Evangel Island Journey 8 - The North End

The Evangel’s Journeys to Port Wakefield, Afognak, and Port Williams

By Timothy Smith (revised in 2020)

The Evangel lies at anchor in Danger Bay on Afognak Island in the late spring of 1951. Notice the abundant Sitka spruce trees of the northeast end of Kodiak Island and its surrounding islands.

Author’s Note: This article features many of the north-end communities of the Kodiak Island archipelago, including canneries and communities on Raspberry Island, Afognak Island and Shuyak Island. For the purpose of this article, our journey starts in our second home port, Ouzinkie, in the summer of 1960, allowing for an adventurous journey to our first destination, Wakefield’s cannery on Raspberry Island.

A Visit to Port Wakefield (via Whale Pass)

It is late spring, 1960. The Evangel has already visited several villages on the South End. As we leave our home port of Ouzinkie and head northwest toward Port Wakefield cannery, we venture into the much more challenging waters that lie between us and our next destination. While Shelikof Strait can kick up horrendous swells and blow a gale like it’s a wind tunnel, our journey will take us though “Whale Pass” (Whale Passage on the maps) and up the shallow end of Raspberry Strait. The journey between the islands and up the narrow channels will involve some of the trickiest navigation, and careful coordination with the tides. Our goal is Port Wakefield, a pioneering king crab processing plant which has its own village (and even a school). Now that we live in Ouzinkie, we are much closer, and can visit more often.

Located near the middle of the northeastern shore of Raspberry Island, Port Wakefield is normally accessible only from the northern end, but we are not coming in that way.  The south end of Raspberry Strait, which is very shallow in places, is impassible for most of the larger boats.  But the Evangel has a shallow draft, and Dad knows how high the tide needs to be to get through. In this way we avoid the much longer trip around the north end of Raspberry Island, which would mean going northwest up Kupreonoff Strait and making the turn. That would add many hours of travel for us. The Evangel is slow enough as it is!  But Dad knows the islands well, is a careful navigator, and has a well-earned reputation as a good mechanic for keeping the Evangel’s old Lathrop engine running for so many seasons. We take shortcuts whenever Dad knows it’s safe, constantly weighing weather conditions, tides and the capacity of the Evangel.  So we take the shortest, most direct route, when the tide is best.

We have timed our travel so that our journey through Whale Pass (called Whale Passage on the charts) is as close to high tide as possible.  Like Scylla and Charybdis in The Odyssey, Whale Pass has a reputation for trouble and tragedy. It is a place where the protected waters of Marmot Bay face the turbulent waters of Shelikof Strait, and the meeting is never pretty. Due to the peculiarities of tide, there is a different water level between the two ocean bodies, which is exacerbated when the tide is turning.  We are heading into a reef-infested, whirlpool-prone mess. As we head into the southern end of the pass, where the turbulence is most noticeable, Dad turns the engine up a notch, grasps the wheel a little tighter, and keeps a keen eye out for the churning gauntlet that he knows is coming. (Continued below…)

I snapped this photo in 1968 from the window of a Kodiak Airways Widgeon. The boat had hit the tide wrong, and the current had swept it into one of the submerged reefs in Whale Pass.

As a school child in Ouzinkie, I soon learned that almost everyone knew someone who had died in Whale Pass, and many had lost relatives there. It was an especially dangerous place for crab boats with stacks of empty crab pots on deck, and for salmon seiners with holds full of fish, heading toward nearby canneries at Port Bailey or Ouzinkie.

We approach Whale Pass cautiously, scanning the water for any sign of trouble. Soon ahead of us is a little wall of water about six inches high, which signals the edge of a large whirlpool. As we enter the whirlpool, Dad tries to feel how the vessel is reacting to the turbulence. The boat begins to pivot on an invisible axis, and Dad spins the wheel rapidly to compensate, the chains rattling in the pilot house bulkhead.  Just as quickly, the boat reaches the other side of the whirlpool, and again the 25-ton hull of the Evangel begins to spin like an empty dory – in the opposite direction! More quick turns of the helm and the boat straightens out. There follows a series of tiny waves around the edges, and deceptively calm patches indicating the center of the whirlpools, which attempt to control any vessels in their grip. I can feel the boat first pushed upward, then sucked down a few inches as though on a hydraulic lift (which it quite literally is).  Dad corrects another spin, and points out the frothy spots only a few yards distant. Rocks!  We are coming through Whale Pass in comparative calm, at a nearly ideal time for the tides (if there is an ideal time).  But attempting to navigate Whale Pass at night, in stormy weather, with a heavy load, or in the fog could have tragic consequences. Even someone keeping his eye on the charts can’t always avoid the submerged reefs if the pressure of the tide overcomes his ability to maneuver, which has been known to happen far too often. 

