Across generations: Traditional Chief Moses Sam, 90, and his great-grandson, Harley, 18 months, look at pictures in their home in Arctic Village. Sam, a Gwich'in Athabaskan, worries about whether his people will be able to live off the land in the future. PHOTO By MICHAEL PENN

In Alaska, political and business leaders want to bolster the economy and the oil-dependent state budget. They tout advances in oil-field technology aimed at minimizing the impact to wildlife and to the land.

In Washington, D.C., legislation that would open the ANWR coastal plain to drilling would prohibit harm to species in the refuge, according to sponsors.

And then there's Moses Sam, the 90-year-old traditional chief in the Athabascan Indian community of Arctic Village, in northeastern Alaska, where caribou hunting is central to life. Sam says the ANWR debate is about his 18-month-old great-grandson, Harley. Pointing to the diaper-clad toddler, Sam asks, "Where is he going to get food?"

Sam's concerns are more genuine than scripted, but like the caribou, ecotourists, lawmakers, drilling pads and pipelines, he has a role in a high-stakes drama playing from arctic Alaska's Beaufort Sea to Washington's Beltway.

President Bush's proposal to allow oil drilling in ANWR's coastal plain was a campaign issue last year. In early August, the House of Representatives approved the plan.

Looking out for a way of life: Edward Sam of Arctic Village listens to a panel discussion in the Arctic Village community center on how oil drilling in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge may affect the Gwich'in way of life. Panels on various Native issues were held during Gwich'in Gathering 2001 in June. Arctic Village sits just outside the southern border of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. PHOTO By MICHAEL PENN

While the issues are global in scope, recent attention has focused on two towns settled in the 20th century on opposite sides of the refuge by people who historically were nomadic.

Arctic Village, year-round home to about 150 Gwich'in Athabascans, sits across the narrow East Fork of the Chandalar River from the southern boundary of the refuge.

To the "people of the caribou," the migratory Porcupine caribou herd Ð named after a river in the Canadian Yukon Ð is materially, culturally and spiritually important. The Gwich'in use parts of the caribou for food, needles, hooks, snowshoes, blankets and clothing. They fear seismic testing and the construction of drill pads and pipelines on the coastal plain would dislocate the herd at calving time, possibly ending its fall migration south through the Brooks Range to near Arctic Village.

The Gwich'in, an estimated 7,000 people in 15 villages on both sides of the U.S.-Canada border, are Episcopalians but have a traditional story that they were created simultaneously with the caribou. In 1988 the Gwich'in nation had its first gathering in 100 years to decide what to do about the proposed oil exploration. It since has made caribou an international issue.

About 150 miles north of Arctic Village, on an island just off the coastal plain, lies Kaktovik, where the population of 260 people is mostly Inupiat Eskimos. It's also a community in which much of the local diet comes directly from the water or the land.

Operation on the Slope: The Alpine oil facility, operated by Phillips Alaska, lies to the west of Prudhoe Bay and uses some of the most advanced technology in the industry. PHOTO By MICHAEL PENN

Asking whether they're for or against drilling, until better information about oil deposits and construction plans is available, is "a really dumb question," he said.

The notion that the coastal plain could be declared wilderness, as if no one lives there who deserves to be consulted, is implicitly genocidal, he argues in a statement endorsed by the town's city council. He also points out that for two years in a row, the caribou herd has calved in Canada Ð not ANWR's coastal plain.

All Alaska arctic herds move hundreds of miles southward from summer ranges to winter ranges in or south of the Brooks Range. But there is no guaranteed migratory path of caribou, Francis insists, suggesting it's a fiction invented by environmentalists.

"They do not all of a sudden organize themselves like a labor union and decide to go to Arctic Village," he said. "They're scattered all over the damn place. ... This is all a new thing, this 'people of the caribou' thing. This was invented for this purpose."

Alaska's sole congressman, Republican Don Young, said emphatically: "Arctic Village has nothing to do with that caribou herd."

The point, according to the Senate's Murkowski, is the herd traverses a huge area. "The caribou are relatively adaptable to a certain amount of activity."

I think that it's unfortunate that Gale (Norton) somehow believes that because we're working to protect the arctic refuge and the caribou, that in some way that will hurt children in California. - Arctic Village Chief Evon Peter

Meanwhile, environmentalists, religious leaders and Native groups from throughout the nation have taken up the cause of the Gwich'in. More than 100 supporters traveled to Arctic Village for three days in July to restate their opposition to drilling.

Residents of Arctic Village and Kaktovik have journeyed frequently to Washington to share their differing viewpoints with Congress. Despite all the attention, the two groups of villagers can only influence the future of activity in ANWR. The issue is not theirs to decide.

