By Arnold Pike

Arctic hunting embraces an enormous field, the extent of which is not yet realised, and I should begin by remarking that my experience, as here set forth, is limited to the seas around Spitzbergen, and that I propose to confine myself to the pursuit of the walrus and the polar bear.

Although the vast herds of walrus which formerly inhabited the Spitzbergen and Novaya Zemlya seas have been sadly thinned by persistent—and often wasteful—hunting, first by the English and Dutch in the early part of the seventeenth century, then by the Russians, and at the present day by the Norwegians, yet enough may still be killed in a season’s hunting to satisfy most sportsmen. The fact that the expeditions after walrus and polar bear which are made to these waters are often partially, or wholly, unsuccessful is due not to the scarcity of game but to the manner in which it is sought. The sportsman usually sails in a yacht—a vessel totally unfit for the work before her—and at TromsÖ or Hammerfest picks up an ice pilot, who is also supposed to show where sport is to be obtained, at a season of the year when all the best men are engaged to, or have already sailed with, the professional walrus hunters. The consequences are that the voyage is confined to the open, and therefore easily navigated, waters of the western coast of Spitzbergen, or else that if good hunting grounds are visited much of the game is not seen; for no matter how keen a look-out a man may keep, he is sure to pass over game if he is not used to hunting, and does not know exactly what to look for and where to look for it.

The best way, therefore, in the writer’s opinion, is for the sportsman to hire one of the small vessels engaged in the trade, sailing either from Hammerfest or TromsÖ (preferably from the latter port). He could hire a walrus sloop of about forty tons burden for the season, completely fitted out with all the necessary gear and boats, and a crew of nine men (seven before the mast) for about 450l. This amount would cover everything except tinned soups, meat, &c., for his own consumption; and the expenditure is not all dead loss, for if he allows one boat’s crew to regularly hunt seal, whilst he devotes himself principally to bear and walrus, he will probably realise a sum by the sale of skins and blubber, at the conclusion of the voyage, which will meet the greater portion, if not the whole, of the amount paid for the hire of the vessel. There is no difficulty in disposing of the ‘catch.’ If, however, a sportsman decides to go in his own yacht, with an English crew, he should engage during the winter, through the British vice-consul at TromsÖ, a good harpooner and three men used to arctic work, and buy a hunting boat (fangstbaad), to the use of which they are accustomed, together with the necessary harpoons, lines, lances, knives, &c.

In either case he should sail from TromsÖ early in May if bound for Spitzbergen, where he would in ordinary seasons be able to hunt until the middle of September. In that time, with fair luck, he may expect to kill from five to ten bears, about twenty walrus, thirty reindeer, and from three to four hundred seals. If only small attention is paid to the seals, the number of walrus and bear obtained should be considerably larger.

No especial personal outfit is necessary.

As most of the shooting will be done from a boat that is seldom stationary, the rifle to which the sportsman is most accustomed is the best. A .450 Express, with solid hardened bullet for walrus, and ‘small-holed’ for bear, is a very good weapon. A fowling-piece for geese and a small-bore rifle for practice at seals would also be useful. Whatever weapons are taken, they should be of simple construction and strongly made, for they are liable to receive hard knocks in the rough, wet work incidental to walrus hunting.

As regards clothing, a light-coloured stalking suit (the writer prefers grey), underclothing of the same weight as the sportsman is accustomed to wear during an English winter, and knee-boots, will answer every purpose. For hand covering the mittens (‘vanter’) used by the Norwegian fishermen are most suitable. The sportsman had better lay in his stock of canned provisions and tea in England, but coffee, sugar, &c., can be obtained of good quality and equally cheap at his starting point in Norway.

I. WALRUS (Rosmarus trichechus)

The walrus is one of the largest animals still extant, and although the element of personal danger is not as great in hunting it as in hunting some beasts of lesser bulk, yet the conditions under which the sport is pursued, as well as the nature of the sport itself, are such as will probably tempt one who has once tried this form of sport to return to it.

An average-sized four-year-old bull walrus will measure 10 ft. in length and about the same in girth. The weight is, of course, difficult to determine, but it is probably about 3,000 lbs., of which 350 lbs. may be reckoned as blubber, and 300 lbs. as hide. A large old bull will probably weigh and yield half as much again. The blubber, to be utilised, is mixed with that of the seals which may be obtained, and the oil which is extracted by heat and pressure sold as ‘seal oil’; the hide, which is from 1 in. to 1½ in. in thickness, and makes a soft, spongy leather, is exported principally to Russia and Germany, where it is used for harness, ammunition-boots, &c.

