This is an old story that I've told, well, maybe a hundred plus times. However, it has come up a lot lately and I didn't have a place this was posted, so I thought I'd stick it on the blog.
The "Polar Bear Story"
Kate, Mary, Me, Caitlin, Amy, Maria, Sheila and Sarah
Maria and I decide to leave the tent one last time to relieve ourselves before sleep takes over. While getting my jacket, hat and mittens on, a large crash breaks the rhythmic howling of the wind and birds outside. This crash throws my tent mates and me to the floor. We then laugh hesitantly as we realize how ridiculous we look; our faces pressed into the dirty folds of our well-worn sleeping bags. With our wits gathered, we finish putting our jackets on, but I make a small request before exiting the safety of the four walls of nylon. “Maria, will you just check to make sure nothing is out there?” Grudgingly, Maria puts her faulty and flickering headlamp on, slides herself into the vestibule and finally unzips the door to check out the scene. The zipper shuts faster then it had opened and Maria shrieks, “There is a huge bear out there!” Think rationally Maria. Though adventures have abounded in the past two months of our travels, we have not encountered anything this severe; a bear could not possibly be out there. However, Caitlin and I need only to look into Maria’s profoundly frightened eyes to realize the gravity of the situation.
Polar bears are the world’s largest land predators and top the food chain in the arctic area we are camped in. The only predators of the polar bear are human hunters and occasionally other bears. Adult males weigh from 775 to more than 1,500 pounds, while their female counterparts weigh-in between 330 and 550 pounds. Although immense, the size and stature of the bear I am now watching is not what I am concerned with. I think of the area we are sitting in. The tide is low, changing our Oceanside campsite to nearly five miles from water. It would not matter if we could get to water anyway. The Polar bear’s Latin name is Ursus maritimus “Sea Bear.” These are the only bears considered scientifically as a marine mammal. They are champion swimmers, known to swim more than 60 miles without rest, and up to six miles per hour. Their forepaws are partially webbed and massive (up to twelve inches in diameter) to aid in swimming. Suddenly my brain is filled with unanswerable questions. Why is a bear this close to us? Where did he come from? Am I going to die tonight? We watch through the sharp wind in half adoration, half paralyzing and intense fear as an enormous polar bear rifles through our belongings not quite ten feet away from us. A massive beast that can smell meat a half mile away under the snow and ice is walking around, looking for food. In the midst of all of the fear and confusion I wonder why this bear has not yet attacked us.
Simply eight months ago, preparations were made for this substantial excursion. All seven of my trip mates and I are staff members for Camp Manito-wish YMCA in northern Wisconsin which focuses on expedition tripping and leadership. The expedition we are on is an instructor’s course designed to improve and strengthen the skills of the staff members. Each individual is assigned topics to teach lessons on throughout the trip. These classes include cold and warm weather survival, leadership techniques, and native history, environment and culture. Our expedition began with a bus trip northwest to northern Saskatchewan where we put our canoes in Wollaston Lake. Our travels took us down the Cochrane River, Thelwiaza River, up Nueltin Lake, up the Thetin, down the Kognac, down the Tha-anne River and finally entering the Hudson Bay at the confluence of the Tha-anne and Thelwiaza Rivers. Once on the Hudson Bay we were to follow the shoreline north to Eskimo Point, otherwise known as the Inuit town of Arviat. The trip’s leaders are Sheila who is just beginning graduate school in Chicago and Maria, a sixth grade teacher from Anchorage, Alaska. Sheila and Maria are incredibly strong individuals both physically and emotionally and have years of experience with expedition tripping. The six participants all are attending college currently across the nation from Amy in Princeton, New Jersey to Kate at Lewis and Clark in Oregon. Amy is the secretary of her sorority at Princeton and as she is always the life of the party, she is known to have continuously shouted “College rules!” during her freshman year. Kate is one of my favorite tent mates as she is also short so we can sleep width-wise, which really does matter to taller people if they have ever tried sleeping in a tent shorter than their own bodies. Baking the most delicious variety of breads to eat during lunch is often a contribution Kate makes to ease the redundancy of peanut butter, jelly, cheese, sausage and RyKrisp crackers. Mary is a student at UW-LaCrosse. During many portages Mary is seen carrying a pack on both her back and chest. Sarah attends Carleton College in Northfield, MN. She always does what needs to be done and jumps in to lead us on the days we just need an extra push. For example, Sarah’s initiation of dance parties in the tent keeps our spirits up indefinitely. Caitlin attends University of Colorado-Boulder. Caitlin’s storytelling and fabulous sense of humor makes my gut continuously ache from howling in laughter. I myself am a wandering soul who tends to not stay in any particular place too long. I am in the middle of transferring from UW-Madison to University of Minnesota-Duluth with hopes that a degree in Communications and Outdoor Education can allow me to wander for a living.
