We've heard a lot about the negative effects of climate change in the arctic and subarctic. But some Alaskans, like farmer Tim Meyers, are seeing warming temperatures as an opportunity.

Now that potato harvest is underway at his Bethel farm, Meyers uses a giant potato washer, like a washing machine for root vegetables, to clean California white potatoes.

They're some of the only commercially-produced vegetables in this southwestern Alaska region, about the size of Oregon.

Meyers says the warming summers are a big part of his success.

"I hate to say that but I guess I'm taking advantage of the fact that it is getting warmer," he says.

He says working the tundra — plowing swampy bogs full of silty soil — is tough. But he's adapted to farming in the sub-arctic, even making his own homemade, fermented fish fertilizer.

At the 15-acre organic farm, which has been operating for more than a decade, Meyers is growing crops like strawberries in greenhouses. But he says as temperatures warm due to climate change, it's easier to grow things like potatoes, cabbages and kale right in the ground, outside.

"Years ago, it was hard freeze and below zero up to the third week in May," he says. "We haven't had any of that this winter."

In fact, 2014 ranked as the warmest year on record in Alaska. Rick Thoman, a climatologist with the National Weather Service, says that's not just a fluke, it's a trend.

"What the last century of weather observations and climate observations in Alaska are telling us is that over the last couple of decades it's been significantly warmer over most of Alaska than it was during the middle and later part of the 20th Century," Thoman says.

He says the long-term average temperature for Bethel for an entire year had been 29 degrees, but in 2014 it was nearly 35 degrees. That's only six degrees difference, but it's significant because now it's right above freezing, which allows more things to grow outside.

Most food is flown into in this town of about 6,000, and it can be expensive. At the grocery store here, a bag of russet potatoes can cost twice as much as outside Alaska.

Food security is real issue here. The region has traditionally relied on subsistence hunting and gathering. But residents are becoming increasingly dependent on expensive imports.

"So that's gonna be kinda cost prohibitive for people with lower incomes to get good nutrition," says medical resident Peter Abraham.

Abraham works at the local hospital and specializes in nutrition. He also spends time volunteering at Meyers Farm and says it eliminates the biggest barrier to getting fresh produce onto local dinner tables: transport.

"Things that are shipped from far away are not gonna be fresh when they arrive," he says.

So he hopes cheaper and fresher produce will be more attractive to residents.

At the Meyers Farm stand, customer and long-time resident Josh Craven, is happy with both the price and the quality.

"It seems like we walk out with more for less, and it's usually better, it's fresher" Craven says.

He likes to bring his two young daughters shopping with him, so they can understand where their food comes from.

And farmer Tim Meyers is glad that at least some of the food in Bethel doesn't have to be flown in from Mexico or elsewhere.

"In my mind, there's no end to the potential," he says. "I mean it's obvious we can grow a tremendous amount of food."

Meyers says he grew about 100,000 pounds of produce this year. Next year he hopes to double that.

Copyright 2015 KYUK-AM. To see more, visit http://kyuk.org/category/radio/.

It started as a little tree, barely the height of an eager toddler hyped up on holiday treats, more than 90 years ago.

Now, it's all grown up — 74 feet, to be exact — and has made it to the big leagues: Washington, D.C.

A Christmas tree in the capitol is nothing new. The tradition began in 1964, when then-House Speaker John McCormack (D-Mass.) proposed planting a tree on the Capitol Grounds. The Forest Service took ownership of the project in 1970.

Each year, a tree is cut from a different U.S. state and brought to Washington. The first tree was from Pennsylvania, a popular choice in the early years.

But, this year, there's a twist: it's the first time that a tree has come from a non-contiguous state, and according to organizers, the first to travel by boat. It also comes from a forest that's notoriously hard to pronounce.

"A kindergarten teacher once said that you say Chugach like it's a sneeze, and I've used that comparison ever since. It's a miracle," says Mona Spargo, who works for the Chugach National Forest in Alaska.

Needle In A Haystack

In a forest the size of New Hampshire, how do you pick just one tree?

This one was actually found 300 feet from a highway — in a national park that's 99 percent roadless.

Trees have to pass rigorous requirements before being even remotely considered. The tree can be seen from all sides — so you can't just hide flaws the way you do at home by stowing it in a corner.

"It can't have any thin spots or branches that stick out a lot on one side or the other. It has to be a perfect conical shape," Ted Bechtol, superintendent of the Capitol Grounds, wrote in a blog post for the Forest Service.

Perfectly conical? Check. Sixty-five to 85-feet high? Check. A uniform spread of branches, good density and rich color? Sold!

