BEYOND

BaddAss™ Polar Bear

words :: Jon Turk illustration: Lani Imre

The tent swayed gently in my dreams, like a lullaby. After nearly three months on this expedition, these rhythmic pulses of the fabric walls were infused into my subconscious. Wind spilled off the cliffs, holding the ice out to sea. This meant that tomorrow, Boomer and I would have safe paddling, continuing our circumnavigation of Ellesmere Island in the Canadian high Arctic.

Then, suddenly, the tent jerked with an uncharacteristic abruptness. Jolted awake, I instinctively reached for the 12-guage shotgun that lay loaded between us, but Boomer already had it—one finger on the trigger, his thumb reaching for the safety.

A polar bear had ripped a hole in the vestibule and there we were, face to face, an arm’s length (or a paw swipe) away. I don’t know what I smelled like to the bear, but its stale, seal-meat breath was overpowering, even to my feeble human nose.

For a moment, the three of us—me, Boomer, and the bear—held motionless. Then Boomer and I began hurling insults, not bullets, until the bear’s torpedo-shaped head—with the beady eyes, black nose, and cute ears—receded from our space. Through the new hole in our tent, we watched the huge animal casually turn and saunter away. To our shock and consternation, we then noticed four more polar bears milling about, just 25 yards away.

All of this is fact.

But beyond the raw facts, what happened that night?

Why did the bear investigate, and then leave? What was it bear thinking? I understand that in attempting to answer these questions, I am breaking numerous biological and literary taboos— anthropomorphizing this non-human creature. Yet, it is my belief that our animal friends and neighbours are sentient, conscious creatures, just as we are, and their behaviour is driven by the same nerve pathways and brain structure that propels our actions and activity. And, in my opinion, polar bears have a lot to teach us.

Clearly, that bear could have swiped through the tent in one powerful charge, grabbed Boomer or me in its jaws and carried us away with a loud crunching of bones. The bear did not do that. The bear was not hunting us, as it would hunt a seal. This also is fact.

Furthermore, I have encountered many polar bears during my Arctic expeditions, and despite their potentially deadly speed and power, no polar bear has ever hunted me, as it would hunt a seal. Oh yes, every now and then a polar bear kills a person, but most of the time they do not, even when the opportunity arises. Facts.

It is my belief that polar bears recognize that humans are not seals, or seal-like creatures. And here’s where I go out on a limb—and where most polar bear biologists and experts not only disagree but pooh-pooh me—I believe that polar bears recognize that humans have higher-order intelligence; they can tell we are different. Probably they understand that despite our puny bodies, we are dangerous, but beyond that… could it be that polar bears feel that we are like-minded creatures—comrades, not prey, and fellow travelers on this planet?

When those five bears smelled our unwashed sleeping bodies, they loitered around, curious, wondering how to interact with us. The bravest of the five took the initiative to check us out and she (or he) sauntered over—apprehensive and curious—while the others held back. This BaddAss™ bear gently slipped a claw through the fabric to peek in. When we hurled insults (not bullets) in response, the bear decided it had learned enough and returned to its buddies. Mission accomplished.

That bear taught us a vital lesson about survival that night. Bears have stayed alive by combining their BaddAass™-ness with restraint; bravery with curiosity, meticulous observation with judicious retreat. Am I being too hippie-dippie if I say bears comprehend that there is a balance in this mysterious world? And that in their unknowable bearminds they understand that sometimes the best survival strategy is to restrain their power, to live and let live?

Back in our newly ventilated tent, Boomer and I prepared to paddle across Makinson Inlet, where we would encounter strong winds and moving ice. We would need to rely on a bearlike combination of BaddAss™ bravery and the attention to know, understand, and feel every nuance of this environment. We survived Makinson Inlet, but beyond that I wonder if maybe the bear was also teaching us that to survive on this planet, humans need to survive with this planet. That there needs to be a balance—to live and let live, to recognize, honour and revere the many complex interwoven powers in the world around us, even if we can’t precisely understand and articulate them. That the real BaddAsses™ are the ones balancing power, restraint, and respect.

Tantalus

words and photo :: Blake Jorgenson

There is nothing more enrapturing than a dramatic mountain scenic, even as it haunts us with its presence. We are drawn to the mountains because of their power and beauty, but most of all because we cannot control them. The size, the access, weather, and light sweeping across a mountain face appeals to those looking for a challenge of the mind, body, and soul. For those brave enough to venture, the mountains are worshipped as modern-day gods. Secretly, however, we also try to conquer them—sneaking between the cracks of opportunity, getting as close as possible to their fury. Reveling in their marvel—and vulnerable to their power—only then do we truly feel alive.

Ski what you’ve been missing.

Art vs. Skate

The miscreants roll up

"Concrete Vessel," archival pigment print. AMIR ZAKI

words :: Ace MacKay-Smith

Out of Control seems an appropriate (if perhaps purposefully cheeky) name for the Audain Art Museum’s newest exhibition skateboard-themed art show, but after watching a skateboarder finally land a skate trick after umpteen tries, the exhibit could more precisely be described as the Art of Control.

A career artist who grew up skateboarding, curator Patrik Andersson poured three years of effort into this show, which features 19 international artists/ skateboarders presenting across two floors of gallery space. Kiriko Watanabe, curator of the Audain’s Gail & Stephen A. Jarislowsky gallery, assisted with show engagement, while skate historian Natalie Porter added her expertise and perspective. To keep things street, Antisocial Skateboard shop helped preserve the urban in urbane via a secret-room installation showcasing a number of artists previously featured in the shop’s Vancouver space.