The walrus is a carnivorous animal, feeding mostly upon shellfish and worms, and is therefore generally found in the shallow waters along a coastline, diving for its food on banks which lie at a depth of from two to twenty fathoms below the surface. Deeper than that the walrus does not care to go; in fact, it generally feeds in about fifteen fathoms. The tusks are principally used to plough up the bottom in search of food, but are also employed as weapons, and in climbing on to ice. They are composed of hard, white ivory, set for about 6 ins. of their length in a hard bony mass, about 6 ins. in diameter, which forms the front part of the head; the breathing passage runs through this mass, and terminates in two ‘blow-holes’ between the roots of the tusks. The tusk itself is solid, except that portion which is embedded in the bone, and this is filled with a cellular structure containing a whitish oil. Both sexes have tusks, but those of the cow do not run quite so large as those of the bull. The yearling calf has no tusks, but at the end of the second year it has a pair about 2 ins. in length, which grow to about 6 ins. in the third year. The largest pair I have measure 18½ ins. round the curve of the tusk from skull to point, and girth 7½ ins. near the base; but I have seen them much larger, and do not think that anything under 22 ins. can be considered a good head. Cows’ tusks are generally set much closer together than bulls’, and sometimes meet at the points. There are some good specimens illustrating this peculiarity in the TromsÖ Museum. The bulls’, on the contrary, generally diverge, and are often upwards of a foot apart at the points. I have read and heard that in rare cases the tusks diverge in curves, but have never seen any. I have one head (I was not in the boat when the walrus was killed) with three tusks, two of which spring apparently from the same socket, and there is no doubt that there are heads with four; but such cases are, of course, very rare. The comparatively small size of the tusks makes the ivory useless for the manufacture of billiard balls and other things of considerable size, and it does not, therefore, command so high a price as elephant ivory, but it is largely used in the manufacture of small articles.

A walrus killed in the water immediately sinks; even if mortally wounded, it will in nine cases out of ten escape, and sink to the bottom. When on the ice, walrus always lie close to the water, and it is therefore necessary to kill them instantly, or they will reach the water and be lost before the boat can arrive within harpooning distance. This can only be done by penetrating the brain, which is no easy matter. The brain lies in what appears to be the neck; that which one would naturally suppose to be the head being nothing but the heavy jaw bones, and mass of bone in which the tusks are set. In reference to this point, I cannot do better than quote Mr. Lamont, who on this and everything else connected with walrus hunting is a most accurate authority. It is with the kind permission of his publishers, Messrs. Chatto and Windus, that I reproduce his plate ‘How to shoot a Walrus.’ In his ‘Yachting in the Arctic Seas,’ page 69, he says:—

What becomes of the walrus in the winter it is hard to say, but I have heard them blowing in an open pool of water among the ice on the north coast of Spitzbergen in the month of December. In the spring, however, when the ice begins to break up, they collect in herds on their feeding grounds around the coasts, where they may be found diving for shellfish, or basking and sleeping, singly or in ‘heaps’ of two or three (often five or six) together. They seem to prefer to lie on small cakes of flat bay ice; a single walrus will often take his siesta on a cake only just large enough to float him, and it is among such ice therefore, rather than among rough old pack and glacier blocks, that they should be sought, although I have seen them lying on heavy old water-worn ice, four and five feet above the water. In this case, however, they had no choice. Later in the year, in August and during the autumn, particularly in open years, they collect in some bay (formerly they were found in herds thousands strong), and lie in a lethargic state on the shore. I suppose that this is their breeding season, as the young are cast in April and May, and even in June. In former years, the walrus hunters, if they had experienced a bad season, would hang around the coasts as long as they dared, visiting the various places which were known to be favourite spots for the walrus to ‘go ashore,’ and if they found one occupied, a few hours’ work would compensate them for the bad luck of the whole season.