We know many boats have been lost here; ours will not be one of them. Suddenly we burst as out of a cocoon into the calm waters of Marmot Bay. I take a quick peek out the side door toward the stern at the foaming water fading behind in our wake, amazed at such raw natural power. Experience is the best cure for white knuckles, and we immediately resume normal progress as though nothing out of the ordinary has happened. Actually, it has been just an ordinary trip through Whale Pass. Dad throttles back, hands the wheel to me for a few minutes, and heads below to make a cup of coffee.  Our own private roller coaster ride is over until next trip. But one more challenge lies ahead.

It is a little past high tide as we reach the southern end of Raspberry Strait and turn northwest toward Port Wakefield.  I scurry out to the bow and look down, something I always do when we come through here.  The sand in the area is occasionally of a lighter color than in most places around the islands, and off and on I can see the dim shapes of the sandbar just a few feet below the keel.  Then I suddenly see much clearer patches of light sand, and the Evangel goes bump bump for a couple of seconds, but the water soon goes dark again. Larger boats with deeper draft have no choice but to go all the way up Kupreonoff Strait and come down the deeper end of Raspberry Strait, no matter how high the tide may be. A little later in the tide cycle and we might have had some trouble, but Dad has timed it correctly, and we will be tying up at Port Wakefield shortly.  Dad is by no means foolhardy; our successful journey is the result of cautious experience. (Continued below…)

Top: Port Wakefield from the pilot house of the Evangel, a little bit of the bell clapper is visible. Above: a photo from Yule Chaffin’s 1962 book, Alaska’s Kodiak Island shows a family playing on the beach, and the floatplane the photographer flew in on tied up just down the beach. (Book scan used with permission of the Chaffin estate)

Port Wakefield is a place of pleasant company and old friends, and many of the people who work there and live in the little village have been very receptive to the ministry.  In fact, Dad recently started a Sunday School in the little village, held in one of the homes, and has brought some more materials for them to use. He came over by plane last winter to preach the memorial service after two men from the cannery died in a skiff accident. And several of the village families have kids my age, so I love going there to see my own set of friends.

The cannery is a wonder, not because it looks particularly modern, but because inside, the place has been modernized with the very latest in processing methods for the new cash crop: king crab.  We have toured the place several times, and Lowell Wakefield gave Dad some slides of his operation the last time we came through (see the article called “Cannery Work” for those photos).  But even more amazing to me are the homes: modern, classy, and built out of pre-cut cedar logs.  The homes smell nice, and are all golden brown inside and out.  I mention that they look like Lincoln Log houses, and Dad says that would probably not be taken as a compliment!

Tonight we have been invited to the home of one of the foremen for dinner.  The husband and wife are originally from the Philippines, and tonight they serve me sweet and sour pork for the first time in my life. While the adults converse, I go with their son Mel to his room, where he shows me his new ukulele. He plays “Does Your Chewing Gum Lose its Flavor on the Bedpost Overnight?” and strums through all the chord changes with considerable skill.  I am more than a little impressed. All I can play are a few simple songs on the piano, and this energetic singing and playing seems a lot more fun to me. (Continued below…)

Left: a bin of freshly-cooked King crab legs is ready to roll down for further processing and freezing. Wakefield’s was a pioneer in the processing and marketing of King crab. Photo courtesy Lowell Wakefield. Right: one of Wakefield Fisheries’ new (in 1961) all-steel crabbers, the Carl R, speeds past the Port Wakefield dock in typical North Pacific weather – misty rain. A seagull managed to photobomb the shot by flying in front of the camera. If you look closely, he’s blocking our view of the flying bridge on the Carl R.

The following morning, while we are making preparation to leave at the next high tide, Dad goes to “mug up” (coffee break time) signaled by a very loud clanging on the mess hall bell, which is an old acetylene tank suspended on a rope. Like always, Dad goes where the people are; a good many would never come to our little services, but will talk in a neutral setting like coffee break time. Mom goes to one of the homes to meet with some of the mothers. I amuse myself by making a fishing pole out of an old stick, and wrapping fishing line around one end, with a lure I bought in Larsen Bay. I decide today is the time to try it out. The way to pull up a fish, assuming I get one, will be to turn the stick slowly like a winch – not an effective pole by any means.  I drop my line off the stern of the Evangel and wait for awhile.  