“The exhibition is set up like an obstacle course that encourages visitors to navigate the show with an attentiveness similar to that required of a skater,” Andersson says. “These ‘stumbling blocks’ help us feel and think about the contemporary relevance of skateboarding both inside and outside the museum walls.”

Inside the show, Andrew Dobson’s “Cuneiform” (named after the inscriptions found on ancient clay tablets) features photographs of the glue left on walls behind the “No Skateboarding” signs skaters have ripped down. Across 160 such photos, Dobson finds joy in repetition (and rebellion) but also creates a language of restriction.

Tim Gardner’s “Blackout” is a photographquality, amazingly-detailed watercolour painting of a stumbling, intoxicated man. Photos of skatepark walls

These ‘stumbling blocks’ help us feel and think about the contemporary relevance of skateboarding both inside and outside the museum walls.

may not sound exciting, but Amir Zaki’s stunning digital photographs draw you in like beautiful large format landscapes. While the works in Out of Control certainly deserve to be in an art gallery, part of the appeal of the show is the conversations it starts about art, skateboarding, and the meshing of low and high brow culture.

Of all the “sports,” skateboard could be seen as the most creative or artistic. Similar to an artist mixing colours to put lines on a canvas, a skater integrates components of the urban environment—stark pavement, painted curbs, walls, ledges, obstacles— and creates fluidity—lines—within it. Other artistic industries, most notably fashion, routinely draw from skateboarding for their next big trend. Visual art, showcased on skateboard decks, transforms these “toys” of motion and sport into cherished items often hung on walls like traditional art. In 2019, fine art institution Sotheby’s auctioned a complete set of artist decks for $800,000.

Skaters are often artists themselves (or is it the other way around?). Pioneers of the sport like The Gonz, Lance Mountain, Ed Templeton, and Andy Howell are respected visual artists while legend and “Godfather” Tony Alva regularly plays in a band. There are even artists among the artists—in the 1980s Rodney Mullen blew minds with his artistic representation of skating on flat ground and today Richie Jackson and Daewon Song interpret urban obstacles with an imaginative eye unlike other skaters. In Whistler, the Audain Art Museum stands bold as a centrepiece of the resort’s cultural corridor. A few dozen metres away, the skate park lurks in the forest. Sitting on an impressive 50,000 square feet, the Audain was built in 2016, the same year the Whistler Skate Park expanded to almost the same size, making it the second largest in Canada. Audain curator Kiriko Watanabe says she’d often see skaters sitting on the museum steps or skating the long entranceway bridge. “I wanted to invite them in.” Like most communities, Whistler Village boasts a number of “No Skateboarding” signs, while one of the key tenets of art museums has always been “look but don’t touch.” And yet, both skating and art offer a sort of freedom. Watanabe, Andersson, and the Out of Control show hope to use similarities to bridge the gap between the two communities…Bridge the gap, then kick flip it.

TOP "Venice Parking Lot," watercolour on paper. TIM GARDNER MIDDLE "Paving Space" oak modular sculpture by RAPHAËL ZARKA. Skater: Joseph Biais. MAXIME VERRET. BOTTOM Marble barriers, not a board in sight. MIRAE CAMPBELL. Out of Control: The Concrete Art of Skateboarding will be exhibited until January 8, 2023 and the Audain has skate storage at the front entrance, so you are welcome to come before or after your sesh.

Papa Jordan

words :: Dave Basterrechea photo :: Kyle Wolochatiuk

The early years of sled-accessed snowboarding in the Sea to Sky were always an adventure—you never knew what waited up a drainage until you went. In December 1999, Kyle Wolchatiuk and I finally managed to check out the Rutherford for the first time. We didn’t realize it’d be a bumpy 20 kilometres in (on Ski-Doo Summit X’s with four inches of travel), and by the time we reached the cabin the sky was cloud-filled and light was flat, so we opted not to head onto the ice cap and instead went south in hopes of finding some trees to ride. Within minutes, we noticed the most perfect air-to-rock ride we had ever seen. It looked like Whistler’s famous Air Jordan double drop, but much bigger. We took reference shots on the Polaroid, scoped lines, and made plans. We’d be back.

That Polaroid photo circulated among the entire Treetop Films crew and Jonaven Moore said he’d be into heading out the next sunny day. That day came about a month later and we left at first light—Jonaven, me, Kyle with the still camera, and Brad McGregor shooting 16mm film.

The sun was already hitting the face when we arrived. We checked out the landing and quickly scooted back up top. Jonaven won the ro-sham-bo to go first and rode a direct line straight down the face. I just saw a blur of him airing and then coming out the bottom to cheers. My plan was to hit an air, land on the snowfield, drop as much speed as I could, and then ride the rock out. It took a while, and numerous radio checks, to get into and confirm the correct position…I dropped in.

The air felt bigger than I anticipated, but the landing and snow were perfect. I dumped as much speed as I could, but was still going pretty fast when I pointed it, blind, into the lower rockslide section, where I picked up even more speed. When I reached the snow at the bottom, the compression sent me head over heels, but I got up, rode down to Jonaven and the boys to high fives and disbelief at what we had just ridden. What an awesome day to have shared with those guys. We went back a few times to redeem but the conditions never lined up. I know some local skiers have hit “Papa Jordan” and tried to air the lower section instead of rock ride it, but I don’t think anyone has landed it…yet.