In Search of Inspiration – The Journey of the Writing Pilgrim #5

In January 2011 I sent the Writing Pilgrim out on a worldwide journey in search of ideas and inspiration for stories, novels and blogs. I would have liked to make the journey myself but I'm not a rich man and I have a wife and four cats that need me, a blog to maintain and novels and short stories to write so my hands are a bit tied. The Writing Pilgrim is a free spirit, travelling on the crest of a creative wave and looking to experience the world in a lifelong journey he has long wanted to take. Whatever insights he can share I hope you'll look forward to as much as me.

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©Ben Burger

Just Me and the Polar Bears

Good afternoon. I'm so cold I can barely write these words and by the time you receive this letter I will hopefully be somewhere a little warmer. Unbelievably I am writing to you from the heart of the Arctic. That's that white bit on the globe in the north where that Pole thing is. You know the one I mean, don't you? What's it called again? North Pole! That's the one. I haven't ventured that far I must say but I am stranded on the ice and did I mention it's bloody cold?

How did I end up in such a remote place? Well, as you know I always take part in long stories and this one was no different. Can we just say I took a wrong turn somewhere? We'll not say I offended a flight crew so badly they threw me off the place, with a parachute of course, I mean they're not that inconsiderate! Anyway, I'm here and somewhere between Singapore and the Arctic something happened that brought me here and now I need to find a way off this ice.

I'm not alone here. I've seen a few polar bears but thankfully from a distance. They swim impressively between the packs of ice, waiting by holes in the ice for unsuspecting seals to surface. I had heard global warming has impacted badly on this region in the last few decades. Even in this isolation there seems to be a cold foreboding in the air. The polar bears and other life, well adapted to this terrain, go about their daily struggle for survival, seemingly oblivious to the impending danger melting all around them but I do wonder if their instincts can sense the approaching calamity.

The ice is unrelenting in its instability but the Arctic Ocean is still beautiful to behold even as the ice lives out the last years of its life. I have little sense of direction but know I need to head south to find some form of civilization. My senses tell me to just head away from the polar bears and I should be okay. They watch me with keen interest but do not approach. I expect they must be wary of a tall, imposing pilgrim like me. I continue along this broken path of ice and try not to think about the onset of frostbite that is gnawing at the ends of my fingers. It's unforgiving out here but somehow it all seems worth it to behold such a magnificent place.

Lady Luck comes in the form of something protruding from the ice which breaks apart as it continues its advance north. I try to back away but the ice around my feet begins to crack and I'm left on a makeshift island with seemingly no hope of escape. The dark object sticking out of the icy waters halts nearby and out of the precipice appears a man who speaks with an American accent. It turns out I've bumped into an American crew manning a submarine in the midst of Arctic exploration. This is good fortune indeed and even better is these men appear intelligent and nothing like that George Bush fellow who I once assumed was representative of all Americans, seems he was just a special case.

I manage to negotiate passage onto the American's submarine, I mean even with a haphazard traveller like me you'd have been regarded as cruel to have left me behind. The Americans are hospitable hosts and even lend me a pair of binoculars while we survey the area. Polar bears approach the bow of the submarine but soon lose interest and continue to hunt. I grimace at the damage the vessel is doing to the ice but keep those reservations to myself. After all, these men are my saviours.

It's not long before we descend beneath the water, having gone below deck and sealed the hatch first of course. I was careful to say little for fear of being left behind again. I'm not sure how long this expedition will be but the Americans have told me they'll drop me off wherever I'd like to go, well, somewhere within reason was their exact words but it was still a generous offer all the same. I just told them to leave me somewhere a bit less cold so who knows where I'll end up, eh?

I've learned from the Americans that the Arctic is a hotly contested area with no one having rights to the territory around the North Pole or indeed the Arctic Ocean but with Russia, Norway, Denmark, Canada and the U.S. all forming part of the collective definition of the Arctic, there is a lot of competition and interest as the ice gradually begins to melt. I find it sad that there seems to be no way to stop the melting and the perishing of the animals that reside there. I also learn from scientists on the submarine that global warming remains a hotly contested issue, something I find hard to understand having seen the wilting ice out here.

As the submarine continues its Arctic expedition I turn to thoughts of you and your writing. When it comes to inspiration for you I know that there are cold regions in Elenchera. Fedwino is a tad chilly but Sanamora is the equivalent of Antarctica in Elenchera, right? Given all that I have witnessed maybe Sanamora can be a fiercely disputed land by the colonists that discover it and begin to oust the indigenous peoples residing there. Sanamora is situated near the South Edge of the world so perhaps that could be the reason it is such a lucrative piece of land. I'll leave that up to you. In the meantime I'll relax with my new American friends and enjoy the speculation of where they'll take me next. The most important thing is to mind my words otherwise I'll get stranded somewhere even more isolated than the Arctic.

Sending chilly greetings and regards your way,

W. Pilgrim

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