During the filming of “Nanook of the North”, in the winter of 1921, we
decided to take a scene of a white bear hunt at close quarters on land.
In a genuine film like ours, where one must take “close ups” of wild
animals, the difficulty lies not only in approaching them sufficiently
near so as not to have to use telescopic lens, but also in keeping the
animals more or less on the same spot in front of the camera.
Consequently, after studying the matter carefully, we concluded that the
only way we could film the white bear hunt was to find in the early
spring a “she” bear with cubs in her den.
The idea was that the bear would refuse to leave her young, would make a
stand right away and give battle on the spot, thereby allowing the
cameraman to crank away to his heart’s content. We sent, accordingly, a
few Eskimos to scour the country. After a few weeks they reported having
found a bear asleep in a snow bank under a cliff on the seashore, about
seventy-five miles north from where we were. We were certain that the
animal was a “she” bear, as the males do not hibernate but roam all
winter on the ice far out to sea.
[Illustration: A white bear]
We made the trip at once with six Eskimos, three sleighs and twenty-two
dogs, and built our Igloos two miles away from where the bear had been
found. Then we went out on foot to reconnoiter.
We found the bear’s den easily. A large yellow spot on the snow, from
which rose a slight vapor coming from the animal’s breath, plainly
showed that someone was at home. We carefully chose the best spot to
place our one and only camera and rehearsed the whole scene. One Eskimo
was to climb above the den and rouse the bear with a long pole. The
others standing in front of the den were to let the dogs go as soon as
the brute appeared. We knew that the Huskies would surround the bear;
and we had no doubt that she would immediately make a stand in front of
her cubs and fight.
We had to wait after that for three days until the weather was clear and
fine. In the end the hour came. At first, everything went off
beautifully. The bear was roused out of her lair by a few vigorous pokes
of the pole but, instead of showing her head out of the snow and then
emerging to give battle, she burst out of her den like a rabbit from its
hold. It was a “she” bear all right, but it happened that she had no
cubs.
In a flash she was through the pack of dogs and away! Before the
cameraman could start cranking she was already fifty yards off, racing
for the sea with all the huskies after her. We tried to lift the camera,
carry it and follow, but it was useless. The bear never stopped for at
least a mile. After that, when it was much too late, she turned around,
fought the dogs for a few minutes—scattering them easily—then went on
her way and disappeared finally over the icy horizon. We never found
another bear in her den that year.
Such was the way Mr. R. J. Flaherty missed the only scene from “Nanook
of the North”.