Massing their forces—if, as customary, several sloops were sailing in company—the hunters attacked the walrus with the lance, and, killing those nearest the water first, formed a rampart behind which the rest of the herd were more or less at their mercy, which quality indeed they did not appear to possess; for, fired by excitement and greed, they would slay and slay, until there were far more of the poor beasts lying dead than they could ever hope to make use of. The remnant of the herd would escape, never to return; they would seek each year some spot further towards the north, and therefore more difficult of access to their enemies. Although, doubtless, the walrus still go ashore late in the autumn, they probably choose some of the islands in the Hinlopen Straits, or the coasts of North East Land and Franz Joseph Land, where the hunters cannot approach them, or would not dare to if they could, at that season of the year; and thus it is rare to hear of a herd being found ashore at the present day. This opportunity of having an inaccessible breeding ground will save the walrus from the fate which has overtaken the American bison, of being almost wiped from the face of the earth; and the species will therefore probably continue to exist in large numbers in the far north, after its scarcity in the more accessible waters has caused the professional walrus hunter to abandon his calling. The most likely localities for walrus around Spitzbergen at present are the coast of North East Land, Cape Leigh Smith (StorÖ), Rekis-Öerne, HopenÖerne on the east coast, and the Hinlopen Straits.

Although the staple food of the walrus consists of mollusca, it also preys, to some extent, upon the seal. I remember that, on opening the stomach of the first walrus I shot, we found it full of long strips of the skin of a seal, apparently Phoca hispida, with the blubber still attached.[1] As the death of this walrus was fairly typical of the manner in which they are now captured, I will try to describe it; but it would be better perhaps to first sketch the boats and implements which are used in walrus hunting.

The boats, called ‘fangstbaade,’ are strongly, yet lightly, built of three-quarter-inch Norwegian ‘furru.’ They are carvel built and bow shaped at both ends; the stem and stern posts are made thick and strong in order to resist the blows of the ice, and the bow sheathed with zinc plates to prevent excessive chafing. They are most commonly 20 ft. or 21 ft. in length, and have their greatest beam, viz. 5 ft., one-third of their length from the bow. It is most important that they should be easy and quick in turning, and this quality is obtained by depressing the keel in the middle. They are painted red inside and white outside, so that they may not be conspicuous amongst ice, but the hunters stultify this idea to some extent by dressing themselves in dark colours. Inside the bow there are small racks guarded by painted canvas flaps, in which the harpoon-heads are fitted, usually three on either side of the boat. The harpoon, the point and edges of which are ground and whetted to a razor-like sharpness, is a simple but very effective weapon. When thrust into a walrus or seal, a large outer barb ‘takes up’ a loop of the tough hide, whilst a small inner fish-hook barb prevents it from becoming disengaged, so that when once properly harpooned, it is very seldom, if ever, that an animal escapes through the harpoon ‘drawing.’ The harpoon-shafts, which lie along the thwarts, are made of white pine poles, 12 ft. in length and from 1 in. to 1½ in. in diameter, tapered at one end to fit the socket of the harpoon-head, in which the shaft is set fast when required by striking its butt against one of the ribs of the boat, or a small block fixed in the after end on the starboard side. The harpoon is used almost entirely as a thrusting weapon, but a good man can set one fast by casting if the occasion demands it, up to a distance of 20 ft. The harpoon line, which is ‘grummeted’ round the shank of the head, consists of sixteen fathoms of two-inch tarred rope, very carefully made of the finest hemp, ‘soft laid’; each line is neatly coiled in a separate box placed beneath the forward thwart. When a walrus is ‘fast,’ it is most important that the line should not slip aft—if allowed to do so it would probably capsize the boat—and to help to prevent this, deep retaining notches are cut in two pieces of hardwood fixed one on each side of the stempost, the top of which is also channelled.

The lance also lies along the thwarts, its broad blade contained in a box fixed at the starboard end of the forward thwart. The head weighs about 3½ lbs., and the white pine shafts 5 lbs. to 7 lbs., according to length. It is generally about 6 ft. and tapered from 2½ ins. at the socket to 1½ in. at the handle. The head is riveted to the shaft; two projecting ears run some way up, and are bound to it by a piece of stout hoop iron, for additional security.

Along the thwarts also lie a mast and sail, and several ‘hakkepiks,’ a form of boathook, most useful for ice work. Another box, fastened to the starboard gunwale, holds a telescope. In the bottom of the boat are twenty-four fathoms of rope, two double-purchase blocks, and an ice anchor; in addition to its ordinary use, this anchor is employed as a fulcrum by which, with the aid of the blocks and rope, a boat’s crew can haul a dead walrus out of the water on to a suitable piece of ice, to be flensed.