After three weeks of walking, silviculturist Mandy Villwock narrowed the selection to six. Then Bechtol flew out to help make the final cut.

It's his 11th year helping to select the tree. When asked if he has a favorite, he wrote that's like being asked if he has favorite children.

Bechtol wasn't overly enthusiastic about any of the trees — until he saw the final contender.

"As soon as he saw it, he gave us a huge thumbs up. You could see that this was the one," Spargo says.

Bechtol made the decision on the spot, but that was just the beginning.

Braving Stormy Seas

The tree traveled precisely 3410.94 miles over its two-week trip, a trip that Spargo, who rode along with the tree, says generated unexpected enthusiasm.

"We were amazed. I was surprised at how many people had connections to Alaska and just how everyone was so enthused about it," she says.

Holiday enthusiasts could track the tree's path and figure out community stops to catch a glimpse.

"Every bathroom break and every stop for gas became an event in itself, people were following us!" Spargo says.

She likened it to being on tour with a celebrity.

"I don't know how we will go back to regular life," she says, laughing.

The tree arrived at 4 a.m. on Fri., Nov. 20, to avoid traffic, and now sits on the front lawn of the U.S. Capitol Building. But you can still see the complete path — including a jaunt in the Pacific Ocean — online.

Safely packed on a container ship, the tree faced stormy conditions during the three-day voyage between the Port of Anchorage in Alaska and Tacoma, Wash.

Organizers say there were 100 mph winds and 50-foot waves — making the tree, as Jimmy Fallon joked, perhaps the hardest working member of Congress.

Upon arrival in Tacoma, the tree was unloaded onto a flatbed truck and driven across the country by Alaska Trucking Association's "Driver Of The Year" John Schank. He's driven 5 million miles over the course of his career — and with flushed cheeks and a white beard, looks remarkably like Santa.

Welcome To Capitol Hill

According to Bechtol, a crew of seven people is responsible for sprucing up the tree when it arrives, infilling branches and making minor repairs.

Then, the tree is lifted by a crane and dropped into a concrete base — grounded with anchors to help keep the tree steady. Bechtol writes that gusts up to 45 mph haven't toppled a tree yet.

As the home state, Alaskans are responsible for the tree decorations — and they didn't disappoint. Artists, children and everyone in between handcrafted 4,000 ornaments for the Capitol tree as well as Christmas trees in federal offices throughout D.C. They also stitched accompanying tree skirts.

The tree will be lit by House Speaker Paul Ryan (R-Wis.) on Dec. 2. He'll be joined by a special guest: fifth-grader Anna DeVolld from Alaska. She, along with hundreds of other elementary school students, submitted essays to Sen. Lisa Murkowski (R-Alaska) describing why the tree is significant for Alaskans.

DeVolld drew parallels between the tinsel sparkling like glaciers and the tree's height mirroring Alaska's colossal mountain peaks.

"Alaskan Christmas trees are special because they are a symbol of Alaskan pride," she wrote.

Kylie Mohr is a digital news intern at NPR.org.

Copyright 2015 NPR. To see more, visit http://www.npr.org/.

Alaska is about to become the first state to have pot cafes where people can buy and consume marijuana, similar to Amsterdam.

Right now, that's not legal in other states that have recreational marijuana.

Brothers James and Giono Barrett, who own a marijuana business, Rainforest Farms, in Juneau, also plan to produce a line of chocolate bars infused with pot. They'll be an alternative to the sugary, processed edibles Giono says he has eaten recently in Colorado.

"Man, when I was down there there was just a lot of products I didn't want to put in my body at all — not because of the cannabis," he says. "I actually got sick off one of them. I got nauseous."

Unlike Colorado, Rainforest Farms can have a cafe for its customers to eat their pot-infused treats. In November, the Alaska state marijuana control board approved on-site consumption at retail stores. Those businesses could start popping up as early as summer. Each municipality has to give the ultimate OK.

"I am not thinking, 'Oh, goody, goody, we're going to get rich because of pot.' That is not in my thought process at all," says Mary Becker, Juneau's mayor.

She's a retired middle school teacher. Drug aversion programs, she says, were a regular staple in her classroom.

"I have grandchildren and I've taught school and I want to see these young people have good jobs. They can't even get a job in the mine if they test with a drug in their system," she says.

Pot cafes in Alaska give people a legal place to consume marijuana, but some municipalities have anti-smoking laws. Juneau has a strict clean air ordinance that prohibits smoking tobacco and marijuana in public places, in businesses like restaurants and even in private clubs like an Elks Lodge.

