Kommersant: "Putin the bear master"
The prime minister inspects the Arctic
Prime Minister Vladimir Putin made a trip to Franz Josef Land in the Arctic where he had been saving a polar bear for several hours – mostly from humans. He also announced a work-for-the-nation day to clear the Arctic of hundreds of thousands of barrels of fuel and lubricants. Kommersant special correspondent Andrei Kolesnikov took part in the unprecedented expedition. He saw Putin put a collar on a bear that died and then all of a sudden came back to life.
We flew to the Arctic on an An-72 that is immune to frost and ash clouds. It's odd that no one in the world tried to use these planes when Europe's air traffic collapsed for several days. A lot of these planes continue to fly in Russia. They would have saved the day had they been used.
We waited for the prime minister several hundred metres from the Nagurskoye border checkpoint, where a polar bear had been languishing for a few days in a container. He looked yellow with a broken tooth and an injured paw.
Putin came to the Arctic to save polar bears. And he had to start with this one. To me, it seemed as though the bear's chances were slim.
The bear was caught ten days ago. It was a tough job, but one man managed to do it. Many people think he's the world's top expert on polar bears. He shares their opinion. His name is Nikita Ovsyannikov, deputy director of research at the Wrangle Island Reserve. He has been living with polar bears for so long there that I started to think he was one of them after a few hours of conversation with him.
Needless to say, when it became clear that a polar bear had to be caught by the prime minister's arrival, so Putin could place a collar on his neck that would allow the bear to be systematically observed, Ovsyannikov was asked to help. He catches polar bears and collars them from time to time. But he has his own tactics for the work, and did not want to share his strategy with anyone.
The only thing I know is that he brought 100 kilogrammes of rotten meat to Franz Josef Land, as well as 200 kilogrammes of rotten fish and 90 kilogrammes of rotten hot dogs. I know because he stored them in the border checkpoint's old, permafrost-sealed, snow-covered corps that had to be put back into service upon Putin's arrival.
Apart from these goods, the building also housed Russia Today's (RT) male employees. RT was fully represented by filming crews from the company's English, Spanish and Arab desks. Its female employees – two beautiful girls – lived in the checkpoint's new building – with a cupola and photo wallpaper.
Ovsyannikov listed the three relatively honest ways to catch a polar bear. There is the US nickel trap for $17,000. At first glance, it seems like no bear in his right mind would fall for such a trap – it's simply too obvious.
But sometimes they can't resist the temptation because they're hungry and the trap is filled with rotten meat. Once the bear enters the trap, the door slams shut. It's like a gigantic mutant mouse trap.
Here is what Ovsyannikov had to say on this score: "At least no one is pushing the bear into the trap. He's to blame himself for going inside. He got caught, learned his lesson, and next time he'll keep a distance."
But I think bears weigh the pluses and minuses before entering the trap. Don't they know it will close? I think they're so hungry that they realise the only downside to going inside to get the food is that they will be given a strange collar they know they can break because their necks, primarily male's necks, are wider than their heads. This is why collars are usually put on female bears. I'm sure bears have given this trap some insulting, mocking name long ago.
People will release the bears from the traps sooner or later – at least here where they aren't any poachers thanks to the border guards. Even bears understand the differences between them.
It's also possible to shoot a bear with a sleeping pill from a helicopter, but Ovsyannikov called the method "barbarian." The bears feel at home on their territory and then all of a sudden get shot from a rotary-wing machine. In other words, this is tantamount to a banzai attack.
Meanwhile, one bear was "toppled" from a helicopter upon Putin's arrival. The bear received quick two shots because he didn't fall asleep after the first blow. For some time, he kept running, wagging his backside back and forth. Then he started to limp and then crawl. Helicopters shouldn't be used to put bears to sleep.
But this bear was set free. They didn't like him for some reason. And Ovsyannikov had already caught a bear by that time using his rotten bait anyway. No one could grasp how the system works, and he was quite content. Judging by everything, he simply laid out the rotten meat, fish and hot dogs in a way that would confuse the bear and lead him to the ambush area where Ovsyannikov laid in wait. This time, television crews were waiting with him. They wore white camouflage cloaks on the snow. And thanks to the raunchy smell of the rotten meat, the TV journalist's profession had never before been so cold and disgusting.
Ovsyannikov caught two bears instead of one. The second was too big – weighing over 300 kilogrammes – and was set free. The collar would not stay on his neck. The first bear was already collared, but Ovsyannikov stayed in the ambush area waiting for a female bear. But none came to the ambush site or the trap. This time, I guess, the Arctic's female bears decided the minuses outweighed the pluses.
