The US island where you can walk to Russia

By LAUREN ACTON-TAYLOR, US NEWS REPORTER

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A small island community in Alaska with just 77 residents is closer to Russia than the US mainland and when temperatures plunge the ice is so thick you can walk to Russia. Little Diomede, a territory that the US bought in 1867, lies just 2.4 miles from Big Diomede, their Russian neighbors, in the Bering Strait. While Big Diomede is a Russian military outpost, Little Diomede is home to 77 local Alaskans, known as Inupiat natives. Dividing them is the International Date Line, meaning if you left Little Diomede at 9am on a Monday and crossed to its neighbor, you would arrive on Sunday.

A small island community in Alaska with just 77 residents is closer to Russia than the US mainland and when temperatures plunge the ice is so thick you can walk to Russia. Little Diomede, a territory that the US bought in 1867, lies just 2.4 miles from Big Diomede, their Russian neighbors, in the Bering Strait. While Big Diomede is a Russian military outpost, Little Diomede is home to 77 local Alaskans, known as Inupiat natives. Dividing them is the International Date Line, meaning if you left Little Diomede at 9am on a Monday and crossed to its neighbor, you would arrive on Sunday.

The Diomedes were both inhabited by Indigenous peoples, and previously described themselves as one community across two islands. But at the start of the Cold War in 1948, Big Diomede's residents were scattered across Siberia and both nations sealed the border, now known as the Ice Curtain. 'Families were suddenly divided across the Bering Strait,' author Charles Wohlforth told the BBC . 'These connections were broken and not reconnected for 40 years,' he added, referring to the 1988 Friendship Flight which reunited families in Russia and Alaska.

The Diomedes were both inhabited by Indigenous peoples, and previously described themselves as one community across two islands. But at the start of the Cold War in 1948, Big Diomede's residents were scattered across Siberia and both nations sealed the border, now known as the Ice Curtain. 'Families were suddenly divided across the Bering Strait,' author Charles Wohlforth told the BBC . 'These connections were broken and not reconnected for 40 years,' he added, referring to the 1988 Friendship Flight which reunited families in Russia and Alaska.

After a brief 25 year window of friendliness, however, the two islands now keep a watchful eye on each other after Putin came to power in the early 2000s and discouraged Russian interaction with the West. The Diomedes are positioned so close together that when the water freezes in the winter they are only a short 30 minute walk away, but no one does, as it is illegal to travel between the islands. Threats of flares, rifles and attack dogs sit waiting for anyone who tries to cross onto Big Diomede without the correct documentation. 'We watch them, they watch us,' Edward Soolook, a 58-year-old local, told The Economist.

After a brief 25 year window of friendliness, however, the two islands now keep a watchful eye on each other after Putin came to power in the early 2000s and discouraged Russian interaction with the West. The Diomedes are positioned so close together that when the water freezes in the winter they are only a short 30 minute walk away, but no one does, as it is illegal to travel between the islands. Threats of flares, rifles and attack dogs sit waiting for anyone who tries to cross onto Big Diomede without the correct documentation. 'We watch them, they watch us,' Edward Soolook, a 58-year-old local, told The Economist.

Through his binoculars looking across, Soolook can see the Russian soldiers, ships and helicopters as well as an observation hut. 'Keep watch, that's the mission. We're the eyes and ears for the nation,' Soolook, a veteran from the war in Iraq, added. But life for Soolook and the locals is a bleak reality. In the depths of winter, the islanders only see four hours of daylight and sub-zero temperatures. Access to the internet or phone signal only lasts a few hours a day.

Through his binoculars looking across, Soolook can see the Russian soldiers, ships and helicopters as well as an observation hut. 'Keep watch, that's the mission. We're the eyes and ears for the nation,' Soolook, a veteran from the war in Iraq, added. But life for Soolook and the locals is a bleak reality. In the depths of winter, the islanders only see four hours of daylight and sub-zero temperatures. Access to the internet or phone signal only lasts a few hours a day.

And the small island, with around 30 buildings in total, is struggling to survive as climate change takes its toll on their way of life. For generations, the island has hunted seals or walruses to eat. Just 20 years ago, a five-man hunting crew would have secured hundreds of each before winter struck. Local Otto Soolook, 53, told the outlet: 'Something's wrong with this place. It is possessed. We don't get walrus and seals like we used to. That is climate change. It all starts right here, it feel like.' He said this year they managed to hunt just five seals and two walruses. 'That's nothing. That is just a snack,' Otto added.

And the small island, with around 30 buildings in total, is struggling to survive as climate change takes its toll on their way of life. For generations, the island has hunted seals or walruses to eat. Just 20 years ago, a five-man hunting crew would have secured hundreds of each before winter struck. Local Otto Soolook, 53, told the outlet: 'Something's wrong with this place. It is possessed. We don't get walrus and seals like we used to. That is climate change. It all starts right here, it feel like.' He said this year they managed to hunt just five seals and two walruses. 'That's nothing. That is just a snack,' Otto added.