“Girls,” Maria whispers without taking her eyes off the bear, “get as many clothes on as you can.” The bitter arctic chill sweeps through my body, though I am unsure if the cold is from the whipping wind or the unadulterated fear in the air. The land along the shore of the Hudson Bay is flat and seemingly endless. When the winds begin howling, they sweep and accelerate along the vast, empty land. Silently, we comply. As we dress ourselves with all of the clothes our fear-ridden bodies can reach, Maria sits with eyes pinned to the window to keep watch of our large intruder. Suddenly Maria screams in a piercingly alarmed tone, “Sheila, get the gun!” She is sliding away from the door with a burning panic laced in her actions. Impulsively, Caitlin and I also head to the rear of the tent. Now I can see clearly the source of Maria’s panic.
Polar bears may be fast and efficient in the water, but they are no less effective hunters on land. When charging prey, the bears can run as fast as 25 mph for short distances. I can try to run along these tidal flats to escape the grip of this bear’s enormous mouth full of jagged teeth and incredible muscle, but nothing short of a miracle would allow my legs to run nearly as fast as his.
Sheila is woken from a sound sleep by Maria’s fearful scream and looks out the window of her tent into the darkness. In the first urgent moments of waking from sleepy confusion she insists there is no bear. Her reaction is as taken aback as our own. After Sheila tells us the bear is not there, I feel torn between a crazed anger that she would even question our fear, and an internal itch of knowledge that I myself did not believe this statement until actually seeing the polar bear. “I left the bullets in the pocket of my pfd today,” Sheila explains as she remembers her actions earlier today. So we have no form of protection except eight women distributed throughout three nylon tents, and a pile of packs holding essential emergency gear that is currently being guarded by an enormous polar bear.
Suddenly Sheila sees the eerily glowing white silhouette; our bear, and he is moving directly to our tent. We edge to the back of the tent in a silent frenzy. I open the back door and begin to creep out as the bear continues forward. Terror explodes through my body as each hair on the back of my neck rises to attention. A nine-inch paw penetrates the perceived safety of our tent as it is forced into our vestibule. Before I can begin to fear this enormous tool of destruction a white face stares into my eyes. I never could have imagined fear as strong and pure as this moment. It feels as if time has completely stopped. My life is rushing by as I realize there is no place to go and at least one of us will die. My body begins reacting to the fear and I feel sick. I cannot move and the illness of fear is racking my entire being. An enormous polar bear face is at present entirely inside our tent, looking three petrified women straight in the eyes. My mind is racing. All the discussions we have had on bears and I cannot think of what we can possibly do to save ourselves at this moment. I know no one is supposed to make eye contact with their predator, and just moments ago, three of us did just that. I ask Maria in a very small and shaky voice, “What do we do now?” In a similar voice she responds with the answer I knew before I even asked, “I don’t know.” My stomach feels now as if I consumed a drawer of knives, all stabbing me at the same time. Just as I place my first foot on the wet ground outside, the bear retreats from our vestibule and moves to the back side of our tent. Now we do not know where to go. The three of us huddled in the middle of the tent, wind roaring around us, praying to God the bear will not rip us to shreds.