From Washington, ANWR's remoteness has been cited as a reason to protect it and as an explanation why "misinformation" persists.

Environmentalists say ANWR is special because it is a place apart Ð 19 million acres without roads or even official trails or campsites, one of the last places on Earth with no industrial intrusion. But only 8 million acres are protected wilderness. In the Alaska National Interest Lands Conservation Act of 1980, the coastal plain Ð known as the "1002" (ten-oh-two) area, after a section of that law Ð was set aside for further study.

The Republican-controlled Congress voted to open the 1.5-million-acre area for exploration in 1996, but was blocked by President Clinton's veto. The transition from Clinton to Bush gave the issue new life.

Free range: Porcupine caribou cross a branch of the Kongakut River on the coastal plain of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. There are four caribou herds in arctic Alaska, of which the Porcupine is the second largest. PHOTO By MICHAEL PENN

Murkowski says the dramatically increased population of the Central Arctic caribou herd near existing oil fields 120 miles west of Kaktovik shows that development isn't a threat to wildlife. The herd was 3,000 when trans-Alaska oil pipeline construction began in the mid-1970s and is more than 27,000 now.

"I'm of the opinion that as a consequence of this area being so far away and very expensive to travel to, the environmental community has used it very dramatically as a way to generate membership and dollars," Murkowski said.

But while few average Americans have been to ANWR, the parade of government officials and the news media has been nearly constant since Bush's inauguration. Interior Secretary Gale Norton has made the trip twice, once in the harshness of the winter and again in July, when she went to Arctic Village to hear the Gwich'ins' arguments against drilling.

Norton now "better understands the concerns of the Gwich'in," said Drue Pearce, former president of the Alaska Senate and now Norton's special assistant on Alaska affairs. But what really made an impression is the fact that the Kaktovik Inupiats can't develop the 92,160 acres they were granted in 1971 as a part of the Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act because most of it lies on the coastal plain, Pearce said.

"She's got a strong empathy with those folks," she said. Arctic Village Chief Evon Peter said he was disappointed that Norton, after leaving Arctic Village, called upon the Gwich'ins to broaden their view and to recognize the energy need in the rest of the country.

"I think that it's unfortunate that Gale somehow believes that because we're working to protect the arctic refuge and the caribou, that in some way that will hurt children in California," he said.

Alaska's congressional delegation has invited Lower 48 colleagues to make the trip to the ANWR coastal plain.

"We have to drill somewhere, and Florida doesn't want it," says Republican Rep. Young.

Minnesota Rep. Betty McCollum, a Democrat who represents the St. Paul district where Bush announced his energy plan May 17, was among four House members who made the trip in July after Young urged the whole House to go.

Young "may regret he sent me," said McCollum.

"I'm not a scientist by any stretch of the imagination," she said. "But I was quite taken aback by how fragile it really is."

(Caribou) do not all of a sudden organize themselves like a labor union and decide to go to Arctic Village. They're scattered all over the damn place. - Karl Francis, Kaktovik mayoral adviser

A significant strike in the northwestern corner of the coastal plain would entail less industrial development because it's closer to the existing infrastructure Ð as little as 30 miles away from the nearest pipeline, for example. It would have less potential impact on the Porcupine caribou herd as well, because it would be west of the center of their documented calving area. The most recent estimates show the area has stratified rocks similar to the new Alpine oil field and offers the best prospects for a big find, according to Ken Boyd, former director of Alaska's Division of Oil and Gas and now a self-described "ANWR evangelist."

Alpine, west of Prudhoe Bay, contains 429 million barrels of oil, the largest discovery in Alaska in a decade.

The overall drilling "footprint" on the land in ANWR would depend upon how the oil is dispersed Ð how many pockets and how far apart. The state-of-the-art technology now being used by Phillips Petroleum at Alpine allows for horizontal drilling underground over a radius of five miles, a significant advancement in limiting surface impacts. Alpine sits on 97 acres but taps a 40,000-acre deposit Ð a surface operation that represents less than one quarter of 1 percent of the field size.

Democratic Gov. Tony Knowles, a former Oklahoma oilman, made the case to the House Resources Committee on Capitol Hill in Washington during testimony in March: "During my rough-necking days on the North Slope in the 1960s, a drill pad could be as big as 65 acres. Today, they're a tenth that size. And using new technology, up to 50 wells can be drilled from the same, smaller pad and tap into oil 20,000 feet deep and five miles away, under sensitive areas, such as an ice-choked ocean or sensitive wildlife habitat. That's like running a well through this committee room floor to Ronald Reagan National Airport and we could determine which gate the drill bit would emerge from."

