The first bear was seen on day one. The trip's going to be good. We're ready for more. "We'll cruise the edge of the sea ice for a while, and see if anything turns up." Sure enough - within a few minutes one of the old hands glances up from her book in the observation lounge, leans forward just to be sure, and cries "Bear, 9 o'clock". She's spotted an adult bear swimming strongly in the water just off the port side of the ship. The message goes up to the bridge, and the boat heaves to. The next move is up to the bear.
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This is
the close up chance of the trip. We might never see a bear this close again. He
wanders closer and closer. He follows
the leads in the ice around the ship. Are there any of those nice
Goretex-wrapped snacks around, so tempting in their bright yellow packaging. He stands up to get a close look at the folks
leaning over the edge - again the barrage of camera shutters. We get a really
good look at him, he gets a really good look at us. If there had been a gangway he'd probably
have come aboard. That would probably have resulted in some great photographs,
but would have been a problem to resolve.
In the
absence of a gangway the bear eventually decided that it was time to stride
majestically off over the ice. He
clambers over a nearby pressure ridge in the ice, and suddenly loses his
footing, and slumps clumsily down though the ice. He then does exactly what you
or I would do in the circumstance, he's looks round to see if anyone has
noticed. Or course we had. There were
100 Nikons or Canons pointed directly at him.
His majestic exit has been rumbled.
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