Ada Blackjack: Stranded in the Arctic | The Female Robinson Crusoe | 3
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Ada Blackjack slithers across the tundra on her stomach. Her rifle is slung across her back. Her eyes are focused on a ring seal lying on a small ice floe not far from shore. The sun catches the light gray rings that cover his small, plump body. He's watching her carefully. It's early July, 1923. Blackjack has been alone on Wrangel Island for a little over a week.

She's had good luck shooting birds. But today, she has her sights on a bigger prize: this seal.

It's a more efficient use of her limited ammo. The seal will provide much more meat, as well as blubber she can use to light her lanterns, and skin she can turn into clothes. But seals are tricky to hunt. They're suspicious animals. They park themselves near open channels of water and dive right in as soon as they sense danger. And most of them stay out on the sea ice, too far for Blackjack to reach them without a boat. ♪

But this seal is on an ice floe close to shore. If Blackjack can kill it, she thinks she can reach its body on foot. This is her chance. She moves slowly, keeping her head down. By staying on her stomach, she hopes the seal mistakes her for another seal. It seems to be working. When she's about 200 yards away, she watches the seal's eyes close as it drifts off to sleep.

She knows seals take short naps. She only has a few minutes before it wakes up again. She crawls forward as fast as she can to get within shooting range. At the edge of the water, she raises her gun and fires. The seal's head jerks and dark red blood flows onto the ice. She killed it with one perfect shot.

Blackjack leaps to her feet and lets out a triumphant shout. But seconds later, the seal slips over the side of the ice floe and into the water. No, no, no, no, no, no! Blackjack rushes into the water, but it's no use. The current is already carrying the seal's body away from her. She watches helplessly as her prize goes out to sea. Disappointment washes over her.

No seal meat tonight for her or Vic, the cat that is now her only companion. Birds are keeping her fed for now, but winter is going to be here soon, and then the birds will be gone. If she's not rescued before the ocean freezes over, she'll be stuck on Wrangell Island for another nine months. To survive that long, she has to catch bigger game.

For Blackjack, ring seals are the perfect prey. They're docile and their bodies are small enough that she can move them on her own. But to hunt them, she needs a boat. There is a boat back at her expedition's first campsite, but it's useless to her. It's a big wooden dory, far too heavy for her to move by herself. She needs something lighter.

More like an umiak, the traditional Inuit hunting boat. And Blackjack knows there's only one way that she can get one. She's going to have to build it herself.

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In 1921, a young Inuit woman named Ada Blackjack joined four explorers on an Arctic expedition to Wrangell Island off the coast of Siberia. When a scheduled supply ship failed to arrive the following summer, she and the men found themselves without enough food to make it through the winter. Facing the possibility of starvation, three of the men left to make the treacherous journey across the frozen ocean to get help.

Blackjack stayed behind on Wrangell with Lorne Knight, the group's leader, who was sick with scurvy. Despite Blackjack's best efforts to care for him, Knight died in June 1923. Now, Blackjack was alone on Wrangell. Before this expedition, she had never spent any time in the wilderness, and she had no idea when or if help would arrive.

To survive, she would have to learn how to fend for herself in one of the planet's harshest habitats. This is episode three, The Female Robinson Crusoe. Ada Blackjack lays pieces of driftwood out on the ground, trying to form a shape she sees in her mind. Nearby, Vic stalks a mouse and a patch of wildflowers.

Finally, Blackjack steps back and inspects what she's assembled. Hmm, does that look like a boat to you, Vic? Vic ignores her, pouncing in the flowers. Well, I think it looks like a boat. In the week since Lorne Knight died of scurvy, Blackjack has gotten good at building things.

She's not strong enough to move Knight's body, so she built a barricade around his cot in the main tent to keep polar bears and foxes from scavenging his corpse.

She moved her own living quarters into a supply tent, then reinforced the sagging walls with driftwood, constructed a sleeping platform, and made a stove out of empty kerosene cans. She even built an observation platform on the roof of the tent so she can keep an eye out for polar bears.

Now, Blackjack roots around in her tent, looking for the tools she needs to turn her rough driftwood frame into a boat. For the next several hours, she carefully sands and hammers the driftwood together until the frame is complete. She picks it up, testing its weight. Back in the supply tent, she grabs as much canvas as she can find.

