That white rock appears to be moving. That’s a fluffy rock. Oh shit. That rock has legs. And eyes. And a very long neck. The polar bear looks up as I emerge from around the cliff. We share eye contact for an endless moment. It lowers its gaze and continues lumbering along the beach in my direction. I observe for a minute, in a calm paralysis, mind devoid of thought or emotion. We share eye contact again, this time much closer. It is the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. Enormous, yet so graceful. Fluffy and cuddly with an adorably furry face, like a massively oversized puppy. Its fat jiggles with each step, sending ripples through its off-white coat. No wonder, there are hundreds of seals flapping in the bay. Finally, a dash of fear passes through me as I recognize my place in the food chain is not so far from the seals’. The bear is less than a football field’s length from me and slowly but steadily closing in, I don’t have the gun, and I left the air horn in the dinghy. I contemplate yelling, banging rocks together, or walking away, and eventually settle on the latter. One final gaze at this incredible creature before I wave goodbye, scramble back down the rocks to the dinghy 100m away, and push off. As I rev the motor, the bear runs away, up the mountain. Goodbye, friend.
Curious, how situations that feel so intensely terrifying when imagined can turn out to be so calm in reality. Panic, at least for me, seems to appear far more often in worried fantasies than when actually faced with the subject of the worry.
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