Previous occupants had memorialized their exploits on the walls of the cabin. One Japanese hunter boasted that he had killed a beast that stood ten feet tall when rearing up on his hind legs. An American who came through in 1999 also claimed great bear-slaying prowess. I added my own contribution to this hall of fame: “Mike Horn was here. He didn’t kill any bears, and he hopes that no bears will kill him.” But all around the hut the countless fresh tracks were anything but reassuring. I was on the polar bear migratory route, the path frequented by female bears with their newborn cubs. Witnesses have seen polar bears knock down the thin plywood doors of cabins like this one with a single paw swipe—or even walk through the door. After forty-eight hours in this flimsy shack, I couldn’t stand waiting anymore. I needed to get moving on the way to Kugaaruk, my next destination. I headed for Committee Bay. The snowy wind and the darkness reduced the visibility to zero and eliminated all contrast.
What do You think about Conquering The Impossible?
