Polar Bear Encounter

The first live polar bear I saw was a cub and it was in a family's house watching tv.  It was 1980 in Repulse Bay, Nunavut, which was then home to several hundred people.  Then it was still part of the Northwest Territories.  Repulse Bay is smack dab on the Arctic Circle.  I think it was October and the ground was frozen with a skiff of snow covering it. 

A local hunter shot a female adult bear not knowing she had a cub.  So he brought the cub back to town and kept it at his house until the wildlife officer could come to Repulse Bay to pick it up.  The cub was the size of a large puppy and very very cute. 

The family living in the house included quite a few people which is typical for northern housing which is often overcrowded with several generations and extended family living under one roof.  Of course there were babies, toddlers and older children in the mix as well.  The house was a 3-bedroom bungalow about 800 sq. ft. and part of the government's social housing program. Most housing, by far, was social housing at that time.  There is now more privately owned homes but at the time you got your housing through your employer or through social housing.

I'd heard about the bear cub and was very interested in seeing it.  I went to the house of the hunter who'd shot the mother bear and was the temporary guardian of her cub.  The cub was the main attraction in town that week. 

You're not required to knock on the door when visiting a northern home. In fact, knocking and waiting to be let in is considered impolite as someone inside has to come to the door and open it to let you in.  Totally unnecessary by northern etiquette standards.  However, you are expected to make some noise in the cold porch or on the stairs leading up to the house so those inside are alerted to your imminent arrival.  For example, stamping your feet in the porch to knock the snow off is one very common way to let people know they are about to have company.  I learned about and started practicing  this noise versus knocking thing early on when I moved to the easter arctic.  I wanted to be polite according to local customs.  However, I found that people inside were often a little surprised when I opened the door and they saw it was a "kabloona" or white person.  I sensed a quick (but very subtle - Inuit are masters of subtlety) shift from a relaxed, chillin', laid back repose to a look or body language that implied (to me) wariness and perhaps anxiety. About what?  That I was a high demand visitor and they felt pressured to make me comfortable and welcome in a way that would take effort or even be impossible?  (I don't know because I never checked out my perceptions so all of this remains my own thoughts.)

When I walked into the cub's temporary housing folks were not too surprised because Repulse Bay was so small everyone knew who was in town - especially kabloonas from Rankin Inlet working for the government.
People would come out to see who got off and onto the weekly flight.  I was in town as the brand new regional recreation development officer with the Government of the Northwest Territories.  I'd already met with the hamlet council and a few of the folks most involved in organizing social activities like dances and traditional games.  So after making the appropriate sounds and opening the door, I was welcomed into the house with smiles and slight nodding of heads.

I stayed by the door and took in the calm chaos in the living room.  There were quite a few people in the small room but the one I picture most vividly is a baby in a walker. The tv was on and the cub seemed to enjoy watching it.  The cub stood up on its back legs and batted at the tv with its front paws.  I remember the sound of its nails on the tv screen.  The cub was unbelievably cute and more than one person in the room was moved to pick it up or play with it as you would a puppy.

I later heard that the cub tried to nip a baby in the house. I wonder if it was the baby in the walker. Or if the baby remembers today the cub or the attempted nipping. That "baby" would be over 30 years old today.  Anyway, after the attempted nipping, the cub was kept away from people until the wildlife officer came for it. I wonder if the bear got to watch tv wherever it ended up - probably at a zoo - and, if so, what its favorite shows were.

Since that first encounter I saw bears in Arviat from our living room window hanging around in the fall waiting for the sea ice to form. Come November 1 they would be gone. Not a coincidence as that's the day bear hunting season starts and hunters lucky enough to get a bear tag are intent on getting themselves a bear.  (I wrote a newspaper article on a 5ft Inuit woman who shot herself a bear.)  Leading up to November 1 everyone in town was cautious about the lingering bears as sometimes one would come to town. Halloween in Arviat had an extra scary edge for trick or treaters. Not only did you have to watch out for ghosts and goblins, but also live bears. Most trick or treaters were driven around on ATVs by their parents.  Plus, the by-law officers patrolled the edge of town on Halloween night and kept an eye out for any bears in costume sneaking into town to get themselves a Halloween treat.

