The Arctic, Part III

Deborah Clague November 19, 2024

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

Deborah Clague November 13, 2024

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).

Out of the House, Into the Woods

Deborah Clague June 4, 2021

Feeling a bit more protected after our first dose of Pfizer, we spent a long weekend at Prince Albert National Park exploring the trails, forest bathing, bird (and bear!) watching, and relaxing in a beautiful cabin at Elk Ridge Resort. More far-flung travel may still be on-hold but I am really looking forward to exploring the land of living skies, Saskatchewan, over the summer.

Hiking in Prince Albert National Park, Saskatchewan (©Deborah Clague, 2021).

The scenery of Mud Creek trail, Prince Albert National Park, Saskatchewan (©Deborah Clague, 2021).

Bear In Area at Mud Creek trail, Prince Albert National Park (©Deborah Clague, 2021).

Yup, that’s a bear. Mud Creek trail, Prince Albert National Park, Saskatchewan (©Deborah Clague, 2021).

Boating on Waskesiu Lake, Prince Albert National Park, Saskatchewan (©Deborah Clague, 2021).

Waskesiu River trail, Prince Albert National Park, Saskatchewan (©Deborah Clague, 2021).

The peeling bark of a birch tree, Prince Albert National Park (©Deborah Clague, 2021).

Out of the house and into the woods of Prince Albert National Park, Saskatchewan (©Deborah Clague, 2021).

The perfect solitude of Boundary Bog trail, Prince Albert National Park, Saskatchewan (©Deborah Clague, 2021).

Feasting on BBQ after a day’s hike at Elkridge Resort, Prince Albert National Park, Saskatchewan (©Deborah Clague, 2021).

Prince Albert National Park, Saskatchewan (©Deborah Clague, 2021).

One of the greatest hiking spots in North America, the Redwood Forest of Northern California.

Krispy Kreme

Deborah Clague October 18, 2019

Driving the route from Montana to Northern California, I was met with heavy nostalgia for my childhood and the numerous summer road trips my family would take down these same highways in conquest of the beauty and adventure awaiting on the Pacific Coast. It was interesting to note which things changed and which stayed the same. For example, there was a roadside rest stop in Washington State where I vividly recall feeding seagulls as a kid—at the time they hovered near my face as I threw them McDonalds french fries—and sure enough their descendants were still there begging for scraps. I felt bad that I may have played a role in their inherited junk food addiction.

One thing that did evolve from the past was the method with which we navigated. My partner brought his Garmin and it made getting to our destination pretty brainless. Even driving through the freeways of Portland was a breeze as it guided me into the exact lanes I needed to be in at all times. It made me respect my father and his own inherent skill in this area. Yes, maps existed (and I’m sure my mother was a great help in deciphering them) but I can’t imagine trekking through a place I didn’t know, with a kid and a dog and a small trailer (not to mention the freakin’ SIZE of vehicles from the past - we drove a wood-panelled station wagon the size of a boat) and not being stressed out at where the next gas station, washroom or hotel with vacancy might be. I feel I’ve forgotten what it’s like to live in an unconnected world.

In Kennewick, Washington, I had the next donut in my summer of donuts. Near our hotel was a Krispy Kreme and I had to make a pilgrimage. I’ve had them before but never, ever a hot, fresh glazed straight out of the oven. When the employee asked me what I wanted, I made mention of this and he was flabbergasted. How was it possible that someone has never tried their original classic? It was, after all, quite famous. I explained how I was from Canada and we didn’t even have Krispy Kreme up there. He took pity and gave me free donuts which were delicious. It was unexpected and the employee’s friendliness was a highlight of my trip.

Within a few days, we made it to the hilly southern region of Oregon where we stayed at another KOA in a town called Grant’s Pass. Our cabin overlooked “Jumpoff Joe Creek”, a watering hole that was at the bottom of a small waterfall. It was July 4 but the campground was surprisingly still and quiet - there was a fireworks ban and most families present celebrated America’s independence with a simple flickering campfire and the soothing soundtrack of nature. We made barbecued cajun chicken with corn-on-the-cob and did same. The next day, we briefly visited a Wal-Mart in Grant’s Pass where we discovered that Oregon is an open carry state; my partner was shocked at a father walking around the grocery aisles with his kids while a gun rested in a holster around his waist. I warned him not to stare … and that we should shop at Target in the future.