Becker says while she's not excited her state would be the first to have marijuana cafes, a pot brownie doesn't bother her as much as a joint.

"I mean, I'd rather people didn't put their calories in their bodies with edibles of drugs, but it does not damage the smoking ordinance and that's been one of my real concerns," she says.

Attorney Kevin Higgins says he smokes marijuana at his home to relieve job stress but would consider going to pot cafes.

He says the number of local pot enthusiasts like himself probably isn't big enough to sustain businesses. But there is another possibility.

"Tourists are obviously willing to pay a premium on a lot of things just to be part of the experience of floating up the Inside Passage," he says.

And with close to a million cruise ship passengers each year, marijuana cafes could mean an added attraction in Juneau.

But Becker says pot pales in comparison to the city's other attractions.

"Have we looked at the Mendenhall Glacier? Have we gone out on the water and seen the whales? I have a hard time thinking people are going to come to Juneau to get their pot," Becker says.

Copyright 2015 KTOO-FM. To see more, visit KTOO-FM.

For decades, Alaska has relied on oil to pay its bills. In recent years, up to 90 percent of state spending came from oil revenue. With crude prices at a 12-year low, the state faces at least a $3.5 billion deficit — or two-thirds of its budget.

Lawmakers gathering in Juneau on Tuesday face some unpopular choices, including the first income tax in decades.

To understand why Alaska has a budget problem, stop by any gas station. In Anchorage, gas sells for $2.30 a gallon. A year and a half ago, people here were shelling out more than $4 a gallon. And that's the problem.

Tour guide Lynne Jablonski stopped to fill up her car.

"It's a mixed feeling, right? Because it's a great thing when I look at my credit card bill, but it's not so good for the state that the oil prices are so low," Jablonski says.

As crude prices have dropped, the state's budget has tanked. So America's most oil-dependent state is trying to figure out what to do.

Alaska always knew this day would come. When companies struck oil in Prudhoe Bay in 1968, leaders worried how to manage the windfall.

"You've got to remove the money. Put it behind a rope where you cannot utilize it for flamboyant expenditures," says Jay Hammond, Alaska's governor, speaking in 1980. Hammond helped create the Permanent Fund. Call it Alaska's retirement account. Each year, a share of oil money is set aside. The fund has grown to about $50 billion — and the state isn't allowed to touch it, just the earnings.

Hammond saw it as a source of income for when oil ran out.

In the past 40 years, those earnings have been used for pretty much just one thing: Everyone in the state receives an annual share. Last year's check was more than $2,000. If the state wants to use the fund's earnings to cover the deficit, it will reduce that dividend.

Back at the gas station, Dave Niebert filled up his tank. He puts his daughter's check each year into a college fund.

"I'm a long-term Alaskan, been here my whole life, and I've gotten every one of the Permanent Fund checks, so I think they can look elsewhere," Niebert says.

There aren't many places to look. Alaska remains the only state without either an income or a sales tax. Even if it had both, the tax base isn't big enough. Only about 740,000 people live here.

With oil down, earnings on the state's savings are now the single largest source of income.

Alaska Gov. Bill Walker wants to turn those savings into a kind of endowment, to generate a fixed income.

"It basically puts Alaska on an allowance, and so we stop making our day-to-day decisions in government based upon the price of oil," he says.

The plan wouldn't solve all the budget problems. So Walker has proposed new taxes, including the first income tax since 1980.

That's a tall order anytime — and this is an election year. The Legislature's Republican majority opposes new taxes and wants deep cuts first.

Democrats, like Sen. Bill Wielechowski, argue that before the state goes after Alaskans' PFD — or Permanent Fund dividend — it should demand more of its biggest industry.

"I have a hard time going back to my constituents and saying, 'Yeah, I'm sorry, I have to take your PFD so I can continue to give tax credits to the largest, wealthiest corporations in the history of the world.' That's not going to fly in my district," he says.

It's not clear it will fly anywhere. But if it does, the last frontier could find its fate a little less tied to the price at the pump.

Copyright 2016 Alaska Public Telecommunications Inc.. To see more, visit Alaska Public Telecommunications Inc..

The Mendenhall Glacier is visible from the visitor center parking lot. But it's still pretty far and if you traveled all the way to Juneau, Alaska, you probably want to get up close to the blue tinted ice.

Touching the face of the glacier can be tricky. You're separated by cold, silty water, and a hike over the ridge could take hours.

Visitor center staff know that. And inside, they use it to prove a point.

John Neary, director of the glacier's visitor center, wants the more than 500,000 people who visit the Mendenhall Glacier each year to know that it's rapidly retreating due to climate change.

