The Arctic Part V

The tundra buggy parked parallel to Hudson Bay offering each traveller an unspoiled view of this Arctic vista, made even more special by the fact that a mother polar bear was passing by with her two young cubs. Everyone on board remained silent, not wanting to draw fear–or ire–from them. The only sound audible was the steady click of a camera lens. I tried to take everything in, marvelling at the beauty and wonder of nature laid before me in what started as a feeling of being overwhelmed by it but then evolved to sadness at how the passing of time (and climate change) would alter it in the future. Thought of the hardship these majestic creatures face, including their potential extinction, left me misty-eyed. What will the Arctic look like in one hundred years? I felt very blessed to see it now.

You may wonder how the world’s largest land predator could sneak up on anything, but on the tundra they are cloaked perfectly by their surroundings. It is only until you observe the slightest of movement that you realize the rock in front of you is actually a polar bear curled in slumber. And that is what the mother bear and her two curious and playful cubs encountered next (and for the remainder of our excursion).

Sensing a potential threat in the immediate vicinity, the mother bear paused and stood on her hind legs sniffing at the air as the cubs continued to frolic unaware. Within a few minutes, she hurriedly turned around nudging her cubs to follow, which they did diligently. A large male bear who, up until then, had been asleep a couple dozen yards away twitched and also scoped the immediate area. The mood on the tundra buggy noticeably shifted as we were reminded that we are in the wild and these were wild animals; in nature, male polar bears may attack and kill cubs for sustenance or to mate with the mother, thus securing their own line of succession.

Can you spot the bear in this photo? (©2024, Deborah Clague).

As the mother bear and her cubs escaped, the large male returned to slumber and our tundra buggy driver decided upon another location for us to enjoy lunch.

Not too far away, another large male polar bear was lounging in the snow. We parked next to it and I enjoyed a delicious roast beef sandwich with warm soup, thinking to myself “how many people can say they dined with an actual polar bear?” Now I, for one, could! When not actively hunting or in pursuit, these creatures are actually quite lazy, spending most of their day conserving energy for when it counts. This unfazed bear stayed next to us for an hour as we ate. In a few day’s time, once Hudson Bay was frozen over and his long seasonal trek across it would begin, his life would be much different.

My lunch date, Churchill, Manitoba (©2024, Deborah Clague).

Looping around Polar Bear Point, we again came across the mother bear with her two cubs. It appeared she was trying to take her family north but a gauntlet of male polar bears inhibited her progress including one who gave chase before seeming to give up and turn away. We then watched her turn west, crossing the curiously named “No Pants Lake”. As it was almost time to head back for the day, the setting and light offered one last chance to preserve our memory. I made my way to the open deck of the tundra buggy for a clearer shot. It was getting quite cold and few other travellers joined me, save for an older gentleman with a set of binoculars.

“There’s another bear stalking her” he said to me.

“Where?” I asked, while squinting to see where it was. The man handed me his binoculars and pointed to a ridge of tall grass on the opposite side of the lake. Sure enough, if you looked ever so closely, there was a cream-coloured shape stealthily moving towards the mother bear and her cubs. She would get no rest today.

The mother bear seemed to know that the tundra buggies might provide safety and she headed directly our way with the male bear in pursuit, now completely visible as they all made their way across the frozen lake. Once covered by us, she darted into the tall grass terrain herself and seemingly disappeared. In comparison, the male bear took time to investigate the tundra buggies offering the day’s most up-close and personal view of their stature and strength. It was an unforgettable moment to end an unforgettable day.

The mother bear and her cubs cross No Pants Lake (©2024, Deborah Clague).

An up close and personal polar bear encounter in Churchill, Manitoba (©2024, Deborah Clague).

Polar Bear Point, Churchill, Manitoba (©2024, Deborah Clague).

At Hudson Bay, Churchill, Manitoba (©2024, Deborah Clague).