The industry also touts the use of low-impact ice roads to construct Alpine, although critics question whether the 1002 area has enough water to support such a network.

Supporters of drilling in ANWR say a 2,000-acre footprint might be all that's needed, vs. 12,000 acres at Prudhoe Bay, Alaska's largest oil field. But both numbers are misleading, says Childers, the Gwich'in consultant. "It's like measuring the effect of a high seas drift net by how much space it takes piled up on the dock. ... In terms of caribou, it's how wide that net stretches."

Whether oil development will affect the Porcupine herd, and therefore the subsistence way of life of 7,000 Gwich'ins, has divided biologists as well as politicians.

The Central Arctic herd, about half of which wanders the 1002 area where drilling would occur, has been on the rise since the oil boom on the North Slope, increasing from 3,000 animals in the early 1970s to 27,000 as of this past winter. Caribou wander by the drilling sites and seek shade under pipelines. Supporters of oil exploration in the arctic refuge say this proves development and wildlife can co-exist.

But there's a much broader coastal plain there than in ANWR. The Porcupine herd, five times larger at 129,000 animals, must negotiate a strip that varies from about 10 miles wide to 50 miles wide between the ocean and the Brooks Range.

In Kaktovik, residents say the industry simply could be required to cease activity during the spring caribou calving, which lasts from a few days to two weeks.

Congressman Young, co-author of the pending Energy Security Act, says the legislation "mandates the use of state-of-the-art technology" on the coastal plain and "specifically prohibits harm to species in the region."

Artery for oil: The trans-Alaska oil pipeline starts just outside the gates of Pump Station 1 in the Prudhoe Bay oil field. PHOTO By MICHAEL PENN

Opponents say differences in herd size and suitable habitat present more of a challenge for the Porcupine herd.

Matthew Cronin, an Anchorage geneticist whose firm, LGL Alaska Research, has done work for British Petroleum, said he wouldn't extrapolate directly from the experience of the Central Arctic herd to what might happen to the Porcupine herd.

"That's possibly true that the Central Arctic herd had other places to go," Cronin said. "Couldn't it also be said that there's alternative ranges in the 1002 area?"

While the coastal plain is much narrower in the refuge, with predator grizzly bears, golden eagles and wolves more prominent in the foothills of the nearby Brooks Range, there is also the possibility for the Porcupine herd to spread out east-to-west along the coast, if displaced by oil drilling, he said. There should be a scientific evaluation of whether the caribou would find comparably nutritious forage if they did so, he said.

To date, there is no comprehensive data on the cumulative effects of oil development on the North Slope environment. The National Academy of Sciences has put together a panel that is undertaking a two-year study. The panel traveled to Prudhoe Bay, Arctic Village and Kaktovik in July.

Roger Herrera, a pro-drilling lobbyist in Washington for the Alaska-based group Arctic Power, correctly predicted that the House would pass an energy package that includes exploration on the coastal plain. "That will cause people to sit up and take notice," he predicted.

In the Senate, where 41 votes are enough to preserve a filibuster that could block the issue, drilling advocates have a tougher task.

The Senate's new majority leader, Tom Daschle of South Dakota, quickly declared Bush's plan for ANWR "dead" after James Jeffords of Vermont left the Republican Party and broke the chamber's 50-50 tie.

Ted Stevens, Alaska's other Republican senator, who has been in office since 1969, disagrees. He said as of July 3, he counted 51 votes in the Senate for opening the coastal plain to oil exploration. Murkowski says the pro-drilling faction has enough votes to move a bill out of committee, but "I'd say we've got a lot of work to do."

Labor leaders, galvanized by estimates for 735,000 ANWR-related jobs throughout the country, are lining up behind oil drilling in greater numbers, complicating things for their natural allies, the Democrats. The Sierra Club says the job estimates are exaggerated, but the House vote on keeping exploration of the coastal plain in the energy bill was attributed to union lobbying.

National polls generally show a majority of Americans oppose opening up the coastal plain. As gasoline prices drop from record highs, there is less sense of urgency than in the spring.

"I don't consider us as having won the issue," said Peter, the Arctic Village chief. "I think there'll always be pressure that will potentially impact the environment, the animals, the land Ð and therefore us."

Isaac Akootchook, a Kaktovik elder and former whaling captain whose parents did Christian missionary work by dogsled, says that while the town isn't forsaking its past, there is a definite need to secure a brighter future. Oil money would mean a better education for children and more of them going on to college.

"We're still Inupiat, we're not going to change that," Akootchook said. "But we've got to get better things. ... You've got to grow something."