"It became our central topic really just in the last few years," Neary says.

The 18 staffers who work for him are prepared to talk about it. Tod Kahn, a Forest Service employee, lures a crowd over to touch a slick hunk of glacial ice.

"Have you had a chance to shake hands with the Mendenhall Glacier yet?" Kahn asks them.

She pulls out a stack of photos.

"Would you like to see some photos of the glacier in the past?" she asks.

The photos start in the 1950s and show the progression of how much the glacier has changed.

"You can't replace it, right?" asks Wilmer Balatbat, a tourist. Kahn says no. Balatbat asks how to stop it — exactly the kind of reaction the Forest Service wants.

"We didn't know it's deteriorating that fast," Balatbat says. "We believe it's for everybody to see. For generations and generations."

Initially, Neary says, not everyone was game for the new programming.

"There was resistance and I think it's because people view it as a negative thing," Neary says. "And you know, people on vacation, they don't want to hear about negative things. They want to think about positive, really exciting — watch the whales, see the eagles, that sort of thing."

But he says it's all connected. For instance, nutrients from the glacier feed plankton in the ocean. Those plankton feed the whales.

Over the past 30 years, Neary has noticed an extreme visible change in the glacier. But Forest Service staff say — at least once a day — they get someone who disagrees with the climate change spiel, like Joe and Sarah DeRosier, a Minnesota couple in their 20s.

"The last time we were in Alaska we were high school sweethearts," Sarah says. "We were 16 years old, so it's nice to come back almost 10 years later and see how the landscape has changed."

It's changed a lot: The glacier has retreated over 100 feet since then. Still, they say they're not worried about what's causing it.

"I think everything is just pure speculation," Joe says. "We don't truly know. Obviously, it's receding and it's changing but it's just one of those natural cycles. Some years they recede. Some years they grow."

Actually, most of the world's glaciers are losing ice. And most of the tourists are engaged in that conversation.

Anna Laing traveled all the way from Scotland to be here. She said she had no idea she'd learn so much about climate change.

"It's just a statement that's out there, normally," Laing says. "And it doesn't really mean much to you until you really see the physical evidence of it. Especially since we're able to touch the glacier there and know what we're losing."

By the end of the century, according to The University of Alaska Fairbanks Geophysical Institute, the Mendenhall Glacier won't even be visible from the visitor center.

This report comes from Alaska's Energy Desk, a public media collaboration focused on energy and the environment.

Copyright 2016 KTOO-FM. To see more, visit KTOO-FM.

SciWorks Radio is a production of 88.5 WFDD and SciWorks, the Science Center and Environmental Park of Forsyth County, located in Winston-Salem. Follow Shawn on Twitter @SCIFitz.

Born of elements manufactured in stars and dispersed through space via Supernovae explosions, Earth is a dynamic machine. Always in motion, the materials of our planet are constantly made, destroyed, and re-made. Mountain-building is one such process. Rock, once a seafloor of mud, sand, and pebbles, towers into the sky, only to erode away, becoming a new and different seafloor, layered like pages in a book.

Appalachian State University Geology Professor Dr. Ellen Cowan reads these pages, most recently off the coast of Alaska. They tell the full story of geological changes on the continent, as written by glaciers over millions of years. 

(Dr. Cowan's work is funded by USSSP and NSF, and was a part of the International Ocean Discovery Program (IODP))

“I'm a geologist and my particular focus is in the glacier marine environment, which is the interface between glaciers on land and the marine record in bodies of water like the fjords or oceans.”

Glaciers move Earth material away from the continent like conveyor belts.  

“The record I look at is the record of ice rafting in the ocean, and we wouldn't have a way of accessing this record on land because every wave of glaciation takes out the rocks that were deposited before it. So the icebergs and sea ice would pick up the particles of rock, either stones or sand, and float them out into the deep sea. And when the ice melts that sand falls to the seafloor, and that's what we gather to look at the evidence of glaciation on land.”

The material is sampled in rock cores, drilled and recovered from a research vessel.

Differences in the deposited material, as shown in the layers of the core, reflect and reveal changes on the continent. The deeper you drill, the farther back in time you can read, and Dr. Cowan and her team analyzed cores up to a kilometer in length.

“The rates of sedimentation from these very large, warm temperate glaciers into the ocean are very high. They're on the order of 100 cm per thousand years, which in geological terms is extremely high.

The record goes as far back as 10 or more million years, and we can see when glaciation started up in the coast of Alaska. And by this glaciation I mean when did the glaciers get large enough to make it to the coastal zone and to discharge icebergs out into the sea?”

