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Sweating Among Friends

February 1, 2006—Yup’ik Eskimo Firebath:

I sauna frequently at the gym, and find it to be a great end to my regular workout. It relieves tension and sore muscles, and also relaxes my hyped-up mental state, especially after a busy day on the hospital wards. It helps me to reflect without interruption about how the day went, and how tomorrow can be better.

So, I thought I understood sweats long before even sharing one with my new Yup'ik and Alutiiq friends, a married couple in Anchorage, Alaska whom my husband has long known.

The sweat lodge, or firebath, was "maqi" to our Yup'ik Eskimo host and writer/activist from a little village on the Bering Sea coast, and "banya" to his lovely and gracious Alutiiq wife from Kodiak Island.  They both use the firebath as therapy for mental and spiritual health as well as a ritual for physical wellness. 

In the old days, the traditional Yup'ik sweats were sod and earthen domes, fired with mostly driftwood because wood was a rare commodity on the seacoast tundra. Sweats were communal as a means to conserve limited resources as well as for fostering social connections and interactions. Men and women sweat separately, although couples could sweat together.

Beforehand , we all convened in the kitchen for tea and freshly home-baked apple cake, and talked about the therapeutic value of sweats, and how one-hour “sessions” can be more uplifting and productive than some formal counseling sessions...but of course, it depends largely on the effectiveness of the counselor.

Instead of a sod dome, this sweat was a sauna-like construction with a wood-fueled stove, and cedar walls and benches. Several large oval stones filled the woodstove top, where water was poured to create steam. Two to 3 gallons of water ladled a little at a time produced a thick continuous steam, and the temperature rose well above 110 degrees Fahrenheit.

We two wives  were given the honor to sweat first. We sweat for an hour, heat rising, steam billowing, and conversation freely flowing. The sweat, of course, flowed freely and continuously too from the skin of our naked bodies. We girls sat on towels side-by-side, and shared thoughts about important and confidential topics. “What goes on in the banya stays in the banya,” we both agreed with sisterly smiles and laughter.

The three men, which also included another Yup'ik friend, talked about the function of sweat lodges today and in the old days, their therapeutic value, how they are constructed, as well as shared histories about relationship challenges, life mistakes and priorities, and directions for the future. My husband said they sat naked and cross-legged as is the tradition...modesty is simply not allowed.

We were invited to return soon for another sweat to continue the experience of reconnection with our friends, and sharing stories, as is the custom. Afterwards, I immediately felt relaxed, and relieved of the day's stresses, knowing that tomorrow I would face the day refreshed.

February 3, 2006—Sweat Lodge, in the Lakota Sioux Tradition
I consider myself to be a pretty tough Alaska girl when it comes to facing the elements. After all, if you spend any time at all in the Alaska outdoors, encounters with extremes of every kind will occur. So, I was ready and eager when the co-ed group of 10 men and 2 women gathered to sweat promptly at 7 pm. The facilitator of this sweat lodge was a Lakota Sioux man from the "Lower 48"  who holds these sweats every Friday night on the grounds of a transitional living facility where he works as a counselor to formerly homeless alcoholics who are progressing through treatment for their addictions, and actively reintegrating into society.  The participants represented a mix of people, both Alaska Native and non-Native, from the community and the transitional living facility. This sweat lodge represents a culturally-based form of therapy specifically available to the residents first, and open to the community-at-large if there is space. Afterwards, everyone gathers in the kitchen to share a hearty meal.

The sweat lodge was a large army-green  canvas dome tent with a cold, hard-packed earthen floor and centrally located fire pit.  Outside the lodge,  56 large round stones baked beneath flames of a roaring campfire while chants and song drew us to stand around the ceremonial snow alter, complete with buffalo skull resting atop, and countless stars twinkling in the northern sky overhead. Shirtless men wore only shorts. Women wore loose wrap-style skirts and t-shirts. One by one, we each crawled into the lodge on hands and knees, barefoot, feeling our way clockwise around the empty fire pit to take our sitting place along the sacred circle.

Once nearly everyone was settled, the last person outside retrieved stones from the fire with a pitch fork, and placed them carefully into the lodge fire pit with a trail of smoke following each entry. After 28 stones, the tiny confined lodge was extremely smoky. The small square door at ground level ventilated the space until the air nearly cleared.  With the door shut, complete darkness instantly filled the lodge except for the brilliant red glow of oval light radiating from the rim of each hot rock. The lodge leader sprinkled sage and cedar separately on the stones, releasing their fragrance, along with white flour that lit into sparks with each sprinkling. Two young men drummed while leading the group in traditional Lakota song. Rapidly the air warmed from nearly ten degrees above zero (the outside temp) to what felt like150 degrees Fahrenheit or more!  Ladles of water were splashed onto the red-hot rocks, and the air grew increasingly heavy with steam. I could barely breathe, and just kept thinking that I would try to last through one more song, then another, holding on as long as I could. I felt like passing out, and kept thinking that the carbon dioxide in my oxygen-starved blood had to be well-above normal. Mentholatum or "Vicks" rub was splashed onto the stones, adding to the intoxicating effects, or so it seemed. Finally, the door opened, in rushed the cold air; out rushed the hot, steamy and ash-laden heavy air. I began to breathe easier again. Ahh, panic melted to relief.......

Once everyone was comfortable again, the next set of 28 rocks were brought in, and the door was jammed shut. I feared that the enclosed lodge would become even hotter, steamier, smokier, and more difficult to breathe in, and more quickly so. More water was added to the stones. Rapidly, the temperature rose, and my pulse quickened. I tried not to move in order to reduce my body¹s demand for inspired oxygen, and covered my mouth with a towel to filter the ash-laden air from my airway. Sweat beaded up from every pore on my skin, then streamed along my body until I was completely soaked. The ritualistic song and drumming continued longer than before. I didn¹t want to be disrespectful by interrupting the song to burst out the lodge door, but was simply hoping it would end soon enough so I could save face and crawl out on my own power rather than be carried due to passing out.

Finally, the song ended. "Is everybody okay? Does anybody want out? Don¹t be afraid if you must step out," the leader said. That was my cue. I lasted nearly the entire two hours of the sweat, but had to leave without completing the last fifteen minutes. I took the opportunity to crawl on hands and knees along the inside edge of the lodge toward the door, gently bumping others along the way. Alas, I stood barefoot in the snow beside the campfire, completely uncovered except for my wrap skirt and t-shirt, with hair and skin dripping wet, and body heat melting the snow beneath my steaming feet. There I stood for 15 minutes to cool my body, to breathe fresh air into my lungs, and to contemplate the experience of the sweat lodge as a form of traditional healing in Alaska. Afterwards, one of the participants approached me encouragingly and said, "Good going. Eventually you'll work up to the full two hours." I smiled, and thought to myself with doubt, "Even tough Alaska girls have limits."