I went North with the Hudson’s Bay Company in April of 1969, a young guy of 19 with a lot of curiosity about Inuit and the Arctic. I was also a kabloona, or white man, embarking on a journey that would shape me for the rest of my life.

My preliminary interview was at the Hudson’s Bay Company fur-buying warehouse in my home town of North Bay, Ontario. My brother had been doing some trapping while at high school and we sometimes went in to the HBC to buy a trap or two, or sell a few of his furs there. So I was familiar with the place.

I guess I passed the test, and next thing I was off to Winnipeg for more paperwork, a medical, and a bit of dental work. Then it was off to Cambridge Bay on Victoria Island, at 69° North, or about 3° above the Arctic Circle. I flew with the district manager in the company’s DC3 on skis. We got weathered in at Churchill, Manitoba for a couple days along the way.

Cambridge Bay was a larger regional centre by then, and I was mostly involved in retail sales to the Inuit, commonly called Eskimos at the time.  Inuit were going through big changes then, moving in from camps to the settlement where there was a store, church, school, and the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. The transition from igloos to wooden houses, and from dog teams to snowmobiles, was well under way. Unfortunately there was a lot of drinking at the time, in part because of the cross-cultural shocks, and I got tired of that aspect pretty quick.

SEE ALSO: Animal rights agenda anti-human, harms nature. By Larry Simpson for Truth About Fur.

In Amundsen's Footsteps

After ten months I got an opportunity to move to Gjoa Haven, a small community of a couple hundred people on King William Island, near where John Franklin’s ships were subsequently found on the ocean bottom. I liked Gjoa Haven, which was named after Roald Amundsen’s ship Gjøa, which over-wintered there early in the 20th century. Both Cambridge Bay and Gjoa Haven have Inuktitut names now - Iqaluktuuttiaq and Uqsuqtuuq - and it is considered respectful to call the people Inuit, not Eskimos.

Gjoa was where I got my real appreciation of Inuit as denizens of the frozen land and seascape. There was virtually no drinking there, and I was able to get to know some of the people there very well.

I was manager-trainee which kept me busy doing everything from retail sales to book-keeping, and buying fur and carvings. I learned to grade white fox, ring and harp seals, wolf, and polar bear skins. We had an SSB radio to communicate with Cambridge and other communities as necessary, and we had an airplane once a week, a Twin Otter on floats or skis depending on the season.

Char, Geese, and Ptarmigans

I had a tent out by the river where I would spend weekends fishing for arctic char and hunting for Canada geese. In winter I went out with Inuit on occasion to check their fox traps. I bought myself a 15 HP Olympic snowmobile and I would go out hunting ptarmigans on the flat terrain in the area.

One could get lost very easily there so I had to be careful about whiteouts that could come up quickly. But generally I would be with Inuit friends, who were always happy to take out a kabloona like me and show me their ways. The relationship between employees of HBC, or Bay Boys, and the local people had always been quite good in the area. There were some Here Before Christ and Hungry Belly Company jibes that came with HBC having no competition, but generally things were fair.

I looked forward to getting out on a caribou hunt and finally I got my chance. Three Inuit hunters and I travelled over ice and land for the first day until we stopped at a likely looking spot with good drift snow and built an igloo. It was fascinating to observe and pitch in. It was done just in time as the weather turned nasty and we were in there for 24 hours. One of the hunters had found an owl nest with eggs so he took two, leaving the rest to hatch.  Those were cooked in our tea on a primus stove inside. There was a drip, drip, drip from the uppermost point as things warmed up.

I recall one incident in particular in that igloo that summed up the importance of sharing everything. My companions observed me brushing my teeth and spitting out into a little hole I'd made in our snowy floor. They asked if they could use my toothbrush to do the same. My kabloona upbringing said absolutely not, but of course I had to consent!

SEE ALSO: Amazing facts about fur: Dressing for the Arctic. Truth About Fur.

