Word: inlet
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Dropping in on a class in the Eskimo language at Rankin Inlet, Northwest Territories, Canadian Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau learned one phrase -possibly the only one a visitor needs in that bleak settlement. The word is takva oost, and it means goodbye...
...artist whose photo you show is probably no more an Indian than is his pottery tableau of three Eskimos wearing Inland Caribou dress and whimsically seated on the edge of an oversize Eskimo cooking lamp. My educated guess is that the artist is Tegumiak of Rankin Inlet, Northwest Territory, Canada. As a part Abenaki, I think we can afford to give our fellow "Americans" credit where credit is due, and the position of the Eskimo in the modern art world is creditable...
...attorneys claimed that they had advised Kennedy to report the accident to police immediately after failing to reach Mary Jo. The three drove in another car to the ferry landing to cross the inlet for that purpose. Markham and Gargan testified that they were astonished when Kennedy suddenly jumped into the water and swam toward Edgartown. They watched until he safely reached the opposite shore, and assumed that he would then go directly to police headquarters. Kennedy apparently went instead to the Shire-town Inn, where he was staying, changed his clothes, complained of a noisy party to the night...
From the looks of Little Bay, one thing was clear. Christo was there. The craggy Australian inlet nine miles from downtown Sydney lay beneath 1,000,000 sq. ft. of clingy, opaque, icky, sticky polypropylene plastic, looking like some improbable flotsam that had drifted in on a high tide, the last relic of a disposal civilization. The Aussies were taking it all in stride. Last weekend, some 2,500 of them happily trooped out to Little Bay and plunked down the modest 20? admission to see what this artist named Christo had wrought...
...himself with a shot of peppermint schnapps, Fred peeped out of the tent flap at 4:30 a.m. to find four inches of snow on the ground. Then he slipped on an extra suit of thermal underwear and set out in the dark. In the near-zero temperature, the inlet rimming the camp was layered with ice, and the sand was frozen hard as concrete. Bending like a bloodhound over the maze of snow tracks in the clearing, Fred whispered: "They're moving out of that shintangle [thicket] over there just after sundown." At dusk, as he watched...