Knuckle hop and two foot high – “`html
Reviving Ancient Traditions Through Arctic Competition
The Knuckle hop and two foot high kick are among the most iconic events at Alaska’s World Eskimo Indian Olympics, where ancient athletic traditions meet modern celebration. For decades, Nicole Johnson has dedicated herself to preserving the cultural heritage of Alaska Natives through these competitions. Now 57 years old, the Iñupiaq athlete continues to participate in events that connect modern participants with practices developed hundreds of years ago. This summer, she will take part in the dene stick pull, a challenging contest where competitors grip a greased stick and attempt to pull it from their opponent’s grasp.
Johnson’s athletic journey began in July 1989 at the World Eskimo Indian Olympics, where she achieved remarkable success. During that competition, she visualized herself launching into the air and striking a seal-skin ball suspended from a kickstand with both feet simultaneously. Her powerful two-foot high kick sent the crowd into celebration as she established a women’s world record of 6 feet 6 inches. That same Knuckle hop and two foot event holds special significance beyond athletic achievement, as it traces its origins to communication methods used by Johnson’s ancestors. When hunters successfully caught whales, messengers too distant to be heard would kick both feet upward to signal the village.
A Celebration of Indigenous Heritage
The annual gathering in Fairbanks, running from July 15 through 18 this year, attracts hundreds of Indigenous athletes from across Alaska, Greenland, Siberia, and Canada. These traditional games were originally designed to develop the endurance, strength, and survival abilities essential for life in the tundra. While modern participants rarely rely on these techniques for daily survival, they maintain the connection to their ancestors through participation in the games alongside regalia contests, traditional dancing, and arts and crafts exhibitions.
Eligibility requires athletes to be Indigenous and at least 12 years old, though many continue competing well into their seventies. Though medals are awarded to the top three finishers in each event, competitors emphasize that camaraderie matters more than victory. Last year alone, nearly 3,000 attendees purchased tickets to witness the celebrations.
“I am going to be doing [Arctic sports] until I’m in my walker or wheelchair or until I can’t do it any more,” Johnson said. “And when I can’t do it, I’m still gonna be sitting on the sidelines cheering everybody on, offering my coaching advice.”
Resilience Through Suppression and Renewal
Arctic games experienced a period of decline during colonization and the missionary systems of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Indigenous communities continued practicing their traditions secretly during these challenging times. In recent decades, however, the games have experienced remarkable growth through annual sporting events and educational programs in schools and community centers.
Kyle Worl, a 35-year-old Tlingit, Yup’ik, and Deg Hit’an Athabascan wellness administrator and coach, represents the current generation’s commitment to cultural preservation. “I’m part of a long unbroken passage of knowledge,” Worl explained. “There have been many challenging points in our people’s history where things were almost taken from us: our language, our culture. It really is this generation’s responsibility to be intentional and put forth a good effort to keep it going.”
The historical context of these games reveals their importance beyond recreation. After the United States purchased Alaska from Russia in 1867, federal policies encouraged Indigenous assimilation to western values. The US Organic Act of 1884 established government systems throughout Alaska, and American Christian missionary schools spread across the region as instruments of cultural transformation. Children were separated from their families and punished for speaking their native languages. Traditional hunting and fishing practices were prohibited.
“The games were basic training for hunting and fishing,” said Rosita Worl, president of the non-profit Sealaska Heritage Institute, who is also Kyle’s grandmother and a Tlingit anthropologist. “If you want to eliminate hunting and fishing, then you get rid of the training.”
Rosita Worl personally experienced the harsh realities of boarding schools when missionaries kidnapped her at six years old in the 1940s. She spent several years at a Presbyterian school facing physical abuse. Her perspective connects the athletic competitions of today with the survival strategies of her ancestors, demonstrating how these games preserved essential knowledge through generations of change and challenge.
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