Thursday 8 March 2012

onemanspolarbear:                                  No ordinary polar...

onemanspolarbear:                                  No ordinary polar...:                                  No ordinary polar bear.  Dancer was a great bear friend who, other than being one of the most intelligen...
                                 No ordinary polar bear.


 Dancer was a great bear friend who, other than being one of the most intelligent beings I know, had a great sense of humour.


As far as polar bears go Dancer was a near perfect specimen. He was a lump of a bear with muscle well defined even below a thick layer of fat. His ponderous behind, the true measure of a polar bears health and stature, I'm sure was eyed with envy and caution by other males and no doubt convinced more than a few ladies, come spring courting time out on the ice, that he was the one. If the polar bears hunting prowess is directly related to the size of his rear end then Dancer took a back seat to no others.

 Although I could only offer an educated guess I would say he was around eight years old when he made the trek from the Cape to visit for the first time. The scars on his broad face from battling over the ladies or protecting a kill told me he was a warrior approaching his prime, already the respect shown by other bears was evident and the many challenges to his authority were quickly dealt with. It was how he dealt with these challenges that set him apart.

Polar bears are cautious by nature and never waltz into the unknown without a lengthily analysis of the situation, no chances are taken when approaching another bear of similar size. But caution is not enough to override the innate curiosity these animals have. If something is going on they want to know about it.

The usual procedure when one male bear approaches another is a type of slow tango that sees both animals delicately circle one another, head slung low to the ground, making sure all their assets are in full display by turning broadside to each other to show the true seat of power, their rear ends. Eye contact is never broken, huge yawns displaying a full set of teeth shows everything is in working order at that end. The dance varies in length but as an observer seems to go on and on. The dance ends when one bear figures his assets didn't match up to the others and trundles off. Size is a factor but not necessarily the rule, it is not uncommon to see a large bear give ground to another of less stature. I can only think the reason for this is the degree of intimidation seen in the eyes. In some cases during the dance the bears realise that they met before and settle down if not to enjoy each others company at least tolerate each others presence.

Dancer wouldn't tango, he had his own way of dealing with intruders. The first time I seen him in action I went from shock to amazement to spasms of laughter within seconds.

The window Dancer used to visit in the old camera buggy slid open wide enough so when standing on his back legs he could shove his head through to his ears. We were having one of our early morning get togethers over a cup of coffee, one of his favourite smells, when looking over the top of his head I noticed a big male bear making his way toward us. His cautious approach brought him within a hundred feet where he stopped to collect his thoughts. He was figuring out if it was in his best interest to check out whats going on or use prudence and alter his course leaving it all well enough alone. He couldn't let this go, something was going on.

Once his mind was made up the newcomer's approach changed. Like a sailing ship beating into the wind he started tacking, changing course every so often angling his way closer, giving careful thought to every step. His progress slowed even more by long pauses to watch for any reaction from Dancer. He had worked his way close enough that any other bear would have taken notice and either high tailed it out of here or turned to meet the challenge head on and begin the tango.

Not Dancer, he knew he was there but ignored him completely and the bear kept coming. It got to a point where I thought I should break our visit short and close the window so Dancer wouldn't be caught off guard but at that moment my friend let out a big snort that dampened the air inside the buggy then pushed his big body backwards away from the window to sort things out.

Like a reluctant ballerina Dancer balanced himself on one leg and did a wobbly pirouette to face his adversary, the momentum of such a manoeuvre caused him not to drop to all four legs but to plop down on his greatest asset with such force I'm sure I felt the buggy shake. There he sat, looking like a fuzzy white Buddha waiting to dish out a bit of enlightenment to the bear now frozen in mid stride not forty feet away.

The next move was left entirely up to the uninvited visitor who I could see was giving great thought as to how he should handle this unexpected and tenuous situation. The choice of backing away should have been given more consideration. The nervous bear give a great yawn and ever so slowly lowered his front paw to take his last step forward.

