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- Hari 444
- Rabu, 28 November 2018 23.44 UTC
- 🌙 -12 °C
- Ketinggian: 649 mi
Kanada66°15’45” N 62°35’26” W
"I'm not tough enough for this."
28 November 2018, Kanada ⋅ 🌙 -12 °C
Click, click, click, broooooooouuuuuuuhhh. The sound of the helicopter’s turbine engine spooling up and starting. Then, the vibrations begin as the rotors slowly start to gain speed and rock the machine. My head begins to involuntarily shake with the vibrating machine. My nose crinkles as the Jet fuel exhaust is pushed into the cabin by the spinning rotors. We slowly rise and spin off into the empty expanse. It will be 10 hours before we land here again. We will spend the day tracking the coastline next to 3000 ft cliffs looking for polar bears. We will ascend to the tops of these cliffs and scream across the scratched surface of this moonscape looking for bears. We will tuck into craggy fjords, searching for bears. We will survey the water around the rocks, searching for swimmers. Our heads will not stop moving the entire day. We will not talk. We will be concentrating.
Today, I’m in the back of the helicopter watching the process of bear sampling. The entire door of the helicopter slides open so that the biologist can take the shot that will result in a tiny piece of skin being extracted with the bear being none the wiser. Winter is coming early this year and there has been too much snow already. On this day, the sun is blinding and the winds are calm. There are bears everywhere. There are too many to keep track of. Each time we chase one over a ridge, more come into view. It is like they are multiplying. There are carcasses nearby drawing them in to feed. When the helicopter draws down to allow for a shot, the soft, fresh, powdery snow billows up from the rotor wash, creating instant whiteout blizzard conditions. The pilot is blind; he cannot see bear or land. He pulls up hard and fast out of the cloud of white. The quickness with which the helicopter becomes completely surrounded by white-out conditions because of the blown snow is scary. He cannot fly in this.
We cannot see. He tries driving the bear onto higher points of rock that have been windswept of their snow. The snow flies all around and swirls into the helicopter, sending icy currents of air and snow crystals down my neck and up my back. My hands are becoming numb inside my gloves. I look at the other biologist holding, bare-handed, the cold steel gun outside the helicopter and cringe. I don’t think I’m strong enough to do this. I'm not tough enough. All I can think about is how bad my frozen toes hurt and the painful blasting cold ice crystals on my face. We swirl down again to try once more for a shot. The snow blows. The cold is unrelenting. It doesn’t stop. There is no escape. I just sit and record the data shouted out with my increasingly numb fingers. I try to reload the gun’s magazines, fumbling with the small charges because of my reduced dexterity. We’re searching for the dart. Well, those folks on the right side of the helicopter are searching for the darts because us on the left can’t see anything. I sit rigid while the biologist hangs out the side of the helicopter like he’s a gunner searching for the Viet Cong. Wind is rushing in. I work on controlling my mind and accepting what is. I tell my brain that I will not die of this cold. I will not lose any toes or fingers. I am fine. This is temporary pain. I must be tough. I have been told I’m tough, but I know the truth of it. I’m not tough. This is so hard. It’s not worth it. None of it. It's too hard.
Why have I tried so hard and sacrificed so much to be here? That is what is running through my head. Why am I not walking along peaceful, tree-lined streets to eat Thai food with my husband? Why am I not home, curled on the couch with my loving pet cat, binge-watching Netflix? Why am I not flying off to see my family and friends at my discretion? Why am I here, in this helicopter, literally freezing?
Everything about this job is hard to me. I’ve been gone from my home in Igloolik for over 70 days now, splitting my time between shacks and hotel rooms in remote communities. I haven’t had a private room since the first week I left Igloolik. It is hard to share space for so long with strangers, or anyone for that matter. There is nowhere to escape. I escape into my private world by inserting my earbuds. Living this way is not easy. Sitting on a cold cold seat to crap in a bucket is not nice. Fueling up a helicopter from cached fuel drums in the Arctic is cold and miserable. The drums full are 400lbs. These drums are now frozen to the ground. The wind from the chopper is biting and unrelenting. Sitting in the helicopter for hours and hours, the ear protection doesn't eliminate the high-pitched whine of the rotors. The helicopter's scream feels, at times, unbearable. I drug myself every day with anti-nausea medication just so I can endure being in the helicopter. When it’s windy, I have to take another pill and top up with an anti-vomiting pill. The pills make me drowsy. So drowsy; my head lolls and snaps, but I Have to stay awake. It’s my job. It is so hard to fight those pills every day. I can feel when the sleep-inducing effects wear off; I can feel it almost instantly. It’s like I’ve awoken from a full night’s rest and I savor the alertness that I feel once I’ve won my daily battle with the drug. Searching for bears for hours and hours in the rocks and snow exhausts my eyes. Listening to the complaints throughout the day from the pilot is exhausting and infuriating. I want to go home. Home in Igloolik, home in British Columbia, home in Washington state, home in Tennessee. Anywhere home but here.
But then. Then I look outside the helicopter into the flying snow and ice and I see the sun glinting off the crystals making it seem as if I am in a cloud of sparkling diamonds. Outside the diamond cloud, the cliffs and rocks rise around me, falling off in sheer drops to the ocean below. I look down and see a polar bear 10 ft away looking at me, panting and furious. The shot is taken and the dart bounces off the rump, falling into the snow. The bear, tired of being chased, ambles off, back into his role as the king of the North. I realize that that is why I’m here. To see this beauty, to see these animals, to experience a glimpse into the surreal becoming real, to tough it out. Because that is what it takes.Baca selengkapnya
Davis Strait
PelancongWow what an experience. About how many bears did you see that day. And what were they dining on. Great story.
Pelancongincredible experience. thank you.
PelancongDavid, I think we saw a bit over 40. It was so cold because we had the door open so much trying to get a sample from them. Thankfully, we had a helper from the local hunter/trapper group. His extra eyes were invaluable. Pilot is trying to navigate some very difficult flying and I'm recording data and getting gear ready, my boss is sampling. We can't all watch where all the bears are. I added some pics here as well.