A traditional umiak would be made using animal skins, but she doesn't have enough, so canvas it is. "I think this will work. Don't you?" She looks down at Vic, who is hissing and batting a half-dead mouse. "You're no help." She stretches the canvas over the frame, creating a hole for the boat. Soon, the entire frame is covered,

Then, she sews the pieces of canvas together, making sure the seams are tight and waterproof, the way her mother taught her. It takes a long time, but the sun doesn't set this time of year in the Arctic, so she can work all night. She works so hard, she wears through the fingers of her gloves. But when she's finally done, the wood and canvas structure looks undeniably like a boat.

The only remaining question is, will it float? Ada Blackjack aims her gun at a seal snoozing on an ice floe 100 yards out in the ocean. In the distance, walruses bark. It's been two days since she finished her umiak. It's not exactly like a true Inuit hunting boat, but it's much lighter and easier to maneuver than the dory.

And she knows the boat is seaworthy. But today will be her first chance to really put it to the test. Confident in her shot, she squeezes the trigger. She hits her mark. The seal teeters but stays on the ice flow. Blackjack grabs her new boat and runs toward the water. She has to move quickly. A wave could tip the seal off the ice flow at any moment.

But the boat is so light, she has no trouble running with it. Blackjack pushes her boat into the water and jumps in. She takes the two oars she carved from driftwood and starts paddling towards the seal. A large chunk of floating ice blocks her way. But with a few strokes of her oars, she swings the nose of the umiak to the left and dodges it. She lets out a small laugh. This is almost fun.

She looks ahead at the ice flow, rocking in the waves. The seal has slid closer to the edge. It won't be long before it falls into the water.

Blackjack paddles as hard as she can, delighted at how easily her boat cuts through the waves. She reaches the ice floe and carefully stands up in the boat, feeling it sway as she adjusts her weight. She leans forward to grab the seal's fin and pulls as hard as she can to bring it closer to her boat. The seal outweighs her by at least 50 pounds, and her biceps burn from the effort.

But with a final pull, Blackjack slides it off the ice and into the uniac. The boat rocks back and forth under the seal's weight, but stays upright. Blackjack looks down at the seal, breathing hard, her heart racing, and it hits her. She shot this seal. She maneuvered across rough water to retrieve it, and it's lying in a boat she built.

Blackjack lifts her oars above her head and lets out a whoop of joy. She wishes her son Bennett could see her now. She still can't wait to get home to him. But now, for the first time since Lorne Knight died, she thinks, "I can do this. I can survive here." Wilhelmer Stephenson paces the floor of a telegram office in New York City.

Behind the counter, a clerk with a visor and wire rim glasses sorts telegrams and pointedly ignores him. It's August 1st, 1923, two years since Stephenson organized the expedition to Wrangell Island. In those two years, he's had no contact with the explorers. He tried to send a supply ship in the summer of 1922, but it failed to reach the island.

Now, with another summer almost over, Stephenson is getting desperate. He needs to make contact with the expedition before the Arctic Ocean freezes them in for another winter. Today, he's waiting for a telegram from Griffith Brewer, an old friend in London. Stephenson has convinced Brewer to secure a loan to fund a supply ship.

But time is running out. The ship needs to set sail from Nome, Alaska in the next two weeks to avoid getting frozen out yet again. Stephenson knows that Brewer is meeting with the bank today. So he's hoping for a telegram bearing good news. He checks his watch and approaches the desk. Has anything come in for Wilhelmer Stephenson? No, nothing has come in for you in the five minutes since you last checked. The clerk doesn't even look up.

Stefansson resumes pacing. Brewer is using his house as collateral to secure the loan. But Stefansson fears it won't be enough. More than anything, he just wants good news to pass on to the families of the men. They've been badgering him for updates for months on end. Mr. Stefansson, your telegram has arrived. Stefansson crosses to the desk in two strides and snatches the telegram from the clerk's hand.

He reads it quickly. Steffensen leans back and sighs with relief. The supply mission is on.

Soon he'll know the real state of the expedition and whether his men have been able to prove his theory of the friendly Arctic by surviving on Wrangell for two years. But only if this ship can succeed where the last supply ship failed and reach Wrangell before the ocean freezes over again.

Ada Blackjack walks away from camp toward the shoreline with an axe slung over one shoulder and a rifle over the other. Her belly is still full from all the seal meat she devoured last night. If only night had been there to share it with her. If only he could see what a hunter she's become. This morning, she killed another seal. This one, her biggest yet.

She was lucky this time and shot it while it was still on land. No need to use her boat, but its carcass is way too big for her to carry. So she's bringing her axe to chop it into pieces that she can transport back to camp. With this seal, she believes she now has enough meat to last for months. Certainly enough to keep her fed until Milton Gale and the other men come back with a rescue ship.