The fore and after peaks are provided with lockers, which should contain a hammer, pair of pliers, nails, and some sheet lead—for patching holes which a walrus may make with his tusks—matches, spare grummets, cartridges, &c., and a small kettle—a small spirit lamp would also be useful—together with coffee and hard bread sufficient for two or three days. An axe and one or two rifles, which lean against the edge of the forward locker, in notches cut to take the barrels, skinning knives, a whetstone, and a compass, which should be in a box fitted under the after thwart, and one or two spare oars complete the list of articles, without which a ‘fangstbaad’ should never touch the water. Nevertheless, it is usual to find that two most important items, viz. food and a compass, are missing. This is surprising, for in this region of ice and fog no one knows better than the walrus hunter when he quits his vessel’s side how uncertain is the length of time which must elapse before he can climb on board again, even though he may merely, as he thinks, be going to ‘pick up’ a seal, lying on an ice cake a few hundred yards away.

A boat’s crew consists of four or five men, and the quickness with which they can turn their boat is greatly accelerated by their method of rowing and steering. Each man rows with a pair of oars, which he can handle much better than one long one when amongst ice. The oars are hung in grummets to stout single thole-pins, so that when dropped they swing alongside, out of the way, yet ready for instant action. The steersman, called the ‘hammelmand,’ sits facing the bow, and guides the boat by rowing with a pair of short oars. I think this is preferable to steering either with a rudder or with a single long oar, as the whalers do, as it not only enables a crew to turn their boat almost on her own centre, but economises nearly the whole strength of one man. As there are six thwarts in the boat the ‘hammelmand’ can, if necessary, instantly change his position, and row like the others.

The harpooner, who commands the boat’s crew, rows from the bow thwart, near the weapons and telescope, which he alone uses. It is he who searches for game, and decides on the method of attack when it is found. ‘No. 2,’ generally the strongest man in the boat, is called the ‘line man’; it is his duty to tend the line when a walrus is struck and to assist the harpooner, while ‘stroke’ and the ‘hammelmand’ hang back on their oars, to prevent the boat from ‘overrunning’ the walrus.

In such a boat, then, one lovely September morning, we are rowing easily back to the sloop, which is lying off Bird Bay, a small indentation in the east face of the northernmost point of Spitzbergen. The skin of an old he-bear, half covering the bottom of the boat, proves that we have already earned our breakfasts, but no one is in a hurry. The burnished surface of the sea is unmarked by a ripple save where broken by the lazy dip of the oars. Northwards, beyond the bold contour of North Cape, the rugged outlines of the Seven Islands stand out sharply against the blue sky; behind us the hills of the mainland, dazzling in their covering of new snow, stretch away to the south. Bird Bay and Lady Franklin’s Bay are full of fast ice, which must have lain there all the summer, but the blazing sun makes it difficult to see where ice ends and water begins. Around us and to the east the sea is fairly open, except for the flat cakes of ice broken off from the fast ice, and several old sea-worn lumps, which, from their delicate blue colour (sea ice is white), we know have fallen from the glaciers of the east coast, or, perhaps, have travelled from some land, out there beyond Seven Islands, which no man has yet seen. The harpooner is balancing himself, one foot on the forward locker and one on the thwart, examining through a telescope something which appears to be a lump of dirty ice, about half a mile away. Suddenly he closes his glass and seizes the oars. ‘Hvalros,’ he says, and without another word the ‘hammelmand’ heads the boat for the black mass which, as we rapidly approach (for no one is lazily inclined now), the mirage magnifies into the size of a small house. Now we are within a couple of hundred yards, and each man crouches in the bottom of the boat, the harpooner still in the bow, his eyes level with the combing, intently fixed upon the walrus. The ‘hammelmand’ alone is partly erect on his seat, only his arms moving, as he guides us from behind one lump to another. Suddenly the walrus raises his head, and we are motionless. It is intensely still, and the scraping of a piece of ice along the boat seems like the roar of a railway train passing overhead on some bridge. Down goes the head, and we glide forward again. The walrus is uneasy; again and again he raises his head and looks around with a quick motion, but we have the sun right at our back and he never notices us. At last we are within a few feet, and with a shout of ‘Voek op, gamling!’ (‘Wake up, old boy!’), which breaks the stillness like a shot, the harpooner is on his feet, his weapon clasped in both hands above his head. As the walrus plunges into the sea, the iron is buried in his side, and with a quick twist to prevent the head from slipping out of the same slit that it has cut in the thick hide, the handle is withdrawn and thrown into the boat. No. 2, who, with a turn round the forward thwart, has been paying out the line, now checks it, as stroke and the ‘hammelmand,’ facing forward, hang back on their oars to check the rush. Bumping and scraping amongst the ice, we are towed along for about five minutes, and then stop as the walrus comes to the surface to breathe. In the old days the lance would finish the business, but now it is the rifle. He is facing the boat, I sight for one of his eyes, and let him have both barrels, without much effect apparently, for away we rush for two or three minutes more, when he is up again, still facing the boat. He seems to care no more for the solid Express bullets (I am using a .450 Holland & Holland Express) than if they were peas; but he is slow this time, and, as he turns to dive, exposes the fatal spot at the back of the head, and dies.

