IN the 12 years since Troy Hurtubise started building grizzly bear-proof
suits, he’s lost his business, risked his life and endured the jeers of
sceptics. But, with the UN and firefighters showing interest in his work, the
last laugh might still be his. After making half a dozen prototypes, Hurtubise
is convinced that his latest—the Ursus Mark VII—will be just the
ticket. And if it is, miners, police and sportspeople could also be placing
orders.
The suit, dubbed the “G-man Genesis”, will be tough enough to withstand an
attack by a 400-kilogram grizzly bear. OK, so the suit hasn’t been built yet,
and it hasn’t come anywhere near a real lunging, swiping, clawing bear—but
Hurtubise’s heroic efforts to demonstrate the strength of his last model, the
Ursus Mark VI, prove that he’s not one to shy away from rigorous field-testing.
Locked up inside the Mark VI, for instance, Hurtubise survived two strikes
with a 136-kilogram tree trunk, 18 collisions with a 3-tonne truck at 50
kilometres an hour, an assault by bow and arrow from a top-ranking archer, a few
shots from a 12-bore shotgun, and a 50-metre tumble down the Niagara escarpment.
Not to mention an attack by three bikers wielding axes, planks and baseball
bats. And, he says, Mark VII should be even better.
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It all sounds exciting, but why the need for grizzly protection in the first
place? It began when Hurtubise was head-butted by a grey-bearded old grizzly
back in 1984. “The bear didn’t kill me,” he marvels. Ever since, he’s been
longing to go back into bear country and stand face to face with the beast. And
to watch without fear.
He’s become increasingly obsessed with black bears as well as grizzlies, and
spends a lot of time testing bear-repellent chemicals. “They don’t work,” he
concludes. But testing repellents is his excuse to study bears up close.
Hurtubise is part Ojibway Indian and is forced to do most of his observing on
Native land since the Canadian government has accused him of bear harassment.
“I’m the world’s pioneer of close-quarter bear research,” he says, rather too
earnestly. Too little is known about the creatures, he laments.
No one has ever observed the bears during hibernation, for example. He
imagines that the suit might someday allow him to fix a heat-activated video
camera inside a bear’s den so zoologists can observe the long slumber. “I’m
going to film the entire thing,” he says. He also wants to record the birth of a
grizzly cub in the wild, something that’s never been seen before. “I have the
suit. Nobody else does,” he says. “I’ll be the first one in to do it.”
You have to have a lot of confidence in your gear if you’re going to hang out
with grizzlies. To prove his point, in 1995 Hurtubise donned his Mark VI and put
himself directly in harm’s way. A male grizzly had been attacking tourists near
Lake Louise, Alberta, so Hurtubise seized the chance. He flew in with his bear
team—a combination of sharpshooters and field technicians—the suit
was airlifted in by helicopter and a film crew was on the scene to record the
long-awaited encounter.
Alas, when Hurtubise was sealed into his bear-proof suit, he found he
couldn’t climb the 100 metres that would take him onto the edge of the bear’s
territory. “I can’t take two steps without falling on my face,” he cursed at the
time. Meanwhile, the bear ambled around and ignored him.
The biggest improvement in the Mark VII, he says, will be its flexibility.
“I’ll be able to drive a car in it,” he jokes. He estimates it will weigh about
54 kilograms—12 kilograms lighter than the Mark VI—mainly due to its
construction from Boralyn-E5, a new aluminium and boron composite produced by
Alyn Corporation in Los Angeles. “It’s a mighty metal,” says Hurtubise,
“stronger than titanium and lighter than aluminium.” Another feature of the new
suit is that it will come in two pieces, allowing him to get inside the thing
all by himself—unlike his earlier versions which were just too bulky to
put on without help.
While a patent is pending, Hurtubise won’t say too much about the design of
the Mark VII. It will have an endoskeleton and an exoskeleton as well as airbags
and something Hurtubise calls a “honeycomb system” in between to absorb impact.
But he’ll reveal little about the suit’s joints, except that they are “ten years
ahead of their time”.
Eventually, he hopes, the G-man Genesis will be fitted with the latest in
bear observation gear—infrared and thermal night vision and an on-board
camera to record the action. On the left arm will be a “bite bar”, to register
the power of a grizzly’s chomp. Hurtubise bills the suit as cold-proof,
fireproof, weatherproof and even bulletproof. For comfort, it comes with a
cooling system, a one-hour emergency oxygen supply—and a black box, to
record any last words should the other features fail.
It can be yours for just $500 000. Who’d be crazy enough to buy a bear
suit, you ask? Well, not grizzly scientists it turns out. Hurtubise approached a
few field stations, among them one in Glacier National Park, Montana, but the
researchers weren’t interested—they’re sticking with their regular outdoor
gear to do their bear work.
But a couple of fire departments have been making inquiries, says Hurtubise.
They are wondering if such a suit might come in handy during an emergency. The
UN is also showing interest, he says, since the G-man Genesis could be ideal
attire for those defusing land mines. “They can be custom-made,” he says. “The
UN probably won’t want a bite bar.” Miners, volcano researchers, observers of
tigers, even riot control or military forces could benefit from the suit.
Hurtubise has now set up two companies to market the suit and to take care of
sportswear spin-offs. Thirteen patent applications have been made on inventions
stemming from Marks III through VI, and one has so far been granted. That’s for
the “airjohn”, essentially long underwear with a special cushion of compressed
air that can offer protection against injury in games like ice hockey. A new ice
hockey helmet is also on the drawing board.
If all goes well, Hurtubise stands to make a bit of money back for the 12
years and $100 000 he’s invested. That’s welcome news. Since the collapse
of his scrap metal business a few years back, his financial situation hasn’t
been great.
He was forced to declare bankruptcy, so his creditors seized his
assets—chief among them, of course, the Ursus Mark VI. They will be
auctioning off the seven-foot-tall, red and white titanium and rubber
Goliath in the second week of the new year. In the meantime, they charge
$500 for each public appearance—and it’s been making the Hollywood
talk-show rounds, from Roseanne to The Tonight Show. “I
take it out at a specific time and have to return it at a specific time,” says
Hurtubise.
In a fit of generosity, however, the creditors allowed the suit to go free
with Hurtubise when he collected his Ig-Nobel prize in Boston earlier this
year—though his trustee was never out of sight. Sadly, even a bear-proof
suit can’t protect a man from corporate animals.