Under the Ice

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The author wishes to thank Calgary’s Glenbow Museum, and the staff of Banff Centre, who helped make my stay at the Leighton Artist’s Colony a comfortable, enjoyable one.

The wind blew in cold, northernly gusts. Oblivious to the icy chill, Ootah directed his gaze solely at the narrow pool of open water that lay at his feet.

Warmed by his double-thick, caribou-skin parka, the twenty-nine-year-old Inuit hunter patiently waited for a ringed seal to surface and breathe. When one of these sleek mammals showed itself, he would spear it with the ivory-tipped harpoon that he carried at his side. And once again his mouth would be filled with the sweet taste of fresh, red meat.

It had been three days since he had last eaten, and his stomach growled noisily. Since he hadn’t been forced to choose the life of a hunter, he had long since learned to live with his hunger. Yet could he say the same for his wife, young son, and sick father who waited for him back at the igloo? Surely they had consumed the last of the seal meat, leaving them with nothing but frozen snow to fill their empty bellies. It was thus for his family’s sake that Ootah remained at his icy vigil, with nothing but his hunger and the howling wind for company.

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