Soon I feel a weight on the pole, and start the slow process of winching whatever it is up where I can see it. Finally, I hear that the fish has broken the water, and look down into the most wretched face God ever created! I have on my line a very placid but horrid-looking wide-mouthed bass, known also as an “Irish Lord” (apologies to Irish everywhere). I know this fish by its most common local name – I have caught an “Ugly.” Being a little guy of about seven at this time, I am not at all prepared to deal with him, but I do manage to haul him up on the stern, where he flops about a bit while I rush down the stairs and through the engine room to tell my sister about my catch.  

Big sister Jerilynn heads out to the stern while I stay in the galley, tentatively listening. I can hear her laughing on the stern, although I can tell she’s trying not to. “Uglies” are not for the faint of heart, and she sees what I saw in him immediately! She mercifully disentangles him and I hear him splash away. She comes back into the cabin, with a bit of a twinkle in her eye. My feeble fishing effort would only have worked on such a dumb beast as the one I caught. Later I will realize that no self-respecting salmon or Dolly Varden trout would have given my un-baited, uninteresting lure the time of day! Besides, he’s better off terrorizing some other would-be angler some other day. I remember a very good family friend switching to a lot of unrepeatable vocabulary after catching an “ugly” twice in a row off the Woody Island dock (most likely the same dim-witted fish both times).

I later ask Jerilynn why she let the fish go (not that I am in any mood to greet him again). She will someday be a renowned physician, and is already working on her bedside manner. She explains to me that “Uglies” are so bony that it would take three or four of those things, big as he was, to fill a skillet, and that they are murderously hard to clean anyway. She is being a good sister, for with great tact, she has spared me the trouble of having to deal with a creature I’d already run away from once! As a good Alaskan boy, not much unnerves me, but the sight of that monstrous fish peering up from beneath the Port Wakefield dock is too much for today. It is not until a decade or so later, when working in a tank full of furious Dungeness crab, that I will feel such consternation at live seafood! (See the “Cannery Work” article). I quietly go out, wind my fishing line around my fancy stick pole, and put them away for another time. When the day’s business is completed and the tide is right, we are off, down Raspberry Strait without incident and on our way to Afognak. (Continued below…)

The EVANGEL at Afognak

Afognak village is the largest settlement on Afognak Island, which is itself about a third as large as Kodiak Island. The rest of the settlements are lone or two logging camps, a fish hatchery, and an occasionally operated recreation center run by the Navy at Afognak lake. It’s not long before we drop anchor at Afognak, one of the many villages with no dock. It seems to be one long, rocky beach.  Dad has to pick his anchorage carefully, because there are plenty of rocks just below the surface. Once we pull up the skiff, we start out to visit our friends. We have friends in every port, so to speak, and Afognak is no exception.

We have many friends in Afognak, but there is also a Slavic Gospel Mission chapel and resident missionary in the village. My parents are on friendly terms with the local Protestant missionary, but they also don’t intrude. I’m sure they would participate if asked, or help each other in any way they could. But because of this, our visits to Afognak are usually short, a few hours on our way back to home port in Ouzinkie, and are timed not to interfere with any of the local church services. 

We visit the Nelson family, who live in a newer home, a two story pink building with large windows. There is a stand of spruce trees on three sides, a dirt road out front and a great view of the beach. Betty Nelson is one of Mom’s good friends, so the teakettle gets used and they start talking. I go upstairs, which consists of a large, mostly unfurnished room left mostly to the Nelson kids, and play with them for awhile. Then somebody decides to take a walk to see a friend, and I tag along to see the sights. It’s not like I could get lost; from practically every home I see, the Evangel is clearly visible at anchor, and so I know where our skiff is, too.

Afognak was formed early in the nineteenth century, when a group of retired Russian America Company workers and their Native wives settled next to an existing Native community. Other immigrants later arrived and intermarried, creating a village with a wide diversity of surnames, and a generally upscale standard of living, judging by many of the houses. We stroll down the road and walk past the nearby Von Scheele mansion, for that’s what it looks like to me. There are no comparable structures in any of the other villages. That home and several other larger dwellings underscore that the community of Afognak’s history is different from many villages, and its present is very different as well, for Afognak has cars!  It’s only a few jeeps and pickups, but it impresses me, because neither Larsen Bay (my first home) nor my home village of Ouzinkie has anything bigger than garden tractors.