The next tent watches anxiously as we slip deaths grip, and the bear moves on. He walks confidently to the tent whose inhabitants are watching him dreadfully. He saunters around the tent and then claims it with his large paw forcing itself under the vestibule. The bear possessively leans into the tent. All three women are lying on the ground watching the tent cave in on them. The bear empowers the tent by leaning nearly all of his 700 plus pounds on it, and then stands up again to return to our tent. As soon as he reaches the front, we take advantage of the moment and sneak into the darkness to get into the next tent. I had time to put a lot of clothes on, but neglected to put on any shoes. The soft and saturated soil seeps through my wool socks as I dart to the neighboring tent. However, I could not find the zipper. I do not understand how I can forget how to open a tent, now of all times. The fear is racking us and as I struggle with the zipper, the quirk of fate smacks me like a fly on a window. A piece of nature we wanted so badly to see is now controlling us with every essence of his being, and I am desperately trying to get into a nylon tent.
We taught classes on bears and know how powerful these beasts can be. These fierce predators are almost exclusively carnivorous. We are merely meat to a polar bear, and with good reason. Not having a gun puts us lower than our bear on the food chain. Now six of the eight of us are together, but the last two women do not even know there is a bear in the campsite. A rousing game of cards has kept them entertained through the storm this evening and the little screaming they heard through the wind they assumed was a trivial mishap or late-night joke. The bear keeps himself busy for a short time with the leftover stew from our dinner. The last two women finally hear some shouting and realize their tent is collapsing from the wind. They figure it would be a good idea to get into another tent and get their warm clothes and boots on. Sarah is ready first and stands up next to the vestibule. To her left she notices it; the bear standing in a perfect picture pose for her, staring her down. She says quickly to Amy, “Polar bear-Bye!” and sprints to the tent where we all await her arrival. Amy knows there is a deadly bear there yet feels the need to join us. No one wants to be alone in this situation, so she bravely gets up and journeys to our tent. Maria and Sheila are talking her through it, insisting that she not run, however, there is a polar bear behind her and the last thing she wants to do is slowly walk away. It feels as if ages have passed since the bear walked to the third tent, and finally we are all together. The fear has not decreased and my insides are continuing to wrench upon themselves insistently.
With a stroke of luck, the bear walks away. We cannot see how far he has gone, and know how very close he may be. We need our ammo and emergency gear, so Maria and Sheila chance the moment. Mary bravely watches while our two leaders risk everything to gain a lot at our packs. In virtually nanoseconds, they return with the goods: bullets (slugs and shot), the flare gun, a line-of-site radio, and the satellite phone. Immediately, individuals take their roles in the stressful situation. Kate begins working the satellite phone to call Camp Manito-wish. Meanwhile, Amy tries the line-of-site radio just in case someone is near. The gun is loaded and pointed at the bear as soon as possible. Although the calm of continuity has begun to set in with exhaustion throughout the night, an underlying fear is ever present. Sheila fires a flare in the direction of the bear. The flare is intended to scare the polar bear and possibly cause him to retreat. However, this bear is not alarmed. He does not even look up to see the flare, but completely ignores it. Amy is not getting any response on the radio. Kate reaches camp, but they only give us one phone number to Arviat, the closest town, and it is not in service anymore. Back to square one, and another call is made to camp for Plan B. After several desperate calls from both sides of civilization, we reach the Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP). Two men are sent out on four wheelers to rescue us. Every minute of waiting feels like an eternity. A couple of women are able to fall asleep temporarily, but my eyes will not shut and my ears will not stop trying to hear anything at all. I keep praying for light to come. It is only dark at this latitude for a few hours, but I want the darkness to break now, for what, I know not. I suppose maybe light will scare the polar bear away, maybe my fear is making my sensible nature senseless.
