Arctic Gold

Ripening cloudberries. Credit: Ilkka via Adobe Stock

By Sara Merkelz

In the summertime Arctic, the cloudberry, Rubus chamaemorus, dots the peat-rich, mountainous bogs of the Arctic circle with gold and red orb-like berries. Hovering on stems just inches above the tundra, cloudberries transform the marshy landscape into an orange carpet at their peak ripening. These delicate berries ripen from a dark red to light yellow under the Arctic sun and are ready for consumption by late summer. With a flavor that is sweet, sour, earthy, and uniquely flavorful, cloudberries must be gently removed from their stems by hand before being placed in a shallow bucket, or an impatient forager’s mouth.

Upon close inspection, a crouched forager will notice that despite their close relations to the raspberry, these berries are not supported by long prickly vines, but slender stems two to eight inches above the boggy tundra. Each stem produces a single cloud-colored flower that must be pollinated by insects to transform into a sun-like berry. With a range spanning across cultures in Alaska, Canada, Scandinavia, and Russia, the delectable clusters have gained several common and traditional names: low bush salmonberry, bakeapple, knoutberry, aqpik, aqagwik, algnan, nex’w, and more, but are most often referred to simply as cloudberries.

The range of the cloudberry shown in green. Credit: Wikimedia commons

When those of us south of the 50th parallel think of activities to do in the Arctic, berry picking isn’t the first thing that comes to mind. However, for many Indigenous and long-term residents, berry picking is a cherished activity come end of summer, so much that some Indigenous languages have a verb for it: Lleech’L, in the Eyak language of Alaska. Families often have knowledge of a berry patch which has been passed down from mother to daughter, along with traditional knowledge and recipes. Berry picking is a key example of the Inupiat way of flowing with the seasons. Groups will go out for days or weeks to camp at berry sites, gathering as a community and reconnecting with the land.

The Arctic’s fauna are also active participants in cloudberry foraging. Bear nutrition expert Charles Robbins noted that Alaskan bears are more often than not foraging in berry fields after satiating themselves on salmon. Leaving no parts to waste, moose and caribou enjoy the leftover woody stems while a small caterpillar in northern Russia feeds exclusively on the leaves. This consumption comes with no complaints from the cloudberry, as the excretion of their indigestible seeds naturally facilitates their wide distribution. The cloudberry is an important food source for many, and while it may be small its absence would leave a larger footprint than just barren soil.

Recently the time-honored practices of Arctic cloudberry picking have experienced a range of threats, including globalization, habitat loss, and climate change. What was once a source of nutrition and pride — not to mention summer beauty — for Indigenous peoples and animals of the north now faces an uncertain future.

Cloudberries are a rare and rich source of vitamin C, vitamin A, and vitamin E, supporting historical references to their use as a remedy for scurvy and other medicinal uses of the plant’s roots and leaves. Not only that, cloudberries are rich in antioxidant compounds of carotenoids and ellagitannins that prevent damage from the free radicals that contribute to premature aging and cancer. An essential ingredient to the diet of Indigenous communities who are recently seeing declines in health and nutrition due to food insecurity, the cloudberry is an important factor in community wellness, a link made increasingly fragile by climate change and commercial marketing.

In many Arctic cultures, it is tradition for surplus berries to be shared with neighbors and those who are unable to go berry picking themselves. Even in years with low yields, members of the Gwich’in — located in current day Alaska, Yukon, and the Northwest Territories of Canada — will ration berries, sharing a portion with those who are sick. Inupiat families often create a game of berry picking, where it is a matter of pride to pick more than other family members. The reward: Having the most to share come winter. A source of community, their excess bounty is not meant to be sold. In an interview with researchers in southeastern Labrador, Canada, Gwich’in elder Dorothy Alexie explained: “I just give it away for nothing because it is important for me to do this … A long time ago people used to give berries away because it was a tradition, just like our culture.” While a market may exist for berries, cultural traditions are valued much more highly than the potential profits, a mentality that is now harder to come by outside of Indigenous communities.

Despite being out of arm’s reach from the rest of the world, cloudberries have not been immune to globalization. Not all berry pickers race for the Inupiat prize of sharing; the drupelets resemble a sunset to some, but others recognize the gold glint of profit. The once familial practice of berry picking has since become industrialized to a degree. The issue preventing mass production lies in the fact that cloudberries cannot be cultivated domestically; they thrive in boggy swamps with sufficient winter snowfall. So the pickers must make the treacherous journey through the Arctic swamps to access the 90% to 98% of cloudberries that are left unpicked by Native residents. The brunt of this labor is performed by migrant workers.

Cloudberry jam, as listed on Ikea’s website for a meager $9.99.

