A Plethora of Polar Bears

By Frederic Golden

Each fall the white beasts overrun Churchill, Manitoba

Halloween can be very scary in the little Canadian town of Churchill (pop. 1,200), on the western shore of Hudson Bay. This fall, before Churchill's youngsters were allowed to go out trick-or-treating, armed men checked out every street and back alley. Even after the masked and costumed kids were let loose, some adults stood guard on the outskirts of town. It was not ghosts and hobgoblins that were on their minds, but polar bears.

Though few people ever get to see the furry white beasts, except for glum captives in city zoos, there is a plethora of polar bears around Churchill, especially in fall. By the time the ice freezes on Hudson Bay, as many as 200 may have passed through what local residents call the Polar Bear Capital of the World. The onetime fur-trading center happens to sit astride one of the animals' age-old migratory routes.

When the first chill sweeps across the tundra of northern Manitoba each year, the bears, in particular the big males, begin to think about their favorite winter activity, hunting fat seals on the ice floes of Hudson Bay. With unerring instinct, they begin congregating around the bay's southwestern shores, mostly in the area of Cape Churchill, only 35 miles east of the town, where the first ice usually forms. Meanwhile, pregnant females, urged on by another instinct, head for a bleak region 50 miles south of Churchill, the largest known polar bear denning area in the world. As many as 100 females hole up there for the winter in dens scooped out of the gravel and snow to have their cubs, usually two at a time. The new families will not emerge from their hideaways until spring.

It is hardly surprising that some animals wander into Churchill. Like their ursine cousins in the U.S. national parks, the bears eat almost anything and have learned that where man is, there shall garbage be also. On almost any mid-autumn day, bears can be spotted foraging in Churchill's town dump. They often come closer in, to sniff around cabins and houses, even parked cars and vans, if they think there may be a snack inside. Polars vie with Kodiak bears for the title of largest land-based carnivore in the world. A full-grown male can weigh more than 1,600 Ibs. (vs. grizzlies at 1,000 Ibs. and tigers at 850 Ibs.). If the bear is determined enough, it will barge right in; few doors are much use against powerful paws that can knock out an 800-lb. seal with a single swat.

The bears are unpredictable, and almost everyone in Churchill has a personal anecdote to prove it. Says John Ingebrigtson, 62, a former shopkeeper who has lived in town for half a century: "I remember once one got into our back porch, where we kept our meat, and Mother chased him out with a broom." Al Chartier, 37, a local guide, recalls sitting on the banks of a nearby river this September while his wife and three daughters took a chilly swim. Suddenly he glimpsed a polar bear lying in the grass on the opposite shore watching them. Chartier quietly fetched his gun. But the bear never made a move toward the bathers. Says Chartier: "When they finished their swim, the bear got up and left."

Encounters between man and beast do not always end so well. Three days after Halloween, Oilworker Al Highfield shot and killed a bear that was trying to break into his house. Another citizen of Churchill stepped out of his kitchen for a moment, leaving a steak on the stove. When he got back he found a polar bear making hash of the meat. The bear totally wrecked the kitchen before fleeing.

Few people have been killed by polar bears. Though caged bears can be a menace, those in the wild rarely make unprovoked attacks on humans. The last death in Churchill occurred 13 years ago, when a 19-year-old Eskimo youth, trailing a bear, apparently approached too close and stirred the creature to rage.

When their young men went on their first bear hunt, Eskimos regarded it as a test of manhood. Some Churchill residents still feel that the best response to an intruding bear is to get a gun and kill it. But now most will pick up the telephone and call the conservation officer, letting him drive the animal out of town with horns, sirens or the noise of harmless explosives. Bears, in fact, have become a growth industry in Churchill. Along with beluga whales and assorted bird life (snow geese, rock ptarmigans, even an occasional rare Ross's gull), they are an important tourist attraction, luring visitors from all over Canada, the U.S., Europe and Japan. Having seen more than 1,800 bears in his 18 years in the area, Chartier practically guarantees anyone taking his tours a chance to photograph bears--at least with a long lens. Inveterate explorers that they are, the beasts are usually drawn by curiosity to Chartier's specially reinforced tour vans and "tundra buggies."

Churchill's new tolerance is good news to wildlife biologists. At present, the polar bear population appears stable. There are probably more than 20,000 bears in the Arctic countries, half of them in Canada. Hunting is banned in Manitoba, as it is in the Soviet Union and Norway. There are also restrictions in other Canadian provinces and Alaska. Even so, the animals could be threatened if the search for oil and minerals continues to encroach on their habitat.

The loss of such magnificent creatures would certainly be a blemish on man's record as the planet's custodian. Thalarctos maritimus is the very symbol of the Arctic, an animal brilliantly adapted to cope with the world's most extreme environment. The bears, though usually lethargic, can run for short bursts at more than 40 m.p.h., and have been seen swimming hundreds of miles offshore. Yet at birth they are nearly helpless: without fur, blind, deaf, no bigger than a small rabbit. For 20 months or more, the cubs follow faithfully after their mother, learning all the techniques of hunting and survival. One astonishing trick: when a polar bear is stalking prey, it will often cover its black nose with its paw in order to blend totally into the white ice, making the surprise complete. Biologists originally thought that the bears were true nomads, wandering all over the Arctic. But tagging and radio tracking suggest that at least some belong to separate population groups and remain restricted to well-defined areas.

The bears of Churchill surely seem to know where home is. When they get too unruly or threatening, they are sometimes tranquilized, caged and flown to isolated regions several hundred miles away. But after a week or so, some of the deported bears inevitably show up in Churchill again, having trekked back at speeds up to 30 miles a day. Next year Churchill plans a different tactic: obstreperous bears will simply be locked up for a few weeks in sturdy concrete-and-steel cages inside an abandoned Quonset hut. During their brief captivity, they will need no care other than some watering. Finally, when Hudson Bay starts freezing and the bears begin to think passionately about chasing seals on the ice, they can be safely released. --By Frederic Golden. Reported by Ed Ogle/Churchill

With reporting by Ed Ogle/Churchill

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