The Old Polar Bear - Guardian of the Fireweeds

In the last days, he appeared - the great old bear. I had already watched him with the drone, rolling in the grass and usually resting near the coast, where the breeze kept the mosquitoes and biting flies at bay. We felt them constantly too: swarms of mosquitoes and the relentless horseflies, just as bothersome to us as they were to the bears.

Our guides had known this bear for years. They considered him one of the oldest and largest they had ever seen - a dominant animal to whom all others gave way. In those final days, he drove nearly every other bear from the island. He didn’t even need to fight. A weary glance, a barely perceptible energy radiating from him, was enough. And the others retreated.

At the same time, he carried himself with remarkable composure. His sheer size made him imposing, yet his movements revealed his age: a slightly arched back, a heavy, almost knock-kneed gait. He wandered slowly, as if time no longer pressed on him. And still, he wasn’t without strength. Once I saw him attempt to catch a weakened duck. He failed, watched it slip away, and seemed almost disappointed - as if he knew that even such an easy meal was no longer his to claim.

He remained completely unimpressed by us. Once, he strolled past no more than seven meters away, without the slightest hurry. I glanced at Dennis, our guide; he just shook his head: no danger. This old fellow was entirely at peace with himself. We meant nothing to him. Often he would simply lie in the sea of flowers, occasionally shifting or lifting his head as if to say, “Ah, these people again.” Action was not to be expected. While he slept, we sometimes turned our cameras to the birds; the bear just lay there, content in the silence.

And yet he was not weak. In the evenings, as the sun sank and the heat of the day eased, he grew more active. He would set off, picking berries and wandering across the island. At times he even seemed almost youthful in his curiosity.

What moved me most was an image that felt almost philosophical: one evening, this old bear sat down to quietly watch the sunset. It looked like a painting - our houseboat in the background, the sun sinking across the vast horizon.

There are repeated reports from nature observers that bears seem to take time to look at landscapes or sunsets. A wildlife officer in Yellowstone even told of a bear that climbed a hill almost every evening to watch the sun go down - he was nicknamed “Picasso” (Medium). Other observers have noted that bears often pause in silence to gaze at mountains, rivers, or sunsets - interpreted as a sign of a certain sense for beauty (Earthly Mission).

Whether it can be explained scientifically or not, for me this moment became a symbol of dignity and calm. An old bear who had found his place in the world, whose gaze into the setting sun expressed more than words ever could.