Shark Encounters

Yesterday Dwight and I watched a couple tv shows about sharks. The programs were about marine life and the health of coral reefs and the fish and other creatures that depend on them.
Apparently, the greater number of sharks the healthier the marine ecosystem in any particular area.
White tipped and black tipped sharks, reef sharks, and tiger sharks. It was cool to see so many of them and filmed close up so I could see the distinctive markings. The tiger sharks definitely have stripes. They are also the ones to be afraid of.
We've seen many white and black tipped, reef and nurse sharks in the Bahamas. We've snorkeled in a marine park with them around. Dwight almost landed on one when he dropped backwards off the side of the dinghy into the water. And when we're spearfishing we're always thinking about sharks being attracted by the prospect of being able to steal what we spear. (Not too much worry for me as I have yet to successfully spear anything but lobster. They don't thrash as much as fish which is important as you'll see next.) Sharks can hear the sound of a thrashing fish a kilometre way. The thrashing means a fish is in trouble and probably easy pickings for the shark. Upon spearing a fish the spearfisher zooms to the surface without delay and raises the spear tip with fish attached into the air so avoid attracting sharks. That's the working theory and everyone feels better believing that.
I was circled by a reef shark this past winter in the Bahamas. I knew it would probably turn out ok for me but it didn't stop me from hyperventilating. I was leisurely spear fishing when I saw that distinctive shark shape materialize out of the murky water below me about 50 metres away. Usually calm in a crisis (the meltdown gets deferred until later) I went over the tips I'd heard about what to do in a shark encounter. Maintain a large shape, keep eye contact with the shark, if it comes close enough tap it on the snout with your spear, and never never thrash and try to swim away!! The last part is familiar to Canadians who learn what to do in case of bear encounters. Nonetheless, it's easier said than done.
So Mr. Shark keeps coming towards me. Doesn't veer off. I wonder how much pain I'll feel if he bites my calf. I hyperventilate into my snorkel. He'll soon be close enough to tap with my spear. Aaah, he's turning a bit. Maybe he's leaving. No, he's starting his circle around me. I keep my arms and legs spread wide and I'm upright in the water. Holding my skinny yellow spear in front of me like a shield. He slowly swims around me and I also slowly turn. Staring danger (and possible death ?!) in its beady little eyes.
Local knowledge picked up from local fisherman and fellow experienced cruisers runs through my mind. No one can recollect ever hearing about a shark attacking a human in the Bahamas. Sharks are curious and want to get a look at you. (Hasn't this guy seen enough by now, I wonder?) Nothing to worry about when a shark's under 5 or 6 feet. (I'm sorry I didn't bring along a tape measure.) A tap on the nose is enough to get them to back down. (I'm not sure. What if this guy has anger management issues?) Reef sharks aren't aggressive. (Yeah, but their teeth are still pretty big.)
This is what occupies my mind for what seems like a long time in a world that's slowed down to almost a standstill. Then he goes. That dorsal fin disappears back into the shadows. I have the rope tied to the bow of my kayak in my hand. The kayak follows me while I'm snorkeling and I can let go of the rope when I'm going to dive down to try to shoot something. I pull the kayak to me now and haul myself onto it. (It's a sit on ocean kayak - very stable.) When just my legs and feet are still in the water I get butterflies in my stomach and imagine Mr. Shark taking hold. Abandoning caution, I kick hard and lots to get the rest of me onto that kayak and safety.
That's my shark encounter story.

It's a new decade and time to evolve my long neglected blog into something new. Inspired by Jocelyn's (a friend of Kymme and Mary of Koocanusa fame) blog, I want to not only record what's going on in my life but also offer my take on my life. Something I think I'll be good at given that it's my life and my take on it. So here goes.



Grandaughters
I have two of them. Maya is five and Emma is two and a half.
This past Wednesday Emma was over for a visit. She found the "birdie" scissors that my kids used to snip many a craft back in their preschool days. They are beautiful kid scissors with plastic birds attached which, of course, earns the long standing name of "birdie scissors". What else?
Emma's eyes lit up when she saw them. "Scissors!" she announced. She looked at me with the shine of joyous discovery on her face. Then she noticed something else. "Hair!" she exclaimed. My hair. Her shine switched to high beam and she trotted over to me with the scissors gripped in her chubby little hand, her arm outstretched. Scissors + hair = haircut for Aana. Of course! Not yet, however, my little sweetheart. Let's get you some instruction first. You'll have to wait.
We spent the next hour cutting paper. I held while she cut. Operating the family heirloom birdie scissors with two hands. The tradition lives on.

I talked to Maya on the phone today. She lives in Iqaluit, Nunavut with her "tata". That's the short version of "attata" which is Inuktitut for "dad". I asked her if she liked the two piece bathing suit I sent to her. "Uuhuhh." She sounded so grown up. When I saw the suit in a store in Florida last April I thought it would look cute on her. I told her that. To reassure me or as a simple statement of fact, she said "It does look cute on me". I have not a shred of doubt.
Maya is very courteous, sophisticated even, about getting off the phone when she's ready to. "Would like to speak to Tata?" Her tone implies I would be crazy to pass up the opportunity. The suggestion in irresistable. "Yes, I would." Tata comes on the line and my life is better for it. At least that's what I believe after Maya's gracious transition.
Marc (aka Tata) tells me Maya went wild when she saw her new bathing suit has two pieces!! Of course she put it on and slept in it. Her friend's swimming party at the community pool was the next day. Maya was ready.

I want to have a way to wrap this up. Something that ties these little vignettes together. I have nothing. Except maybe the joy and lightness in my heart that comes with these magic (for me) moments with these magic little people.