I have been haunted by a small component of my polar bear experience. It is not what one might expect. Photographing polar bears in ANWR is actually quite peaceful. The bears mostly lounge in the water and gravel as they wait for the freeze when they can hunt for their favorite food: seals.

They are ambush predators so they need to be able to surprise an unsuspecting seal as it comes up for air at a hole in the ice.

One early morning, we saw a juvenile bearded seal swim where no seal frequents. And for good reason. We were in a bay with maybe 15 polar bears in sight. As it swam across one waterway, we saw a large polar bear swim directly toward it. With just its massive head sharking through the water, it looked fairly benign, and the curious seal popped up frequently as it swam toward certain danger. The two got close enough that a photojournalist would have gotten both animals in the same frame. I was so stunned by the impending doom that it didn’t occur to me to lift my camera to my eyes. 

Suddenly, the young seal identified his apex predator.  A cartoon word bubble flashed above the seal’s head.  “Holy crap! That’s a polar bear!” 💭 It popped up higher as if to confirm it’s suspicions then flicked its tail and zoomed away. It really was only then that it occurred to me that the agility and speed of even an inexperienced seal was no match for the polar bear on her best day. And polar bears are excellent powerful swimmers. Thankfully, I didn’t have to witness any carnage, and at the same time I recognized the true plight of a polar bear without sea ice.  This is not the experience that haunts me.

There were many reminders of the hardships a polar bear, or any wild animal, must overcome to survive. I saw a female bear with an abnormal gate who is affectionately called, “Limpy”.

Many years ago it was observed that this bear had suffered a terribly fractured leg. There was discussion about euthanizing her to prevent her suffering, but one of the villagers made a strong argument to let her live. And live she has!

She has since raised two sets of triplets, and as of September 2019, she was raising 9 month old twins. She nurses her plump cubs on the beach like the other mothers. 

One mother bear has a disfiguring scar across her withered eye, but she is also raising a healthy cub. These images do not haunt me either, as they are the survivors.

The gigantic males seemed impervious and frankly unscathed, but those were just the ones I saw during my brief visit. The juvenile males sparred routinely. When they took up fighting in the water, it was an awesome sight.....as well as a reminder that our little boat probably provides a false sense of security.

I watched one pair long into the evening as they wrestled in deep water, but each quite easily managed to heave itself up and out of the water, jaws agape, to land heavily on its foe. (I can’t get myself out of my bathtub that effortlessly, or as gracefully.) I could have watched them train for days. No blood, just waves and trails of water punctuating their choreography. Magnificent!

Polar Bear Cubs, ANWR Polar Bear (adult) in ANWR Male Polar Bears in ANWR What haunts me still is not what I saw, it is what I can imagine. 

My first night in the village a polar bear cub wandered throughout the dirt roads of the village crying.....constantly. It had been separated from its mother and was frantically calling and searching for her. This continued for the next few days. Day and night. I saw the little bear cub out on the peninsulas walking and walking. It passed the suckling twins as we did, and called out for its mother.

The whaling captains said they had not seen any adult carcasses in the area, but there was still talk of killing the cub so that it would not starve to death....a mercy killing. Cubs stay with their mothers three years to learn how to hunt, this cub was less than a year old. I wondered why they wouldn’t rescue the cub. But the native traditions say that a nanuq should not be confined to a life of captivity.

I did not take any pictures of the cub when I saw it alone, although it was clearly still healthy and on the move. The other cubs had a self assuredness about them as they ran and played and even when they stared at us with obvious curiosity. When I look at the photos of them I am reminded of that feeling.....strength, beauty, and survival. And frankly, they are all just so darn cute!

On my last day, the cub was walking on the beach, more slowly now and with less purpose. Was it just resigned? Or tired? Or both? The light was beautiful and the ground cover was a lovely autumn orange. As the little sweetie stretched out in a little depression in the sand, I did finally take its picture. It has a precious little face and a cute little bottom that makes one believe that you could cuddle up next to it and somehow make everything ok. I love the photo for the soft, gentle, innocent,  expression that I perceive in it, but I’m haunted by the truth of its likely fate.

As I drove south along the empty highway to Denali the next day, I had to catch myself and redirect my thoughts to keep from sobbing. A tear or two would have been fine. I was alone after all, but sobbing? Not like me at all! The images in my head are worse than anything I saw and it haunts me. 

A week later, I called the bear patrol in the village to inquire about the fate of the cub. To the man’s credit he was probably lying to me, but he said the cub had not been killed or found dead.....but would he tell me really?

So, I’m left with the Disney hypothesis. The young cub was eventually reunited with its mother, or another robustly lactating female adopted it as her own. It is a survival story like Limpy and all her cubs.

This is now what I try and tell myself when I look at this little cutie on the beach.....but I have a hard time believing me.