In the distance, she can see the seal on the shore, right where she left it. She smiles with pride and begins to quicken her pace until she hears a strange, a familiar sound. She turns and sees a giant flash of yellow and white headed straight at her. Her nightmares have come true. It's a polar bear.

Blackjack raises her rifle to take aim, but her arms shake with terror. She knows she can't afford to miss. She'll just make the bear angry.

The bear keeps coming. It's so close now. She can see its curved black claws and its long white teeth glinting in the sun. A cub runs just behind it. Blackjack does the only thing she can think of. She turns and runs for her life. She sprints as fast as she can towards camp without looking back.

After what feels like an eternity, she dives inside her tent. She curls into a ball and covers her head, waiting for the polar bear's claws to cut through the canvas and plunge into her flesh. Seconds pass, then minutes, but nothing happens. No claws, no teeth, no growls.

Slowly, Blackjack climbs out of her tent and up onto the observation platform. Her hands are still shaking with adrenaline as she takes out her binoculars and scans the horizon. On the shoreline, she spots the bear and the cub gorging themselves on her seal.

Furious, she shoots her gun in the air, but the bears are unmoved. They're too far away to shoot at directly, and she's too frightened of them to come down from her platform. She watches, helplessly, as they devour her kill. Blackjack puts her head in her hands. No matter how hard she fights in this hostile land, it feels like it's never enough.

She closes her eyes and prays that a supply ship is coming soon. When you're hiring, time is of the essence. That's why more than 3.5 million businesses worldwide use Indeed to find exceptional talent fast. Indeed's powerful matching engine works quickly. So quickly that, according to Indeed data worldwide, every minute, 23 hires are made on Indeed.

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If they collide with it, they'll sink for sure. The Donaldson is the supply ship for the men on Wrangell Island, and Noyce is its captain. When the ship left Nome three days ago, it was the warmest August anyone could remember. The ocean was calm and free of ice. Noyce told the crew they would make it to Wrangell in record time.

But the temperature dropped, fog rolled in, and the ocean around them froze. They had no choice but to plow through the ice. The engines buckled under the effort, until they finally broke. Noyce's first mate returns from below deck, where the crew is desperately trying to fix the engines. He looks at the captain and shakes his head.

Still no luck. Noyce looks back at the iceberg, which is getting closer by the second. Come on, come on, come on! The current gains strength, hurtling the Donaldson even faster to its doom. Noyce braces for impact. Suddenly, there's a loud clunk and the sound of the engines turning over. Noyce calls out to his crew. The engines are back! To your stations!

The crew scramble to their positions. The first mate takes the helm. Noyce climbs up the rigging to get a better view. He spots a path around the iceberg. "Port! Port! Port!" The first mate steers the ship to the left. The boat turns, but not fast enough. At this pace, they're still going to clip the iceberg.

The first mate continues to angle the boat away from the berg. At the last second, the Donaldson just barely misses the ice. The crew cheers, but the relief is short-lived. As Noyce looks ahead, he sees that the ocean is littered with icebergs. They'll have to dodge all of them on their way to Wrangell Island. Noyce thought they could make it to Wrangell in record time.

Now, he doesn't know if they'll make it there at all. Ada Blackjack stands on top of a bluff, scanning the ocean through her field binoculars. A hard, cold wind cuts through her parka. She sighs and lowers the binoculars. No sign of the supply ship. It's August 1923. Blackjack has been alone on Wrangell Island for nearly six weeks.

A nagging feeling of worry overcomes her. It's hard to ignore the way the ice is forming around the rocks. Soon, the ocean will freeze again, and a ship won't be able to get through, leaving Blackjack stranded for yet another winter with even fewer rations than before. She pushes down a small voice in her head that tells her Milton Gale and the others aren't coming back.

They're probably warm and safe at home with their families, and they've forgotten all about her. She shakes her head. No, Gail promised. A gust of wind blows so hard it nearly knocks Blackjack over. Time to get back inside her tent and out of the cold. She picks up the bag that holds today's catch of birds and starts the long walk back to camp. The bird should last her and Vic a few days.

but she resolves to preserve some of the meat for winter, just in case. That night, Ada Blackjack sits at the small table she made and writes a letter to Milton Gale on his typewriter. She writes to him twice a day, once in the morning and once at night. It makes her feel like he's still there and that she has someone to talk to. She can imagine how he'd tease her, the way he'd laugh or tell her good job.

