Darrel John watched as helicopters and small planes airlifted the last evacuees from his village on Alaska’s western coast. The wreckage from Typhoon Halong was piled across the boardwalks and swampy land as he walked back home through the debris. John is one of only seven people who stayed behind in Kwigillingok after the storm tore through the area last month. The typhoon’s remnants swept away homes—some still with people inside—and left one person dead and two missing.
Inside the village school, which now serves as a shelter and command post, John has been helping with recovery efforts. Despite the destruction, he said he couldn’t bring himself to leave his community behind.
But what lies ahead for Kwigillingok and other villages hit by the flooding remains uncertain as winter approaches. Alaska’s governor, Mike Dunleavy, has said the state is focused on fixing the damage and helping the more than 1,600 people forced from their homes. It may take a year and a half to complete repairs. Many displaced families are now in temporary housing, with a large number settling in Anchorage, Alaska’s largest city—a world very different from their traditional subsistence way of life.
Locals question if their villages can continue to survive in place as rising sea levels, erosion, melting permafrost, and increased storms threaten their homes year after year. John hopes repairs will hold the community together long enough to plan a possible move.
Across the country, some communities facing similar threats from climate change are planning relocations. But moving entire villages is expensive and takes decades.
Louise Paul, a long-time resident of Kipnuk, another severely damaged village about 100 miles away, noted that floods happen every fall—and they are getting worse with the warming climate. Many people have decided not to return after their evacuation.
The area where the Yukon and Kuskokwim rivers meet the Bering Sea is a vast, low-lying delta the size of Alabama. It is home to about 25,000 people across dozens of villages, where Athabascan and Yup’ik people have lived for thousands of years. Traditionally nomadic, they settled into permanent villages marked by churches and schools. These communities aren’t connected by roads but rely on planes, boats, and all-terrain vehicles.
Flooding has always been a challenge here. In the 1960s, floods prompted some residents to establish another village nearby for safety. But climate change has made storms stronger and shortened freeze periods, reducing natural protection.
Kwigillingok had been working for years to prepare, raising homes on pilings and moving some to slightly higher ground. Yet the "high ground" is only a few feet above the rest of the flat tundra. In Kipnuk, a planned $20 million rock wall to hold back the river was canceled in 2023 during budget cuts.
A recent report highlights that 144 Alaska Native communities face serious risks from warming. It estimates that over $4 billion will be needed in the next 50 years to deal with the damage.
Relocating villages isn’t simple. The nearby village of Newtok started planning its move to a new town more than 25 years ago. That effort cost over $160 million and only recently finished relocating its last residents.
Harry Friend, who has lived in Kwigillingok for 65 years, described the terrifying flood on October 11. Homes broken free by the water crashed into his, sending it floating and shaking. His siblings’ houses next door were swept away. The Coast Guard rescued many from rooftops.
Friend’s family moved to a nearby village, but he returned briefly to salvage belongings and retrieve hunting gear. Now, with saltwater contaminating fresh water sources and spoiled food supplies after power went out, he said he cannot stay for the winter. Still, he feels the deep connection to the land.
Some residents have come back to help clean up, repair boardwalks, and recover belongings. Work crews with heavy equipment are bringing gravel and materials by barge to start rebuilding. Officials plan to continue repairs until winter weather becomes too harsh.
Meanwhile, Nettie Igkurak stayed to cook traditional meals for workers and remaining residents from the school kitchen, offering some comfort amid the hardship.
Farther away in Anchorage, Darrell John of Kipnuk faces a new reality. He and his family were airlifted twice—first to Bethel, then to Anchorage—after their village flooded. They are staying in a motel, unsure if they will ever return. His home and freezer stores full of berries, fish, and game were lost. He found his house floating upriver and managed to rescue some clothes and important papers.
In Anchorage, daily life is different. Toilets flush, but hunting requires permits and following seasons. John said this was not the life they planned, and he doesn’t yet know what comes next, including finding a job.
As these Alaska Native communities face storms like never before, the question remains: Will their homes hold, or will they have to move on from the land that has been theirs for generations? Many know the answer won’t be simple.