In last week’s column, I described how the lack of consistency and predictability in the availability of plants made it difficult for Inuit to rely on them entirely as a source of medicines, as people in warmer climates did. Instead, Inuit medicine was typically based upon the most common Inuit resource: animals.

Numerous traditional treatments utilized specially prepared skins, fats, sinews and oils from a wide range of creatures. Seal fat, for example, was essential for treating snow blindness and burns. The neck skin from a ptarmigan was prized as a light dressing. Lemming skin was used to drain boils. The bile from a seal’s gall bladder was good for skin problems.

Despite their tendency to rely upon animal-based materials, however, Inuit did possess reasonably extensive herbal knowledge. The exact knowledge varied from area to area, just as the plants did. Inuit near the treeline, for example, could access pine, the inner bark of which is rich in acetylsalicylic acid (natural Aspirin).

More importantly, treeline Inuit could gather juniper berries, known the world over for their antiseptic properties, as well as their utility in treating kidney and bladder problems, gas and mild infections.

Yet even Inuit without access to the treeline still had many uses for the plants available to them. One of the most important plants, at once medicine and utensil, was Arctic cotton grass. The oil from the stem was used to remove warts. Additionally, as one might imagine, the cottony head of the plant made an excellent all-purpose swab. A mixture of cotton grass and charcoal made a good temporary wound cover.

There were numerous other plant medicines, as well. Freshwater algae, boiled first, was used for just about anything relating to the skin, from boils to impetigo. Moss not only made a good lamp wick, but was used for extreme snow-blindness, skin problems, frostbite, and wound dressing.

Fireweed leaves, when chewed, supposedly stopped nose-bleeds. The roots of dwarf willow were peeled and held against a sore tooth (I still do this myself if I get a toothache while hiking). Some sorts of mushroom were used externally for cuts and frostbite. Mountain sandwort was good for diarrhea.

More often than not, Inuit used plants as tea, and various tea recipes have existed across the Arctic since time immemorial. Tea-drinking was both recreational and medicinal, but the former at least explains the modern Inuit fondness for store-bought (i.e., Asian) tea.

Fireweed has always been one of the most popular teas for universal intestinal complaints (everything except the root is boiled), although Inuit and other cultures found it useful for myriad things, including muscle spasms, nervous irritation, irritation of the mucous membranes, regulating menstruation, and healing sores and blisters (as an external balm). I have heard that the Blackfoot Indians rubbed on fireweed powder for cold protection, but I have never heard of this usage among Inuit.

Cloudberry leaves, bearberry leaves, and alpine smartweed were used for general stomach-aches and kidney problems. Bearberry tea, in particular, has strong diuretic and astringent properties, and is said to be good for bladder troubles. Some Inuit believed that rock tripe tea was good for tuberculosis, although I don’t think this belief was widespread.

The most widely ingested tea, however, was Labrador tea. The entire plant (especially the leaves) is rich in a pungent, volatile oil called ledol. The more it is steeped or boiled, the more ledol is released, so that overdoing it can quickly turn an otherwise pleasant tea into a smelly mess. A strong solution of it can even remove lice or other skin parasites.

It has a reasonably strong sedative effect, being quite relaxing, although it shouldn’t be used by people prone to heart problems and seizures. If one is unused to it, it can cause giddiness and lightheadedness the first time it is imbibed, but the body quickly adjusts to it. Medicinally, Inuit most often took it to relieve stomach problems, mild constipation, and fever.

While these herbs outlined above might at first seem like an impressive array of traditional medicine, bear in mind that most can be described in only a single article, such as this one. Southern herbal traditions, conversely, can fill volumes. So if Inuit elders do not talk a lot about their herbal lore, it isn’t because they are without such. It is just that such lore is so undependable that it is not in the forefront of their minds.

Personally, I like my Labrador tea, but I have to tell you: If my finger is bleeding, I want a Band Aid.

Pijariiqpunga.