Dr. Cowan’s research is about adding to the body of scientific knowledge. Future researchers will refer to her work in their own research. She leaves an encyclopedia of the mud and rock beneath the seafloor telling Alaska’s geologic story throughout deep time.

"And so with these details in the record that we’re looking at to try to think about what happened on the continent in terms of glaciers cutting valleys through the mountains and being a major erosive force on Alaska... We see the onset in the gulf of Alaska area around 2.8 million years ago. That's when glaciation picked up and these icebergs started to come off shore. And we see the next big advance of glaciation at about 1.2 million years when it looks like glaciers actually grew in size.

We can think about the importance of ice in terms of an end member of climate conditions. If we lose all the ice on earth, then we have a climate which isn't like our climate today, or the glacial climates of the past. It changes the weather, changes sea level; it changes our perspective with the earth. And I think knowing what has happened is a really important perspective for us to have. As I told my students in class, what has happened can happen again, and so that's why it's important to be aware of what sort of fluctuations have occurred over time in the geologic past."

       ---

It has 13 decks, eight restaurants, a casino and a spa. Staterooms start at about $20,000 and run as high as $120,000.

And it's about to journey through the Northwest Passage.

The Crystal Serenity is the largest cruise ship to navigate from Alaska to New York City, by way of the Arctic Ocean. And as climate change opens up the top of the world, it may be just the first taste of what's to come.

Sitting in one of those pricey staterooms, passenger Moira Somers says that for most of the people onboard, the ship is as much a destination as the Arctic.

"When you start your cruise ... and you see the ship, it's goosebump stuff," she says.

Somers and her husband live in Victoria, British Columbia, and they are regular cruisers. But this time is different.

"Maybe we're not so sure what we're letting ourselves in for?" she says. "But there's so much, we've read so much, we've prepared ourselves, and we know it's a big thing."

Until about a decade ago, the Northwest Passage could be reliably navigated only by ships with icebreaking capabilities — even in the summer. But a warming Arctic has meant increasingly ice-free summers.

And while smaller cruise ships have visited the region for years, the Crystal Serenity, with more than 1,600 guests and crew, is by far the biggest. It's a dry run for large-scale tourism in a region that hasn't seen anything quite like it.

The man in charge, Capt. Birger Vorland, is not concerned.

Vorland has spent 38 years at sea. Vorland, who is originally from Norway, says the Northwest Passage has special meaning.

"My countryman, Roald Amundsen, did the first transit here between 1903 and 1906," Vorland says. "We're going to do it in 32 days and in a lot more comfort."

Standing on the navigation bridge, Vorland ticks off the special preparations for the trip: systems to detect ice, two Canadian ice pilots to assist him, an escort ship in case he runs into trouble.

"We have crossed all the t's, dotted all the i's," he says. "Nobody has ever planned a cruise as diligently and as detailed as Crystal Cruises has done for this particular voyage."

As the ship gets ready to leave Seward, Alaska, there's an emergency drill. In the casino, guests wearing life jackets gather around a sign that reads, "Lifeboat 6."

Despite Vorland's assurances, plenty of people are worried about what happens if this scenario plays out in real life.

"There's absolutely no capacity to respond to accidents," says Elena Agarkova, who tracks shipping for the World Wildlife Fund conservation group.

She says there's very little search and rescue infrastructure in the region — a major concern for authorities. Some of the communities it is visiting have populations smaller than the ship itself.

Agarkova points out the question isn't just whether the Crystal Serenity is ready for the Arctic, but if the Arctic is ready for the Crystal Serenity.

"The main reason why this ship is able to go up to Northwest Passage is climate change — the melting of the Arctic ice, which is threatening the very wildlife that this cruise ship is promising to its passengers," Agarkova says.

That tension isn't lost on passenger Somers.

"One kind of feels — I won't say guilty, but you're taking advantage of what is happening," she says.

Somers hopes the cruise is drawing attention to climate change. But she has more immediate goals, too.

"My big dream is to see a polar bear," she says.

The Crystal Serenity is scheduled to arrive in New York City on Sept. 16.

This report comes fromAlaska's Energy Desk, a public media collaboration focused on energy and the environment.

Copyright 2016 Alaska Public Telecommunications Inc.. To see more, visit Alaska Public Telecommunications Inc..

Strict bans on ivory trade are aimed at preventing elephant poaching. But the state and federal measures are causing unintended consequences for Alaska Natives who legally hunt walruses and carve their tusks for a living.