Winning Some Respect

As the weather cleared we were on the move again. We spotted some caribou and I downed one, while the Inuit were stalking some others. One was wounded and I was instructed to finish it by inserting my knife into its brain. Well, that was a bit hard, but it won some respect from my co-hunters. Back into another igloo for the night, we gorged ourselves on boiled and fried caribou meat. I had noted that very little of each caribou went to waste. The antlers were kept for carving, the skins for clothing, and virtually all the meat, even the contents of the caribou’s stomach that had the consistency of spinach.

Our final stop on this re-provisioning quest was a stop at an isolated DEW Line station where about a dozen kabloonas were attached to their radar screens for incoming Russian bombers and missiles. There was a canteen there, and after a bit of an icy welcome (very security-conscious in those days) we were allowed to purchase some cases of pop and chocolate bars, precious cargo as supplies of these in Gjoa were gone until ship-time in August. The cases of pop were wrapped in our sleeping bags and caribou skins in an effort to get them home before freezing.

A couple of kilometres from the community, we caught up with a dog team heading back from a hunt. We were two snowmobiles pulling loaded kamotiks (sleds) travelling at five times the speed. Our mode was more efficient in terms of time, if you were lucky enough to have one of the few wage jobs in the community. But as it was pointed out to me, you can eat your dogs if you get lost on the land, but you can’t eat your snowmobile. And those dogs can alert you and fight for you if you are attacked by a polar bear that can easily stand up and knock down your igloo to get at the goodies inside.

Treasured Memories

This first caribou hunting trip with three Inuit made for some good instruction in local customs and some treasured memories to this day. One of the hunters with me, Uriash Pokenak, later became a Member of the Legislative Assembly when the “new” Nunavut Territory was created in 1999. On a more sombre note, one of my colleagues from this hunt, Frank Sheeotinoak, was lost a few years later in a boating accident when he fell out of a boat in a rough ocean.

I spent three years with the Hudson’s Bay Company and it was good to me.  I lived in five Arctic communities and did relief management in two Dene communities in northern Alberta. Good training, good fellowship, and good memories. I have a lasting appreciation of the traditional ties of our indigenous peoples to the land that has sustained them for so long.

***

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Fur-trimmed and down-filled parkas are everywhere in our cities these days, but is the coyote, fox or other fur trim on the hoods just decorative, as activists claim, or does it really help keep us warm?

We're not all Inuit hunters, Iditarod dog mushers, or polar explorers, but we've all seen them, if only in pictures: men and women braving the elements in voluminous parkas, topped off by huge hoods with giant fur ruffs. Yet their faces are so exposed, and most of the fur trim doesn't even contact the skin, so can they really be that warm? Or are they just for show? Have faith: fashion statements are the last thing on anyone's mind when the mercury plummets and the wind picks up. Developed over millennia by the indigenous peoples of the Arctic, these ruffs work.

For most southerners, a parka hood is just about protecting the head from a bit of wind and rain. But people who work at –30°C, often for long periods, need much more. That doesn't mean bundling up like Himalayan mountaineers though, because beyond keeping warm, they also need to function effectively. Whether it's trapping, fishing, or driving a snowmobile, they want clear vision both in front and to the sides. Giant fur ruffs fit the bill perfectly.

Here are the key design features, and why they work so well:

Show Some Cheek

There are two ways your body loses heat in cold weather: conduction and convection. Conduction is not a major concern for southerners, unless we get soaked to the skin, and then our body will cool down really fast, especially if there's a wind to add convection. And so we blithely pull our hoods close around our faces, and there may even be a draw string for just this purpose.

Now try ice fishing in Nunavut – or almost anywhere in Canada, for that matter – in January, and see what happens! Your hood's fur trim is tight up against your cheeks, right next to your mouth. Each time you exhale, the moisture in your breath forms ice on the fur. And since ice is a far better conductor of heat than air, your fur trim, far from keeping you warm, becomes a very efficient conductor of heat away from your face. Next thing you know, you've got frostbite.

Real polar ruffs greatly reduce this ice formation. The fur trim is still tight up against the face, but contact is made behind the cheekbones. Hence the exposed face we talked about.

