There's something profoundly relatable about watching a walrus haul itself onto an ice floe. That grunting, shuffling effort the way they collapse in an ungainly heap afterward, whiskers twitching with what can only be described as exhausted satisfaction feels deeply, almost embarrassingly human.
We don't often think of walruses as kindred spirits. They're odd looking creatures, after all, with their tusked faces and blubbery bulk. But spend any time observing these Arctic dwellers, and you'll find they share more with us than you might expect.
The Social Butterfly of the Frozen North
Walruses are incurable extroverts. They gather in massive haul outs sometimes thousands strong piled atop one another like concertgoers at a festival who've given up on personal space. They're tactile, affectionate, and surprisingly chatty. Their repertoire of sounds includes bell like chimes, barks, growls, and whistles that echo across the ice like gossip traveling through a crowded café.
And like humans, they have their favorite companions. Studies show walruses form bonds, returning to the same individuals year after year. They recognize each other's voices, remember grudges, and apparently enjoy just hanging out together even when there's no particular survival reason to do so. It's community for community's sake something we can surely understand.
The Anxious Perfectionist Parent
Mother walruses are devoted to the point of neurosis. They nurse their calves for up to two years, one of the longest nursing periods of any mammal. During this time, they're fiercely protective, constantly vigilant, teaching their young everything from how to find the best clams to the politics of haul out hierarchy.
If a calf becomes separated in the chaos of a crowded ice floe, the mother's distress calls are heartbreaking a desperate, trumpeting search that continues until they're reunited. Other females will sometimes help protect or even nurse orphaned calves, a kind of communal childcare that speaks to both empathy and shared responsibility.
The Stressed Out Commuter
Here's where things get uncomfortably familiar: walruses are dealing with a housing crisis. Climate change has reduced their preferred ice platforms, forcing larger and larger groups to crowd onto smaller spaces or onto rocky shores that their bodies weren't really designed for. The stress is visible. Haul outs have become more chaotic, more competitive, more dangerous.
When spooked by a polar bear, a boat, or even a low flying aircraft panic stampedes occur. Walruses crush each other in their desperation to reach the water, particularly the young and weak. It's a tragedy born of circumstances beyond their control, of a world changing faster than they can adapt. If that doesn't mirror the human experience of navigating systems not built for our well being, I don't know what does.
The Skilled Professional
Despite their lumbering appearance on land, walruses are masters of their craft. They can dive to depths of 300 feet, holding their breath for up to 30 minutes while they hunt. Their whiskers those magnificent, sensitive bristles can detect a clam buried in sediment from inches away. They're using specialized tools (those whiskers) with expert precision, not unlike a surgeon with a scalpel or a craftsperson with their instrument of choice.
And those tusks? Not just for show. Walruses use them as ice picks to haul themselves from the water hence the name, from the Old Norse hrosshvalr, meaning horse whale. They use them to establish social rank, to defend themselves, even to maintain breathing holes in the ice. They're multi-tools carried everywhere, the Arctic equivalent of a smartphone.
The Contemplative Sunbather
Perhaps the most endearing walrus quality is their apparent love of just. being. On a calm Arctic day, haul outs become spas. Walruses bask in the sun, shifting their massive bodies to catch the best angle of warmth. Their skin changes from grayish brown to pink as blood vessels dilate in the heat a visible flush of contentment.
They seem, in these moments, to be doing nothing of survival value. They're not feeding, mating, or evading predators. They're simply existing in whatever comfort they can find, enjoying the company of others, soaking up the rare Arctic sun.
It's a reminder that not everything needs purpose. Sometimes existence itself with others who understand you, in a place you call home is enough.
Looking Across the Ice
The walrus doesn't ask to be our mirror, but there it is anyway. social, devoted, anxious, skilled, and searching for comfort in an increasingly uncomfortable world. They face their challenges with the same mixture of resilience and vulnerability that defines our own species.
Next time you see a walrus in a documentary, at an aquarium, or in a photograph look past the tusks and the whiskers. Look for the neighbor crammed into an overcrowded space, the parent worrying about their child, the professional practicing their craft, the friend seeking companionship.
You might just recognize someone you know.#walrus @Walrus 🦭/acc $WAL