In a explosion of unimaginable power and fury Dancer drew his head in close to his massive shoulders and flew at the unfortunate beast ramming him broadside with such force it lifted him off his feet and sent him tumbling through the air in a slow arc landing in a confused heap. Recovery was quick and in a heartbeat the terrified bear was upright and running flat out for his life, his back legs reaching well past his front shoulders with every stride.

No, Dancer was no ordinary bear.




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Sunday 4 March 2012

                        Young mans polar bear                

   
                         Young mans polar bear


There is a weight to long winter nights. Once the radio was turned off
and the house went dark I could feel it pressing me down into my bed
pushing away sleep. Good thoughts faded quickly carried away by the
banshee wind that found new strength at night. Familiar trouble brewing in
the back of my mind. Unstoppable for a child. With no escape, dread
floods the room and once again the battle with "The Bear" begins.

I had no choice what form of beast visited my bedroom and invaded my dreams; in this town you couldn't get away from it. Polar Bears have always been here; the town was built where they live.

Churchill has been at war with the polar bear for hundreds of years. A
dangerous intruder who owns the night. This community of hunters and
trappers, railroad men and dock workers, soldiers from the war who looked
north to start new, seldom gave a second chance to a bear who found
itself caught amongst the snow banked houses and icy streets. Shoot them
before they get someone... before they get me.

Come morning and with the promise of a new day "The Bear" was all but
forgotten, there were games to play, a quick breakfast, a tussle over
the best set of mitts and out the door.
"Bear on James street last night so you boy's be careful" mom warned.
A side trip to look for tracks, then over to Sonnys' for road hockey.
"Mervin said he seen one the other day on Thompson street," says'
Sonny.
"Mervin is always seeing them, Mervin is full of crap," I say, anyway
day bears don't count, it's the one who visits in the night that worried
me.

Daylight was precious, what little there was of it. Seemed you just got
into whatever you were doing, building forts, endless games of road
hockey or leaping off roof tops into fresh snow when it was dark again. No
street lights then. Luck would provide the moon on a rare night. We
would take advantage of it and stay out longer than we should, excuses
firmly in place before heading home.

It was one of those nights, clear, cold, with the wind slackened off
just enough. Bare bulbs lit over porch doors, moon, stars, a tinge of
colour in the northern sky was all we needed for the game. No one
remembered the score , we were playing for hours. It was late. My brother had
left for home long ago...I should have went with him. Mom will be
mad...I didn't care.. we were cooped up in the house for days during the
storm. Storms always brought "The Bear' to wrestle sleep away... didn't
they know that.
Johny Eleven decided he had enough and was on his way home, I could
walk with him halfway. We called him Johny Eleven because his nose was
always runny.
Things were OK until Johny split off and disappeared into the
dark.That's when I heard the dogs acting up, they usually howled a little at
dusk and then quiet for the night unless something was going on.
They were really howling now...something was going on... better run!
Fear was starting to percolate in the back of my mind. The light in
moms' kitchen came into view as I rounded Allens' house... almost there.
The next instant an implosion of dread and panic washed through my body
almost bringing me to my knees as the reason for the dogs' dismay
materialized before my eyes, I was running straight towards my nightmare,
"The Bear" was on the road, the road I had to cross to get home. My short
life was over.
Although my mind yielded itself to the fact I was a goner the message
never reached my legs. They recovered from the shock and a
new found force, alien to me,  lifted me up over the road, passing so
close in front of "The Bear" I felt I could touch him, depositing me
on the step leading into the porch of my house.

Not quite sure what just happened; flushed with joy and a love for all mankind I dared to
look back. "The Bear" hadn't moved, his massive head, slung low to the
ground, was turned my way, his weary eyes watching me. For a dozen
heartbeats our eyes locked then with a faint "huff "he turned away and started
down the road; a wisp of frozen breath caught by the moon and carried
by the wind trailed behind him. I was pardoned by The Bears
indifference.
Mom opened the porch door and with a sternness that couldn't hide
the worry asked "where were you" ,  I bravely ignored her
question, pointed and said "Bear on Herne street."