“…The trip to the Russian Arctic and Siberia was devastating to me in terms of facing the harsh realities and accelerating pace of "the end of nature" (to quote Bill McKibben) as we know it in all Polar Regions--HEAD-ON! Yes, of course, seeing the scenery and so many tundra wildflowers, as well as the extraordinary seabird nesting cliffs, was a wonderful experience overall. But, then there was the dark, omnipresent cloud of environmental decay and destruction everywhere we went. We are, in my view, well over the environmental "tipping point" where the impacts of global warming are concerned. Seeing evidence everywhere of the incredible rate at which permafrost is melting on land and beneath the sea floor (and the associated release of methane gas) and what this truly means for future climate makes worrying about carbon footprints seem almost ludicrous. Couple this with witnessing several polar bears swimming to their inevitable deaths (already 90 km offshore) in what could only be a desperate search for sea ice and food left me almost paralyzed and emotionally drained. I will never, ever forget looking into the eyes of the last polar bear I saw swimming northward. Though I've never felt that what I do is "Ecotourism" in the traditional sense--I've also NEVER felt, as I did this time, that I'd grossly misrepresented to people what they could expect to experience and see on a trip. How do you”market" a trip to see suicidal polar bears and seabird rookeries where there has been NO successful reproduction because there were NO fish to be caught? I haven't even been able to download the pictures I took on the trip--I see every image too vividly in my mind. I even wrestle with what to tell my grandchildren. The truth, of course, but how will I frame it for them?”
My thoughts remain fixed on to the eyes of the polar bear of her description: “…I will never, ever forget looking into the eyes of the last polar bear I saw swimming northward…” That paragraph reflects the agony of the Artic. I can reproduce the moment without any effort in my mind, and feel what she feels. Also I am begging to imagine what the bear feels… While writing I saw myself surrounded by endless open sea waters. No trace of ice, only water. At the distance a tiny white spot getting bigger and bigger as the ship get closer to it. The distance that separate the white spot – the polar bear- to the ship is shorter enough to see the bear’s head. Like with a powerful zooming our eyes get in contact. For a few seconds we looked each other. Suddenly –like if the bear knows- he focuses his sight to the distance, straight ahead, to the far horizon. I do the same hoping to catch a glimpse of the elusive ice. My mind –again like other countless times- reproduce images from the other side of the world: the Antarctic. Down there things are not much different. There are no polar bears. Artic comes from the Greek “Arctos”, Land of the Bear. Antarctica is the opposite; and -like every opposite- it’s bursting with life. No polar bears but millions of penguins of different species, seals, sea lions, elephant seals, whales and myriads of sea birds… not many humans. It seems like Antarctica is a paradise. Nevertheless, slowly but steady, nature claims for attention. The ice cap is melting. Temperature is rising. Penguins decline in number. Krill –as the main food resource is harvested…
Human presences provoke disturbances. Ecotourism increase its impact… Nowadays there are no more Macaroni Penguins in Hanna Point, and you can notice the erosion and declined of the colonies of Gentoos, and Chinstraps caused for thousands of visitors every season. Despite regulations, it is possible to find seven –yes 7- ships inside the caldera of Deception Island at the same time. There are more examples: accidents caused by ships, oil spills, grounded or sunk vessels. There are numbers, scientific statistics and premonitions. Same picture in both extremes. Again the vivid images seen by Audrey break into my mind. The ship –like the polar bear- head north. I can’t take my eyes away from the bear’s eyes. Our eyes make contact and I can see its resolution and hope. In the end the bear not thinks, instinctively he only swims, living the moment, hopping for the ice, for food… Suddenly I understand:
- Dear brother – I whisper to the polar bear- we, like you, are also living the moment, ignoring the future. Following the same path, hoping innocently that everything is going to be fine, here or who knows where. We, like you, are immortals. ¿Are we?