CHILL OUT WITH THE LORDS OF THE ARCTIC

At least that is what our gravel-voiced, no-nonsense guide Patrick Rousseau says with a wry smile as he guides us through the terrain of Churchill, Manitoba, dubbed “the polar bear capital of the world”. It is also, we are to learn, “the beluga whale capital of the world” and a great place to catch the Aurora Borealis (Northern Lights). Some places are just plain greedy.

“If a polar bear has got a big bottom that wobbles then it has had time to feed and that is a good sign.” Just at that moment one of these “Lords of the Arctic” appears from the desolate expanse and lumbers towards our tundra buggy. Its pace is languorous and each step seems an effort, yet in an instant, these awkward, clumsy-looking creatures can burst into a sprint and become killers.

“Keep as quiet as a mouse and don’t move,” warns Patrick in hushed tones as this most magnifi cent beast approaches us, its fur burnished by the afternoon sunshine. I catch my breath as the bear patrols our buggy and circles us as if assessing its prey. Suddenly I recall a joke told to me on the two-hour fl ight from Winnipeg to Churchill. “You need to be able to distinguish between droppings,” said Roy from Pickle Lake, Ontario, helpfully. “Just remember: polar bear droppings are the ones with jewellery, watches and rings in them...”

Churchill is located on the edge of the Arctic and has a population of just 1,000. In the Fifties and early Sixties it was a thriving military community but the basewas decommissioned in the mid-Sixties.

The best time to visit is in October and November when the bears are moving from their summer habitat back to their seal-hunting position on the ice that forms over the Hudson Bay every winter. It takes three fl ights to get there: Air Canada from London to Toronto (about eight hours) and on to Winnipeg (two-and-a- quarter hours), where we overnight at the plush Hilton Suites Hotel and take in some of the city’s fl ourishing arts scene. A further fl ight to Churchill in a much smaller plane makes us realise just how remote this place is.

Here we check into the comfortable Aurora Inn where my room is the size of a small apartment. Downtown Churchill comprises two main streets and while there are a couple of bars, nightlife is not really the focus. A day on the freezing tundra leaves most people ready for bed, perhaps after a little souvenir shopping (polar bear droppings, actually chocolate-coated cashew nuts and with no sign of jewellery, are a favourite). Mobile reception, incidentally, is nil.

In such temperatures food becomes a topic of great interest. Gypsy’s Bakery is the hub of a lot of the activity in Churchill. Here we are fed and watered three times a day (with packed lunches when we are on the tundra). As well as the waft of freshly baked bread and pastries, the restaurant run by the Portuguese Da Silva family offers hearty meals including the arctic char (like salmon) or pickerel (a freshwater fi sh). For those with a more demanding appetite there are steaks and fries and delicious desserts that will give you blubber of your own.

While we are packing in the calories we spare a thought for the polar bears. They hunt from a platform of ice so some believe that climate change has meant they have less time and opportunity to lay down that all-important blubber. This year, somewhat anomalously, conditions have been good for the polar bear in Churchill. “They have got big bums like the old days,” Patrick tells us delightedly.

Back on the ice, we cluster on the open platform of our buggy and watch a bear mooch around and then, heart-stoppingly, walk beneath the platform, its coal-black nose sniffi ng at our boots. In a bid to get a photograph, I peel off a glove and expose my hand to the -15C temperatures; to no avail, the temperature playing havoc with my lens
and causing my fingers to stiffen.

We spy some bears who seem keen to entertain us. One lies on its back rolling around and playing with a tree branch for what seems like hours. He looks like a giant, fl uffy white teddy bear, albeit one that could take your head off.

Another pair square up to each other as if they are ready to spar. The body language between the two is thrilling to watch: one is soon submissive, bowing its head, pursing its lips, avoiding eye contact and then speeding off, seemingly aware that it is out of its depth.

On our day off from the tundra we board a helicopter for an hour-long aerial peek at the bears. We swoop down like a bird on a group of four. It’s my maiden heli-flight, which gives an extra exhilaration to catching the animals unawares in their bleak, unforgiving landscape.

There is also an Eskimo Museum, which provides a fascinating look at the area’s culture. Later, an exquisite slide show by photographer Mike Macri makes me reassess my own snapshots.

Another highlight of our time with the polar bears comes on our second day on the tundra when one decides to prop itself up against our buggy. “Who are you?” it seems to be saying, its mouth curved into a menacing grin. Male polar bears can grow to weigh more than half a ton and stand 10ft tall. They have no natural enemies and thus no fear. As late afternoon arrives and the light begins to fade we drive back to base and the polar bear wanders back to sleep in its snowy bed. Euphoric at our sightings we decide to pose for a group shot next to our buggy back at the tour guide offices.

We hang around until the self-timer works its magic and then trundle back to the van. It is only when we are seated and the door locked that we discover how reckless we have been.

“You do realise,” says Patrick, his face breaking into a smile, “that just a few hours ago on that very same spot a polar bear turned up and scared the owner nearly half to death. It was a close run thing.”

A hush descends. The engine starts up and it is with a mixture of fear, relief and sheer wonder that we say goodbye to the Lords of the Arctic.