It seems odd to have a large village with no dock or harbor facilities.  Many of the residents work as fishermen, with nearby canneries such as the Kadiak Fisheries facility at Port Bailey.  But others work in the logging industry, for there is a lumber camp and sawmill on Afognak Island, taking advantage of immense and mature forests of Sitka spruce trees. The von Scheele family has a store, and Bob Von Scheele runs the Shuyak mailboat, which was our familiar link to the outside world all winter at Larsen Bay.

I catch a glimpse of the village school, and it seems from a distance to be a near twin of the one in Ouzinkie.  It must have been a standard Bureau of Indian Affairs design in the mid-1930’s.  The Russian Orthodox Church is impressively large, and has a very prominent bell tower attached directly to the structure.  Its shape derives from the fact that it is built of large logs planed flat and covered with planks and siding, giving it a slightly chunky look compared to the more delicate stud-frame design of some of the newer village churches.  Judging from the dimensions, the sanctuary and altar area must be nearly as large as the church in Kodiak!

Down the beach is a small home with only two or three rooms on the ground floor, a prominent “kelly-door” covered side porch used as a pantry and dry-sink, and a steep flight of stairs in the main room that leads to the room in the attic, typical of so many of the homes in Russian Alaska. Outside is a shed and a fine banya, or Native steam bath.  Around many of the homes are fenced-in areas with the mounds of dirt which indicate a working garden.  Many of the crops are already impressively large, since the plants grow furiously in the long daylight.  There will be a wide variety of fresh vegetables to harvest by mid-summer.

Many other buildings are familiar to me as a life-long visitor to the island villages: banyas, smokehouses, and I think I see a barabara (hut of logs and mud covered with grass) which may have once been a home, but more likely was constructed as a “potato shed” for storing vegetables.  The majority of the older homes, as in Ouzinkie, are of cut log construction to take advantage of the abundant local trees, and are often covered by clapboard siding. Only the newest and largest homes seem to be of stud frame construction. And all around every house there seem to be spruce trees. The forest stretches as far as the eye can see along the beach, and far up into the hills.  

It is an odd feeling to look at a house from the beach and see mostly forest, and from the rear and see mostly beach and bay! This seems to be true for most of the houses. Compared to the treeless South End villages, this village is in a fairytale forest wonderland. It is one of only two villages built in the northern islands’ spruce forests, Ouzinkie being the other.  The whole village seems to be one long series of houses along the road which fronts the beach, and doesn’t seem to be more than two or three houses deep at its widest point.  The whole place is peaceful, inviting and picturesque, with lots of southern exposure to the sunlight all day long. Since it was once a retirement community during the days of Russian America, it is completely understandable why it was chosen for that purpose. (Continued below…)

Views of Old Afognak (1950’s)

Above: Afognak on approach from the south across Marmot Bay. Right: “Garden Beach.” Below: another view of part of the shoreline. Old Afognak was a very long village, and had roads and vehicles, which impressed me at the time, since no other village did.

Afognak Abandoned: Photos of the village since the 1964 Quake and Tidal Wave

Right: Eva Inman of Port Lions poses near one of the old homes in the mid-1970’s. Below: An original Afognak home reveals its log cabin origins as it slowly sinks into decay. Bottom: the lovely Russian Orthodox Church sits partly on the beach, and parts of it and parts of its Orthodox cross have now disappeared. Both black and white photos come from U. S. Govt. Sources via eBay, taken in the mid-1980’s. In the mid-2000’s, the Orthodox Church in Afognak was officially de-consecrated, and as is the custom, was formally burned by local priests and monks.

An Epitaph of Sorts for Afognak and Port Wakefield

When the Tidal Wave hit in March of 1964, it changed the fate of both Port Wakefield and Afognak forever. While not destroyed by the wave, the subsidence of the Kodiak Archipelago, including Afognak and Raspberry Islands, by as much as six feet, quickly made the two communities unlivable.  A new site for the people of Afognak was selected, and the Lions Club, the Salvation Army and other charitable organizations donated money and materials to build a new village on higher ground.  Afognak’s citizens moved to Port Lions, as they called the new village, by the end of 1964.  Shortly thereafter, Wakefield Fisheries moved their operations to Port Lions as well.  They built a fine new cannery in a much more accessible location, with a good dock and harbor facilities, and connected it to the new village by means of a long causeway and a new road.  They moved many of the beautiful homes of manufactured logs that I had admired so much onto barges and transported them to Port Lions, where they still stand to this day. For more on Port Lions, see “How Not to Get to Port Lions,” which features a few photos of the village toward the end of that article.