Among dozens of tables at a recent craft fair in Fairbanks, Alaska, the glitter and gleam of Dennis Pungowiyi's ivory stands out. He has everything from small sculptures of birds to curved cribbage boards etched into tusks.

"I'm more well-known for my walruses," Pungowiyi says. "These bigger ones are from a 10-pound tusk, and I only get maybe two or three of those tusks a year."

Walruses aren't an endangered species and, under the Marine Mammal Protection Act, Alaska Natives are entitled to hunt them and sell byproducts such as whiskers, bones and ivory. Pungowiyi's family is from Savoonga, a community of about 700 people on St. Lawrence Island, which is between Alaska and Russia. The primary reason for the hunt is food, but the sale of tusks and carvings helps bring in cash.

"We've taken a pretty big hit on this elephant ivory ban. People are getting mistaken with it, with walrus ivory because they're not explaining and getting it out there," Pungowiyi says.

Since the summer, federal and state regulations cracking down on the domestic market for elephant ivory have caused people to think all ivory is illegal, he says.

"I'm down probably a good 40 percent," Pungowiyi says. "This show here is what I'm banking on to help get me through the winter."

Ivory isn't controversial in Alaska. It's commonly found as jewelry or decorations in homes. People know it comes from locally hunted walruses. But carvers depend on tourists and art dealers from the Lower 48 states buying goods.

Melanie Bahnke is president of a nonprofit in the Bering Strait region, where a lot of residents pay for essential goods like clothing and heating oil with ivory sales. She arranged a craft fair this summer when a luxury cruise ship docked in Nome, Alaska. But no one bought anything.

"Once they realized something was made out of ivory you could tell that there was almost disdain, a look of disdain," Bahnke says.

Ivory regulations in states such as California, Hawaii, New York and New Jersey have tightened recently, which has meant a drop in demand. Bahnke says ivory from Alaska isn't making it to market, and she and others worry that could be devastating to rural communities like Savoonga.

"It can be a huge part of a family's income — whether it's an $80 carving or an $8,000 carving," Bahnke says. "When our communities are already living below poverty, that's a big source of income for our people."

Elly Pepper of the Natural Resources Defense Council helped lobby state legislatures on their recent ivory bans. She says it is tricky to stamp out demand for elephant products without harming the livelihoods of walrus hunters in Alaska.

"I think most people have tried to make it pretty specific to elephant ivory, but I think ... the messaging has maybe been conflated," Pepper says. "We respect the rights of Native Alaskans to use wildlife for subsistence purposes, and ... these bills were not intended to obstruct that."

There's no quick and accurate scientific test to distinguish elephant ivory from walrus ivory. And even if there were, many people in Alaska are scared it may be too late to undo misperceptions. At his craft fair table in Fairbanks, Pungowiyi says it's a tragedy that conservation of elephants is jeopardizing the traditions and livelihoods of Alaska Natives.

"The locals, Alaskans, they know pretty much that it's legal, but the people that are coming from Seattle, California, from out of state — they come here and people are telling them ivory is illegal," Pungowiyi says. "For an example, I sell to this gift shop in Anchorage in the summertime, and normally I sell five to 10 walruses a week there, all summer long, and I sold maybe 10 walruses there this summer. So it's been a drastic hit on us this summer."

Pungowiyi says now he'll have to focus more on private commissions to make a living.

Copyright 2016 Alaska Public Telecommunications Inc.. To see more, visit Alaska Public Telecommunications Inc..

The tiny village of Newtok near Alaska's western coast has been sliding into the Ninglick River for years. As temperatures increase — faster there than in the rest of the U.S. — the frozen permafrost underneath Newtok is thawing. About 70 feet of land a year erode away, putting the village's colorful buildings, some on stilts, ever closer to the water's edge.

Now, in an unprecedented test case, Newtok wants the federal government to declare these mounting impacts of climate change an official disaster. Villagers say it's their last shot at unlocking the tens of millions of dollars needed to relocate the entire community.

"We just need to get out of there," says Romy Cadiente, the village relocation coordinator. "For the safety of the 450 people there."

Cadiente spoke while in Anchorage recently, where he met with state officials about moving the village, which includes a school built in 1958 by the Bureau of Indian Affairs that drew nearby subsistence hunters and fishers to settle.

Coming to terms with climate's impact on the Alaska Native village has been gut-wrenching for many. But a new village has been chosen 9 miles away, and several houses are already built.

Cadiente says the problem is money: The Army Corps of Engineers has estimated it will cost $80 million to $130 million to relocate key infrastructure.

"The price tag on this village move is astronomical, and what we have right now is nowhere near," he says.

