Pinjarra

It is easily 35 degrees under the cloudless sky. Hot and dry. Perspiration dribbles down the back of my shirt as I (and maybe a dozen others) am escorted through a gate between fences some six feet high. Still brown pools, indeterminately deep, lie less than half a metre from the fenceline on both sides. Tourists whisper nervously, feeling trapped in this narrow corridor. And with a grin, the zoologist leading this sordid posse starts banging the bucket he carries. He calls out across the water.


Almost immediately, the water starts to boil. From the left, heads emerge from the water and start swimming in long, purposeful lines toward the fence. Crocodiles, a little over five feet long, lean with the agility of youth. The young males compete hungrily for the treats they are thrown.

But it is not this pool that interests me. Mature females sit exposed in the shallowest of water in the other, equally attracted by the echoing plastic drum. Larger, and territorial during this breeding season, they growl at each other. With their mouths open, I can see their throats ripple as they stake their claim. I lean a little closer to the fence in order to focus through the wire.

And out of the corner of my eye, I see another. It startles me. I didn’t hear it emerge from the water. He is huge at some 550 kilos. He is Pinjarra. Unnerved, I try and regain my composure and turn the lens toward him. I scan his size, and then the thinness of the wire in the fence. No longer am I as confident. There is a collective gasp as the others suddenly notice him too.

How long had he been waiting for me to lean a little closer into the barricade? He is patient. Millions of years of evolution have instinctively taught him the patience needed to outlast his prey. Sun glistens off his leathery spines; muted colours like that of a partly submerged log.

Fifteen years before he had still be in the wild. Domesticity has not tamed this ancient predator. He is a hunter and will always be. The zoologist tosses a cow oesophagus in his direction. It lands with a splash and comes to rest against his jaw. Pinjarra does not move. He has a more tasty morsel in mind.

I crouch lower and press forward as far as I dare to bring his eye in focus. His unblinking gaze stares through the lens back at me, piercing the resolve I clamour to maintain. Malevolently he watches, all of his concentration firmly fixed on me. To his left, two females argue over a treat. Despite the commotion, his eyes do not shift. What has he to fear? He is more than twice their size.

Finally, I break his hypnotic gaze, and there is the whirr and click of my shutter. I stand and turn away, checking the image I have captured. Satisfied, I take a final admiring look at this magnificent reptile and feel a chill run down my spine. He remains motionless, still watching, but the cow oesophagus is now gone. I don't know what disturbs me more: the fact that I didn't hear him or the passionless ambition I imagine in his eye.

The Cinema

Bathed in cinema light, their hands meet and instinctively wrap around each other. This isn't supposed to happen. They are just friends.

Both concede the breach with the gentle squeeze reserved only for lovers. In the darkness, cool exteriors melt and hearts flood.

Boldly.

He runs his thumb against her exposed finger. He hears the almost inperceptible change of breath in her.

Intensifies.

Then there is nothing. He is oblivious to the movie as its story unfolds. Deaf to the random giggle of other patrons. Neither move. Neither dare break that hold, in case the moment is lost.

And then he decides.

He turns to her. In the flickering light reflecting on her face, he knows. With his free hand, he reaches out as he leans toward her. At base of ear and along her neck, his touch softly encourages her to surrender the distance he cannot reach.

She does.

And their forever starts.

Sexy, charismatic mega-fauna

It’s cold and grey.  So grey in fact, it’s hard to discern sky from sea at the horizon.  I’m dressed in a plastic bag, rubber sealed at wrist and neck.  They call it a “dry-suit”.  Crammed into a bright yellow kayak, I weave my way through drifting pieces of melting sea ice.

Looking to my right, I can see others from my party of ten.  One turns to me with a big, cheeky grin across his face.  He’s as happy as I am.  We’re in the high Arctic, attempting a circumnavigation of the Svalbard archipelago. 

Our mothership, the Akademik Ioffe, is anchored a way off.  The best part of being in a small kayaking group is we get to remove ourselves from the noise of the ship and the inflatable rubber boats that ferry the rest of our expedition group.  In the quiet, we get to search for something special.  Something the others may not get to see.

