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24
winter
|
spr ing
into view. The rock sculptures meant to resemble people reminds me
that humans have long lived in this harsh environment. Inuksuit (plural
of inuksuk) have served many purposes: as a point of reference, a
marker for travel routes, fishing places, camps, hunting grounds, places
of veneration. This one is probably a clue for hunters, marking a place
where caribou passed. The Inuit culture is not something in the past, but
a living, breathing culture.
We see one more polar bear before returning to the lodge. This one
walks on sea purslane, a bright yellow, succulent herb that grows along
the shore. Its dirty fur proves it has been rolling around in the mud,
biding its time until the ice comes in.
I wish I could stay a couple weeks longer to watch the first snowfall.
I wish I could wait out the freezing of the bay with the bears. This
glimpse into a subarctic wonderland has whetted my appetite; I know I
will be back for more.
The lodge is a strange place. It feels like a ship rocking back and
forth as the wind and rain batter the windows. It’s high above the ground
– high enough that a curious, or hungry bear can’t get in. And no one
is allowed on the ground, lest a bear attacks. It’s also like a train; six
cars hitched together in a long row, including bunk cars, a lounge, and
a kitchen and dining car. The Tundra Buggies dock at the lodge to let
visitors on and off.
The next morning, I head out on a day trip. The buggy follows gravel
and sand roads built by U.S. and Canadian militaries during WWI I. The
tundra is surprisingly flat and we scan the horizon for caribou. Gray,
green, black and orange lichens cover big gray rocks that look like they
have been spit from the sky.
Someone spots something white and we yell for Bob to stop the
buggy, despite his warnings that polar bears get skittish around loud
voices. We hush up and peer out the window at an Arctic fox, still a little
gray from its summer coat. The fox marks its territory and mouses a bit
– leaping from a crouch and madly digging at something it presumably
heard underground. For 20 minutes we watch and photograph the little
fox. It’s about half the size of the silver fox we saw a couple days ago,
but so mesmerizing.
We watch a snowshoe hare, white as a cloud and nestled into a
bright red willow. It thinks it is camouflaged, but it has a week or so to
go before the scenery catches up with its fur color. Like the Arctic fox and
the hare, the flocks of ptarmigan stick out in the autumn colors, making
them easy to spot and watch.
It’s not long before an inuksuk (pronounced in-ook-shook) comes