FEATURE STORY

The Hoopa Valley is a wide and flat swath of land embraced by pine-studded mountains in the Trinity National Forest of Northern California. Above the valley the malingering fog gives way to a pristine blue sky, accenting the verdant green slopes and gold winter grasses. The Trinity River, like a silver chain, cuts a winding path through the middle of the valley.

A lost art
It was here on the river where the water flows in abundance that George Blake played host to former Secretary of Interior Bruce Babbitt and other D.C. dignitaries in mid-December. The experience of the visitors was heightened by a short ride in a native dugout canoe — a traditional vessel carved out of a redwood tree trunk by Blake and his helpers.

Blake is the keeper of an almost lost art. The canoes, he says, were originally a trade item from the nearby Yurok tribe in Humboldt where redwood was once available. Blake himself is a descendant of both tribes, inheriting the sacred traditions and talents that ran through generations of Yurok and Hupa (as spelled when referring to the people). Blake admits he was a rebel in his early days, an "angry young person," he says. But, in his late 20s he hoisted a Stihl chainsaw over his shoulder and went to help an old boat builder named Dewy George. Blake watched as the elder man eyed the massive redwood log and then chalked out a pattern on its surface. He was, by then, too old to do the hard work himself. The younger men, like Blake, chipped away at the log with chainsaws and hand tools.

"We worked huge pieces off in one day," Blake remembers. "Then Dewy George said it was too hot. ‘Take me home,’ he says. From then on, it was my log. My boat." Blake smiled at the memory. "The excitement of that boat the first day … I wanted to hook up the lights and work through the night. It still carries that kind of energy for me."

In the days of his ancestors, carving the canoes had been a long process. Logs had been split in half; the pulpy center burned out under a layer of hot coals and ash, and then carved with stone adzes and scrapers. Once harassed by a "purist," at a demonstration in which Blake used his expedient chainsaw, Blake shouted out; "When the man from the museum comes to buy my canoe in a covered wagon, I’ll do it the old way!"

Spiritual connections
Although Blake is occasionally invited to create a canoe for a museum or other institution, the craft is not a moneymaker. First, it has become increasingly difficult to find logs of adequate size and second, the voluminous rise of forest regulations makes it nearly impossible for logging companies to donate even downed logs. The Redwood National Park donated Blake’s last log and his work was funded by the California Arts Council. A father and grandfather, Blake is more concerned with passing the skill to the new generation. The canoes, he explains, represent an essential element of Hupa culture. The people, dressed in traditional regalia, performed sacred dances in the boats.

The spiritual dimension of life among his people is inseparable from everyday existence for Blake. "I make boats and they dance in them," he says. "Whether that means I dance, who knows?" And, his gifts do not stop there. Blake is a humble, yet extraordinarily talented artist. He creates stunning jewelry in silver and gold. He turns deer antler into delicate purses, earrings and other pieces of personal adornment. Blake is also an accomplished potter, throwing and embellishing pieces that span his Native American roots and modern art. He seems almost unaware of his exceptional, innate talent. Talent, he explains, was not an external trait. Traditionally, a person gave his gifts to the good of the people.

Tomorrow’s promise
Blake, like many Native Americans living on reservations and rancherias, carries the legacy of centuries of shameful treatment by government. He talks about broken treaties and promises. Of the days when the government bought the land under the trees for one dollar. He shakes his head and says it does no good to dwell on the scars of the past.

Along with losing lands and livelihood, Blake explains that a traditional philosophy was also changed — at least for a time. The western concept of value was adopted by his people. "The shell was money," he explained. "The dentalian shell was traded from coast to coast. It was put on regalia and worn." The dollar upset that medium of exchange and value. However, across the nation, Native Americans are once again proudly displaying their regalia in sacred ceremonies that have been reborn in the new century. "It took a long time for people to get prestige in dancing again," he says, "and the boatmen are practically gone."

The Hoopa Valley is a testimony to the renaissance of its native peoples. The tribe is the region’s largest employer. Once, many Hupa men had been employed at the lumber companies located in the valley. But logging disappeared as the mills closed one by one. Poverty is pervasive, despite the presence of a casino in the heart of town. There simply isn’t the population to make such a venture successful.

Nonetheless, tribal leaders have knit together a community that honors its history. Alongside the Trinity River, where, according to oral tradition, people lived since time began, there is a "xonta" — a traditional family house — and a "taikyuw" or sweathouse where the men lived. The cedar-planked structures hug the ground at four feet at the sides and rise to a peak of six feet. Built partially underground, the structures provided protection from the elements and from the grizzly bears that once roamed the valley. There is a museum and tribal library and people, like George Blake, who keep the traditions alive.

"I hope to teach these things," he says, "to perpetuate the arts and crafts of the people." Blake’s son, Jake, works at his side in boat building and a talented nephew, Caw-tep, also shows high promise. Blake hopes to take both the young people with him to England to participate in an artist’s festival sponsored by Husqvarna next summer. There, the team will build a boat of cedar in the hope of selling it to the highest bidder.

Possessing many considerable talents, Blake admits he lives "hand-to-mouth" as he tries to make a living as a Hupa artist. Although he has shown works at many prestigious museums and been artist-in-residence at Humboldt State University, his lifestyle is very modest. Blake, it seems, is personally involved in a clash of values. One world paying handsomely in dollars for art works of rare beauty, and another residing simply and quietly in the soul.

"There is a tremendous amount of humility that goes on before you get your spiritual growth," Blake says thoughtfully. "I have seen it in the dancers. There has to be a balance."