The majestic Redwood Forest of Northern California was one of our major destinations during this road trip. It did not disappoint. I didn’t fully appreciate it when I was a kid but this time around, as an adult who has travelled and seen some of the best of the world, I will state that it is one of the most magical places on earth. We spent days hiking through its trails, in the shadow of giants thousands of years old. The silence was something I noted in particular; we were so deep within nature that any noise pollution of modern life was completely non-existent. No whir of the highway. Not even a faint text notification reaching a fellow hiker’s phone. The aural were birds and the pounding of our feet on the dirt trail. I was sad to leave.

KOA, Grant’s Pass, Oregon (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

Waterfall view from cabin at KOA, Grant’s Pass, Oregon (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

Kiss the cook, Grant’s Pass, Oregon (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

Applegate Valley Winery, Grant’s Pass, Oregon (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

In-and-Out Burger, the most overrated place I’ve ever eaten at. Grant’s Pass, Oregon (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

Hiking through the Redwood Forest, California (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

Names carved in a fallen tree, Redwood Forest, California (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

Write your own caption here, Redwood Forest, California (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

The only wildlife I saw - a slug, Redwood Forest, California (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

A very narrow, winding road through the, Redwood Forest, California. Only one car could pass at a time. There were regular pull-outs (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

“That’s a very big tree”, Redwood Forest, California (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

The famous tour-thru tree in Klamath, California (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

My car just fit through (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

Hong Kong VIII

Deborah Clague May 1, 2018

Hong Kong vignette no.1: The rising sun cast a marigold tint over the Central District as I leisurely strolled along Tsim Sha Tsui Promenade. There were few people out at this hour. Joggers made use of the cooler temperature. As well, other sleep-deprived tourists snapped selfies as the neon signage flickered in conclusion to a long night. I paused, taking it all in. At a different time, I would not be afforded the solitude to appreciate the spectacular view I now faced.

And then, a noise.

The faint sound of music approaching.

As it neared, I recognized the instrumentation and, of course, THE voice. An older woman paused around ten feet from me also to soak in the glorious view of her presumed hometown. On her iPhone, she loudly played Whitney Houston's "The Greatest Love of All". I remained still as well, thinking about how small the world is and how this moment, however pedestrian, would remain near the top of my memories of Hong Kong.

Hong Kong vignette no. 2: Later in the day, I stood near the entrance to the mid-levels escalator with the intent of taking a picture of this unique urban convenience. As I posited the perfect angle, the siren call of hell's gate opening—or something similar—rumbled. It was loud. It was shrill. It was a tiny, old Cantonese man perched atop the biggest hog I have ever seen in my life as it blasted Michael Jackson's "You Are Not Alone". The contrast both amused and fascinated me.

He stopped at the light while everyone in the vicinity stared at him with curiosity and awe. I could tell he enjoyed it. I could tell he was a rock star in his own mind. He revved his motor a few times for the crowd and smiled before driving away.

"That's how you live life," I thought to myself.

Chicago Vignette no.1

Deborah Clague October 11, 2015

In retrospect, it may have been a bit later than we should have been out. At least in that part of town. However, I was consumed with other priorities during the day and the only time I could show my friend the windy city's architectural wonders was after dark. We made our way through the seemingly deserted streets where occupants seemed to exist solely in the shadows of night. Naïveté was our virtue.

"Look over there!" I exclaimed, pointing at a rat scurrying across the sidewalk just in front of us. "There's your big city experience right there."

We walked another block to South State Street when a man on a bicycle bumped into us. Deliberately and with force. He then shouted obscenities and proceeded to accuse us of being on hard drugs. Crack, in particular. An audience of souls blithely waiting at a bus stop nearby continued to be transfixed by their smartphones, clearly avoiding any acknowledgement of the conflict brewing in their midst. Perhaps they had seen it all before...

"Well, this will be interesting" I thought to myself.

Sure enough.

The man, clearly looking to provoke anyone or anything, dismounted his bike and threw it violently to the ground in front of us. The wheels continued to spin as he then paced back-and-forth pounding on his chest with all the bravado he could muster. I knew my friend had taken wen-do but I had no self-defence training. I scanned the area for a storefront that might be open. Perhaps a bodybuilder or two would conveniently be shopping there at this hour.

We continued to ignore him and the man lost interest as quickly as he started antagonizing us. "There's your big city experience right there" I thought to myself.