An extract from “Giving Bear-th – An Exploration into Recent Revelations Regarding the Migratory Habits of the Ursine Genus in Search of Parental Fulfilment”

                 It is not yet common knowledge, but all bears are born in the same place. It’s true. We found this out only recently. Somewhere out in the wilds of Alaska - nowhere you’ve heard of, nowhere you could get to easily, and nowhere you’d want to, certainly not at the end of winter. That’s when they congregate. We used to think they hibernated the whole time but now we know otherwise. They wake up a couple of weeks before we think they’re going to, and head off on their journey. When we think they’re still sleeping. They leave extra early in the morning so we don’t notice, when it’s still dark. It’s a very good idea, so it’s not too late when they arrive. And they can grab a good spot in the wilderness. It’s amazing, really.
                 
Of course, that’s just your average American bear I’m talking about. The browns and the blacks and what have you. To get to Alaska in a day’s travelling – that’s no slouch. But think of our international friends! The Giant Pandas and Asian Honey Bears and Russkis and such. Their journeys are long and treacherous, crossing oceans and mountains, and still they come to Alaska to join their beary kin in the honourable pursuit of propagating the species.
                 
So all these bears flock to the same square mile or so in the Alaskan wilderness, all ready to birth their cubs. Don’t ask me how they do it. That question remains unanswered for the time being. Perhaps it’s something inbuilt in their brains, passed from generation to generation. Wonderful thing, evolution. If you go in for that sort of thing. Or maybe it’s an instinct caught from all the salmon they eat, like a virus. It’s hard to know what you’ll get with fish, especially when it’s raw.
                 
Our understanding of this phenomenon is in its infancy. Our fellow scientists are beavering away, trying to fill in the many, many blanks – why the bears do it, how long it has been going on, and, most particularly, how they have managed to sneak past the observation points all this time. The ecologically-minded among us have recording equipment set up in all the big parks and general ursine haunts, to prepare to catch the awakening of the bears from their long winter’s rest – or what we thought was the awakening. Leaving their den unnoticed is a considerable achievement.
                 
We can admit technology isn’t perfect, but there must be a more satisfactory explanation. Perhaps the Hanna Barbara cartoons were more accurate than we could have imagined. After all, while slipping out quietly is hardly as noteworthy a crime as petty theft (of pic-i-nic baskets, for example), it’s certainly a sneakiness emanating from the same hemisphere of the brain. And you may not have even been aware that bears use their brains. In fact, the ursine mind is more advanced than any of us could have realised. Through a series of recent incidents, detailed so extensively online that there is no reason to elaborate here, we have slowly become aware that their brain activity is much more considerable than we thought - to get technical, somewhere in the region of the ten to fifteen percentile, rather than the two to three previously assigned. It appears that these great beasts have been greatly underestimated.
                 
But we are losing sight of things. Let’s take a closer look instead. Picture the throng: masses of bodies, huge, hulking, throbbing with brute strength and rug-like intensity, piled on top of each other, crawling and moving as one, like a rat king. The landscape, once white and peaceful, has been camouflaged, drowning in many different shades of brown – interesting to note, by the way, that two of the species are significantly absent from the affair. Most apparently, the Polar Bear. Apart from the odd speckle of maturity, no pollution of white fur invades the sprawling group. As observation is still continuing, we can only offer theories to explain this. Perhaps the distance is simply too great. Or maybe their reputation as a ruthless killer precedes them. Whatever the reason, the Polar Bear is not invited to the party.
                 
The other absent genera is, of course, the Zoo Bear. This explains firstly why bears procreate so rarely in captivity, and secondly, why they always look so sad.

                 
This yearly occurrence has been provisionally titled, pending approval, the Cliff Rudeski Phenomenon, after the gentleman who discovered it. The late Cliff Rudeski was a self-described “outdoorsman and all round good guy”. He came across the flock on a hunting trip in search of the endangered Sneak-toed Muskrats. When he reported back to his “crew” and the group returned with him to observe the bears, they were unfortunately attacked by an exterior sleuth who disposed of Mr Rudeski, and it is in tribute to him and his significant contribution to the study of ursine reproductive activity that we name this discovery after him.
                 
Despite the tragic nature of this encounter, one cannot help but feel a thrill. Imagine, experiencing the sight, so unexpected, so unearthly – surely one of the very last things you would anticipate when following the turn of the river through the wooded icescape. Thousands and thousands of bears, thickset and heavy with labour, engaged in the most primal act under an ancient sky, miles and miles from the blemishments of human activity and industry. I admit I have often dreamt myself of being in the late Mr Rudeski’s shoes, witnessing something that, to our knowledge, no human eyes have ever seen before. And even as the wave of bears swept towards me, pounding instinct of protecting the species, with teeth glinting and deafening roars telling me I had come too far, I would feel honoured that Nature had deigned to reveal its secrets to one so unworthy as myself. I get a chill as I imagine how close we were to never knowing about it, if Mr Rudeski’s presence had been noticed on his first visit, or if he had lacked the ingenuity to attract his fellow hunters to the site.
                 
It is easy, for non-scientific minds at least, to dismiss the discovery. Sure it’s impressive to see that many bears in one place, they think, but how does it really affect us? And the answer is simple – this could be worth everything. There are as many varied issues stemming from this phenomenon as there are bears spawning in Alaska at winter’s end. To give one example – the effect on the Alaskan soil, with generations of placenta and uteral discharge nourishing the land. Never before have botanists had an opportunity to study the long-term effects of such a thing. One might theorise that the by-materials of birth would yield rich, fertile ground – yet I am inclined to recall the story of an aunt on my mother’s side who buried her youngest’s afterbirth at the foot of an ash tree at the bottom of the garden, only for it to whither and die over the course of the passing months. But I am not a botanist.
                 
Another example is the concept that bears have some kind of homing instinct, compelling them to return to this hallowed birthing place, like the pigeon. It may be an instinct that has emerged through evolution, and this creates a further conundrum: how long exactly has this been going on? Is it a recent occurrence resulting from deforestation and man’s rape of the land, or a grand tradition stretching back for hundreds – or even thousands – of years? Could bears, for instance, have discovered the Americas before Columbus? And if so, where are their statues and tributes? The discovery does shine a new light on the myths of the indigenous people of Alaska, who speak of the great hunting beasts gathering in ice to birth its seed. Could a new interpretation of these ancient tales provide a clue to the timescale of this event?
                 
And these theories are merely the product of one mind’s work. The importance of this discovery is, in scientific terms, inconceivable at this time, and we eagerly await the opportunity to study the habits and behaviour, and the resulting impact on its surroundings. As we speak, countless teams from universities all over the world have descended upon that small area, primed and ready to observe this year’s rendition.
                 
The latest updates are not positive. As yet, not a single bear has been sighted, and already a week has passed since they were expected. But as they say, science is ninety per cent observation and ten per cent justification, or as we like to say around the lab, ten per cent litigation. So we remain confident that we will witness this year’s Rudeski Phenomenon as normal, and I’m sure findings will be deeply interesting. We have much to learn from these majestic beasts.