I was told that a journalist tried to see if the trap worked properly. It did and all the pluses immediately ceased to exist, and he was left with fatty rotten minuses in the trap's polar darkness. At least he understood what it feels like. Then again, maybe it was just gossip.
When the sleeping bear was brought to the container by sledge, Sergei, the sniper, who had also been sitting in the ambush area, took a seat next to the animal and warned the driver: "If you look back and don't see me, then it means the bear has woken up." The panicked driver rode all the way with his head turned towards the sledge.
Ovsyannikov was surprised to see so few bears this year. Their population is falling, he said. The ice cover is diminishing and the Arctic becoming polluted as the Gulf Stream carries all the world's refuse to the Barents Sea. Russia has more than enough waste here. The poachers undoubtedly feel better than the bears.
The prime minister was expected to arrive in less than an hour.
"I wish I had spent 10 days there," Ovsyannikov said, nodding towards the container that looked like a dark spot on the snow 500 metres away. "I feel so sorry for him. His tooth is broken and his paw is injured."
"They say there were tracks," I said. "That another bear approached the container on the first night. Is it true?"
"Yes, a female bear. It's mating season now, and this makes the whole thing worse. Well, at least today he will be as free as the wind," Ovsyannikov said.
"Aren't you scared of them at all?" I asked.
"There should be a sense of danger to it all," he replied. "I have my own strategy on this note, but don't ask me about it. Because I won't tell you."
But he did. Pepper spray. He said it's a "strong irritant for the mucosa." I shuddered and thought that you would have to get awfully close to the bear to use such a spray.
"I had 2,000 contacts with bears at a distance of 1.5 metres over the past 19 years," Ovsyannikov said. "And they only tried to kill me three times." He didn't mention his own attempts to kill bears because there simply hadn't been any.
He told me about the three encounters, but asked not to write about them because he may do so himself at some point. The title might be, "I saw a bear".
Four biologists hopped into the snowmobile and the adjacent sledge and drove to the container to get the bear. He had to be put to sleep again before Putin's arrival, so he could be collared and then sent to roam again across the endless ice.
They were absent for a long time. The bear didn't want to fall asleep. Maybe he also wanted to tell his friends, "I've seen Putin." Finally, the sleeping bear was delivered by sledge. He was pushed into the snow, and a white-and-red cloth was carefully placed beneath his head. An instrument measuring his pulse and blood pressure stuck out from under his tongue instead of a soothing pill that, I think, would have been much better. Then they tied and fit the collar around his neck.
The bear looked fine. His fur was yellowish with a bit of a blood-stained claw. They tried to clean it for a long time to make the bear look presentable for the prime minister's visit. The bear looked big and helpless, like a man who had drunk too much. His tongue drooped out of his mouth and he snored noisily. He evoked the utmost respect even in such a sorrowful condition.
"Don't squeak!" Ovsyannikov shouted.
Several people turned and looked back at him.
"Step aside," he said. "The bear hears everything. His reflexes are just suppressed. Your squeaking boots are annoying him. It's an unpleasant sound!"
I imagined with horror how the bear felt when the RT's Arab journalist filmed him, while speaking his native tongue. It must have been a real trial for the bear. He had never heard Arabic, and the sounds must have travelled directly into his ear. And they had done three takes in a row.
Putin's cortege consisted of two Taiga off-road vehicles and four snowmobiles on both sides. I had never seen such a cortege. After listening to a short story about the polar bear population in the Arctic, the prime minister immediately approached the bear, which had been positioned as a relaxing traveller.
Putin asked whether he felt anything.
"Of course he does," Ovsyannikov replied gratefully.
Putin and two biologists started putting the collar on the bear. I suddenly noticed that the instrument in his mouth didn't register any blood pressure or pulse at all.
"What's wrong?" I whispered to Ovsyannikov. "Is he dead?"
He carefully opened the bear's eye, although I expected him to close it. There was no reaction. What reaction could you expect without a pulse?
"Is that all?" I asked again, but Ovsyannikov didn't even look in my direction.
I fell into despair. Was it worth it? The bear was enslaved in this container for ten days, his reflexes were suppressed, and he had to suffer the sounds of a foreign tongue... What's the point of putting this $3,500 collar on him if he's dead?
"Move the instrument under the tongue," Ovsyannikov said. "It seems to have fallen out of his mouth."
When the instrument was once again placed under the bear's tongue, the pulse readings came back. Thank God, he was alive. Polar bears are tough animals.
"His pulse is too high." the biologists said. "Maybe the instrument is broken. Or maybe it's not."