Many of Alaska's villages are dealing with erosion and thawing permafrost. But Newtok's needs may be the most immediate. It has already lost its barge landing, sewage lagoon and landfill. As river water seeps in and land sinks, it expects to lose its source of drinking water this year, and its school and airport by 2020.

After years trying to piece together state and federal funding to relocate, Cadiente says Newtok has run out of other options.

Usually, the president, with input from the Federal Emergency Management Agency, declares a disaster after a specific catastrophic event. But Newtok is asking for the declaration based on mounting damage from erosion and thawing permafrost over the past decade.

"My first reaction is, it's exciting," says Rob Verchick, who teaches disaster law and climate adaptation at Loyola University in New Orleans.

He says Newtok's request is likely a long shot. But he thinks it needs to be done. "And I think that it is going to lead to a very important conversation that we need to be having," he says.

Verchick says FEMA has pushed communities to plan for climate change, but the federal government doesn't have policies to deal with issues like relocation. As more places face the problem, Verchick says they — like Newtok — may need to get creative in seeking a legal solution.

A recent change gave federally recognized tribes like Newtok the right to request a disaster declaration from the White House directly. Mike Walleri, Newtok's attorney, argues that nothing in the law prevents the president from declaring a disaster for a multiyear event.

"You know, disasters are not planned," Walleri says. "They don't come in one size fits all."

If there's no money to relocate the whole village together, Newtok residents could be forced to scatter, with some even moving 500 miles away to Anchorage.

George Carl, the 66-year-old village council vice president, says it's not just houses that are at stake, but his community, culture, Yup'ik language and identity.

"Being born an Eskimo from that village, you know, that's my life," he says. "Place me to another village or city, it's not for me."

The ultimate decision on whether to declare a disaster lies with the president. Newtok's leaders hope to get an answer before President Obama leaves office next week.

This report comes fromAlaska's Energy Desk, a public media collaboration focused on energy and the environment.

Copyright 2017 Alaska Public Telecommunications Inc.. To see more, visit Alaska Public Telecommunications Inc..

The Environmental Protection Agency's presence at an environmental conference in Alaska this week was cut in half, after the Trump administration's transition officials ordered the change. The agency had helped to plan the Alaska Forum on the Environment— but days before it was to start, word came that half of the EPA's 34 planned attendees wouldn't be making the trip.

"We were informed that EPA was directed by the White House transition team to minimize their participation in the Alaska Forum on the Environment to the extent possible," forum director Kurt Eilo says.

The change has created awkward scenes at the conference, particularly at events meant to highlight the EPA's role in Alaska, a state known for both its pristine ecosystems and its oil production.

More than a thousand people attend the multiday event in downtown Anchorage each year, and the EPA is normally a major partner. This year, agency officials were scheduled to take part in about 30 sessions on everything from drinking water and sanitation in rural Alaska to climate change adaptation.

In an emailed statement, EPA transition official Doug Ericksen says the decision to cut back is an effort to limit excessive travel costs. He says a review last week found that EPA spent $44 million on travel last year, including sending employees to 25 outside conferences. When officials learned that 34 employees were slated to attend the Alaska event, they slashed the number to 17.

"This is one small example of how EPA will be working cooperatively with our staff and our outside partners to be better stewards of the American people's money," Ericksen said.

Some EPA staff whose plans to attend the conference were revoked would have come from Seattle or Washington, D.C. — but Eilo said others are basedjust blocks away from the downtown Anchorage site.

Eilo himself was an EPA enforcement officer when he founded the Alaska conference two decades ago. He says this is the first time he can recall this happening. While he understands the impulse to review travel spending, he says the cutbacks also raise a red flag.

"There's a lot of uncertainty among folks here at the forum," Eilo said. "There's concern about the tribal programs, there's concern about how we're going to address things like climate change in the next upcoming administration."

As the Alaska Dispatch News reports, one panel discussion that was to feature six EPA staffers Tuesday instead included two EPA representatives. While the topic had originally been planned to center on the agency's grant system, the officials instead fielded questions about changes at the EPA.

The order to reduce staff numbers at the conference is the latest sign of a shift in priorities for the EPA under a new president. Days after President Trump's inauguration, Ericksen said the agency's scientists will likely need to have their work reviewed on a "case by case basis" before it can be made public.

On Thursday, the fourth day of the weeklong conference in Anchorage, attendees kicked snow off their shoes as they walked into the Dena'ina Center. Many were unaware that the EPA presence had been slashed. Organizer Elio acknowledges that the agency worked hard to minimize disruption from the change in plans. In the end, only one of the conference's more than 100 sessions had to be canceled.

