I forgot to post the bears--here they are


Churchill, Day 2
Let’s get this out of the way. I don’t want to leave. Not the bears, not Churchill, not anything here.
Today was a full non-bear day. Up early. Eskimo Museum, a one-room schoolhouse of a museum, filled with artifacts, carvings and history. Plus a taxidermied polar bear. During our one hour stay, I looked him in the eyes, looked at a few carvings, returned to the bear, back to the artifacts, to the bear, to the tiny gift shop, to the bear. And, before going to the school bus, one more long look, eye to eye, with my bear. Not real, but not likely to get a connection with the real thing.
Then, because master guide Steve wanted us to get a real taste of cold, to the Fort on Cape Merry. There was history from a guide, of course, but I recall nothing. Only the wind, cutting through my cheeks. And the full grey clouds hovering just over the muddy waves, across from the volcanic rocks that line the coast.
Back to town, some time for wandering. Now I know that the town is just 9 blocks long, and 10 minutes or so across. But walking north from end to end, heading into the wind, brought back the Churchill of my first trip. The freezing face knows it’s alive. How I had missed that shattered skin. This, of course, was cause for celebration and a duck into a store (there are only three or four).
A calmer walk with the wind brought us back to Gypsy’s and lunch. There, Steve told us the sad news. Just at the crossing where the school bus turns right to the road to the tundra buggies, a bear had charged a lifelong Churchillian. He tried cracker shots to scare the bear. Nothing. He tried rubber bullets. Useless. So, he had to shoot. Another bear casualty, but no human injury. Not physical, anyway. Steve said the man, who he knew well, was overcome with sadness that he had to act as he did. Not guilt, since Churchillians know the score, but sorrow.
Pulling ourselves back together, it was off to the musher, Big Dog Dave. More cold. But greatly told history from this 50 year old who looks, at most, 25. Dave’s view is that his dogs must be happy, must have fun running and must want to run all the time. So he raises them that way. He loves them, massages them, administers massages and dog yoga (yes, you yoga mavens, dog yoga), acts as their vet (Churchill has no vet) and psychoanalyst. Running dogs eat 10,000 calories a day, costing $25,000 in high protein, high fat food per year. Dave does not race the Iditarod, because Churchill’s inaccessibility to the south makes it too costly. But for the past 10 years, he has raced in a race he organized which either begins or ends in Churchill (the route is Churchill to the north, 250 or 238 miles, depending on the route). There is nothing along the route at all. No towns, no people. The racers must carry all their provisions with them from the get go. On the last race, Dave was second coming close to the finish, when he saw that one of his dogs wasn’t happy. Instead of pushing the dog for the last 30 miles, Dave stopped his crew for a 2 hour rest. As a result, he came in 4th. But his dogs are still happy to run.
Of course, we PolarBearites got to run in a sled. While we were in a small hut listening to directions, the dogs anticipated the rides, and started baying. First one, then another, then more, until all were baying in unison. Dave asked who wanted to go first, on the fastest run (the dogs go nuts when they first get going), and I decided to step up. So Barb and I did the deed, she seated in front and me standing (just like a musher!) in back. What a ride. The wind cutting ridges in my cheeks, as the dogs flew, hopping more than running. I even got to move my feet from the sides to the center, to help brake at the end. When we came to a turn, we had to lean to the side of the turn. You feel as though you will roll right over, but you don’t. After all the PolarBearites had their turns, we warmed up in the hut, and Dave did his closing ceremony—handing out our “Ididamile” certificates, which he made us promise to hang next to our family pictures.
A full day. Dinner soon. Tomorrow the tundra and my bears.