SEE ALSO: Amazing facts about fur: Dressing for the Arctic

Think Big

You also want your hood's fur ruff to be large. Your traditional caribou or seal skin parka is already bulky, so top it off with the lion-meets-angry-frilled-necked-lizard look! The most spectacular of all ruffs, a “sunburst" ruff, can measure three times the diameter of the wearer’s head!

Wind removes heat from your face by convection, and the faster it blows, the more heat it removes. But when the wind hits a solid object, a boundary layer is created in front of the object, inside which the wind slows down. The larger the object, the thicker and more insulating the boundary layer. Ergo, the greater the diameter of your fur ruff, the warmer you'll be.

This has long been intuitive to Inuit designers, and in fact to all of us. It's the reason why, when we face into a gale with a wall at our backs, the wind speed is much less than if we're standing in the open. The wall has created a boundary layer.

In 2004, a research team from the universities of Michigan, Washington and Manitoba quantified this boundary layer effect using a heated model of a human head, thermocouples, a wind tunnel, and a variety of hoods. As expected, the most effective hood by far in slowing heat loss had a sunburst ruff. It was particularly superior to other hoods when the wind was at a high yaw angle to the model's face, i.e., blowing from the side.

(For an excellent graphic showing how a fur ruff creates a boundary layer, see "Why fur-lined hoods are so warm," Chicago Tribune.)

Varying Hair Lengths

The Inuit have also long understood that fur trim works best when the hairs are of varying lengths. This is naturally the case when traditional furs such as arctic fox, wolf, or wolverine are used, since they have long guard hairs and short underfur, and different parts of the pelt are different lengths. Coyote and fox also have these qualities and are more commonly available on modern parkas. The effect can be enhanced further by using two types of fur within one ruff.

The same 2004 research team sought to quantify this also, comparing the sunburst ruff with a "military hood" with short-haired fur of uniform length. Once again the sunburst ruff came out top, with the researchers concluding that a variety of hair lengths disrupts the wind flow more and thereby helps build an effective boundary layer.

One comparison not made by the researchers was between real fur trim and fake fur, but since fake fur hairs are uniform in length, the conclusion is unavoidable that fake fur trim can't compete with the real deal.

That aside, their conclusion was unequivocal: "The present experiments clearly demonstrate the superiority of the sunburst fur ruff configuration for all wind velocities and yaw angles tested. ... The sunburst fur ruff design is truly a remarkable 'time-tested' design."

Southerners Take Heart

The good news for everyone living south of the Arctic Circle is that we can all benefit from this "time-tested" design – perhaps just scaling it down a bit. Caribou or seal skin parkas are overkill for most of us, not to mention the stares they'd attract. But we can easily fit ourselves out with a down-filled hood with real fur trim that's plenty big enough.

The most popular fur for ruffs these days is coyote, which not only keeps us warm, but also dovetails with the need to manage a growing coyote population across North America. Fox can also be effective.

SEE ALSO: Abundant furbearers: An environmental success story

Truth About Fur's Alan Herscovici lives in Montreal, currently blanketed in snow, where temperatures in January average about -10°C, but have risen no higher than -20°C for much of this winter. With wind chill, it can feel like -30°C.

"Call us 'southerners' if you want, but there are days I feel like Nanook of the North," says Alan. "The coyote ruff on my parka has proven its worth this winter!"

***

To learn more about donating to Truth About Fur, click here.

Ask most people what fur is good for and they’ll say it keeps the wearer – animal or human - warm. True enough, but some types of fur are so much warmer than others, and the reasons why may surprise you. In this first of a series to introduce some of the amazing facts about fur, we’ve planned a hunting and fishing trip and now it's time to plan our wardrobe. We’re headed to the Canadian territory of Nunavut, and we need to dress for the occasion!

Nunavut is actually the size of Western Europe, so even though almost the whole territory is classed as having a polar climate, there are considerable differences in weather and hours of sunlight. Time of year also makes a big difference. So let’s narrow it down and say we’re headed for the capital of Iqaluit at 63°N, in late March.

