by J. Burchett
In spite of his warm clothes, Ben gave a shiver. This was like nothing he’d experienced before. The coldest place he and Zoe had ever been was Austria on a family skiing holiday. And then they’d been able to go back to a cosy hotel when they got cold. Who knew what lay ahead of them on this mission? No roaring fires for certain once they’d embarked on their search.
“Do you go everywhere on dog sledges?” Zoe asked the driver.
Charlie grinned at her. “Only when I’m transporting tourists,” he said. “We know you like to see the old way of life of the Inupiat people – which is why I dress in the traditional way. We have motorised sledges for everyday.”
“Cool!” exclaimed Ben. “But what do the dogs do then?”
“There are enough tourists to keep them busy,” chuckled Charlie. As the sledge took a bend, a vast sparkling expanse of ice came into view, broken by small channels of dark water. “The Arctic Ocean,” their driver announced.
The sledge joined a wider road and eventually they came to a short main street of shops and a couple of restaurants. Other roads branched away, lined with single storey houses painted in bright colours.
At the far end of the street the driver urged the dogs through a gateway. They stopped outside a large, grey brick building with a gently sloping snow-covered roof. It stood right on the shore of the ocean. A row of flags flapped in the freezing wind. Among them Ben recognised the deep blue of the Alaskan flag with its rich yellow stars.
“That’s the North Star,” he said, pointing at the largest star, “and the Plough constellation – also known as the Great Bear.”
“OK, show off!” Zoe laughed. “But the Great Bear’s just right for our mission,” she added in a whisper.
They jumped out of the sledge and Erika paid Charlie. The children gazed in awe at a huge skull displayed on a plinth outside.
“Look at that!” gasped Ben. “It’s as big as a car!”
“That’s from a bowhead whale,” explained Charlie. “You’ll find out all about the history of whaling inside.”
Although she tried to hide it, Ben caught a glimpse of Zoe’s disapproving expression.
“I bet that was hunted,” she said under her breath.
“We have to accept it’s a different way of life,” he muttered to her. “The Inupiat rely on whale hunting for food and income.”
“I know,” Zoe replied, “but it just seems so cruel.”
Ben turned back to Charlie. “We were hoping to talk to the fisherman who got attacked by a polar bear,” he said. “Do you know where we can find him?”
“Lukie’s getting famous!” said the driver. “You might find him inside. He works here when he’s not out fishing. He looks after our whaling display.”
They thanked him and pushed open the swing doors to the centre. The welcome warm air hit them straight away. They left coats, balaclavas and backpacks in the cloakroom and took in their surroundings.
The centre was a huge, open-plan building with cabinets full of Inupiat traditional dress and cooking utensils. Beautifully crafted harpoons and kayaks were suspended on wires from the ceiling, and photographs of whaling expeditions past and present stretched along one wall.
Ben made straight for the café in the corner and began to eye up the menu.
“You can’t be hungry,” said his sister. “You finished off all the sandwiches and had a whole pizza on the plane.
“That was ages ago!” protested Ben. “I’m starving.”
“We have to find the fisherman first,” insisted Zoe.
A woman was stacking postcards into slots on a stand. Zoe went up to her.
“Excuse me,” she said. “We heard about a man who got attacked by a bear. We’d like to hear his story. Is he in today?”
The woman put down the postcards. “You mean Lukie,” she said. “That young man’s always taking risks. Now everyone’s talking about his narrow escape. I haven’t seen him this morning.”
“What about Theo Airut?” asked Zoe. “It was his blog that told us all about the attack. Perhaps we could speak to him instead.”
The woman looked surprised at Zoe’s persistence.
“We’re doing a school project on polar bears,” Ben explained quickly.
“That’s why you’re so keen,” said the woman. “There are plenty of people here who’ve seen polar bears, but most of us keep our distance!” She nodded to Erika. “It’s nice to see kids so keen on schoolwork. You must be proud of them.”
“I am,” said Erika. “They never let me down.”
