NGM MAPSEXPLORE | CLOSER LOOK
Margaret Archibald (at right) and Matthew Lohrstorfer, Alaska Department of Fish and Game technicians, monitor the
island’s wildlife, including the walruses that rest on its shores.Acacia Johnson is an Alaska-based photographer and writer.some of the region’s most consistent. As temperatures
rise, Archibald says, effects on the island provide
valuable insight into the broader marine ecosystem.
Archibald leads us up to a viewpoint for First Beach.
When we peer over the edge, we see hundreds of
walruses below. We smell them too: salty, marine, and
fecund. For hours each day, my brother and I wander
among the overlooks, watching the walruses. They’re
social animals, piling onshore in a mosaic of blubber
and tusks. In the water, they’re graceful swimmers. As
we chat with Archibald one afternoon, she explains
that walruses are a keystone species, helping to shape
their entire biotic community. Despite this, and their
vulnerability to melting sea ice, they’re
often a low priority for conservation.
Walruses are hard to track, and exist-
ing data have been deemed insuffi-
cient to classify them as endangered.
Archibald says that experiencing
walruses in person is a great way to
encourage their conservation. “Once
people come here and see them, they’re going to
forever be more aware of walrus habitat—and the fact
that walrus are real animals,” she says, “not a sticker
or an emoji.” Observing them—their different colors,
their battle scars, their antics—reminds me that they
are individuals, with personalities and emotions.
On our last morning, I climb to a craggy peninsula
where seabirds nest. The beach below is full of wal-
ruses glinting amber in the sunrise, and more wallow
offshore, chiming softly as they wait for space to join
the crowd. As I scan the coastline, I realize that I am
now seeing walruses with fresh eyes. jALASKA
(U.S.)Bristol
BayRound IslandThanks to the sanctuary, Round Island remains a
seasonal home for walruses. Today the sanctuary is
co-managed by the Qayassiq Walrus Commission,
with representatives from nine Yupik communities
who ensure that traditional knowledge is considered.
As the walrus population recovered, tribal leaders
successfully petitioned to reinstitute subsistence
harvest. Since 1985 a state-run program has allowed
visitors to the island from May to August. But they
are few, partly because getting there requires a boat
ride across at least 20 miles of the Bering Sea.
I’ve come to Round Island with my brother, a wild-
life biologist, to see walruses. As we approach by boat,
the island appears enchanted: a dome
of green rising from the sea, its summit
shrouded in mist. Margaret Archibald,
one of two Alaska Department of Fish
and Game technicians who staff the
island each summer, greets us. “I apol-
ogize in advance if I’m a chatterbox,”
she says. “You two are the first visitors
we’ve had in weeks.”
The landing beach is packed with sleeping wal-
ruses. To avoid disturbing them, we unload a short
distance away, keeping our voices low. After pitching
our tent in the campground, we join Archibald on her
daily rounds. It’s her job to maintain the trails, over-
see the visitors program, and enforce the three-mile
exclusion zone protecting the island from boat traffic
and commercial fishing. But she considers her most
important task to be the daily counts of walruses,
seabirds, and Steller sea lions. Bristol Bay and its
fisheries are a vital ecosystem for Alaska’s economy,
and data collected about Round Island’s residents are