We’ll have about 6 hours of sunlight a day, enough for some good hunting or fishing close to home. But with average temperatures for March at -28°C, and a record low of -44°C, we can forget our birdspotter’s anorak. Heck, with wind chill factored in, the mercury once hit -62°C, so you might be tempted to leave your entire wardrobe at home, but don't. Jeans and sneakers will get a lot of use when we're not actually out on the land or ice.

It’s time to plan our new wardrobe and then figure out how to get it, because it's not going to be from your typical downtown furrier. Mink, fox or chinchilla are not up to the job, plus we'd prefer not to run up a huge cleaning bill on our return.

What we’re after is fur that’s full of holes.

Hollow Hairs Please

One of the key functions of fur in nature is thermoregulation: helping furbearers stay cool in hot weather and, more importantly, warm when it’s freezing. This is achieved primarily by means of insulation, and one of the greatest insulators is air. Or, to be more precise, trapped air.

Heat travels more slowly through air than through solids or liquids, (For comparison, water is 24 times more effective at conducting heat than air.) Furbearers take advantage of this by trapping air between the dense hairs of their underfur, then sealing it in with their long guard hairs. For us humans, it's a case of dressing in layers: two thin sweaters, with a layer of air between, keep us warmer than one thick one.

But some furbearers, mostly species of deer, have taken it to the next level. Not only do their guard hairs help trap air in the underfur, but those guard hairs also have air trapped permanently inside each one! Commonly known as “hollow” hairs, think more in terms of a honeycomb center, with countless tiny pockets of air. (Click here for an example of a scanning electron micrograph of red deer hairs.)

So we’re going to go with a local favourite in Nunavut, caribou fur.

Caribou must endure bitter cold for months at a time, and they don’t even shiver. How do they do it? It's not all in the fur; a highly efficient means of minimising heat loss known as countercurrent heat exchange functions in their legs and nasal passages. But the key is their winter coats, three inches thick and covering them from nose to hooves, all topped off with those hollow hairs. (Interestingly, it is also these hollow hairs that cause caribou to swim so high out of the water, further conserving heat.)

So we’ll start with a couple of knee-length parkas, not for alternate days but to wear as a pair if needed. The outer parka, worn on its own with the fur on the outside, will be for less cold weather or trips close to home when a sudden change in the weather just means a sprint home. The inner parka will be added, with the fur facing our body (yes, we'll need a shirt or other kind of lining!), when the mercury plummets or we're traveling farther afield.

Since we're not dressing to impress but looking for utilitarian wear, we'll go with plain parkas, not the decorated versions commonly associated with Inuit culture. Caribou hair sheds easily and the hollow shafts are constantly breaking, so decorated parkas are for special occasions only (and for sale to tourists).

And since it's not mid-winter, we'll go with summer caribou skins, which are also those generally used for garments. The hair is shorter than winter skins so they're not as warm, but this also makes them less prone to shedding. Summer skins are also easier to dress than winter skins, and while dressing is said to reduce warmth, it does make them more durable.

And if you're ready to go totally native, caribou pants and socks come next, both with the fur on the inside, then caribou mittens and kamik (traditional footwear) to round off your ensemble.

A word of caution though. Unless you're actually out on the land or ice, dressing head to toe in caribou will make you stand out from the crowd. Plus, propping up the bar in Iqaluit will very quickly cause you to overheat! That's where the jeans and sneakers come in.

Hydrophobic Hood

Before you shell out for your parkas, though, pay particular attention to their most important feature: the hood lining. It must be hydrophobic.

OK, we don’t literally want it to be “hydrophobic” or it would be scared of water. What we want is a strong “hydrophobic effect”, meaning it appears to repel water. (There is no actual repulsion involved, just an absence of attraction.)

The hydrophobic effect can be found everywhere and is essential to life on Earth. Observe a droplet of dew on a leaf. The water and the leaf want nothing to do with each other, to the point where the dew forms a sphere. The hydrophobic effect is also seen in all fur, but some types are more hydrophobic than others.

And why is a hydrophobic hood lining so important? Well, here’s what happens if you don’t have one. You’re out one day when a blizzard blows in and the temperature suddenly drops to -30°C. You pull up your hood with its big, fluffy synthetic lining and laugh at Mother Nature. Next thing you know, your breath is freezing on the lining which then freezes to your face. Lesson learned. You’ll never wear a synthetic hood lining again, at least not in the Arctic.