“Aw, Mum,” protested Ben. “You’re so embarrassing.”
“Do you know where Lukie was when the attack happened?” Zoe asked the woman.
“We want to draw a map for our project and mark the exact spot,” added Ben. “It’ll make it more exciting to read.”
“I wish I could help,” said the woman, “but I don’t think he said.”
“Would Mr Airut know?” asked Zoe.
“He’s not here,” said the saleswoman. “He’s gone to Anchorage for a few days for a conference.” She smiled. “We’re a small community – we all know each other’s business.” She saw the children’s disappointed faces. “Are you sticking around?” They nodded. “Lukie should be in later.”
“What do we do now?” asked Ben when they’d thanked her and walked out of earshot.
“Time to eat,” said Erika.
Ben rubbed his hands together eagerly at the thought of dinner.
“I’m going to find somewhere quiet to contact Dr Fisher for an update on the oil drilling project,” Erika added in a low voice. “Will you be all right on your own, children?” she said out loud, as the saleswoman walked by.
“Of course we will, Mum!” declared Ben, pretending to be offended at the question.
“Try and behave yourselves,” said Erika, as she headed off for the cloakroom.
After a plate of fried herring and a giant chocolate chip muffin, the children walked round the displays of whaling memorabilia. They pretended to be deeply engrossed in the exhibits, but glanced around eagerly every time someone came into the centre. Not one of them looked like a local young man.
“Time’s running out,” said Zoe anxiously. “Those babies are not going to survive long without their mother.”
CHAPTER
FOUR
“We’re not giving up,” said Ben. “See that sign by the door. There’s traditional igloo and boat building going on outside. Someone else might know Lukie’s story and have the information we want.”
They pulled on their coats, gloves and balaclavas, then pushed open the swing door and stepped into the bitter air. A freezing wind blew round them making the flags flap violently. They could hear the ice cracking against the shore as the grey waves washed it in.
“Look at this,” gasped Zoe, staring at a display board that showed maps of the Arctic and the changes that had occurred over the years. “Thirty years ago there was about three times as much old ice as there is now.”
“What’s old ice?” asked Ben.
“Old ice is the permanent Arctic ice cap,” said Zoe. “And according to this it’s getting smaller very quickly.” She read aloud: “‘Each year it’s replaced with newer, thinner ice that melts more easily in the summer.’”
“That’s not good news for the polar bears,” said Ben. “There’ll be even fewer seals to eat.”
They walked on through an arch made of whale rib bones. Ben strode ahead along a cleared path to a circle of snow bricks. An old man in traditional dress was squatting by it, cutting more bricks with a long knife. His thick black hair, threaded with white, stuck out from under his hood. He looked up and nodded as the children approached.
“Cool!” exclaimed Ben. “I didn’t realise people made igloos any more.”
The old man shook his head. “Not many of us learn how to do it these days,” he said.
The children could hear the American in his voice, but they could tell from his accent that Eng
lish was not his first language. “Eskimos like me used to build igloos when they travelled many miles over the ice to hunt.”
“Eskimos?” exclaimed Zoe. “But I thought we weren’t supposed to call you that.”
The old man’s lined face broke into a grin. “You’ve heard it’s an insult to our people. It is not used in Canada, but here in Alaska we are proud to call ourselves Inupiat Eskimos. Though of course you can call me by my name, Amaguq.”
“How long does it take to build an igloo?” asked Ben eagerly. “I’ve always wanted to have a go.”
“We haven’t got time to chat,” Zoe muttered to Ben. But Amaguq was obviously pleased to talk to visitors about his craft.
“For a skilled worker like me, a few hours,” said the man. While he talked he cut a new block and trimmed it with an expert hand so that it fitted neatly on the igloo wall. It was just like watching a bricklayer at home, thought Ben.
“An igloo made a perfect shelter for hunters who were away for weeks on the ice,” said the man. He put his knife down. “Of course, if they needed shelter in a hurry they’d dig a snow hole in a bank. Much quicker.”
