Reggie King, Quileute Tribe
It was a gorgeous December afternoon on the Quileute reservation. I had parked my van at the Quileute Marina, a distance away from where the obnoxious Twilight fans would most likely be swarming First Beach. Grabbing my camera and hopping out of the van, I noticed a decommissioned commercial fishing vessel that had long been run aground in the Marina just to the left of where I had parked.
It was here that I met Reggie King; A commercial fisherman for 30 years, he wore the salt on his face. Having 12 seasons of commercial fishing myself, it was a comfortable starting point of conversation for the both of us...a conversation that stretched well over a couple of hours as he salvaged parts from the aforementioned fishing vessel.
As he wondered about hoisting the hydraulic driftnetting reel off of the deck with his cousin, he told me about the recent storms we had in the Pacific Northwest over the month of November. The mouth of the Quileute River rose so much over the course of the most recent storm that the lower level of the house across the street from us had held 3 feet of water just 2 weeks prior. Sandbags were still piled around the home's perimeter, just in case.
As he pointed out the radar he planned to lower, he told me about his son, a skilled hunter who had already shot 5 elk this season for elders of the village who were no longer physically able to hunt for themselves. He was immensely proud of having raised a hunter. And it makes sense. In a world of factory-farmed everythings, you have to question what is in our food, and how ethical the food industry is. This is a point that has led to a few of my friends going vegan. But Reggie and his family have never needed to find a solution for issues like this. Subsistence is a point of pride for all indigenous peoples, and the Quileute are no exception. According to their oral histories they are people born from wolves, and have always been particularly skilled at whaling, sealing and fishing. But with whales now being a protected group of animals (an infraorder [cetacea], if you want to be a pretentiously sassy biologist about it) along with seals and sea lions (too broad of taxonomic classifications, I won't humour you this time), the tribe is forced to hone in primarily on smaller marine species for their food sources. This results in the Quileute standing at a complex crossroad where sport fishermen and other commercial fishermen point the finger in their direction when there isnt quite enough escapement for Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife to open up certain fisheries. That finger-pointing isn't necessarily fair to any tribe doing their best to survive with what little they can get. But so long as the populations are managed responsibly each season, they can build a healthy supply of wild-harvested meats from the land or the sea- Salmon, steelhead, elk, deer, rockfish, cod, etc.
As he attempted to find out whether the deck's hatch ring was copper or brass, he mentioned that he had only left the area once in his life - To go down to California. It's where his life partner is from; She's from the Yurok tribe, another salmon-minded group of folks. When I ask why not explore more he had a simple, zen-like answer: "I have everything I've ever needed here." Then he looked up at the clouds and added "We have the best sunsets in the world, man".
As he was putting scrap metal into the bed of his pickup, he agreed to my request for capturing his portrait. While I prepped for the shot, I realized he was right about the sunsets. The clouds seem to always have an agreement with the sun here. It's almost like they constantly take turns showcasing each other. Here you just wait 5 minutes (truly!) if you dont like the current weather. Fog comes and goes. Clouds can be dramatic, cottoncandy-esque, scattered, or dominating...but they are always shifting and textured. Every afternoon or evening that I've spent here, I've watched the sun turn the sky not just yellow...but into bright golds, wild oranges, blushing pinks, blood reds, and luminous purples. Here, the day has no boring final act. It's always a stunning grand finale. And I decided to use that as a backdrop for his photo, as he stood beside the hydraulic driftnet reel... both consistent symbols that have shaped who he is today.
As he wished me a goodbye, he showed a keystone trait of the Quileute: Hospitality. He offered me smoked elk, jerky made by one of his family members. He taught me how to say “smoked elk” in Quileute, and I did quite well pronouncing it. My lame brain can’t recall it anymore though… But I took a handful, and he insisted I take another. It reminded me of my time leaving the Quileute reservation in 2013...
At that time I had been in La Push for about a week, and was determined to compensate for being there in any way I could. That's when I met Marie Riebe (f.y.i. Reggie mentioned to me that his brother had married into Marie's family), who took me up into the Hoh Rainforest and showed me how to harvest cedar bark and random edible goodies from the woods. She taught me how to prepare the bark for weaving, and shared bits of tribal history with me. By the end of that week I had seen and partaken in dances, helped with word processing for the publishing of their language's dictionary, and heard stories from the elders. While leaving a few days later, the bus I was riding was held up by a woman at the last stop before leaving tribal lands. The woman rushed up the steps, apologizing to the bus driver for blocking traffic, and asked loudly if I was aboard. I stood up and recognized her as someone who I had met that week. She handed me a small tupperware of food and explained that she lived across the street, and that Marie had called her to say I was leaving on the public transit. So this woman quickly microwaved a dish for me and hustled over in order to send me off with it. I was speechless. In the Tupperware was a medley of mushrooms, fish, steamed fiddleheads, and more. It's a classic Quileute characteristic, this sort of hospitality.
As Reggie and I parted ways, I realized why it always feels so familiar when entering Quileute land... It's the same type of hospitality that my own family in Hawaii shows to others. The insistence that you eat...and then eat more... no matter who you are. The deep care for the land. Respecting it in return for its providing for you. And appreciating what you can live off of in such a limited space that can still be so bountiful. Even though La Push and the Hawaiian Islands are separated by 2600 miles, it's a clear truth across all cultures that actively caring for one another is among the greatest forms of strength and selflessness. A lesson we can all absorb and apply in a world becoming increasingly divisive.
Build bridges. Not walls.