Exploring Attu’s Underwater Battlefield and Offshore Environment

This trip was an intense, emotional, and incredible experience all around. To be so far out on the Aleutians was something I had only dreamed of. Previously I’d only ever been so far out as Umnak Island or Nikolski. Despite even my parents having first met in Adak, I had never gotten a chance to visit prior to this expedition. And although Attu was, of course, the main highlight and focus of our expedition, I really can’t express enough how much it meant to my family and to me. For our ancestors and future generations as well. The vast, almost never-ending and hypnotizing beauty of Attus' gorgeous landscape was absolutely unreal. It feels wrong even attempting to describe the island further. All the words in the English language could never come close to depicting the brilliant wonders of Attu Island that the team and I were ever so grateful to witness.

When we finally stopped the boat in Massacre Bay, everyone went out. At first glance, I thought it looked almost identical to Unalaska. Rolling hills of green tundra, with almost obnoxiously beautiful tints of yellow and blue in the mix. No trees in sight, and beaches of endless smooth gray-toned stones fenced in by tall beach grass and the ocean. The more and more I looked, there were key details and features that allowed me to identify Attu on its own. It had much taller mountains: they passed the cloudline, some reached so far up that we were never able to see the top in the fog. The island was larger as well, the coasts and tidepools stretched far past the horizon. Dark, mysterious, and hidden caves peaked out through jagged cliff faces where many species of seabirds make their homes. Upon closer examination the grass was different too. It felt different; it almost seemed to glow with an aura: The whole of Attu really did. More times than one I felt overwhelmed by the possibilities of what could have been. What it would have been like to grow up in the Unangax communities prior to colonization. How did the children play and what were their favorite spots? What did people gossip about? Did they have comedy nights? So many questions and I had so little time.

We were so close to the shore I was wholly convinced I could have gone overboard and swam across the bay. Not even the coldest waters would have stopped me. Unfortunately, safety regulations did though. Often I fantasized about the way the water would have moved if I had gone swimming in the bay. I wanted to feel the shock of the cold, and the rocks beneath my feet on the shore. I dreamed of laying on the mountainside in the neon green and blue tundra, picking moss berries and feeling the fuzzy lichen tickle my arms. Watching the ocean for hours, while it watched me back. It frustrated me that I couldn’t be on land, although I understood. I was overflowing with thoughts and inspiration, so much that I felt more frozen in place than anything. It feels somewhat strange to admit for whatever reason, but I really did feel my connection to the island. It felt almost nostalgic, like I had foggy, distant memories of Attu. Maybe it was my imagination running overtime, out of my child-like joy, and sense of wonder from being there — but I felt euphoric. I couldn’t stop smiling and I didn’t want to.

I also had pangs of heavy grief for our Unangax̂ people lost to time, for our culture, and the elders who are still around. For a time or place where we maybe could have lived traditionally. Somewhere we could have experienced our true ways of life. Fishing, hunting, and learning the ways of our cultural crafts. I almost felt like I was reading a history written into the sides of cliffs, invisible words to almost all but myself. Thoughts, feelings, memories of joy, laughter, love, war, bloodshed and grief, had been deeply ingrained into Attu for thousands of years. Ingrained into the lands, the waters of the Aleutian Chain, and into the hearts of our people.

During my extensive journey of research, I collected every bit of pre-colonial knowledge, every oral history that I could squeeze out of family members, or find in the library. More than anything really, I found a sense of hope. Cheesy I know, but after the expedition across the Aleutians, finally getting to see Attu and Kiska in person, I had never felt so extremely confident in the survival of our culture’s future — in the survival of myself even. Recently I finished my first year at college (Institute of American Indian Arts) as a studio arts major. I express my creativity in lots of different mediums, and I hadn't yet chosen a focus. This expedition helped me find my bigger picture. This academic year I will be pursuing my Indigenous Liberal Studies and Museum Curation Certifications! The principal investigators and I had discussed some projects I could work on prior to even meeting at the airport gate. And as soon as we boarded the Norseman II, I got to work. It took me a couple days, but I managed to publish a (mostly) working blog and YouTube channel!

I also scraped together some footage I took on my phone with some royalty free music and whipped up three incredibly short videos of our time on the boat. Everyone was very kind and supportive the whole way there and back. I've since taken a short break from uploads as I’m heading back to college soon. But I’m gearing up to continue uploading more clips from the project (and hopefully future projects!) as well as my own personal and creative endeavors and escapades. I’m very much looking forward to working on more projects and conducting research like I did on this Attu trip. My work in the Aleutians is definitely not over!

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By Wolfgang M. Tutiakoff
Published October 24, 2024