For Alaskan Evacuees, Home Is Gone, With No Return in Sight

At a shelter in downtown Anchorage on Saturday, Arthur Lake, 74, was still dealing with the shock of his new surroundings. Cars buzzed along one of the city’s main thoroughfares with loud mufflers and booming stereos.

Mr. Lake and his family recently evacuated from Kwigillingok, a tiny Alaska Native village along the Bering Sea nearly 500 miles away. There, homes and businesses on the soft, grassy tundra were connected by boardwalks, and men had been out hunting bearded seals and other marine mammals to get ready for the winter.

“That’s where we belong,” Mr. Lake said. He has been to Anchorage many times. But , he said, “it’s not home.”

For Mr. Lake and an estimated 2,000 others who saw their communities in remote western Alaska devastated by the remnants of Typhoon Halong last weekend, life as they know it is gone, and it is not clear when — or even if — they can return.

The storm, which killed at least one person and left two others missing, led to what Gov. Mike Dunleavy said was the largest humanitarian evacuation operation in the history of the state. Emergency officials have warned that in many cases, entire villages will need to be rebuilt.

Mr. Dunleavy has said it could be at least 18 months before people can go back. But the level of destruction and the cost of rebuilding could complicate that time frame.

In the near term, evacuees like Mr. Lake are absorbing the loss of their homes, way of life and a culture they hold sacred.

Dan Winkelman, the chief executive of the Yukon-Kuskokwim Heath Corporation, which works with local tribes to oversee health care for about 30,000 people in the area that was most affected, said that evacuees in Anchorage were experiencing layers of trauma.

“It’s a series of waves. It’s not just the tidal wave of the storm,” he said.

There was the storm that happened in the dark of night, he said. Then there was the experience of being evacuated. Now, they are in mass shelters in an unfamiliar city, many with no money or identification. Some know people who can help them in Anchorage, he said, but others don’t.

“They don’t have any of their belongings,” he said. “I visited five families in our shelter the first night. Half of them, all they had was T-shirts and pants.” He added that a couple of older women did not even have shoes. “We had to clothe them,” he said.

In downtown on Saturday, dozens of volunteers were collecting donated supplies, both for the evacuees and communities in Western Alaska. “We need adult diapers, we need formula, we need shoes, we need winter clothing,” said Adam Hays, one of the organizers.

Beyond basic needs, it is hard to overstate the level of culture shock many evacuees are experiencing. The region where the storm occurred is culturally a world away from Anchorage, which resembles Seattle demographically and has all the conveniences of a Western city. In many of the hard-hit communities, people commonly speak Yup’ik, an Indigenous language, and hunting and fishing seasons define the rhythm of life.

Ralph Fox, 64, and his wife, Shirley, 60, who were staying at another shelter in Anchorage, were lamenting the loss of their winter food supply. Ms. Fox wiped away tears as she talked about the animals and berries they had hunted, fished, gathered, processed and kept in a freezer in their home that was lost in the flood.

One of the biggest challenges for evacuees has been the loss of traditional foods, said Kelsey Wallace, the chief executive of the Alaska Native Heritage Center.

Alaska Natives live off what they hunt and gather, and eat dishes such as moose meat or seal soup, Ms. Wallace said, which are not easily found in Anchorage. Simple aspects of “city food” such as a high amount of onions in a dish could easily upset their stomachs. Al Montoya, one of the leaders of the Alaska Native Tribal Health Consortium, a nonprofit that provides health care services, said organizations have put out calls for donations of culturally appropriate foods.

Mr. Lake, who has lived in Kwigillingok, or Kwig, as locals call it, for decades and served as a tribal administrator before he retired, said he was worried for the children who evacuated, who are now in shelters but are used to a life that is mainly outdoors.

“I feel for them because the concrete jungle is not going to work for these kids,” he said, adding that “it’s going to take a while, if they are going to adjust to it.”

Taylar Sausen, director of communications for American Red Cross of Alaska said the organization was told initially to prepare to shelter 1,400 people in Anchorage. Some found shelter in other villages, and some who came to Anchorage are staying with family and friends. As of Sunday morning, there were 240 people in the shelters, with airlifts continuing to arrive.

Mayor Suzanne LaFrance has been visiting the shelters over the last few days, talking with evacuees as they arrive. “Their stories are absolutely heart wrenching,” she said, pointing out that they lost not just their housing but also the essential tools needed to live off the land, including ATVs, boats and snowmobiles.

“We will do everything we can here in Anchorage to welcome our western Alaska neighbors and help them through these difficult times,” she said.

The mayor said that the city has been working to find more housing, including hotel rooms and apartments — that can be made available to people over a longer period of time. One complication, however, is that the city was already dealing with a housing crisis.

In April, Ms. LaFrance announced a plan to add 10,000 homes in 10 years. Last week, she declared a city emergency to free up more resources to assist the evacuees.

Local and state officials continue to assess the damage and what lies ahead. Mr. Dunleavy, the governor, who has asked President Trump for federal assistance, described the destruction as catastrophic.

Senator Lisa Murkowski, Republican of Alaska, spoke at the Alaska Federation of Natives convention in Anchorage on Saturday and told the audience that she visited Kipnuk, one of the hardest hit areas, where officials estimate that 90 percent of the structures were gone. She said she expected it will take years for the communities to recover.

Aerial photographs of the areas don’t fully capture the level of destruction, Mr. Winkelman said. He added that in Kwigillingok, 53 houses floated away, and that it looked like the village had been bombed.

Mr. and Ms. Fox recalled their family’s terror in trying to get to safety in Kipnuk on the night of the storm. They were at their house with their extended family, including three daughters and seven grandchildren. Mr. Fox woke up between 1 a.m. and 2 a.m., he said, and other family members were already awake. A granddaughter opened a window and saw lots of water outside, and Mr. Fox said he grew worried.

After water crept into the house, they called a neighbor who had a nearby house on tall pilings. Looking out into the storm, Mr. Fox estimated the water would be up to his chest. He put on his waders and told his family to get extra clothes. He and Ms. Fox agreed they would all link arms and form a human chain. He took a toddler granddaughter in one arm and held onto his 18-year-old daughter with the other, he said. The family stepped out on their porch and then descended their steps into the cold, dark water.

Ms. Fox said the force of the wind was overwhelming. “It was so strong I couldn’t catch my breath,” she said.

As they were halfway to the neighbor’s house, Mr. Fox said his daughter tripped. She was face down in the water and appeared to have passed out, he said. He strained to turn her over with his free hand, and then she started to move. He pulled her upright, holding her to him, and they managed to make it to the other house.

There, they saw a home crowded with others taking refuge from the storm. The water continued to rise, leaking under the door, puddling around their feet. But finally, Mr. Fox said, the tide changed and the water fell, and they were able to walk to a school for shelter.

Many generations of their families lived in Kipnuk, Mr. Fox said. Asked if he thought they would return, he shook his head.

“It’s not a home anymore,” he said. “It’s, it’s, it’s not believable.”