In 1976, Dad took the volunteer staff from Camp Woody to visit Afognak, a memorable journey on the restored Evangel. Before we left, (a course of events I will rue to the end of my days) Dad and I scoured Kodiak for any black and white or color 120 film for my Yashica Mat reflex camera, and came up empty. So one of my most memorable journeys to Afognak,  in which I got to tour the devastation inflicted by the Tidal Wave, was recorded only by the movie reel of the mind. My younger brother Kelly remembers anchoring the Evangel offshore, and hitting a rock with the prop on the outboard motor of the skiff, shearing the pin. Of course Dad always carried spares. I just remember the strange panorama of tide-damaged places interspersed with fully functioning (or at least repairable) homes, all abandoned.

The school, for example, seemed to be in a brackish field of salt water, although it was still mostly intact. The pink Nelson home was as sturdy as the day they left, although they or someone else had removed most of the windows. I went into both the church and the priest’s home behind it, and found them to be in almost perfect condition. The rectory had those steep, boat-like stairs so common in older Alaskan homes. But the Russian Orthodox Church was a wonder, even emptied of all its beautiful decorations and icons. Inside was all white-painted bead board above dark brown wainscoting, which covered the original spruce log walls. Where those logs were visible, they were as tight as the day they were set. I climbed up the bell tower (the bell had been removed) and marveled that the lovely bead board ceiling had been nailed to the planed underside of huge log beams which ran across the sanctuary to the log inner walls. It was a place built to the highest standards that the villagers had available to them, a place to honor God. I left quietly, having disturbed nothing.

One more place was a standout, the Von Scheele home, which I had considered a mansion in my childhood. It was still an impressive place, two stories, with a lovely staircase and banister. I even looked up into the attic, and found magazines from World War I through the late 1920’s and newspapers from San Francisco dated 1927 and 1928. This was not a library or a hoarder’s collection, but insulation, stuffed between the rafters. Having lived for years in a completely un-insulated shack in Larsen Bay, I could appreciate their resourcefulness, as well as how it reflected on their attempt to stay up with the outside world.  I admit to keeping one of the newspapers (which had an ad for a Ted Lewis 78 rpm jazz record I had recently acquired) and a couple of home magazines that had quite a few cool old ads for Nabisco and Campbell’s and the like. But I can truthfully say I walked off with some insulation out of an old house, and that’s all! As another indication of how the Von Scheele family lived, propped up on its side with many missing pieces was a grand piano, by that time un-restorable, but indicative of a genteel lifestyle a long way from Stateside.

So why was Afognak abandoned? Besides the impossibility of dealing with the intrusive tides brought on by a six-foot subsidence, the villagers faced some not-so-subtle pressure from the Federal Government. It was of the “I’ll do this, but only if you do that…” variety. The Federal bureaucrats said they could provide roads, an airstrip, and a marina in a new location, as long as the village promised to leave Afognak as is, never to live there again. It was a deal the villagers could not refuse, and the move of Wakefield Fisheries to the village site insured both a local employer and an expanded population and all the increased amenities that would bring. So  the story of Afognak does not end badly, considering. It is merely now the story of Port Lions, the new village named for one of the benefactor charities that helped to build it. And the people still have the old village site, quietly whispering its old stories to anyone who will listen. If you would like some great Afognak lore served up as a historical novel, you should try to find a copy of Derevnia’s Daughters by Lola Harvey, which tells the story of old Afognak through the Von Scheele family’s history.  And here’s another tip: never let yourself run out of film (or in today’s case, memory or battery power).

A Photo Gallery of Other Northern Sites

Port Vita, Mothballed Herring Plant (Raspberry Island)

I love abandoned buildings and ghost towns, and that love came from many visits to old, retired canneries such as this herring plant, Port Vita. This photo was taken from the little rowboat we kept on the deck above the main cabin, and shows the Evangel tied up to the aging pilings of Port Vita at low tide. By the time I can remember, it was no longer in operation, but we would visit with the caretakers on our way to other canneries and villages.  I also have fond memories of Port Hobron (an abandoned whaling station), and Uyak Cannery opposite Harvester Island, which our family used to build the “warehouse” in Larsen Bay. The retired herring plant at Zachar Bay was actually restored and used as a modern fish processing facility many years after we stopped our island travels.