She leaves the letters by the typewriter. That way, if she dies, he'll be sure to find them. She knows Gail's beloved typewriter will be the first thing he looks for when he returns to the island. Tonight, I cleaned some seal flippers. I want to take them home and show my sisters and Bennett if the Lord lets me.

Outside, the wind howls. The canvas tent shakes violently. One of the many patched holes rips open and a huge gust rushes into the tent. Her dishes shake. The paper and the typewriter rattles. Vic slinks under the sleeping platform to hide. Fear jolts through Blackjack. She's never heard the wind blow this hard. What if it rips the entire roof off?

What if the whole tent blows away, with her and Vic inside? She retreats to her sleeping bag, pulling it tightly around her. Vic ventures out from under the bed, noses her way into the sleeping bag, and curls up next to Blackjack. Petting Vic calms Blackjack's nerves. It's okay, little one. It'll be okay. She picks up Lorne Knight's Bible. He'd loaned it to her when he was struggling to adjust to life on Wrangell.

He told her it had belonged to his grandfather. Reading it gives her comfort. She's going to make sure it gets back to his family. She turns to one of her favorite passages. Trust in the Lord with all thine heart, and all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths. She stays up all night, petting Vic and reading the Bible, as the wind howls.

Ada Blackjack tentatively steps out of the tent and takes stock of the damage. The air feels remarkably still after a night of relentless wind. Overall, the camp is in pretty good shape. The main tent, the one where Lorne Knight's body rests, is slanted but still standing. Some boxes and stacks of driftwood had blown over, but the tarp that covers key supplies is still there.

Blackjack is relieved. She can repatch her tent. She can pick up the boxes. She can restack the wood. But then she turns, and a cold shudder goes through her. Her boat, the one that took her so much time and effort to build, is gone. She searches the camp, then walks in circles around the perimeter, hoping it hasn't gone too far.

but there's no sign of it. It must have been taken by the wind like a kite. Even if she does find it, the driftwood frame has probably shattered into a million pieces. The loss of the boat hits her like a tidal wave. Without it, how will she hunt? How will she gather enough seal meat for winter?

She collapses to the ground and lets out a wail. It's not just the boat. It's everything. She's so tired. So tired of worrying about food. Tired of hunting and foraging. Tired of always looking over her shoulder for polar bears. Tired of being away from her son Bennett. Tired of waiting for a supply ship. Tired of being alone.

Too exhausted to even walk, she crawls back to the tent. She knows she should get working on another boat. She needs it to hunt seals before winter, but she just can't. She climbs into her sleeping bag and lies there, sobbing. She just wants to go home again, but home feels farther away than ever.

Harold Noyce steps out of an umiak and onto a gravel beach on Wrangell Island. In front of him, a tattered British flag waves from a leaning pole. Other debris litters the beach. Empty wooden boxes, food tins, books, bullet casings. It's August 19th, 1923. It took 10 days of dodging icebergs for his ship to make it here.

It feels like a miracle that they survived the journey. Finally, last night, the low cliffs of Wrangell emerged from the fog. But as their ship drew closer, the island looked so stark and desolate.

It didn't look like a place anyone could survive two months, let alone two years. After cruising along miles of barren coastline, Noyce's men spotted the remnants of a camp on this rocky beach. But by the looks of it, the men had left it long ago. Noyce turns to the rest of the crew that's come on shore. "I don't see any tents. Clearly they moved camps. Let's search the debris and see if they left any clues about where they went."

The men fan out over the beach. They pick through boxes, shake out the food tins, and search for any nearby caves where the men might have stashed records about their plans. There's a mound of dirt at the base of the flagpole. Noyce wonders if the men might have buried something there. He digs and finds a long, thin box. Inside is a bottle holding a rolled-up piece of paper.

Maybe this is the clue he's been looking for, a map to the men's new camp. He unseals the bottle, shakes out the paper, and carefully unrolls it. Let it be known that I, Alan Rudyard Crawford, a native of Canada and a British subject, raised the British flag and declared this land, known as Wrangell Island, as the possession of His Majesty George, King of Great Britain. This isn't a clue. It's a relic.

Noyce imagines those lost men hoisting the flag, reading the letter, toasting the King of England. He sees their happy and triumphant faces. That was two years ago. What happened since then? One of the crew members approaches, his eyes downcast. We've searched everything. There's nothing about a new camp. No records at all. What now? Noyce looks around the beach.

