Love, warmth and lotsa sole

Over the years, Julia Ogina of Cambridge Bay has amassed more than a dozen pairs of kamiks. (PHOTO BY JANE GEORGE)

Julia Ogina shows a pair of warm sealskin kamiks that her grandmother Taipana in Uluhaktok made for her. (PHOTO BY JANE GEORGE)

The design on this kamik from the Western Arctic includes flowers made using French knots. (PHOTO BY JANE GEORGE)

The colourful leather detail on this kamik is similar to that seen at two ends of the Inuit world— in Chukotka and Greenland. The colourful detail is a combination of sealskin leather bleached and dried when the sun first returns, with colourful threads of yarn, Inserted between finely sliced slits. (PHOTO BY JANE GEORGE)

CAMBRIDGE BAY — What’s beautiful, warm and cool at the same time, and lasts forever?

That’s an easy question for people who live in Cambridge Bay.

They know: it’s a kamik.

Kamiks (kamiik, dual, or kamiit, plural, in the Inuit languages) are the preferred footwear for many in this community of 1,500 during their cold winter — and that’s not just because kamiks are less slippery and cozy than bulky, felt-lined, rubber-soled boots.

Julia Ogina of Cambridge Bay grew up in Uluhaktok wearing kamiks, and she still wears kamiks by choice throughout the winter months.

Over the years, Ogina has amassed more than a dozen pairs of kamiks, and maybe as many as 20.

Ogina, who pulls out some of her kamiks on a Sunday afternoon — just for fun — tells how this past winter she’s taken to a certain pair. They’re made from white leather sealskin, with imitation fur around the top.

But depending on what outfit she’s wearing, Ogina says she may also pick out another pair of kamiks to wear.

And she’s got many styles to choose from.

There’s the first pair she made for herself more than 20 years ago — a short, brown and white, calfskin design, featuring a white trim, decorated by red and blue insets.

Or how about one of the many kamiks, made by her grandmother, mother or sister?

Each design is uniquely different: there’s a sealskin kamik with a colourful trim, a short black and white felt boot with purple and pink flowers, and a soft caribou boot with a trim of scalloped red felt and embroidery.

One of Ogina’s favourite kamiks, made by master sewer Susie Konana of Gjoa Haven, combines two kinds of sealskin, grey fur and white leather with a decorative border.

Several others in Ogina’s kamik collection feature elaborate beading on the body of the boot.

Another pair has tiny French knots that form pink flowers on the front and top of the boot.

The choice of fur, including beaver, rabbit, seal, caribou, and felt, along with the chosen design and height, tall or short, offers infinite possibilities to kamik creators and wearers.

Custom-made kamiks always fit the wearer.

And kamiks have a long life. Their soles can be repaired as often as you want, Ogina says.

“They’re easy to repair if you have the time and don’t procrastinate,” she says.

As for the advantages of wearing kamiks, they’re numerous: you don’t have to take them off when you come in from the outside. You can wear them even when you dance, as Ogina does weekly with her traditional drumming and dancing group.

And kamiks are warm. Slipping commercially-made liners or felt booties into the bottoms can make them even more comfy to wear in the cold.

Sewn-on strips of leather or industrially-produced patches also make kamiks safer to walk with on slippery town streets.

Kamiks also breathe, by allowing air to circulate, an advantage if you’re dancing or outside in extremely cold conditions where perspiration may cause frostbite on your feet.

Importantly, kamiks carry special messages, too, about the skill of the sewer and the person who wears them, say Ogina and her friend, Helen Blewett, who drops by as Ogina is looking at her kamiks.

Blewett wears warm sealskin kamiks, with three colours of sealskin — “my cousin made them for me so it means a lot.”

“When someone makes kamiks for you, it shows they care about you,” Ogina adds.

Maybe that’s why Ogina keeps the miniature red kamiks that her mother made for her prematurely-born granddaughter on display.

The only disadvantage to kamiks is that they aren’t always good footwear in larger northern communities, like Yellowknife, where salt is used to melt ice— although Ogina has learned to slip hers into low rubbers, which protect the soles.

And, when winter is over, if your kamiks aren’t made of tanned skin, remember to stick in them in freezer or a cool place in the summer, she advises.

“But watch out for freezer burn,” warns Blewett.

In Cambridge Bay, the Kitimeot Inuit Association promotes traditional sewing skills, and women of all ages can meet at the Elders Palace every Wednesday evening to learn how to make kamiks and other items of traditional clothing from expert elder seamstresses.

Sarah Jancke, who works as a programs coordinator at the KIA, now sports glossy black and white sealskin kamiks with pom-poms at the ends of the ties.

“They’re cool,” Jancke says about the younger generation’s increasing love for kamiks.

Skilled sewers can produce an infinite variety of designs, depending on what materials, style and decorative elements they chose. Here are kamiks, short and tall, made by the family members of Julia Ogina, who grew up in Uluhaktok. (PHOTO BY JANE GEORGE)