Fish and Wildlife (Dept. Of the Interior) Salmon Hatchery at Kitoi Bay, Afognak Island

Kitoi Bay, a small body of water off Izhut Bay on Afognak Island, has been a salmon hatchery for many years. It was a favorite place for us to visit, because the scientists working there would show us so many interesting things in their laboratories. I remember the tanks full of salmon in various stages of development, the fish elevators that allowed the salmon to spawn in several streams, and the lake that served as a temporary home for the soon-to-be seagoing salmon. Then in the late summer the cycle was reversed, and aging, misshapen and swollen salmon would crowd over the rocks as they flopped upstream to spawn.

The hatchery was heavily damaged in the 1964 Tidal Wave, but was rebuilt by the Alaska Dept. Of Fish and Game. The photo shows the Evangel at anchor off one of the spawning streams in the summer of 1957 (from a very faded print). It’s a strikingly beautiful location, and it’s a shame we didn’t take more photos there.

Shuyak Island: Port Williams Cold Storage Fish Processing Plant

Port Williams, on Shuyak Island, the northernmost island in the Kodiak archipelago, was one of the first cold-storage plants in the Kodiak Area. In the photo  below, taken from the Evangel’s skiff in 1957 by my brother Noel,, the Evangel (far right) is tied up at a very busy dock.

Top photo: he Evangel is dwarfed by most fishing boats, but here it seems almost a speck tied up to the Port Williams dock at the stern of a freighter in this mid-1950’s photo. In the early 1960’s, Dad and I took a trip alone from Ouzinkie to Port Williams, and we had a great time with some of the cannery workers, who came aboard and sang hymns with us late into the night.

Above: Port Williams in 1966 from the window of a taxiing Kodiak Airways Grumman Goose. One of my vivid memories of Port Williams involved a passage through one of the cold storage rooms to get from the shore to the face of the dock. The freezing process involved ammonia in some capacity, and the pipes always leaked a little bit, a real shock to a young nose such as mine! Notice the abundant spruce trees behind the buildings, so different from canneries such as Lazy Bay and San Juan. Shuyak Island is now a major site for State of Alaska-organized camping. Small, rentable cabins in the woods near lakes, the ocean, and newly-blazed woodland trails create a popular vacation destination in the wild.

“I Will Make You Fishers of Men!”

An Unusual Ministry

A few photos exist of Rev. Norman Smith, in a suit, preaching at a wedding or a funeral. Some photos show him leading worship or teaching around a campfire at Camp Woody on Woody Island, or preaching in a little village chapel. But this is the only photo of Dad just standing on the deck of someone’s seiner, coffee cup in hand, talking earnestly with one of the fishermen. It was something he did a lot, but this is the only photo of it to my knowledge. My brother Noel caught this candid shot back in the late 1950’s, and I cropped it to zero in on the conversation. This was taken at one of the northern ports of call, because in the background of the original there are tons of spruce trees on the shoreline.

My parents’ method of Christian witness was unconventional, hard for their peers in local churches to understand, and even harder for their church denominational bosses to grasp. Today we would call it “friendship evangelism,” but my folks just thought of it as going where the people are. What better starting place for a personal conversation with fishermen around the Kodiak Islands than on the deck of a fishing boat, with your boat tied up to theirs? Going to “mug up” at coffee break time in some cannery, or ordering a sandwich and soda in a bar with someone who would never join you in church seems to me to be the very essence of “Go into all the world and preach the Gospel to everyone.” It was also the very essence of the ministry of the Evangel.

The next article is “The Evangel Visits Ouzinkie in the 1950’s.”

To go back to the Evangel Index,

please click on the logo below:

To Find Out More About Tanignak.com, Click HERE

To Visit My “About Me” Page, Click HERE

To Get Back “Home”

Please Click on the Site Logo Below:

Information from this site can be used for non-commercial purposes with attribution. The text of all the articles on Tanignak.com and TruthTexts.com are copyright 2020 by Timothy L. Smith (see the “About Tanignak.com” link). The photographs are copyright the estate of Rev. Norman L. Smith, or are copyright Timothy L. Smith unless otherwise attributed. Many thanks to the people who have shared their stories and those who have allowed me to use their photographs on Tanignak.com!