IQALUIT, Canada — Peter Clarkson's heart sank when he saw the March issue of National Geographic. What doubtlessly struck southern subscribers as yet another full-color love letter to the Canadian arctic read to him like a death threat against a part of the planet he serves as a wildlife biologist.
The offending article told of a team of Norwegian cross-country skiers who had recently raced a rival British group to the North Pole and won. The Norwegians said they had been charged by a polar bear along the way and had regretfully shot the magnificent animal. To make matters worse, when they reached the Pole, they celebrated their victory with a feast of fried polar bear meat.
Clarkson is a so-called "bear-people conflict specialist" for the Northwest Territories government, a man in the front lines of the effort to spare the closely monitored polar bear from outdoorsmen's whims and bullets. He has devoted years to the study of red-pepper sprays, plastic bullets, camp-perimeter detection systems and other devices to help people survive encounters with hungry bears without killing them.
"Each year, several bears die in the name of polar and arctic exploration," he complains. "Some explorers almost look at it as part of their adventure that they're going to have to kill a polar bear. Rather than learning how to prevent (shootings), they'll take along a firearm."
But maybe not for much longer.
The Canadian government is looking into ways of forestalling depredations against northern nature by arctic adventurers. It is a delicate goal; the officials say they want to slap controls on what they see as mere thrill-seekers and troublemakers, without hampering legitimate scientific researchers or well-behaved vacationers.
"When we deal with explorers, we have different classes," says Andy Theriault of the Canadian government's Department of Indian and Northern Affairs. "There are good people and bad people, and people who just don't know. We don't want to jeopardize anything the well-learned, well-read, safety-minded individual might do. It's the people who don't know, and don't realize they don't know, that we're trying to reach."
But however big-hearted and open-minded the government may be in its campaign, it has already roused the tempers of those who work and play in, and profit from, the high arctic.
"There are certain crazy (adventurers,)" says Richard Weber, a seasoned explorer who has been to the North Pole three times and conducted scientific research en route. "There were some people who wanted to ride horses to the North Pole--those are the kinds of things (the officials) want to avoid. (But) for the rest of us who pursue expeditions, I feel we are getting sort of a bum rap."
"It's stupid, what they're trying to do," agrees Bezal Jesudason, an arctic-expedition outfitter working out of Resolute Bay, population 180, the staging ground for most North Pole treks. "When bureaucrats have nothing to do, they sit down and make rules for other people. I have no use for them."
Each year, as the Earth tilts on its axis and the sun briefly sets to work on the frigid northernmost latitudes, scientists, explorers and Indiana Jones types begin to arrive from around the world to try their skill and luck against nature at her most brutal. Some adventurers shoot for the North Pole; others settle for the more southerly magnetic pole, while still others try to kayak the fabled Northwest Passage. Scientists venture forth to sample the glacial ice or the sediment of northern lakes. Anthropologists try to retrace the travel routes of ancient shamans.
Scientific or silly, all such trips are fantastically expensive.
"Just to take a person (by light plane) from Resolute Bay to the starting point (for a North Pole attempt) on the northern end of Ellesmere Island costs $10,000," said Jesudason, an immigrant engineer from India, who explains that all airplane fuel must be flown in from the south and cached beforehand. "And if you get sick or forget your matches or something, it will cost you another $10,000 to bring the equipment up the very next day. So you're looking at $20,000 to $30,000 just for a failed attempt. I don't believe there's any expeditions that have successfully reached the North Pole for less than $100,000."
The deeper an explorer's pocket, of course, the likelier he is to win his arctic gamble. That means a would-be explorer must line up big-dollar backers before he boards a plane for Canada.
And to attract such backers, some adventurers assert that they are going in the name of science or the environment--the thinning polar ozone layer and the greenhouse effect being popular current hooks--when in fact sheer adventure is foremost on their minds.
"They get quite devious," says Jesudason.
Others come up with novel transportation methods, in hopes that if they propose to be the first, say, to reach the Pole by pogo stick, a pogo stick manufacturer will step forward to sponsor the trip.