Back to the ship. We'll keep going up the coast. Blast the foghorn as we go. Hopefully they'll hear us and come to the shore. The crew member doesn't move. Is there something else? It's just the ice is getting thicker by the hour. How long should we look before we head back to Nome? It seems hopeless. Noice nods. It's true. They need to head back soon or risk getting stuck. One more day and then we head home.

As the crew prepares to return to the Donaldson, Noyce looks back on the abandoned camp. It seems almost certain that every member of the Wrangell Island expedition is dead. And searching for them for even one more day might put the lives of his own men at risk. But Noyce isn't prepared to give up just yet.

Whether the men of the Wrangell Island Expedition are dead or alive, he owes it to them and their families to make one last effort to find them.

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It's August 20th, 1923, about a week since the storm that blew away her umiak. Afterward, Blackjack was so depressed that she spent three days in bed. But finally, she got tired of feeling sorry for herself. A few days ago, she got up and built a new boat. She's not exactly her usual self. There's a bone-deep exhaustion she can't shake. But the feeling of despair has subsided.

She hears a weird rumbling sound in the distance. She steps away from the crackle of the fire to listen more closely. She hears it again and looks down at Vic, who has her ears perked up. Relax, Vic. It's just a walrus. Now that the fire is lit, she starts making breakfast. She pours seal oil into a pot and takes some dried duck out from the cupboard. Vic rubs against her feet, begging for a piece.

Blackjack gives her a tiny bit. She hears the same sound again, but louder, repeating at a steady clip. This time, she freezes, and her eyes go wide. That's not a walrus. She grabs her binoculars and charges out of the tent. She climbs up the ladder to her observation platform and aims her binoculars towards the ocean. But she can't see anything through the thick, soupy fog.

She frantically looks back and forth, desperate to find out what's making the sound. She has a guess, but she's trying not to get her hopes up. A gust of wind shifts the fog, and then she sees it. Hazy and faint, but clearly visible just offshore. The mast of a ship. She slings the binoculars over her shoulder and leaps from the platform, landing on the tundra with a thud.

She sprints toward the beach, the binoculars thumping against her side. When she reaches the ocean, she charges into it, splashing through the waves. Her legs go numb in the freezing cold water. But she doesn't care. An umiak emerges from the fog, being rowed by a handful of Inuit men.

Behind them sits a white man, a parka hood over his head. She can't make out his face, but she's sure she knows who it is. She grins and yells out, "Gale!" But as the boat grows closer, she sees that the white man is not Milton Gale, with his round cheeks and bright eyes. The man is older, with deep lines in his face. The umiak reaches her, and the man offers his hand.

I'm Harold Noyce, captain of the Donaldson. Why isn't Mr. Gale with you? Where's Mr. Crawford and Mr. Moorer? Noyce looks at her, surprised. I thought they were here on the island. Blackjack shakes her head, a feeling of dread spreading through her. There's nobody here but me. I'm all alone. What about Lorne Knight? Blackjack looks down. Mr. Knight died on June 23rd.

She can no longer hold her tears back. They gush down her cheeks. Her knees feel weak. I want to see my son. Can you take me back to Gnome? Yes, of course. Blackjack's legs fall out from under her. She almost ends up falling into the water, but noise catches and holds her. It's over. You're going home. All Blackjack can do is cry.

It's August 31st, 1923.

Blackjack has just spent the last eight days on board the Donaldson in a small cabin. After Captain Noyce arrived at the island, she spent three more days on Wrangell. Noyce and his crew buried Lord Knight's body, erecting a simple wooden cross to mark the grave. Noyce packed up all the records he could find, including Knight's and Blackjack's diaries, to give to Wilhelmer Stephenson.

Blackjack secretly stowed Knight's Bible in her bag. She promised to return it to Knight's parents herself. Blackjack remains frozen on the dock. She feels dizzy. Everything is moving so fast. Then she hears someone calling her name. Ada, over here! Blackjack sees her sisters and their husbands walking towards her. Peeking out shyly from behind one sister is a young boy. Blackjack gasps.

He's taller and his face is more angular, but he's unmistakably Bennett. Blackjack snaps out of her trance and rushes over. She hands Vic off to one of her sisters and throws her arms around her son. Bennett remains still for a long time.

And then it's like a dam breaks. He clutches her jacket with all his strength and cries. Blackjack rests her head on top of his. She never wants to let him go. Ada Blackjack brings a cup of tea to her lips in a sprawling living room in McMinnville, Oregon. Sitting across from her are John and Georgia Knight, Lorne Knight's parents. His younger brother Joseph sits to her right.

