I’m spending my summer with walruses.
OK, small revision: I’m spending my summer watching walruses. On the Internet. There’s a webcam on Round Island, Alaska, at explore.org
And I’m infatuated with all of their mustachioed marvelousness.
I would like to hug them.
It’s summer in Tucson. The mind wanders to cooler climes.
My walrus crush began with a 2012 New York Times story about Mitik and Pakak, two baby walruses who were rescued and nursed back to health at the Alaska SeaLife Center, an aquarium and ocean wildlife rescue center in Seward, Alaska.
Mitik was being moved to the New York Aquarium. And there was a photo.
Those eyes, that mustache.
Baby walruses need to be touched — walruses are very social animals — and the Alaska SeaLife Center has videos of staff members sitting with Mitik and Pakak on the floor, nestled up. It looked like the greatest job in the world.
People, especially in journalism, say you need a Plan B in life. A reporter friend and I have decided that if we ever change careers we’ll become professional walrus cuddlers. I’ve been practicing by hugging Olivia the wienerdog at home. My friend’s cat isn’t nearly as accommodating with the cuddler training regimen, as it turns out, but we’ll be ready if called upon to serve.
Watching the walrus cam, it appears at first glance that not a lot is happening. Numerous rotund mammals flopped up on the beach or shore rocks trying to snooze. Not much to see.
But, like a lot in life, it’s boring only if you’re not paying attention.
The walruses who haul out on to the shores of Round Island, Alaska, are males spending their summer months lounging together while the ladies are elsewhere with their calves.
These guys form a constantly schnuffing, shifting pile. They come out of the water, making the transition from graceful to galumph. They hoist themselves onto land with their flippers and try to find a place to nap. Finding a place to put your tusks is always a challenge.
It’s more complicated than it sounds. As in probably every crowd — human, pinniped or otherwise — there are identifiable types.
There’s always that one guy — you know the one, the jerk who doesn’t care that he’s trampling everyone to get where he wants to go. He’s the walrus equivalent of the pushy person in the grocery checkout line, the one with 23 items in the 15-items-or-less express lane who impatiently nudges the customer in front of him with his cart.
And there are those who can tune out everyone else, content in their own worlds. The walruses make room for each other, usually, but not without some poking with tusks or slapping flippers. Squabbles frequently break out, but that’s of no concern to talented sleepers who remain undisturbed by the fracas, using each other as blubbery pillows.
I don’t know if there are any life lessons or morals to the story of the walrus cam. There are big issues, like global warming and the negative effects humans often have on our animal neighbors.
Not to cast those aside, but sometimes it’s OK to focus on the small parts of life for a while, to recognize ourselves in other creatures, and them in us.
Sometimes it’s enough to simply pay attention.
