Barrow, Alaska - I hesitantly bit into the piece of fermented whale, the tips of my front teeth teasing at the rubbery black meat attached to an inch-long slice of milky-colored blubber.

I was in the northernmost city in North America, and I had delayed my departure to attend the Nalukataq, a community event held several times a year to celebrate a successful whale hunt.

Trying the local fare in this 4,000-resident city, 330 miles north of the Arctic Circle, was a necessity.

A festival of sorts, Nalukataqs do not fall on a specific date, and it's a rare treat if a tourist's schedule coincides with one.

Usually there are two or three Nalukataqs in the endless sunshine of Arctic summers, their scheduling determined as much by whale as by man.

The native Inupiat and residents of Barrow had caught nine out of an allotted 22 bowhead whales this spring in the icy Chuckhi Sea.

''This is our Thanksgiving,'' said 86-year-old Arnold Brower, whose father was the first white settler in Barrow, and who is half Inupiat. ''The Nalukataq has been passed down. We are a sharing people.''

For more than 1,000 years, people in Barrow have made a home on this inhospitable land, where temperatures dip into the negative 30-degree range during the three-month darkness of winter, by hunting whale, seal, walrus and caribou.

The whale meat, which is eaten raw in most cases, is an acquired taste, possibly born out of the necessity to eat something, anything, to survive.

I chewed and chewed on my small piece, pickled in a secret sauce, as a local smiled and laughed at my persistence. It was musky-tasting, and stringy, getting caught in my teeth as I worked to break it apart.

I was polite, but thank goodness I had a bag of Fritos in my backpack to curb my hunger.

Aversion not widespread - I seemed to be the only one, however, having a hard time choking down the whale.

Hundreds of people sitting patiently with their families in a large circle waited with empty coolers and plastic bags for their share of two whales being distributed the day I was there.

It comes in many forms; frozen into brick-size chunks that are hauled in cardboard boxes, glopped out of 5-gallon buckets by hand, and served in small fermented pieces.

The crews that caught these whales - the Arnold Brower Crew and the Patkotak Crew - were responsible for organizing this Nalukataq, which was the first of the season.

(The bowhead is considered an endangered species by the Alaska Department of Fish & Game, with only 7,800 animals reported in 1990, less than half of the pre-whaling population, but has recovered to about 14,000. Alaska natives are allowed to take small numbers in subsistence hunts each year. ''This level of harvest (25-40 animals annually) is not expected to affect the stock's recovery,'' the department says.)

According to Inupiat tradition, the meat of the whales is shared with the community as a way to feed the elderly, disabled, poor, and, more recently, average citizen who can't afford the expensive grocery-store fare that must be flown into Barrow because there are no roads into the city. ''Sometimes, they say, whales give themselves as an offering to the community, and I think that is what this whale did,'' said Pearletha Paulina, a member of the Patkotak Crew, who broke tradition as a woman by jumping in a seal skin boat to help catch the whale.

Side trip - I hadn't come to Barrow for the Nalukataq. I was visiting to write a story about a Florida International University research team conducting a global warming experiment on the tundra.

But on the 90-minute plane ride from Fairbanks to Barrow, I heard about the Saturday event and was told it was the ''only thing to see in Barrow.''

That's about right, too. Barrow, besides its designation as the Northernmost city in North America, offers little else to the standard tourist.

Birders can spot the more than 100 species - including the snowy owl - that flock to the tundra to mate each year, and the Inupiat Heritage Center has an extensive exhibit detailing the area's whaling history.

The city itself is a collection of weathered homes, many no more than unpainted plywood, which sit on stilts to keep from sinking each summer as the top layer of soil melts over the permafrost.

The roads are dirt and mud, as are the yards, which collect all manner of broken-down vehicle. Because it is so hard to get anything into Barrow, everything is scavenged for parts.

Even giant shipping containers that come in on the occasional barge once the Arctic ice melts are turned into offices.

While summer offers never-ending days, it can still be bitterly cold, and I needed long underwear, fleece pants, and a parka to stay warm.

''A lot of people think this is a great exciting place, but really, it's just another place on the map,'' said Lewis Brower, one of Arnold Brower's 17 children, and a leader of the Arnold Brower whaling crew.

Secret sauce and a sharing people

Getting there - Barrow is only accessible by air for most of the year. There are usually two Alaskan Airlines flights per day from Anchorage and Fairbanks. In winter, ice roads may be created by the oil companies by pouring warm water over long stretches of land, but these roads are not for public use.

Staying there - There are very few hotels in Barrow, and they fill up quickly during the summer months.

- Airport Inn, 907-852-2525

- Top of the World Hotel, 800-882-8478

- King Eider Inn, 888-303-4337

Things to do in summer - Visit the Inupiat Heritage Center, entrance fee $5, www.north-slope.org

- Go birding with Tundra Tours, 907-852-3900

- Eat at Pepe's Mexican-American restaurant, 907-852-8200

- Attend the weeklong spring festival in April, which includes a parade, igloo building, dog mushing and geese-calling contests. For dates call the City of Barrow at 907-852-5211

- Stay up all night in the 24-hours of sunshine.

- Become a member of the Polar Bear Club by completely submersing yourself in the Arctic Ocean.