Word: ices
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: during 1960-1969
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
Females flop onto the smoother ice to bear their offspring. The newborn pups, plump bundles of snow-white fur, with limpid dark eyes and chic whiskers, spend a full month bleating helplessly on the ice and fattening on the richest maternal milk produced by any mammal. At the end of the month, when their fur darkens, they are ready for the water...
...killing continues until 50,000 pups, the legal limit, have been slaughtered. Then, after ten days or so, the Canadian hunters move on to "the front," the edge of the Arctic ice off Labrador, where they and Norwegian hunters slay perhaps another 200,000 seals in the course of a 13-day no-limit hunting season. In most years-this year so far has been disastrous for the hunters because of patch ice-fishermen and farmers from the Atlantic provinces can hope to make from $600 to $1,000 for their brief moonlighting stint as swilers and thereby double their...
Outrageously Inappropriate. A veteran swiler can complete a kill in less than a minute. The hunter, his face smeared with seal blood to cut down ice glare and prevent chapping, grabs a 60-lb. pup by a hind flipper, whacks it on its soft skull, spins the pup over, punctures the throat and then neatly skins away pelt, flippers and blubber with swift strokes of a razor-sharp knife. The process commences at dawn, continues until dark and turns the once pristine ice into an ugly palette of dirtied snow, crimson blood sprays and grotesquely skinned carcasses. Watching this month...
...hunters, Canada may turn the St. Lawrence Gulf into a seal sanctuary. Even the grizzled swilers should be relieved. They do not particularly enjoy the annual bloodbath themselves. Newfoundlanders have odd names for almost everything; a spring storm is "Sheila's brush," strong tea is "switchel" and floating ice is variously described as "growlers," "bergy hits" and "dumpers." But where biologists clinically refer to female seals as cows, the craggy Newfoundlanders never do. To them, they are always "mothers...
...trying to get somewhere," he observed later. But by the time he started to paint, he had already got somewhere, and his imagination ranged back to those delightful cow paths. He painted youngsters playing leapfrog, Christmas carolers practicing around the family piano, Kansans enjoying an ice-cream strawberry social...