The Arctic, Part IV

A few moments after squinting to see that far-off bear, there was another spotting. This bear though was closer and striding towards our tundra buggy. With much excitement I reached for my digital camera, a once high-end model that I had set aside for years in favour of the ease and convenience of my iPhone. But on a trip like this, a bucket list excursion, I felt I needed something better. I tested my camera for a week beforehand to ensure it still worked. Fully charged the battery and purchased a new SD card … only to have it crap out on the tundra buggy, my moment to capture the first close encounter of a polar bear fading away as I feebly tried to conduct repair. All of my photos were captured on my phone. Not bad but not great. Thankfully my mind has 4K memory.

Continuing along, we made our way to Polar Bear Point, probably the best location for observing the majestic creature. Frontiers North has a “lodge” at the location made up of several outfitted tundra buggies connected together that include sleeping quarters, a lounge, dining car, and a rooftop deck to observe the aurora borealis. You can literally fall asleep and wake up next to polar bears at your window:

The Frontiers North lodge at Polar Bear Point, Churchill, Manitoba (©2024, Deborah Clague).

Still on our tour though, I overheard our driver communicating with another.

“Einstein is on site” relayed the other tundra buddy driver. I figured it was slang terminology for various members of their team. I could see outside my window there were two workers inspecting a tire at the lodge. One had a shotgun slung over his shoulder. Our driver also noticed and informed us that it is mandatory at all times for workers to be partnered up, with one carrying a weapon. Polar bears were huge but also stealth; he relayed warning about how you may have one circling you, only to realize (too late) that each circle is winding closer and closer. I have also heard that if you see a polar bear at all, it may be fatal; for they have already been stalking you and will attack imminently.

Looking out at the Arctic panorama, it felt like I was in a National Geographic documentary. The beauty was otherworldly. All I could imagine were the epic adventures these shores of Hudson’s Bay have seen. And now here was mine. I could count a handful of polar bears around me. Some wandering. Some lazing by rocks. And then I learned who “Einstein” was.

A mother bear with her two cubs.

E = mother with cubs, squared.

A mother polar bear with two cubs at Hudson’s Bay, Churchill, Manitoba (©2024, Deborah Clague)

The Arctic, Part III

During the 20-minute drive from Churchill proper to the tundra buggy loading dock, we encountered a number of white pick-up trucks racing down side roads. “They are also searching for polar bears” announced the guide, although I wasn’t certain how successful they could possibly be. The noise and speed seemed counterintuitive to sneaking up on anything. Up above in the sky were endless helicopters doing the same thing. At first I thought they were there to monitor the landscape, tracking bears that were, perhaps, getting too close to the townsite. Nope. They were also full of tourists. The brief window of opportunity to see the world’s largest land predator in the wild was a calling card for many. Because of this, I would bet the population of Churchill was double the time I was there.

Tundra buggies are a unique form of transportation specific to Churchill, Manitoba. The first tundra buggy was actually invented by Frontiers North, the same tourism company I was traveling with. They are large and can fit roughly 40 passengers, each seat offering a great unimpeded view. There is also an outside deck. They have one washroom at the rear of the vehicle that can only be used when stopped. There are no barf bags offered on board. I highlight these last two details because I have never, ever, felt so nauseous as I did riding one.

Now I love amusement parks and other thrill-seeking activities. The higher and faster a rollercoaster, the better. This, however … this slow, bumpy ride just didn’t sit well with me. I felt sick and on the verge of losing my lunch the entire time we were moving. Considering I was one of the younger people on my tour, I couldn’t show this weakness though. The retirees would have laughed.

And despite being slow, the ride was jarring at times. We got semi-stuck in an icy half-frozen ditch, our driver having to hang his head out the window to ensure we were clearing it and could continue on our journey. At one point it felt like we were very close to tipping over and another passenger inquired if it had ever happened. The driver confirmed that a tundra buggy has never tipped over. They aren’t built that way. As they weren’t equipped with seatbelts, I trusted he was telling the truth.

