Igloo Invasion

One of the most difficult aspects of writing a weekly column is coming up with a new idea each week. When I was carefully considering some possibilities for this particular column, one literally almost jumped up and bit me. Some friends and I had skied into the Tonquin Valley in Jasper, and were just getting ready to retire into our igloo when a pair of eyes caught the attention of one of my companions. They were quickly identified as belonging to a marten, an animal well known as a marauder of igloos and snow caves. A friend of one member of our party had been bitten on the face by a marten while in a snow cave.

Quite large for a weasel, it was almost 50 cm long with a dark upper body and lighter underside. Incredibly bold, it walked up to within three or four metres of us before we were able to scare it away with a chunk of snow. Martens are a voracious predator, hunting as many rodents and grouse as possible during the winter, and supplementing this diet with carrion or by scavenging (we qualified as the latter). Knowing that our problems were likely not over yet we prepared our camp. Martens are agile tree climbers, often retiring to the security of a high branch after long evening hunts. This meant that hanging our food in the tiny spruce surrounding our sub-alpine camp was out of the question. All edibles were brought into the igloo and the packs securely closed and left outside. One pack was used to block the entrance. Anyone who has any dealing with weasels, and martens in particular, would know how futile these attempts at keeping him out would prove--and we were soon to find out.

About an hour after heading to bed, I heard a 'scratch, scratch, scratch'. As I looked up, the martens head appeared like a periscope in the entrance. Kicking my legs and yelling obscenities quickly scared it off, and it retreated growling to the outside of the igloo. There was one major problem though. It had learned that we were harmless, and could only yell and kick our legs to scare it off. It became bolder and bolder, often standing right at our feet growling at us while it carefully rummaged through our food bags faster than we could scare it out.

This went on for about eight or nine episodes--it growling and grabbing and us kicking and screaming. Eventually I tried another tactic and growled right back at it (I can do a fair imitation of a cougar growl) and surprisingly enough, that was the last we saw of it. The large cats are one of the few predators, along with fishers, that the marten has to worry about.

After finally getting some sleep we unsealed the igloo and ventured out. This marten had gotten into two of the packs--through the zippers. We had carefully closed everything up before heading to bed, yet several zippers had been opened wide and the contents scattered. Horror or horrors, Jennifer's wallet was gone--along with all her credit cards and our backcountry permit. After a few minutes I discovered it back near our privy and yes, the credit cards were still there.