The conference drew attendees who had flown in from Alaska's rural communities where the EPA works with tribes to fund programs on drinking water, sanitation and trash collection. Breakout sessions focused on issues such as brownfield cleanup, emergency response and dealing with coastal erosion due to climate change.

Billy Maines is the environmental coordinator for the Curyung Tribal Council in Dillingham, Alaska, who also serves as an adviser to EPA Region 10 on its tribal programs. He said the agency's direct assistance to Alaska's rural communities is vital.

"They're trying to take up and clean up their dumps, landfills, trying to recycle and get what waste goes into their communities, out of their communities," he said.

Maines and others worry the cutback on conference attendees might be a sign of broader, and more painful, budget cuts to come.

Trump's nominee for EPA chief is Scott Pruitt, the Oklahoma attorney general who has criticized — and repeatedly sued — the agency he's now in line to lead.

Pruitt's nomination was advanced to the full Senate last week, after Democrats on the Senate Environment and Public Works Committee refused to attend meetings that were meant to hold confirmation votes on Pruitt.

During his confirmation hearing weeks earlier, Pruitt said his past actions had been made out of concern for his home state and that if he were to lead the EPA, his decisions would be dictated by "the rule of law."

Pruitt, who has questioned climate change, also sought to answer critics who have faulted him for that stance, saying in a January hearing:

"Let me say to you, science tells us that the climate is changing and that human activity in some matter impacts that change. The ability to measure with precision the degree and extent of that impact, and what to do about it, are subject to continuing debate and dialogue. And well it should be."

Rachel Waldholz reports for Alaska Public Media.

Copyright 2017 NPR. To see more, visit http://www.npr.org/.

Polar bears aren't the only beloved Arctic animal threatened by climate change. Scientists believe reindeer are at risk as a warming world makes their main winter food source disappear.

But reindeer on one Alaskan island are surprising researchers.

And that surprise doesn't just come from the fact that the reindeer are hard to spot.

On St. Paul Island, Lauren Divine of the EcoSystem Conservation Office was not having luck seeing a herd of 400 reindeer, even on this treeless island with tundra as far as the eye can see.

Divine helps manage the reindeer on the island, but on this windy day, she's hunting them.

Reindeer aren't native to Alaska. They were brought to rural villages across the state in the late 1800s.

In communities like St. Paul, where grocery prices are astronomical, Divine says residents depend on reindeer to feed their families. And to make it through winter, the reindeer need something as well.

"Reindeer all over the world depend on lichen," Divine says. "They're very high in sugars and starch, and they're considered like a Snickers bar for reindeer in the winter."

But the reindeer on this island ate the lichen faster than it could regrow. Now, it's gone.

Without lichen, reindeer experts would expect to see malnourished or starving animals. And in some places, that's already happening. But the animals on St. Paul Island are thriving.

Greg Finstad, with the University of Alaska Fairbanks Reindeer Research Program, came to study and evaluate the island's reindeer and environment.

On a visit to the island last year, he saw something he had never witnessed before.

"The reindeer are doing something really very interesting," he says. "They have managed to find other things to eat. They've gone underground."

Finstad discovered that instead of lichen, the reindeer are digging up roots and grazing on grass. He says that's good news.

Lichens thrive in arctic climates, but the Arctic is warming faster than the rest of the globe. These higher temperatures mean more wildfires, erratic rainfall and better conditions for other plants that can crowd out the lichen. All of this could mean less lichen for reindeer.

On top of that, a warmer climate means what used to be snow is now rain. A few years ago in Russia, that created an icy barrier so thick the reindeer couldn't stamp through it to get to the lichen. Tens of thousands starved to death.

That's why Finstad thinks it's important that the reindeer in St. Paul are finding something else to eat.

"There's a lot of scientists, researchers, reindeer producers waving their arms in the world [saying] 'Oh climate change, it's the death of reindeer and caribou,'" he says. "But you know what, we have forgotten to tell the reindeer and caribou. Things change, and they change with it."

But ecology professor Mark Boyce of the University of Alberta is not convinced.

"It's an island population, and a very small sample of our global populations of reindeer and caribou and the general pattern has been one of decline," he says. "So I guess I'm not very optimistic."

Still, on this island, reindeer are doing just fine for now. And hunting them is more popular than ever.

This report comes from Alaska's Energy Desk, a public media collaboration focused on energy and the environment.

Copyright 2017 Alaska Public Telecommunications Inc.. To see more, visit Alaska Public Telecommunications Inc..