The day started well. I decided to take advantage of the clear visibility and cut straight across the Inlet in- stead of following the coast. 1 found a series of ice pans, some several hundred feet wide, surrounded by rougher ice caused by the pressuring of the pan edges. When one pan ended I crossed over the rough edges to another smooth pan a few feet away. I was making good time, skirting some large mounds of ice over fifteen feet high sprinkled here and there. They were all different shapes, streaked with the now familiar tints of pale blue. We crossed over several cracks in the ice, some only a hair's width and others perhaps six inches across. Charlie didn't like to cross the wider ones. He always hesitated but followed in response to a sharp tug on his leash. He was afraid of falling into the water. I wondered if an Arctic dog instinctively has respect for the cold, chilling wakers, knowing that a dip can be fatal. We were crossing Polar Bear Pass outlet and as I skied I remarked to Charlie, "I wish they had called this place Squirrel Pass. I could handle that." I had seen two sets of bear tracks as we set out at 7:30 in the morning. Now it was close to ten o'clock almost time to eat.
There was a larger hummock of ice ahead about twenty feet high. It looked like a small iceberg. I decided to stop to eat on the other side. About twenty feet in front of the iceberg, Charlie stopped and began growling loudly, his back hair standing on end. l had no doubt that it was a bear. I tore my skis off, unshipped the sled ropes from my harness, grabbed the rifle and flare gun, and stood waiting with Charlie at my side still clipped to my harness. He was at
the end of his chain, snarling, staring straight at the wall of ice. Every nerve in my body was tense. Suddenly a full grown male bear stepped out from behind the ice paused momentarily, then with unbelievable speed bounded straight as an arrow for my sled. He flipped the offending object to one side with a mighty swipe of a massive front paw as if it were a tiny toothpick. I stood terrified rooted to the spot. Charlie's growls were deafening. Then the bear only twenty feet away, apparently saw me for the first time and partly rose up on its hind legs, dwarfing me as I stood there. The bear began to charge and I was jolted into action. My right thumb on Charlie's collar clip pressed down and instantly released him. I dropped the flare gun and raised the rifle to fire point blank at the bear as Charlie raced to its right rear leg and hung on with all the strength in his powerful black body. As I fired, the bear dropped onto all fours and the bullet zinged harmlessly over its head. Now its mouth open, it desperately tried to reach Charlie but he was hanging on, twisting away from those vicious teeth. Around and around they went until, finally, the more powerful bear tore away from Charlie's grip and raced off into the distant ice with Charlie in hot pursuit. I stood there glad to be alive watching Charlie and the bear disappear into the distance. But my relief was short-lived. Charlie was gone. Would he come back? How could I find him? It was useless to go after him. Would the bear turn and injure him! So many questions
but no answers. I was frantic. I had never been so afraid in my life, but now I felt numb. I turned my sled right
side up and still holding the rifle sat down, praying that Charlie would come back.
I walked around to keep warm, looking into the distance, hoping to see Charlie. I had no idea how long I could wait. I couldn't bring myself to think of what I would do if he didn't return. 1 thought about the bear. It had expressed an anger I had not seen in the previous bear encounters. It had moved swiftly and silently except for a moment before he
appeared ready to charge. At that moment I was sure I detected a slight hiss from its partly open mouth.
Suddenly I saw a black spot away in the distance. Could that be Charlie? It had to be. The black spot rapidly became larger. It was Charlie. He was flying over the ice with long graceful strides straight toward me. I dropped the rifle and ran to greet him. We met twenty yards away in a flurry of black fur, hugs, and kisses. He was panting hard. I buried my face in his thick neck fur and wanted to cry with joy, but didn't dare. I had learned my lesson on day two when I cried and my eyelids froze shut. Instead, we returned to my sled and had a short celebration party of crackers and peanut butter cups.
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