To survive, the islanders rely on a weekly delivery of food from the mainland which arrives by helicopter, if the weather allows. Yet the pickings are limited, as the shipment only brings in canned goods or overly-processed foods to survive the test of time from Alaska's largest western town, Nome. A plane previously delivered the islanders food and supplies by landing on the thick frozen ice during winter, but it no longer arrives following the effects of climate change. 'The ice can't stay frozen, the current moves it, the wind blows it,' Kevin Ozenna, a father of two, told the outlet. 'I used to walk miles to the open ocean to hunt, but now I can't. The ice is just too thin.'

To survive, the islanders rely on a weekly delivery of food from the mainland which arrives by helicopter, if the weather allows. Yet the pickings are limited, as the shipment only brings in canned goods or overly-processed foods to survive the test of time from Alaska's largest western town, Nome. A plane previously delivered the islanders food and supplies by landing on the thick frozen ice during winter, but it no longer arrives following the effects of climate change. 'The ice can't stay frozen, the current moves it, the wind blows it,' Kevin Ozenna, a father of two, told the outlet. 'I used to walk miles to the open ocean to hunt, but now I can't. The ice is just too thin.'

Little Diomede is struggling to survive as their isolation from the outside world means that their culture is ever more important, but fears are growing that too is being lost. Local Frances Ozenna told the BBC: 'We know we have relatives over there. The older generations are dying out, and the thing is, we know nothing about each other. 'We are losing our language. We speak English now, and they speak Russian. It's not our fault. It's not their fault. But it's just terrible.' Josef Burwell, a pharmacist from the mainland, told the Economist: 'Diomede is unsustainable. 'It is not only climate change, but also because so many of these 'hunters' are not hunting because they are ordering on Amazon or they are playing video games on their computer.

Little Diomede is struggling to survive as their isolation from the outside world means that their culture is ever more important, but fears are growing that too is being lost. Local Frances Ozenna told the BBC: 'We know we have relatives over there. The older generations are dying out, and the thing is, we know nothing about each other. 'We are losing our language. We speak English now, and they speak Russian. It's not our fault. It's not their fault. But it's just terrible.' Josef Burwell, a pharmacist from the mainland, told the Economist: 'Diomede is unsustainable. 'It is not only climate change, but also because so many of these 'hunters' are not hunting because they are ordering on Amazon or they are playing video games on their computer.

'The water is undrinkable. The kids, when they turn 18 and graduate, most of them leave.' But the bleak lifestyle and isolation, as well as leadership issues on the self-governed island, have caused whispers of rising cases of alcoholism and domestic abuse. The island has been officially dry since 1974, but booze is often found to be smuggled onto Little Diomede and some locals even moved from the island in search of closer alcohol. Edward Soolook told The Economist that he drank every time he went to Nome, and said: 'My grandpa, my dad, my brother, my sister, my uncle, they are all alcoholics. 'It is scary. I don't get help. I'll seek it, but what good is it going to do? I am just going to go right back to doing it again, because my faith is not strong.

'The water is undrinkable. The kids, when they turn 18 and graduate, most of them leave.' But the bleak lifestyle and isolation, as well as leadership issues on the self-governed island, have caused whispers of rising cases of alcoholism and domestic abuse. The island has been officially dry since 1974, but booze is often found to be smuggled onto Little Diomede and some locals even moved from the island in search of closer alcohol. Edward Soolook told The Economist that he drank every time he went to Nome, and said: 'My grandpa, my dad, my brother, my sister, my uncle, they are all alcoholics. 'It is scary. I don't get help. I'll seek it, but what good is it going to do? I am just going to go right back to doing it again, because my faith is not strong.

You to have to have strong faith to stop.' Residents feel their faith slipping evermore as their elders, who often took on leadership roles, are dying. The elders, for generations, bestowed advice onto the community and reminded them of their culture and traditions but, as they die, many feel that the island is lacking in social harmony. Some locals also told the outlet that newer leaders were less trust-worthy and governing less effectively. Its school equally plays a large role in the unease that the locals feel regarding the lifespan of their community. Run by two young teachers, one from the Midwest and the other from the Philippines, the only school on the island is host to 21 students. Should it have less than 12 students enrolled, the school would close, and fears loom that its closure would be the death of the island.

You to have to have strong faith to stop.' Residents feel their faith slipping evermore as their elders, who often took on leadership roles, are dying. The elders, for generations, bestowed advice onto the community and reminded them of their culture and traditions but, as they die, many feel that the island is lacking in social harmony. Some locals also told the outlet that newer leaders were less trust-worthy and governing less effectively. Its school equally plays a large role in the unease that the locals feel regarding the lifespan of their community. Run by two young teachers, one from the Midwest and the other from the Philippines, the only school on the island is host to 21 students. Should it have less than 12 students enrolled, the school would close, and fears loom that its closure would be the death of the island.

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