Better to do it right the first time and go with the ultimate in hydrophobic hood lining, wolverine fur. Since that is not always available, northern grey wolf makes an excellent second choice.

Nature’s Raincoat

But we also need a second outfit, still for time on the land, but for days when caribou will make us feel like a baked potato. The sky is clear and the forecast is for temperatures around freezing. There's a chance of rain and slush underfoot, so being waterproof is paramount. It's time for Nature’s raincoat, sealskin.

People from down south often assume sealskin must be the ultimate in cold-weather clothing, but it’s not the case, and that’s because the species used – mainly ringed seals, as in Nunavut, and harp seals – have no underfur. Sometimes known as "hair seals", their pelts are composed entirely of short, shiny guard hairs.

The "flat" fur that comes from hair seals is not as warm as "true" fur (with underfur), like caribou, but it has some real pluses. Because there is no underfur, sealskin is light. It is also incredibly durable, more so than any other flat fur like calf or antelope (which is why it's used to make rope). Its structure resists wind, its oil content repels rain, and its porosity allows it to breathe (which is why it also makes great tents).

And oh yes, it's virtually waterproof, which is why it's used to skin kayaks.

Sealskins, then, are the Arctic's warm, wet-weather clothing, "warm", of course, being a relative term. Mittens, a lighter parka, and most definitely sealskin boots therefore make it on to our shopping list.

Shopping Time

And now comes the hard part. It's so hard, in fact, that if you're planning a quick in-and-out visit to Nunavut, you're not going to be wearing caribou or ringed seal anyway, so just pack the best of the rest. Unfortunately, buying an outfit of traditional Nunavut clothing is, like hollow hairs and hydrophobia, amazing - amazingly hard!

Forget about buying outfits off the peg, in Iqaluit or anywhere else. It's not going to happen, though not for want of trying. Efforts have been made in Nunavut over the years to establish a garment industry with ensured availability from suppliers and standardised sizes and prices, but all to no end. The workforce with the necessary skills - older women, with kids to care for, working from home - have not taken to the idea of a production line.

So what to do? You can sign up for an expensive sport-hunting package and get the clothing, including a decorated parka made of dressed skins, thrown in. Finding someone to make it then becomes your tour operator's headache.

Or you turn up in Iqaluit, ask around, negotiate hard, and be prepared to pay $1,500+ for a plain caribou parka, pants, kamik and mittens - and that's summer skins, probably not dressed. If you're staying a month, it should be ready by the time you're heading home.

The good news is that Canadian harp seal garments can be bought on-line (here or here, for example), provided you don't live in a country that denies you the freedom to import them. Which brings us to the last amazing fact about seal fur.

Nonsensical Bans

Almost all sealskin garments come from healthy populations of either harp seals or ringed seals. So healthy are these populations that the International Union for the Conservation of Nature (IUCN) classifies both harp and ringed seals as "Least Concern".

And yet two of the biggest potential markets for seal products, the US and the EU, are closed for no good reason.

SEE ALSO: EU SEALING POLICY IS HYPOCRITICAL, ANTI-DEMOCRATIC

The US has banned imports of all seal products since 1972 under the Marine Mammal Protection Act, legislation that is fiercely defended by the nation's animal activist community.

In the EU, the ban went into effect in 2009, since when the European Commission has made a pig's ear of justifying it because it can't. Everyone knows the ban was passed not for any rational reason, or even to satisfy popular demand, but because it was bought and paid for by lobbyists in Brussels working for animal rights groups.

Now, true to their reputation for feeble-minded solutions (like the bendy banana law), Brussels' finest have sought to placate Canada's angry Inuit by exempting them from the ban. Not surprisingly, many Inuit representatives have called the gesture colonialistic and racist, so we'll see how that works out!

Truly, the politics of fur are no less amazing than the science and cultural traditions of this beautiful, warm and sustainable natural resource. Send us a postcard from Iqaluit!

