When the Russian ship Il’Mena dropped anchor of the coast of San Nicolas Island in 1814, the people who lived there had no way of knowing it meant the end of them and their way of life.
The Spanish had christened them the Nicolenos, but no one knows what they called themselves or what language they spoke. They had been living on the island for at least 10,000 years.
Maritime hunter-gatherers, they fished, they hunted, they lived in round, domed-shaped huts made from driftwood and reeds. Skillful seafarers, they navigated between the other Channel Islands and the mainland on tomols — plank canoes sewn with plant fibers and sealed with a natural tar called asphaltum.
They left only traces of themselves behind — fish hooks made of bone, handmade tools and colorful beads.
They were about to be caught up in a worldwide trading frenzy. Thirty-four years before, Capt. James Cook’s ship HMS Resolution had returned to England bringing news that set off something akin to a gold rush: Staggering profits could be made by slaughtering sea otters and selling their skins to be made into capes, hats and robes that the wealthy elite of St. Petersburg, London and Canton would pay extraordinary amounts of money to own.
The lives of people like the Nicolenos meant nothing to those who were determined to get in on the fortunes being made in “The Maritime Fur Trade.”
The Il’Mena was a two-masted brig belonging to the Russian-America Company (RAC). Made of teak, it carried two Russian officers, Timofei Tarakanov and Iakov Babin, and 50 Aleut hunters from the Russian settlement at Sitka, Alaska.
When the Aleuts began lowering their baidarkas (kayaks) over the side and started to hunt for the sea otters, the death knoll for the Nicolenos began to sound.
Sea otter fur is unique. Unlike seals or bears, sea otters have virtually no insulating fat. Instead, they rely entirely on an incredibly dense coat — up to 1million hairs per square inch, the densest fur of any animal — to keep them warm.
This extraordinary density makes their fur remarkably soft, water-resistant and valuable, so valuable it has been called “soft gold.”
Owning a garment made from this fur had become a status symbol to the upscale of the world, and they were willing to pay the equivalent of $90,000 for one.
Russia had been casting covetous eyes at the New World since the mid-18th century. In 1741, Vitus Bering explored the coast of Alaska (the Bering Strait is named for him) and in 1799 Tsar Paul I founded the Russian-America Company.
His Imperial Majesty charged the company with spreading Russian influence south to the West Coast of North America, including the Channel Islands.
Alaska had been made part of the Russian Empire in 1784. Under the direction of the RAC it established a settlement at Fort Ross in California in 1812. The Il’Mena stopped there after leaving Alaska while on its way to the Channel Islands.
There are varying accounts of what happened after the hunting began on San Nicolas.
The Nicolenos may have objected when the Aleuts started killing the sea otters. Another story has it that the Aleuts raped some Nicoleno women.
What is clear is that in the pitched battle that followed, the Russians and Aleuts massacred the Nicolenos. Of the 300 believed to have been living on the island, only about 30 were left by the time the Il’Mena sailed away.
In 1835 the Mexican government evacuated the remaining Nicolenos. They were taken to the San Gabriel Mission near Los Angeles. No one could communicate with them, since no one knew what language they spoke.
Within a few years all of them died, victims of the diseases the Europeans brought to the New World.
One woman did remain on San Nicolas while the rest sailed away. No one knows why she stayed behind or what her name was.
What is known is that she remained alone on the island for the next 18 years, sheltering in caves, surviving on birds, roots and fish. When found in 1853 she was wearing “a single garment of cormorant skins.”
At the Santa Barbara Mission she was baptized “Juana Maria.” Like the other Nicolenos who were brought to the mainland, no one could communicate with her.
Only seven weeks after her rescue, she died of dysentery, and was buried on the mission grounds.
But her story was not over. In 1960 Scott O’Dell published a fictional account of her life, Island of the Blue Dolphins. It became a best seller, and won the John Newbery Medal for its contributions to children’s literature.
And archaeological research continues on San Nicolas Island.
In 2009, two redwood boxes were found, containing arrowheads, needles and beads made from shells. In 2012, the cave believed to be the one Juana Maria sheltered in was uncovered.
The story of the Nicolenos and their island goes on.

