Anguish prevails over gold mining after historic storm
On Sunday, Sept. 18, residents of the Nome region awoke to deal with the wreckage of ex-typhoon Merbok, one of the most destructive storms to hit Western Alaska in recent memory. When access to the Nome-Council Highway opened that morning, drivers swarmed the beat-up road, dodging chunks of broken asphalt and rocks tossed up by the waves. Many headed east, anxious to assess the damage to their subsistence camps at Fort Davis or Nuuk. Others traveled in the same direction with shovels, five-gallon buckets and pans for collecting gold.
Beach miners crowded the eroded coastlines seeking fresh layers of gold-flecked dirt uncovered by the pounding surf. But their apparent disregard for the property rights of Alaska Native allotments and Native Corporation lands in the days after the storm has led to lingering frustration.
“It was extremely devastating,” said Akłaasiaq Ahmasuk. “What really bothered me so much was that these people were blatantly going outside of their digging zone, looting on our Native allotment. They didn't even think that we would notice or we would even care.”
Ahmasuk grew up on a Native allotment at Fort Davis. She now lives in a home nearby, so she went to check on the site that Sunday after the storm. She found that more than 30 feet of the Fort Davis coastline had been completely eroded, with at least 15 cabins washed away. While her family’s cabin hadn’t fallen into the water, a corner was now hanging over the new bank. Ahmasuk said she didn’t have time to grieve the loss because miners had already arrived at the site to poke around for gold in the debris. She said some seemed to be under the impression that the storm had extended the mean high tide mark beneath which they could dig.
The state has not changed the mean high tide measurement in the Nome region or any other areas of Western Alaska that were impacted by the storm, Lorraine Henry, a spokesperson for Alaska’s Department of Natural Resources, confirmed.
“Once the erosion from the storm is surveyed and analyzed, experts with the State will determine if updating the mean high water mark is necessary,” Henry told The Nugget. “Since the mean high tide mark remains at pre-storm levels, recreational miners may not mine on additional land impacted by storm erosion.”
Henry emphasized that without permission, miners are not allowed to dig on any land owned by the Native allotment owners, Alaska Native corporations, private entities, the City of Nome and Arctic Gold Mining LLC.
“We do advise our miners that as a term of our permit, they have to be properly located within the boundaries of where they have authorization to mine,” said Dave Charron, a DNR geologist in Fairbanks. However, Charron noted that the agency only enforces regulations for outfits that fit the legal definition of a “mining operation.” That usually doesn’t apply to individuals with pickup trucks and shovels. Charron said any trespassing issues around Nome would fall to local law enforcement.
By Monday, Sept. 19, chatter about the mining was already all over Facebook, and Ahmasuk was “completely shocked” that when she drove into town that day, miners lined the entire Nome-Council Highway. They were located beyond the usual areas where recreational mining is allowed on East Beach, digging into the state-owned road and in Sitnasuak land. When confronted, the miners all seemed to have the same lines about the supposed new high tide mark and their constitutional rights, she said.
Ahmasuk, who is Kawerak’s wellness director, informed the leadership of her organization and Sitnasuak Native Corporation, who tried to alert the public and law enforcement.
During the City of Nome’s incident command meeting to discuss the ongoing storm response on Sept. 20, Danielle Slingsby, Kawerak’s outreach director, encouraged local officials to include language condemning trespassing and looting in future announcements. There seemed to be some confusion during the meeting over whether there were legitimate gray areas that the miners were taking advantage of. But there was agreement that any digging into the scarp of the damaged Nome-Council Highway posed a clear safety issue and that trespassing was illegal.
“We'll make a couple of arrests if we have to do that, and I would bet that would take care of the problem,” said NPD Investigator William Crockett.
NPD Chief Mike Heintzelman confirmed that one arrest was made by an officer checking for illegal mining that week. The arrest, however, was for a warrant that was already on file. The Alaska State Troopers did not make any charges for trespassing. And the encroachment on destroyed campsites continued.
On Friday, Sept. 23, Marie Tozier went to her family’s Sitnasuak campsite about 3.5-4 miles outside of Nome off the Council Highway. Their cabin had been washed away and ended up in a pond across the road, too rotted by the water to be restored. The fish rack was also gone, with just a pole remaining at the site. Other losses were more intangible.
“It wasn't just the cabin, it wasn't just the physical cache,” Tozier said. “It was all of those memories, all of the time spent learning how to take care of ugruk, learning how to put seal oil away, learning how to hang dry fish, watching my grandfather, year after year after year, lighting little smoke fires underneath the fish to keep the flies away. How do you replace all of that?”
Her encounters with beach miners that day only added pain. Tozier said one pair of men started digging in the sand at her campsite. She said they argued with her when she told them they were on private property and they didn’t have permission to be there.
“It was just such an insult to have these people show up that very obviously had no care or concern for where they were, and what they were doing and the fact that they were on private property,” Tozier said.
By the time they filled their rig and left, another pair of miners arrived. One claimed he had an Alaska constitution in his pocket that gave him a right to be there. The storm surge had cut a new bank into the beach and the miners were claiming—again, incorrectly—that these eroded areas were now within the mean high tide level. “He was telling his partner, ‘This is how the Natives here built their houses, and then they just get washed away by the storm, that's not our fault,’” Tozier said. “It was just ignorant and really awful.”
Tozier said her family called the Nome Police Department but was forwarded to the Alaska State Troopers. Her husband ended up on the phone with a dispatcher in Fairbanks. In the initial call, the troopers apparently said the issue was a federal matter out of their jurisdiction. In another call, a dispatcher took a description of the men, but Tozier said she has yet to receive a follow-up phone call.
“I respect law enforcement, but when they're here locally, then they should be present, they should be available,” Tozier said. “People can say, ‘Well, was that really an emergency?’ Well, maybe not, but it was really important to me, and why haven't they called me back?”
Alaska State Trooper spokesperson Tim DeSpain confirmed that the troopers received some reports of trespassing incidents following the storm. “AST has contacted some individuals in regards to the reports and are investigating as we can,” DeSpain said. “No citations have been issued at this time.”
For Ahmasuk, the looting incidents underscored how many people come to Nome with an attitude that resembles the Manifest Destiny ideology of the 19th century, or simply with total ignorance of the history of this place and its Indigenous community.
“I don't want to be angry or hateful that people just don't know who we are,” Ahmasuk said.
In her job, she often focuses on cultural revitalization projects, and the events highlighted one reason she would like to see Nome establish a large annual Native gathering, similar to events found in other communities like Bethel.
“Since we don't have that here, people that are guests to our homelands haven't had the opportunity to really see who we are and see us thriving and see us as a strong people that I know we are,” she said. “When you have a big regional gathering, people that are guests can really see who we are and gain that cultural respect of the Native people. Because what I felt was that I totally do not feel respected as a Native person having right to land.”