With big bright eyes, one of my students announced that his dad had gotten a polar bear. He insisted that I call his dad so I could go see it. So, right after school, Jack and I headed out to talk to the hunter. The previous day he had been out seal hunting a few miles south of Shishmaref and had seen lots of polar bear tracks. He found one of the bears and proudly came home with the fourth polar bear in his lifetime. Telling the story, he concluded with a smile, “My daughters have already put in orders for ruffs!”

The skin was laid out, its mylar-like hair glistening in the sun by his home. It was easy to see why polar bear hair was once a highly valued material for fly-tying. But for how silky the fur looked, it felt surprisingly coarse to touch.  The paws, of course, were huge, and the foot pads were thick and tough and leathery. Stroking the fur and foot pads with our bare hands, we felt a connection to the vast miles of ice this bear had traveled, the arctic cold and wildness, the remoteness of this place.