At about thirty minutes in, another passenger excitingly called out a sighting of a bear. Everyone moved to the left-hand side of the vehicle straining to see where it was. Those with binoculars confirmed it was true. And then I saw it. Far (far) in the distance, I could see a creamish four legged creature slowly walking across the tundra, the gait very obviously of a bear. It felt amazing. Had I not seen anything else that day, I would have felt I got my money’s worth. Little did I know though, that the day was just beginning and I would have a first-class seat to the natural predation habits of the wild in the Arctic.

The Arctic, Part II

For those fortunate to spot a bear in the wild, either grizzly or black, you will typically only see one. Perhaps you are really lucky and witness a mom rearing her cubs. Most of the bears I have encountered in the Rockies and the unspoiled wilderness of northern Saskatchewan have been solo males hanging out by the side of the road wandering in and out of a forest in search of food. Their territory clearly defined (and defended).

In Churchill, Manitoba, however, I did not just see one bear.

Or two. Or three.

At Polar Bear Point on the shores of Hudson’s Bay, I encountered more than a dozen bears some of which were within sightline of each other. More than a dozen of the largest land predator in the world all around me as I watched them safely from the observation deck of a tundra buggy. It was absolutely awe-inspiring. Had I been on the ground though, it would have been absolutely terrifying.

Growing up in Manitoba, the lore of Churchill was well known. I knew that they were the polar bear capital of the world. I knew there was a “jail” outfitted for wayward bears that frequented the townsite. I knew that Halloween was particularly harrowing, not just out of fear towards ghosts and goblins but the very real possibility that children would encounter a polar bear while trick-or-treating. Late October and early November are the time of year they encroach upon the townsite en masse while waiting for Hudson’s Bay to freeze over. This is where they continue their journey through the winter months in search of food (mainly seals). Some of this may scare people off from visiting the northern port town but I always had it on my bucket list.

I booked my tour in the Spring and embarked last week.

Landing in Churchill, I felt a sharp winter chill as soon as I disembarked the airplane. The northern tundra was very different from the prairie landscape I left behind. Trees, mostly black spruce, only flourished on one side, a result of the harsh wind and debris that blows inland from Hudson’s Bay resulting in a perfect visual of just how wild and untamed this part of the world is. The airport itself was quite small and I had a moment of surprise when I saw Manitoba license plates on all of the vehicles; it felt so different than any place I’d ever been that I momentarily forgot it was, in fact, the province I grew up in.

Boarding a bus, I made my way to the Frontiers North tundra buggy hub, a 20-minute excursion from Churchill proper. On the way, we passed the infamous polar bear “jail” (né holding facility), an abandoned ship named the MV Ithaca that had been sitting in the harbour since 1960, and I learned of the townsite’s history as a military base and testing site.

My adventure was just beginning.

Departing a North Caribou Air flight after landing in Churchill, Manitoba (©2024, Deborah Clague).

The boreal forest flourishes only on one side, a result of the harsh wind and debris blowing inland from Hudson’s Bay (©2024, Deborah Clague).

The Arctic, Part I

Checked an item off my bucket list this week by visiting Churchill, Manitoba and experiencing a polar bear safari. It was an amazing, captivating, wondrous trip of a lifetime, the magic of which I’m not sure I will be able to properly articulate with words:

At Hudson’s Bay, Manitoba (©2024, Deborah Clague).

Churchill Airport, Manitoba (©2024, Deborah Clague)

A warning for visitors, Churchill Airport, Manitoba (©2024, Deborah Clague)

Hitting the tundra (©2024, Deborah Clague).

One of the first of many bears spotted, Churchill, Manitoba (©2024, Deborah Clague).

A mom with her two cubs, Churchill, Manitoba (©2024, Deborah Clague)

Very (very) large paw prints are found all over the tundra at Polar Bear Point, Churchill, Manitoba (©2024, Deborah Clague).

The main routes of the Frontiers North tundra buggies, Churchill, Manitoba (©2024, Deborah Clague).