His pulse started dropping very quickly. I was worried about the reading. The prime minister finally locked the collar, so the bear could be tracked using the Argos satellite system – but not GLONASS, to Putin's great dismay.
"Now we'll weigh him," one of the biologists told Putin. "This is normal procedure. Of course, you can stay if you wish."
The organisers didn't expect Putin to stay. He was scheduled to travel further on to the area where hundreds of thousands of barrels of fuel and lubricants had gotten stuck in the permafrost years ago. They were left by the military, paramilitary and civilian specialists in Soviet times. Now it's important to dig them out. They can only be dug out in summer, but it has to be done urgently as they are leaking and poisoning the earth.
"Of course, I'll stay," Putin said. "Can I help you?"
It took a long time to pull the tarpaulin under the bear, to tie him up and to raise him to his feet. Eventually, he was folded into a bag covering his entire body except for his head. And then he was weighed.
When the bear was almost all alone, Putin shook his paw and kissed his ear. Luckily, only one ear had been covered with plastic and an index number.
A striped cloth was once again placed under the bear's head. After so many procedures, he didn't look so cute any more.
Travelling at a speed of 15 kilometres per hour, Putin's cortege reached the area where the barrels of fuel and lubricants were stored after about 20 minutes. It was a terrible sight. Rugged black barrels protruded from the snow as far as you could see. I wanted to kick every single one of them.
The prime minister was upset with what he saw, and said the Arctic should be cleaned.
Putin said: "It's a challenge for United Russia! It could use its energy for peaceful purposes... An emergency congress in the Arctic...Away from prying eyes... Out of everyone's sight...A string-willed decision will produce a double, if not a triple effect!"
For several minutes, Putin talked about Russia's serious geopolitical interests in the Arctic: "Our interests are strong – we have our fleet's main bases here, long-distance aviation routes, and economic stakes. After all, the Stockman deposit is also in the Arctic."
He spoke as though he didn't want to offend Western commentators. He wanted to give them a chance to tell the world the truth about his visit to the Arctic.
The prime minister was then taken to the Emergencies Ministry's mobile hospital that had been deployed in the Arctic only several hours before. The hospital took part in exercises based on a simulated An-74 crash, with a few human-sized dolls on board. They were all saved and are now piled up in a garage at the checkpoint. During the exercises, the equipment and a landing party were delivered by an Il-76.
At this point, it's become difficult for me to imagine the Arctic without Sergey Shoigu, the emergencies minister and the Russian Geographical Society's (RGS) President. It's doubly hard for me to imagine the Arctic without polar bears plodding along the ice hummocks on RGS grants, or eared and bearded seals.
The prime minister closed the day at the checkpoint's new building – a transpolar heaven with polished railing, photo wallpaper, aquariums, live fish from the African Khao Lake, artificial tangerine trees, a children's playground and a bar. Yet, I couldn't say I didn't want to leave.
The prime minister even played billiards. Service in the Arctic had to be won.
"Pronichev?" Putin said.
"Yes, sir," reported Gen. Vladimir Pronichev, the head of the FSB Border Service.
"Let's play?" he said.
"Yes, sir!" Pronichev replied.
Taking his second stroke, Pronichev bagged a ball in a precise military manner.
"That's it," the prime minister said. "The game is over!"
"You surrendered too soon," I said.
The prime minister didn't reply and left for dinner.
I asked Deputy Prime Minister Igor Sechin, who was following Putin for the entire time, how they would utilise the barrels of fuel and lubricants and what type of work-for-the-nation day they would organise.
"After all, you're in charge of the fuel and lubricants in the country," I added.
Sechin paused.
"Yes, it's a big project," he said. "They say there are up to two million tons of fuel here and it's unfit for use."
"Will you take care of it?" I asked.
"Well, we have to help the bears," he said pensively. "I think Yury Trutnev (the natural resources and environmental protection minister – A.K.) will take care of this."
Later, after dinner, Putin asked me all of a sudden before leaving the checkpoint: "How did he (Pronichev – A.K.) bag that ball? It's no mere accident. He must be practising a lot... instead of working."
This was Putin's response.
I couldn't help but think for the rest of the evening – and the entire following day – about that bear. What had happened to him? When I arrived in Murmansk, it took me a long time to find out. But I eventually came across someone who could answer the question.
"Don't worry about the bear," he said. "He's alive and well! We took him to the ice hummocks where he slept for about another hour. Then he woke up, looked around and walked away. Then he even ran. He's alive!"
It was a relief. Russia should be proud of its polar bears. They only live in the Arctic, and can survive absolutely anything.
Andrei Kolesnikov