They all stare at Blackjack. They describe their house as old and modest, but to Blackjack, it feels like a mansion. She knows they're waiting for her to speak, but she doesn't know what to say. It's early December, 1923. Blackjack has been back from Wrangell for over three months, but on some days, it doesn't feel like she's fully returned. There's a gnawing hunger that never goes away, and she's always cold.

At night, she still sees Knight's thin face, blood dripping from his nose and mouth. Georgia, Lauren's mother, sets down her teacup and smiles at Blackjack. "What were the other men like?" Blackjack takes a deep breath.

stealing herself to answer. "They were all very nice, good, handsome men. Mr. Knight was also a very good man. He had the hardest time of any of them." Georgia delicately wipes a tear from her eye. "How long was he sick?" "For a long time. He hid it. He didn't want anyone to know." Blackjack sneaks a look at her hosts. They're looking at the floor. A million emotions playing across their faces.

Blackjack reaches into her bag and removes the Bible. "I brought this for you." Georgia gasps. "That was his grandfather's. Lorne loved that Bible. I read from it every day. It kept me alive. Mr. Knight lent it to me, and I promised I would return it to you." John reaches forward and takes the Bible. He rubs the cover, then looks at Blackjack and hands it back. "You keep it. Thank you for taking care of our son.

Blackjack hugs the Bible to her chest, crying. She stays with the Knight family for a week, sharing more details about her time on Wrangell Island. John and Georgia ask Blackjack and Bennett to move in with them, but Blackjack declines. She doesn't want to live with the constant reminders of what she went through. After surviving two years in one of Earth's most desolate places,

As news spread about the Wrangell Island expedition, Wilhelmer Stefansson was forced to defend himself.

He told newspaper reporters that the explorers had been well-prepared with adequate food and other supplies. If they had attempted to walk to Siberia, it was because they were exploring, not starving. However, as the families of the men received their sons' diaries and read the men's own accounts, they began to push back against Stephenson's claims. ♪

The family of Alan Crawford published a rebuke of Stephenson in the Ottawa Journal, blaming him for their son's death. Stephenson's reputation was severely damaged, and he never organized another expedition. In 1925, he published The Adventure of Wrangel Island, relying in part on Ada Blackjack's diary. Although he promised to share royalties, he never paid her assent.

The remains of Milton Gale, Alan Crawford, and Frederick Maurer were never found. Ada Blackjack survived two years on Wrangell Island and over two months alone, despite having no wilderness survival skills at the start of the expedition. When she returned to Nome, the newspapers picked up on her story. They dubbed her the Female Robinson Crusoe. Everywhere she went, people asked for her autograph.

But then the press turned on her, accusing her of withholding food from Lorne Knight in order to save herself. Knight's parents stood by her, and the reports were eventually retracted. But the accusations haunted Blackjack.

She struggled to make ends meet and battled poverty and illness for the rest of her life. Over the next five years, she moved between Los Angeles, Seattle, and Spokane before returning to Alaska, where she worked herding reindeer and picking berries. Bennett's health declined again. He contracted spinal meningitis, which left him deaf and blind in one eye. In 1927, Blackjack got tuberculosis.

Too sick to support her family, she was forced to put Bennett and another son, Billy, back in the Jesse Lee Home for Children in Nome. Bennett died in 1972 at the age of 58. His mother and brother cared for him throughout his life. Ada Blackjack died in a nursing home in Anchorage in 1983. She was 85. One of her only remaining possessions was Lorne Knight's Bible.

One month after her death, the state government of Alaska officially recognized Ada Blackjack as a state hero. In our next series, we're re-airing the remarkable story of how humanitarian aid worker Jessica Buchanan survived 93 days being held hostage by Somali land pirates. Join us next week for a special encore presentation of Kidnapped in the Desert.

This is episode three of our three-part series, Ada Blackjack Stranded in the Arctic. A quick note about our scenes. In most cases, we can't know exactly what was said, but everything is based on historical research. If you'd like to learn more about Ada Blackjack, we recommend Ada Blackjack, A True Story of Survival in the Arctic by Jennifer Niven and Marooned in the Arctic by Peggy Caravantes.

I'm your host, Cassie DePeckel. This episode was written by Austin Rackless. Our editor is Sean Raviv. Our audio engineer is Sergio Enriquez. Sound design is by Joe Richardson. Produced by Matt Almos and Emily Frost. Our managing producer is Tanja Thigpen. Our senior producer is Andy Herman. Our executive producers are Stephanie Jens and Marshall Louis. For Wondery. Wondery.

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