In late summer, local families are not the only ones making the journey through the Nordic swamps. They are now outnumbered by workers from Thailand recruited by Swedish and Finnish companies to meet the rising demand for Arctic berries in Asia. For migrant workers, berry picking isn’t exactly leisurely skipping through the woods with a picnic basket. They work hard in poor weather conditions, all for pay that is highly dependent on their crop and barely offsets the cost of travel. These working and living conditions have caught the attention of Thai labor and human rights activists, who declare migrant berry picking a human trafficking problem long overlooked by authorities. Thanks to the efforts of migrant workers, this rare and sought-after berry can now be brought to a table near you (in jam form) for under 10 U.S. dollars.

While the berries are only ripe for consumption in late summer, the demand remains year-round. The Thai government made an exception for the travel of migrant workers during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, allowing workers to risk their health to bring immunity-boosting berries to consumers thousands of miles away. While the majority of cloudberries remain unpicked, it is only a matter of time before conflict emerges between the hands of the global market and local families’ berry picking traditions. Of course, in this scenario, it will not be the local cultural traditions and lifestyles but the global demand that out-picks the competitor. 

The globalization of the cloudberry has created yet another victim in the loss of seasonal appreciation. A key component of cloudberry culture in the Arctic is the eager anticipation of the changing seasons. The land controls when berry pickers must make their outings, not the individual’s schedule. But as commodities are exploited, the growing season cannot last long enough. Any variability, even such caused by climate change, is not allowed.

While families often return to known berry patches for generations, these habitats can have highly variable yields, as cloudberries are influenced by factors including precipitation, temperature, soil moisture, and the surrounding vegetation — all of which are at risk of increased unpredictability with climate change. Slight fluctuations are expected, but as Gwich’in community member Dwane Burdett stated in an interview, there are now more extremes in the crop: “Some years there’s none nowhere! I’ve been up there and sometimes you can literally see that the land has an orange glow to it. Like an orange … a big orange carpet.” Weather events and abnormal variation at any time can have implications on cloudberry success. Locals in Southeastern Labrador have noted that berries have been ripening earlier than normal due to earlier springs, and more frequent intense storm events can wipe out a crop. Some discuss landscape changes at picking grounds, with encroachment of shrubby vegetation that competes with the berries. Palsas (the boggy areas where cloudberries are often found) are estimated to have decreased in area by 64.5% from 2004 to 2016, accompanied by habitat fragmentation and inconsistent ripening time across patches.

On top of the unpredictable nature of the cloudberry crop, it is becoming more and more challenging for community members to participate in berry picking. Resettlement programs and a resulting loss of cultural connection in younger age groups have transformed the simple tradition into a more involved event. Families must now pay more for fuel to reach access points, travel longer distances, and commit more time to the activity. Since it is not always known when the berries will peak, families must risk all their efforts coming up fruitless. Traditionally, berry picking was organized by the women of a family, but now that routine has been lost as single men are often the only ones able to commit to this effort.   

These close yet fragile relationships with the land make Indigenous communities increasingly vulnerable to climatic changes as global temperatures rise at unprecedented rates. With the Arctic warming four times faster than the rest of the globe, there is growing pressure for organisms to either adapt or shift their habitat ranges to avoid extinction. While species that rely on the coldest climates of the Arctic may not fare well, there may be hope for the cloudberry as these areas warm into suitable habitat. Ripened cloud berries were discovered for the first time in Svalbard, Norway, in July 2023, the warmest month on record at the Arctic archipelago. Temperatures in the area have risen by 3-5 degrees C in the past 50 years, leading vegetation researcher Virve Ravolainen to believe that the range of cloudberry plants will continue to shift into Svalbard and other southern shores near Isfjorden. Growing on the edge of permafrost, Arctic thawing may actually benefit cloudberry growth as recent studies have found that the additional nitrogen at the thaw front led to increased biomass of cloudberry plants.  

However, greater variations in spring temperatures may lead to a mistiming between pollinator emergence and cloudberry flowering. Warmer temperatures may coax cloudberry flowers out earlier in the year, but their insect companions dependent on the amount of sunlight in a day may not follow suit. Along with this shift in seasonal timing, the impacts of climatic changes are also threatening the habitat of potential pollinators. Not much is known about what species facilitate the transfer of pollen that gives life to the fruits of the cloudberry. And with anthropogenic pressures threatening the diversity and abundance of pollinating species around the world, the fate of a key aspect in the cloudberry equation remains unknown. With so many variables at stake, the future of the cloudberry — like the entire Arctic ecology and its communities — is hard to predict.

About the Author …

Sara Merkelz is a first-year Entomology M.S. Student from Sleepy Hollow, Ill. She graduated from Illinois in December 2023 with a B.S. in Integrative Biology and a minor in Conservation Biology. She is currently researching the applications of pollinator environmental DNA, working on several projects including using eDNA to shed light on insect pollination of the cloudberry in Alaska.

This piece was written for ESE 477, Advanced Environmental Writing, in Fall 2023.