From the edge of a steep ridge, I peered down into the Redstone Valley. Like many summer days in
Northwest Alaska, the morning had begun bright and wind- swept , but now a dark cloud was drifting in
from the east. I decided to move on. Camp was still three kilometres down the hill. It had been eighteen
years since I first come to this vast untamed wilderness. Still there was the lure of the place- the chance to
live more and breathe. Settled in Ambler, a small village in the Kobuk Valley, I’d found among the Inupiat
eskimos as rich and textured as the Artic landscape around us.
However , even a bright summer day could mean trouble.
As I slung my pack on to my shoulders, a big Arctic Mosquito thudded against my cheek. There had been a
few of them through the day, but it was early in the season the ice had melted just two weeks before and I’d
scarcely noticed the mosquitoes. But now as I wound down the ridge, the last breeze faded and they were on
me. Rising in clouds from the soggy Tundra, they pelted against my face. I looked for the repellent in my
pack ,but in vain.I was flailing away, nailing five or six at a whack,but there were thousands mobbing me
now. They were diving in nose-first, piercing me right through my clothes, dozens at a time. Four hands
wouldn’t have been enough. Years of Alaskan experience had taught me what to do in a situation like this.I
turned up my collar,clinched my pack straps tight and sprinted.
When I saw my tent , I was still going strong, so were the mosquitoes. They trailed me in a whining veil.
Each time I slowed down, the attack resumed. Pausing just long enough to unzip the screen door. I dived
through to safety. It took me fifteen minutes to hunt down the hundred or so that entered the tent with me.
After I’d cornered the last one, I took stock and tried to relax. My hands and neck were smeared with blood,
and every centimetre of the exposed skin was punctured. Outside, the insistent wail was nearly deafening
mosquitoes settled over the tent,making a strange pattern on the nylon mesh. Not until later that night, when
a cold rain swept in and scattered the mob, did I stick my own itching nose outside again. Local legend has it
that an animal , or human being for that matter, caught in one of these mosquito attacks, can be sucked dry.
Blood thirsty though they are, the Artic mosquitoes are frail creatures.These infamous ‘Alaska state bird’,
averaging a little over half a centimetre in length, can’t even withstand a substantial breeze. They’d wither
under bright sunlight . Too hot or too cold, too much or too little rain, they run for cover. They spend most
of their brief lives hiding under leaves,waiting for the right feeding conditions. A still, humid, cloudy
evening is perfect.
The upper Kobuk eskimos know how to handle mosquitoes. As soon as the river is clear of ice, many
Ambler people load up their boats and head for the chilly,wind- swept coast to spend the summer. Of course,
they also fish and hunt seals,but its no coincidence that this annual migration sidesteps the worst of the
mosquito season.
(a) Give the meaning of the following words as used in the passage :- (3)
(i) Peered
(ii) Lure
(iii) Soggy
(b)Answer the following questions briefly in your own words:- (9)
(i)Why did the author feel that he should move on?
(ii)Where did the author come from? Why did he come to this particular place?
(iii)Why did the author consider the Arctic mosquitoes as ‘frail creatures’?
(iv)According to the author:
(i) Why was a ‘still, humid, cloudy evening perfect’ and for whom ?
(ii) In which season was the mosquito menance at its peak ?
(v)Why did the Ambler people head for the chilly – wind swept coast?
Answers
Answer:
From the edge of a steep ridge, I peered down into the Redstone Valley. Like many summer days in
Northwest Alaska, the morning had begun bright and wind- swept , but now a dark cloud was drifting in
from the east. I decided to move on. Camp was still three kilometres down the hill. It had been eighteen
years since I first come to this vast untamed wilderness. Still there was the lure of the place- the chance to
live more and breathe. Settled in Ambler, a small village in the Kobuk Valley, I’d found among the Inupiat
eskimos as rich and textured as the Artic landscape around us.
However , even a bright summer day could mean trouble.
As I slung my pack on to my shoulders, a big Arctic Mosquito thudded against my cheek. There had been a
few of them through the day, but it was early in the season the ice had melted just two weeks before and I’d
scarcely noticed the mosquitoes. But now as I wound down the ridge, the last breeze faded and they were on
me. Rising in clouds from the soggy Tundra, they pelted against my face. I looked for the repellent in my
pack ,but in vain.I was flailing away, nailing five or six at a whack,but there were thousands mobbing me
now. They were diving in nose-first, piercing me right through my clothes, dozens at a time. Four hands
wouldn’t have been enough. Years of Alaskan experience had taught me what to do in a situation like this.I
turned up my collar,clinched my pack straps tight and sprinted.
When I saw my tent , I was still going strong, so were the mosquitoes. They trailed me in a whining veil.
Each time I slowed down, the attack resumed. Pausing just long enough to unzip the screen door. I dived
through to safety. It took me fifteen minutes to hunt down the hundred or so that entered the tent with me.
After I’d cornered the last one, I took stock and tried to relax. My hands and neck were smeared with blood,
and every centimetre of the exposed skin was punctured. Outside, the insistent wail was nearly deafening
mosquitoes settled over the tent,making a strange pattern on the nylon mesh. Not until later that night, when
a cold rain swept in and scattered the mob, did I stick my own itching nose outside again. Local legend has it
that an animal , or human being for that matter, caught in one of these mosquito attacks, can be sucked dry.
Blood thirsty though they are, the Artic mosquitoes are frail creatures.These infamous ‘Alaska state bird’,
averaging a little over half a centimetre in length, can’t even withstand a substantial breeze. They’d wither
under bright sunlight . Too hot or too cold, too much or too little rain, they run for cover. They spend most
of their brief lives hiding under leaves,waiting for the right feeding conditions. A still, humid, cloudy
evening is perfect.
The upper Kobuk eskimos know how to handle mosquitoes. As soon as the river is clear of ice, many
Ambler people load up their boats and head for the chilly,wind- swept coast to spend the summer. Of course,
they also fish and hunt seals,but its no coincidence that this annual migration sidesteps the worst of the
mosquito season.
(a) Give the meaning of the following words as used in the passage :- (3)
(i) Peered
(ii) Lure
(iii) Soggy
(b)Answer the following questions briefly in your own words:- (9)
(i)Why did the author feel that he should move on?
(ii)Where did the author come from? Why did he come to this particular place?
(iii)Why did the author consider the Arctic mosquitoes as ‘frail creatures’?
(iv)According to the author:
(i) Why was a ‘still, humid, cloudy evening perfect’ and for whom ?
(ii) In which season was the mosquito menance at its peak ?
(v)Why did the Ambler people head for the chilly – wind swept