The animal rights movement claims to be motivated above all by the desire to save animals – each and every one of them – from harm at the hands of humans. It also claims to support conservation efforts since it is in the wild that all animals should be living out their long and happy lives. In reality, its agenda is more anti-human than pro-animal, and its impact on true conservation efforts has been nothing but negative.

I grew up in northern Ontario with lots of fishing and hunting and some trapping in my extracurricular activities. Later I went to work in the Northwest Territories and Nunavut, first with the Hudson’s Bay Company, then with Inuit cooperatives, and finally with the Department of Environment of the Government of Nunavut.

My day-to-day contact with Inuit educated me about respectful and sustainable use of wildlife resources. I saw over three decades in the far north (I am now retired) how the animal rights agenda harmed the Inuit, driving them into industrial and less-sustainable alternatives and self-esteem-crippling welfare. It became clear to me that the animal right activists, those that play a leadership/ideological role, do not care about people.

And when you consider how their activities ultimately remove responsible users/stewards from the environment, it is evident that they do not care that much about species wellbeing or ecosystem preservation. Their focus is on the individual life, and the life of a rat or a rabbit is equal to that of a person – actually more than equal, as humans are considered to be tainted and therefore not welcome to participate in this conversation.

Animal rights activists, as opposed to real environmentalists, hate when you point out that their campaigns are anti-human rather than pro-animal.

When I first left the north to complete my masters degree, I picked up pretty quick on what has been happening on our university campuses. I learned that capitalism and profit were dirty words. Even if Russia was falling from grace by that time, there was still faith that China and Cuba would reveal socialism as the true salvation.

Then, when I returned much later to begin a doctorate, I learned that it was now cool to be anti-globalist – and that term seemed to include anything touching on business that could lead to a profit or at least a surplus. There was little interest in discussing what kinds of enterprise might be acceptable, even Inuit Cooperatives or Hunters and Trappers Associations which help people to sustain their traditions and mixed economies at the community level in remote areas. The rigidity of thought was frightening.

Stifling Intellectual Atmosphere

The intelligentsia found in the social sciences departments of universities were a major part of the problem; they were rarely interested in stimulating real dialogue about the complex subject of human use of wildlife resources. The articles selected for student reading, the research topics accepted by graduate committees, the entrenched simplification of bad capitalist/Western society/man as wildlife user made intellectual conversations in the university community quite predictable, in an extremely stifling atmosphere.

I came to see a disturbing affinity between the animal rights movement and the anti-capitalist cum anti-globalist mindset so prevalent on campus. Both pushed an agenda no less extreme and unreasoning than those who endorse a kill-anything-that-moves or pure capitalist ideology – except that the latter gave way to more adaptable and sustainable forms long ago.

Interesting how both "anti" camps (anti-harvest and anti-capitalist) need to demonize their opponents. I guess the complexities of real life make it more difficult to mount fund-raising or political campaigns?

SEE ALSO: WHY IS FUR SO CONTROVERSIAL AND WHY SHOULD IT MATTER?

Real World Is Not Disney

Yesterday the title of a storybook caught my eye.  It was The Childhood of Young Animals which looked at the early stages of animals of different species. The animal rights folks must be smiling to see young animals called "children". Luckily, my 5-year-old son seems to have an admirable ability to distinguish between the fantasy content of storybooks and Disney movies and the real lessons of the world.

Too bad the animal-rights proponents cannot do the same. If they could, they would have more respect for aboriginal and rural peoples who live outside the highly industrial and urbanized mainstream. And they might save true environmentalism from being discredited by their own sensationalistic and misleading rhetoric.

Except to a very few people, a rabbit or a rat are not equal to a human being, because the rabbit and the rat will never see the big picture, and will never feel any responsibility for other animals except their own litters. True, most human beings will never sacrifice their child's life for an animal of another species. But they will educate their young to protect the continuation of wildlife and nature in general – because our own future survival depends upon it.

Adapting to the realities of life on this planet requires careful thought and reasoning, feedback and new insights, compromise and adjustments to thought and practice. These, unfortunately, are not qualities that animal rights activists have shown much interest in developing.