It does not take us long to fix the ice anchor in a suitable cake, and with the blocks and rope we drag him head-first on to the ice, and skin him. On examining his head, I find that the whole of the front part has been broken into small pieces by the first four shots, one tusk blown clean away, and the other broken. So much for shooting a walrus in the face!

Of course, the walrus does not always allow the boat to approach within harpooning distance. If it is very uneasy (which it is more likely to be in calm weather than when there is a slight breeze blowing), the beast will begin to move when the boat is, say, fifty yards distant. Then is the time for a steady wrist and a clear eye, for the creature must be shot, and shot dead, or, no matter how badly it is wounded, it will reach the water, and, dying there, sink like a stone to the bottom.

Although the walrus does not often show fight, it is not, on the whole, a rare thing for him to do so. The harpooners say that three-year-old bulls are the most liable to attack a boat, especially if it is allowed to overrun them when fast to a harpoon line. The following incident illustrates this.

One sunny night, towards the end of May, we were running for Black Point, Spitzbergen, as the skipper did not like the look of a heavy black bank of clouds which a freshening breeze was blowing up out of the south-west. Suddenly, as we were threading our way through some heavy old ice, we found that we were among the walrus, and we determined to lie aback for a few hours and take some. They were lying about in twos and threes on the ice lumps, and in a good mood to be stalked, so that we soon had the skins of three young bulls in the bottom of the boat; but the fourth, a three-year-old bull, gave trouble. He did not like the look of the boat, and a rather long shot only wounded him. After diving off the ice he rose quite close to the boat, and when the harpooner gave him the weapon, instead of making off he immediately charged. It was hand-to-hand work then: lance and axe, hakkepik and oar, thrust and slashed, struck and shoved, while the white tusks gleamed again and again through the upper streaks of the boat; for a walrus can strike downwards, upwards, and sideways, with much greater quickness than one would imagine possible. After a while he drew off, and, slipping a cartridge into the Express (which I had emptied as soon as the struggle began), I put a bullet through his brain, and he hung dead on the line. We were lucky to escape with no more damage than a few holes in the boat and a couple of broken oars. There were many walrus around us, both on the ice and in the water, but the breeze had freshened into a gale, and snow began to fall heavily, so that we were glad to get on board again and run for shelter into Kraus Haven, a little inlet in the mossy plain which stretches from the foot of Black Point to the sea.

Few men are likely ever to forget the first occasion on which they found themselves amongst a herd of walrus in the water. Scores of fierce-looking heads—for the long tusks, small bloodshot eyes, and moustache on the upper lip (every bristle of which is as thick as a crow quill) give the walrus an expression of ferocity—gaze, perhaps in unbroken silence, from all sides upon the boat. See! the sun glints along a hundred wet backs, and they are gone. Away you row at racing speed to where experience tells you they will rise again. ‘Here they are! Take that old one with the long tusks first!’ A couple of quick thrusts, right and left, and away you go again, fast to two old bulls that will want a lot of attention before you can cut their tusks out. Indeed, unless one has served his apprenticeship, he had better not meddle with the harpoon at all. The old skippers and harpooners can spin many a yarn of lost crews and boats gone under the ice through a fatal moment’s delay in cutting free from the diving walrus.

II. THE POLAR BEAR (Ursus maritimus)

As a ‘sporting’ animal the polar bear is, to the writer’s mind, somewhat overrated; the walrus affording more exciting, and in every sense better, sport than does the bear.

DEATH OF A POLAR BEAR