Last fall, the remnants of Typhoon Halong tore through numerous small Alaska Native villages off the road system in Western Alaska. The storm destroyed infrastructure, floated homes off their foundations, and displaced over a thousand people. A year later, hundreds remain displaced as the slow work of repair in a remote part of the state continues. And in one of the hardest hit communities – the small town of Kipnuk – people still aren't sure when they'll be moving back.
'Working as fast as we can'
The village of under 200 homes is situated on the wide open tundra and only consistently accessible by plane.
A year ago, 90% of the residences here were damaged by the remnants of Typhoon Halong, according to the State of Alaska's Emergency Operations Center. Dozens were swept off their foundations, some with families still inside. The community is now largely scattered across Alaska – some outside the region their ancestors have lived in for thousands of years.
Throughout the past year, crews have been working on repairs.
On a clear day in August, Eddie Chuckwuk's construction crew attempted what sounded like magic: raising a building back onto its foundations using air compressors.
Chuckwuk is one of several dozen people who have been working long days to rebuild the place where he grew up.
"We're working as fast as possible as we can to get the people back in town," Chuckwuk says. "That's what I just want to see – for everybody to come back and enjoy where they grew up instead of being placed in a different place … where they're not used to. It's pretty hard."
Challenges remain in moving back
This work is critical to getting Kipnuk's homes in shape to live in again, but the town is far from being fully restored.
According to the state, most people in Kipnuk didn't have home or flood insurance. They estimate that funds from the Federal Emergency Management Agency will make most of the homes livable by Thanksgiving – meaning replacing wet insulation and repairing windows, doors and roofs. But the funds won't be enough to return some severely damaged homes to how they were before the storm. The state is currently appealing for additional funding to build replacement housing.
There's also no estimate on when the school will reopen.
Leona Paul, who has been working as a cook to feed the construction teams, says even if the houses are habitable, some people were too traumatized by the storm to return.
"I think it's too overwhelming for them," she says, "especially the older people."
And climate change is making towns like Kipnuk more vulnerable to future storms. Most people in town want to rebuild the village somewhere safer but the funding they have received so far from FEMA can only go towards restoring what was damaged. Kipnuk hasn't yet found the money to move.
Living away from home takes a toll
Right now residents may not have a better option other than moving back. Many say living in bigger towns, or cities like Anchorage, has been tough. People aren't speaking as much Yugtun – the native language. They're farther from loved ones. Their kids, who are used to playing all over town, have to watch out for cars.
Leona Paul, who spent part of the summer in Kipnuk, says she likes being there. "You're free to do anything you want," she says. "In a city you just can't do whatever you want."
Being displaced from the village has also meant separation from the Alaska Native cultural practices of hunting and gathering traditional food on the land.
Some residents, like Burt Paul's family, traveled home for the summer to practice subsistence and be together.
Upriver from Kipnuk on a lush tundra bluff, his family filled buckets with sweet, orange salmonberries, or naunraqs as they are called in coastal Yugtun. He says after last fall's destruction – he didn't know when he'd see these native plants growing again.
"It beats my mind that I see food growing, grass growing, fish coming in," he says.
Paul's family evacuated after the storm, but he stayed behind in Kipnuk, acting as a community leader through the aftermath. Usually, his family goes camping and berry picking for days. This summer, their trips were shorter – confined to when everyone was in town.
Short as those trips may have been, he says they were important: "We have to keep things going some way, somehow, no matter what situation we go through," he says.
He's not sure when his family – or his village – will all be back together again.
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