“Are they easier to build?” asked Ben.
Amaguq grinned. “Much easier. You just dig. With the entrance away from the wind if possible – and you mustn’t forget to make an air hole.”
This was all very interesting, thought Zoe, but it wasn’t getting them any closer to finding out where the bear had been killed. The whole purpose of coming out here was to find someone who knew Lukie’s story.
“That’s fantastic,” she said, as the old man finished speaking. “Maybe we can put it in our project. We’re studying this area,” she explained. “And you might be able to help us with something. We’d like to write about Lukie, the fisherman who works here – the one who was attacked by the polar bear.”
“Do you know where it happened, Amaguq?” Ben joined in.
“You’d have to ask Lukie that,” said the old Eskimo.
“We’d love to talk to him,” said Zoe. “But he’s not around at the moment.”
“He’s sure to be in soon,” the man replied. “He promised to repair one of the old canoes in the whaling display.”
“So he’s not out fishing?” asked Ben.
“Not today, there’s a snowstorm forecast for later.” Amaguq picked up his knife and began to cut another snow brick.
The children thanked him and retraced their steps towards the Heritage Centre.
“Glad the weather’s stopped Lukie going fishing,” said Ben. “Otherwise we might have had to wait ages to speak to him.”
“True,” said Zoe, frowning. “But there’s one thing you’ve forgotten. We’re the ones who might be out when the snowstorm hits.”
“We’ll be all right,” Ben said cheerfully. “We’ve got our tent.”
They got to the door of the centre.
“Fingers crossed Lukie’s arrived,” said Ben. “And that he can remember where the attack happened.”
“I hope he doesn’t think it’s strange we want to know,” Zoe answered. “We have to be careful what we ask, remember.”
Ben grinned. “Actually I was planning to say, ‘Hi, we work for Wild, which is a top-secret organisation that we mustn’t tell you about, and we’re off on an undercover mission to –’”
Zoe pushed him into a pile of soft snow that had been cleared from the path. Then she scooted off, giggling, to avoid a volley of snowballs from her brother.
She almost collided with a young man in a bright red snow jacket who was making his way down the path. One of Ben’s snowballs hit him on the chest.
Ben ran up, looking sheepish.
“I’m so sorry!” he panted, as the young man brushed off the snow. “I was aiming at my sister.”
“No problem!” The man grinned. He had a round, cheerful face, with brown skin and a shock of black hair under his hood. “I heard there were two kids out here who wanted to know about my encounter with the bear. I guess I’ve found you – or rather, you’ve found me! Lukie’s the name.”
“I’m Zoe and this is Ben,” said Zoe eagerly. “We read about you on Mr Airut’s blog before we came away on holiday.
We’d be very interested to hear about your encounter with the polar bear.”
“If I had a dollar for every time I’ve been asked to tell this story, I’d be a rich man,” said Lukie, eyes twinkling. “I could give you a tale of great bravery. I could speak of how I tracked down the mighty snow beast and slew it with my bare hands. But in truth I was out ice fishing and suddenly there she was, the length of two kayaks away.”
“What happened?” asked Ben, wide-eyed.
“I had to think very quickly, Ben,” said Lukie. “I knew I had to let her get my scent so that she could identify me as human. Polar bears usually back off then.”
“But she didn’t…” prompted Zoe.
“She stared hard at me with her deep, dark eyes,” Lukie went on. “And all the time she was baring her teeth and hissing.”
“I’ve read about that sort of behaviour,” said Ben. “That sounds like one angry bear.”
“I’ll never forget it, that’s for sure,” said Lukie. “I stood tall and waved my arms to scare her, but it didn’t work. She began to move towards me and the next thing she was lowering her head and…CHARGING!”
He roared, making Ben and Zoe jump. They grinned at each other, a little embarrassed.
“I knew I’d never outrun her,” Lukie went on. “There was only one thing I could do. I fumbled for my gun and for a second I thought I was too late. But somehow I managed to get a shot off just as she reared up for the final attack.”