One of the most amazing experiences of my life was having lunch (not being lunch) with this dude, Churchill, Manitoba (©2024, Deborah Clague).

A mother polar bear with two cubs, Churchill, Manitoba (©2024, Deborah Clague).

Churchill, Manitoba (©2024, Deborah Clague).

Polar bear in Churchill, Manitoba (©2024, Deborah Clague).

Fifteen

A bespectacled young girl, age fifteen, whose interests include learning about dinosaurs and the mysteries of the ocean’s depth. She has a soft spot for animals, in particular dogs, who provide her with a sense of calm and safety. She sometimes feels like an outsider and yearns for a sense of belonging amongst her peer group. At times she is naive to the true nature and intent of others.

These words could have been written about me at fifteen. I was a shy kid who used to skip classes to go to the library and read about subjects I was actually interested in, like palaeontology. Rebellious, I know. I wasn’t popular and never really felt like I belonged although I did have a small band of similar misfits that formed my social circle. I was happy to finally graduate high school and become an adult with a life free of whatever bias and conformity I felt in my high school’s hallways. I will be forever thankful that I went through my teenage years in the decade before social media became a poison in our lives.

But the bespectacled young girl I opened with did not.

There was a time in the early 2010s when a number of Canadian news stories involved young girls taking their lives after being sexually coerced, assaulted, blackmailed and cyberbullied. Amanda Todd is one. She was just fifteen when she committed suicide. And Rehtaeh Parsons, aged fifteen when she was gangraped by a group of boys then bullied by her community–peers and adults alike–after photos of the assault were widely shared on social media. She committed suicide at sixteen after the taunts and abuse followed her wherever she moved to escape.

I recently finished reading My daughter, Rehtaeh Parsons written by her father. Each page made me feel a little bit sadder than the last because this young girl reminded me a lot of myself at that age. She had a curiosity about the world that was endearing and hinted a bright future. She had a heart that showed empathy and care towards all living things. All of this so needlessly cut short by individuals without remorse. At times, Rehtaeh’s story reminded me of the Salem witch trials and the absolute ugliness under the surface of a society hellbent on hating and punishing women.

Insight into the multiple ways she was failed by the education system, the healthcare system, and the police force just left me angry and it is with much respect I extend to Glen Canning for calling it out and attempting to get justice for his daughter. These girls should still be with us, blossoming into the women they were meant to be.

1:12am in Coronach

When I was younger, I was much more acquainted with the night. My body and mind tested itself with how many sunrises I could chase, as though watching them paused the effects of time. But at some point, slumber–and the worlds I experienced within dreams–became more valuable.

With age, the night now seems foreign. I’d almost forgot just how magical dusk could be. Awhile back I would play a game before bed, peering out my window to count the stars. I never got higher than seven. The ambient light reflecting from my small prairie city simply too strong to properly showcase the wonder of the universe above. But now with a second (comparatively desolate) place to call home, it is easy to count entire galaxies.

Taking Hampton out late at night in rural Saskatchewan, our back door has nothing but a security light illuminating the immediate space. Everything beyond is a wall of black. The deepest, most dense shade of black I’ve ever seen. It is all-encompassing and unnerving. Especially when you realize there is also no sound. Being an urban dweller, I’m used to the sounds of the city such as traffic, industrial white noise and the occasional wails of drug-induced psychosis. But there is never, ever the sound of nothingness. It is both the most beautiful and haunting thing.

As I stare into the void, I feel it could swallow me whole. It’s impossible to see my hand in front of my face, yet I sense something out there. There is life under cloak of darkness hunting and being hunted. Through heightened senses, I try to catch a branch break or the subtle bristle of the tall grass parting to ensure my dog doesn’t become the latter. Up above, a perfectly preserved sky consisting of millions of twinkling lights reaffirms our existence and provides solace from the shadows.

In Coronach at 1:12am on a Friday night, this is the world that reintroduced itself to me.