Polar bears.  The 15 year polar veteran and marine biologist, Kirsten Le Mar, refers to them as “sexy, charismatic megafauna.” (SCM, for short.)  She is one of our expedition leaders.  Svalbard is an isolated group of islands east of Greenland and is well known for its large population of polar bears.  There are even warning signs posted around the capital of Longyearbyen reminding you not to leave town unarmed.

Paddle. Paddle. Paddle.

“Over there!” It is an excited woman that spots one.  We follow her pointing finger.  To our left, at the top of a tall ridge, there is movement.  Through the grey, I can just make out a slightly yellow figure.  Yep!  It’s a polar bear alright.  From the deck of the Ioffe, both Russian crew and expedition leaders had taught us how to search for polar bears amongst the white expanse of stark pack ice.  Yellow blobs.  Look for yellow blobs.  Their skin may be black beneath a mass of translucent fur, but the dirt and oil that clings to them, gives these bears a yellow tinge.

Instantly, our posse turns and starts to paddle toward the shore.  Stroke rates increase.  Adrenalin surges.  The SCM lopes along, ignoring us.  I can’t believe how fast they move.  We’re paddling quickly, and are struggling to catch this giant marine mammal as it plods effortlessly.

It slows and tries to decide which way to come down through the deep snow.  Our group huddles together so we can whisper our awe.  We’re close enough now to guess that it’s a female from the tell-tale stain near its tail. Sitting 100 metres from shore, we are afraid to get any closer.  We watch as she picks her descent.

About half-way, she decides that she’s come the wrong way and tries to retreat.  She takes her time up the treacherous slope.  Slowly and carefully, she finds an easier path. Two thirds of the way down, the bank gives way underneath her weight, and she ungraciously slides the remaining distance.  With a quick shake, she stands and continues her journey.

Noise carries across the water to us.  The others.  We had forgotten the others.  Along the water’s edge, a kilometre or more away, the rest of our expedition – the non-kayakers – are beach-combing close a trapper’s hut.  Our bear is heading in their direction.  Zak Shaw, our adventure kayak specialist and guide, warns the shore party via two-way radio that the bear is heading in their direction, and fast.

We speculate that with the speed that she’s moving, the nanook would reach them before they all returned to the zodiacs.  And then the bear stops.  She sits.  Turning her large head, she looks long and hard at us.  Then she turns her head toward the commotion that drifts across the curve in the bay.  It’s not the rest of our party she’s after, but the spoils of the trappers drying their skins on the shore.  She could smell the drying hides miles away.  But there are 40 of our comrades in her way.

The sound of diesel engines fills the air as the IRBs leave the shore.  They throttle back as they approach our team, now in line with the bear.  With a big yawn, she lies down, and turns her head away from us all.  “Don’t be fooled,” Zak warns. He has seen this behaviour before.  “This is what they do.  Trick you into believing that they’re tired and not interested.  She wants us to get closer.”  Again, we kayakers look at each other with nervous smiles at the thought of impending ambush. 

With the whole expedition now together, we take turns slipping closer to her and drifting past.  We get as close as 50 metres.  Click! Snap! The whirr of camera shutters.  She lifts her head and gives another yawn in our direction before closing her eyes and resting her head on an outstretched paw. Except for the sound of photographers, there is silence.

Ten minutes pass in a flash.  First the zodiacs move off.  Us kayakers, bold and brazen, loiter to extend our time with the creature we had so ably spotted from the water.  This was our bear.  She gets to her feet and looks at us.  Approaching the waterline, she dips her foot into the chilly sea.  She rinses her head.  We decide the hint is strong enough, and paddle away from her and back to the waiting mother ship.  Excitement still has my chest pounding.

Rationale

G'day Troops

Welcome to the first blogpost of indelible ink.  For those of you unfamiliar with us, we are proud to refer you to our website at: www.indelibleimaging.com

Over the coming weeks, we will be posting images that have left a permanent impression on us and relay the stories behind their capture.  It is sometimes the simplest of images that provoke the greatest stories, and I hope you will find the same inspiration in them that we do.

Please feel free to comment, refer or ask questions of us and how we go about what we do.  You can contact us through our website or through admin@indelibleimaging.com

We hope you get as much pleasure out of them as the indulgence we feel sharing them.