“The blog we read said she was a lactating mother,” said Zoe. “Wasn’t that unusual? I mean, for a mother to leave her cubs?”
Lukie thought for a moment. “I guess so,” he replied. “I remember Theo said she was very thin. She must have been desperate for food.”
“So she saw you as a meal,” said Ben.
Lukie nodded. “I was sorry to kill her, but it was either her or me.”
“Did you see any cubs?” Zoe asked anxiously.
“I can see you’re an animal lover, Zoe,” said the fisherman. “There was no sign of any cubs. I didn’t know then that she was a mother, and I didn’t stick around in case there were any more ravenous bears about. I got the carcass back by towing it behind my kayak. I couldn’t just leave it there. The Inupiat are allowed to kill polar bears, but according to our law the carcass must be registered with the Fish and Wildlife Service. And we are not allowed to waste a kill. Anyway, Theo heard about it and wanted to have a look first. It was only when he made his examination that I found out she must have had cubs somewhere.” He sighed. “We don’t hunt mother bears. We want to keep bear numbers up.”
“Is there a map where you could show us the place it happened?” asked Ben. “You should put a flag or something on there to mark your brave encounter.”
“Follow me,” said Lukie, with a smile. He led them over to one of the maps they had seen outside the entrance to the centre. “This is our latest update of the extent of the ice cover in this area,” he explained. “And I was here.”
To Ben and Zoe’s surprise, Lukie did not point to anywhere on the land. Instead his finger went straight to the north side of a large island of ice, separated from Fairwood by a wide channel of water. “I must have been about here on this floe,” he said. “That spur that sticks out to the north. I always find a good supply of cod there.”
“But that’s just floating ice!” exclaimed Ben, shocked. “I thought bears built birthing dens on the mainland. What was she doing out there?”
“A few bears make their dens in the snow banks on the ice floes,” said Lukie.
The saleswoman waved at him from the door. “Lukie!” she called. “There’s a delivery of guidebooks. I need your muscles!”
Lukie gave them a rueful grin and went off to help.
Ben peered closely at the
map. He was memorising the coordinates of the area. Once they were entered into their BUGs, it would make the search much easier.
“This changes everything,” he said. “We’ve got to reach that ice floe and there’s a bit of Arctic Ocean in the way.”
Zoe gazed solemnly out at the bleak stretch of icy water. “This mission’s going to be much more dangerous than we thought.”
CHAPTER
FIVE
“This is a cool way to travel!” called Zoe, as they paddled their kayaks across the grey, choppy water, heading for the ice floe. They had their hoods up and goggles on against the cold.
“Certainly would be if you fell in!” said Ben.
As soon as the children had told Erika that they needed to get out on to the floe she’d taken action. She’d hired the kayaks from the visitors’ centre with the cover story that they’d be off for two days’ exploring. Once out of sight of Fairwood, their “mother” had left them and headed off further along the coast towards the site where the proposed oil drilling would take place.
“These kayaks would be really fast if it wasn’t for the ice in the water,” said Zoe, skilfully steering a path through the floating obstacles. “I’m glad we brushed up our canoeing skills during our training week.”
In some places the ice lay in flat pieces looking like a shattered mirror; in others they formed natural ice sculptures which towered above them, glinting in the afternoon sunlight.
Ben slipped his BUG out of his pocket. “Good thing Uncle Stephen thought to give us these special thin gloves.” He laughed. “We’d never manage to hit the right buttons if our fingers were as thick as sausages.” He called up the satellite map. “We’re heading in the right direction,” he said. “About another twenty minutes and we’ll reach the southern tip of the ice floe. Then we’ve got the trek across it.”
“Not so much a trek – more a whiz,” said Zoe. “I can’t wait to try out my RAT.”
“There’s a problem up ahead,” said Ben suddenly. “The satellite picture shows we’ll be going into thick fog. It’ll be hard to see and much colder.”
