In a year of heightened political polarization, there’s one candidate that rises above the rest. He’s a candidate for greatness. A candidate for change. He campaigns on a platform of success, skill, efficiency, and hard work. He is known simply as 747 and he deserves your vote for Fat Bear Week.

We're not here to sway your #FatBearWeek vote, but consider the facts: it's only August and 747's rotund butt is already on the struggle bus. pic.twitter.com/TCBBEYGmAa

— explore.org (@exploreorg) August 25, 2020

Seven-four-seven is a titan, a tank, and a giant among bears. Holly might pledge a “salmon in every paw,” but 747 pledges just to eat salmon.

6/ 747… It's Time, by Marc Jordan pic.twitter.com/Ef859Ouxzu

— explore.org (@exploreorg) September 28, 2020

Seven-four-seven’s size is legend. At the Brooks River, few bears approach his size class, and as a result he has consistently ranked among the river’s most dominant bears. His measured size even surprised me, however. Through a novel use of terrestrial laser scanning technology, he was estimated to weigh more than 1,400 pounds in September 2019. This summer he appears to be at least as large, but I suspect he’s even bigger.

A bear can’t get this big without eating a lot of food, and Brooks River provides 747 with ample opportunity to get fat. Brooks River is part of the Bristol Bay watershed, an area that supports the last great salmon run on Earth. While salmon runs throughout much of North America struggle to cope with the combined impacts of impassible dams, incompatible land-use changes, and climate change, Bristol Bay continues to support tens of millions of salmon each year. Almost 58 million fish collectively returned to Bristol Bay in 2020, and the salmon run in the Naknek River watershed was exceptional. More than four million sockeye swam up the Naknek River between mid June and late July. The Naknek drainage may have supported the largest single salmon run on Earth this year. About twenty percent of those salmon–maybe 800,000 fish–entered Brooks River.

At Brooks Falls, 747 sat or stood waiting for his meals to come to him. He consistently capitalized on the vulnerability of salmon in the shallow, bubble-filled water. For a winter hibernator like 747, an individual who must eat a year’s worth of food in fewer than six months to survive, efficiency is a valuable trait to express.

(Bear 747, by scooter)

This exceptional ursus-potamus
is big from top to bottomus
He travels at a trotamus
and sheds when days are hotamus

Because he eats a lotamus
he's practically a yachtamus
So it's a cinch to spotamus
this exceptional ursus-potamus!#FatBearWeek pic.twitter.com/BjfTbQ7jwX

— explore.org (@exploreorg) September 23, 2020

Some pundits have called my support for 747 unwavering. Yet, I’m always on the lookout for a better candidate. This year, however, I’ve failed to find evidence of another Fat Bear Week contender that is fatter than 747. Whether you look at fatness as a proportional measure of body size or just through overall size, 747 has both bases covered.

A police department in Colorado even mistook 747 for a large boulder the size of a small boulder.

One person [who I am married to but will go unnamed] has maybe jokingly called me the “worst campaign manager ever,” because my candidate never wins. She might be correct. Despite my prior lobbying efforts, 747 has yet to win Fat Bear Week. Over the last several years, 747 has been snubbed by the voting public who viewed competitors like Otis, Lefty, Beadnose, and Holly as proportionally fatter.

But mark my words, dear readers. This is 747’s year. Cast your Fat Bear Week vote for the bear who shares an identification number with a jet airplane.