Finally, light arrives along the horizon. My relief is shortened dramatically as almost immediately I realize that light is not going to affect this bear, other then giving him a better look at his prey. I begin wishing for darkness to blanket us again. At least when it is dark we cannot see how close he sits to us, devouring our food and garbage. Nor can we gauge in the dark just how large he is. He keeps his eyes on us for the entire evening into morning. Following his feast of moldy and fermented food along with masses of dehydrated dinners, our hefty guest gets sick. He lies on our packs like they were placed there strategically to be his bed. After throwing up he may have felt a little better, but still lay near us. Always keeping an eye upon the nylon tent, he clearly knows it is filled with eight small breakfast dishes to feast on later. I ponder the very plausible idea that maybe the RCMP will never find us after we have been waiting for over seven hours. We discover that we are not five miles from Arviat as we thought we were, but actually 30 miles south. Our flares are used up in trying to help the mounted police find us. Landmarks are few and far between in this area and although we are camped along the shoreline, the tide has gone out so water is no closer than four or five miles. At last, after eight hours and many false alarms, a small moving light is spotted heading our way. Two burly men on one ATV drive into the campsite and immediately get down and prepare their guns. “Stay down, everyone, don’t watch,” Sheila and Maria gravely tell us while fearing the bear will be shot twenty feet from where we lay. The idea of a beast as huge as “Our bear” being killed is too much for our shocked and exhausted minds to imagine. The two Mounties shoot and my heart skips a beat. However, it is only a warning. Our bear thinks nothing of the shot and still sits upright. Fireworks are shot at him. He is mildly annoyed by the men shooting at him; conversely, he still has many a pack to indulge in yet, and has no interest in leaving. We all know what a ravenous appetite this bear has, and the RCMP light a stick of dynamite in a plastic bag and toss it to the bear. Curiously, he sniffs to see what food they are so generously giving him. The explosion on his nose is painful and he immediately gets up and runs away. Perhaps the sting has gone away, and he stops his escape. It was not so bad, and the treats are great. The RCMP men chase him further on their four-wheeler. Soon he is out of sight, but dare I say, never again to be out of mind.
Realistically, the two men on one Four-wheeler cannot possibly take all eight of us to safety, but we are scared and exhausted. After the men leave us with more ammo and dynamite, tears begin rolling down my face. We have been in the wilderness for nearly two months, have not seen our families for even longer, and have gone through more emotional and physical trials then ever before. Yet, for the first time in months, tears come to my eyes and like an old dam breaking forth into a river, they cascade down my weathered and earth-stained face. The peculiarity of the situation hits us as we pack our belongings and load them into our canoes. Tasks we have performed day after day seem drudging and somehow different. Every movement startles, every noise makes us jump into attention, and every distant light rock appears to be a bear, coming back conceivably a little more angry and a little more hungry. While paddling into the pounding and relentless wind, a goal of six miles north is set. However, two and a half long and grueling hours of paddling later, we have only traveled two miles. Our exhaustion is growing as the adrenaline finally reduces to nearly normal levels. Over an hour of paddling through a sharp headwind has passed without a word from one of us, and finally we meekly begin discussing the previous night’s events. Maybe it is too soon to talk about; however, once the words start flowing I cannot keep myself from wanting to analyze every action we took, every move the bear made, every miniscule detail. In an immense way the conversation helped me, if for no other reason than it brought the adrenaline pounding back through my veins so I could keep paddling through the agonizing fatigue. Finally a decision is made to go to shore and ask Arviat’s rescue team for help. A call on the satellite phone is made, and the team gathers their members and resources to come to our aid. Meanwhile, we settle ourselves in places throughout the canoes to sleep. Although fitful, any moments of shuteye help to restore some of the vibrant energy we all are known for. Several hours later eight four-wheelers appear along the horizon, our knights in shining armor. Many of these knights are overweight and missing teeth, yet we cannot be happier to see them.
Over 11 years have passed since the surreal and miraculous night of our dance with a polar bear. I have heard many stories of other dances, involving people from all over the world, but I have yet to hear of an encounter so close to disaster without so much as a finger being harmed either by the bear or ourselves. All eight of us have gone back to school, work and play. Stories are told in multitude. Be it a classroom of Outdoor education students or a bar full of drinking enthusiasts, entire rooms have been silenced in awe while engaging themselves in an epic one-night stand involving eight young women and their sole male intruder. Though I remain unsure why that particular night concluded the way it did, I find myself thinking often of how lucky I have been to dance on the threshold of death with an amazing and elusive animal of such a startlingly high intelligence and remarkable beauty. Life is a precious gift not to be taken for granted. An amazing lesson life above the tree-line of the tundra has taught me is that nothing is certain. As easy as paddling down a wide and peacefully calm river may be; whitewater- and even waterfalls often await your arrival just around the river bend. Danger is and always will be all around us. Yet, to me the breathtaking miracle and beauty of life and nature surpasses the risk of travel and adventure.
Always be prepared while traveling, but when the time is right… dance.
