like four-wheelers for subsistence purposes, when Katmai was created in 1980 Patterson explains ATV access was not permitted. Snowmachines (also known as snowmobiles) are allowed if there are at least six inches of snow on the ground to prevent damage to the landscape; however, with the changing climate, snow cover is no longer guaranteed in the colder months. Snow comes later, and Patterson says that even in January of this year, there was less than an inch on the ground, and by the end of February, there was no snow on the ground at all, so access is greatly impacted by the climate, and expanding what vehicles are allowed could help, especially, as noted by a local knowledge holder, they haven’t had much winter lately.

“The Alaska National Interest Lands Conservation Act uses the language that other types of motorized vehicles could only be used for subsistence access where traditionally employed, but it doesn’t define what ‘traditionally employed’ means,” Patterson says. “Historically, the Park Service has interpreted that to mean that there was more than one generation of use prior to 1980, and so the issue of access with four-wheelers has been a frustrating problem for locals, but it’s become more of an issue today.”

Patterson’s project then took on two parts – one with a focus on access to caribou for subsistence purposes, and the second to document the history of access technology used by the local Indigenous population.

Patterson wanted to emphasize that people in the region have been adapting and using whatever technology they have available while also using the same trails for thousands of years. For example, people have long used dog sleds in the area and, more recently, reindeer sleds after reindeer herding was introduced by government officials in the 20^th century.

“Over time, the type of technology they use to access different places changed, and typically that change is driven by adaptation to socioeconomic changes and climate changes. The climate has been changing in Alaska for a long time just like the socio cultural and economic situation has been changing dramatically in Alaska for a long time.”

With all of this in mind, Patterson asks, what is considered “traditional”?

“If we’re going to use that word about Alaska Native cultures, we need to acknowledge that they’re highly adaptable to these new stressors, and the subsistence way of life will always find a way to persist.”

“Everything in bureaucracy moves slowly”

Through the course of his studies and fieldwork, Patterson documented evidence that detailed how successive generations have used ATVs for access to Katmai Preserve prior to 1980. With the knowledge he gathered, he developed presentations and briefing documents for decision-makers. With this information, the park superintendent signed a memorandum acknowledging that history and that it likely met the criteria for what ANILCA calls traditionally employed use of motorized surface transportation, says Patterson.

“However, the Park Service can’t just make that decision and then all of a sudden, allow all-terrain vehicle use. Everything in bureaucracy moves slowly,” says Patterson.

This work builds upon work that previous Park Service anthropologists conducted, including oral histories about the use of off-road vehicles in the 1990s, and the process resulting in the signing of a memorandum took a lot of work and patience on behalf of many people. Though changes have not been made yet, it is an important step in the right direction.

“Meanwhile, the decision maker for caribou hunting is not the National Park Service; it is the Federal Subsistence Board, but those regulations can change much faster because there’s a bi-annual cycle for hunting and fishing regulatory change.”

Therefore, this aspect of his project saw a result more quickly. In 2023, the Igiugig village tribal council submitted a proposal to the Federal Subsistence Board to open the caribou hunt for local residents, acknowledging that the smaller herd is separate from the Mulchatna Herd.

“The first caribou hunt in Katmai in six years is now occurring. Despite the lack of snow, the first caribou was caught in late February and shared throughout the communities. The hunt will go into the end of March.”

Ouimet adds that Patterson’s work carefully navigating the complexities between federal offices and local communities, has been extremely effective at changing regulation that has been stalled for decades.

In addition to his successes in aiding in the changing of regulation, Patterson successfully defended his dissertation in the Fall of 2024 and has since transitioned into a permanent role as a Cultural Anthropologist with the Park Service. He views his job as one that links the complex laws and regulations with serving the subsistence needs of the local Indigenous population.

Patterson appreciates that his position allows him to work more closely with decision-makers than he may otherwise have as an anthropologist, and this has allowed him to gain greater insight throughout the process, including appreciating the pressure they operate under.

“For example, another park in Alaska right now that authorized off-road vehicles for subsistence use in the 80s was later sued by environmentalist groups for damage done to the landscape by off-road vehicles. I just say that to acknowledge the people who make decisions are under a lot of pressure from all sides, so I think my job is to help them make the best-informed decision.”

Patterson’s approach also centers on activist methods to gain deeper insights into the context and needs of his Indigenous collaborators, and he says in his day-to-day work, if someone asks why an anthropologist works for the park service, he pushes back,

“No one questions why a biologist would work for the National Park Service so I feel defensive when people challenge the notion that an anthropologist would be advocating on behalf of local Alaska Native communities. I feel like my job is to, as best I can, understand the local perspective and bring it back to the internal management conversations at the Park Service.”

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