Arctic Icons: How the Town of Churchill Learned to Love its Polar Bears
By Edward Struzik; Fitzhenry & Whiteside; 2014; 312 pages; $35.00.
Churchill, Manitoba, which sits on the western shore of Hudson Bay in Canada, is one of the world's renowned ecotourism destinations. In recent decades, it's gained international notice as the summering grounds for a large population of polar bears who congregate in the area when the sea ice goes out. While this annual event has caused residents no shortage of problems, it has also brought countless researchers and tourists to the tiny community, which offers the most accessible polar bear viewing anywhere in the far north. For a place with little else in the way of economic opportunities, making peace with these large predators has proven to be the key to keeping the town viable.
In "Arctic Icons," an elegantly written and beautifully illustrated work of narrative nonfiction, Canadian journalist Edward Struzik details how the residents of Churchill learned to live with the 1,000 or so polar bears who share their neighborhood for a few months every year. It's a complicated story with more than a few twists and a large cast of characters, but Struzik keeps it moving smoothly, while the photographs that are generously distributed throughout the book -- many taken by Struzik himself -- offer readers a vivid sense of the majesty of polar bears and the stark world they inhabit.
Struzik, who has been covering this story for three decades, begins with an account of the early days of Churchill as a military outpost in the mid-20th century, when humans and bears shared a mostly peaceful coexistence with a few bloody interludes. When the ice melts, he explains, the bears come ashore and, for the most part, quit eating and just rest. It's not exactly a summertime hibernation, but they are fairly dormant. Since they frequently show little interest in humans, the locals would often come dangerously close to them for photo opportunities and close examinations.
Heavy scrutiny
As the years went by, people got more reckless around the bears until the late 1960s, when a Native boy was fatally mauled when he and his friends were daring one another to tease one. The bears, meanwhile, were getting acclimated to humans and had begun breaking into cabins and coming after people for food. They were also swarming the local dump and wandering the town streets, to an extent that both the local and provincial governments recognized that something needed to be done.
By chance, this all coincided with the rise of the environmental movement and the corollary emergence of animal-rights groups, along with a vastly increased interest in the animals by biologists. This meant that whatever Churchill did would be subject to heavy scrutiny from researchers, international media and outside activist groups. What followed was a long period of trial and error as wildlife managers learned how to control the behavior of both the bears and the locals.
As it turned out, residents were an easier sell than expected. Biologist Roy Bukowsky was one of the first people sent by the Manitoba government to try to resolve the problem, and he had the foresight to ask the citizens of Churchill for their input on what should be done. While a few predictably demanded a turkey shoot, most told him the bears were a critical part of the town. More than a few sent him long letters filled with suggestions based on their observations of what might reduce bear-human conflicts. Bukowsky followed up with community meetings, and gradually a plan took form.
Figuring out what works and what doesn't is detailed in lively prose by Struzik, who emphasizes late in the book that everyone is still learning. Some of the key components, however, included closing the dump, airlifting problem bears to distant locations, placing repeat troublemakers in what has become known as polar bear jail, where they are detained until the ice returns, and accepting that some bears still have to be euthanized if they become too dangerous. On the human side, keeping a somewhat transient population educated on proper behavior during bear season was equally important.
A flawed success
By and large it's worked, although not without incident. Both 1983 and 2013 were bad years when humans were attacked. In '83 especially, many bears had to be killed. The media has been mostly supportive, although not always understanding when bears have needed to be dispatched. Government funding has not always been adequate. Most alarming, with recent increases in the length of ice-free seasons, the bears have gone longer without food and become more stressed, resulting in a steep uptick of conflicts with people.
Still, the tourists keep coming, bringing money that keeps the town afloat, and the easy access to Churchill's polar bears makes them the most well-studied population in the world. For the town, the bears are a good thing and that's good for the bears.
Struzik is the right person to author this book. On his first visit to Churchill in 1983 he was eyewitness to the town's last fatal mauling. He isn't blinkered about the dangers of these animals to humans. He clearly loves them, but both his text and photographs are sometimes clear about the violence the animals are capable of.
"Arctic Icons" emerges as an environmental book that honestly addresses the tenuous relationship between modern society and the natural world. Faced with a formidable challenge, the citizens of Churchill, working alongside scientists, have done a remarkable job of coexisting with bears. "Flawed and controversial as the management of these animals has sometimes been," Struzik writes, "it is arguably one of the most successful conservation success stories in North American history."
David A. James is a Fairbanks-based writer and critic.