Snow Bear (Terry Christenson 2015)

In mid January 1961 I found myself on Franklin Island fully dressed in army surplus carrying a heavy pack and my dads 30/30. There I was standing hard on old cross country skis and leather boots. Only problem was I was in about 8 feet of Georgian Bay water. Earlier that day I had started as a trappers assistant helping Ross check his winter sets, taking turns towing the toboggan and breaking trail. We had already crossed several little bays on the outside heading south to Henrietta Point and everywhere we had crossed had been frozen solid underneath 5 inches of new snow. The wind was virtually non existent and the sun was out bright. In fact, I had been getting over heated in the lead and had opened jacket and shirt down to the long johns when looking ahead I saw about a 3 foot drop off the rock ridge onto what appeared to be the same surface we had already crossed without incident. It turned out that a combination of strong current, wind and heavy snow the day before had washed in slush on what was usually open water. New snow on frozen slush doesn't make for good ice. I was lucky in that after the initial shock I turned and there were natural stone steps to safety. Ross tore into a bone dry white pine with his axe after telling me to strip down. He always carried lots of newspapers for starting fires and after getting a big one going what little was left went into my partly dried long johns and jeans to keep my testicles from freezing. He claimed 'that's the first thing that freezes on a man'. Long story short an hour or so later the weather had changed to an all out snow storm and I was dressed again in not quite fully dried clothes that eventually froze and blistered me as Ross with compass in hand brought us back to the government dock at Dillon in a white out. I'll always remember standing there at minus 15, naked before the fire holding green branches out with wet clothes on them hoping to put them on soon without burning them. I guess what brings me to tell this story is the thought of dying slowly from exposure must be an awful death. It's hard to imagine a creature like the Polar Bear who has adapted to hunt in such an extreme environment where ice, snow and open water in the right combination is a rich hunting ground for the winter months. Apparently in the last few years young Polar Bears have been found drowned and floating at the surface or washed up on rocky shores. Eventually instinct and learned behaviour team up with a desperate hunger after waiting 6 to 8 weeks later than usual to find their frozen hunting ground. Imagine being totally drained of energy, cold, alone, looking for ice and seals only to take in salt water. I dedicate this tune to the snow bear who seems to be 'the canary in the coal mine' these days. If you can please support people like The Suzuki Foundation and Greenpeace. Cheers. t

drums - Tony Nesbitt-Larking / base - Charles James / keys - Craig Harley / guitar and vocals - Terry Christenson / harmony vocals & effects - Chris Hess and also engineered and produced by Chris.