On Thursday I was standing at the busy Queen and Bathurst intersection with street cars whizzing by and the ungodly sounds of a construction crew pounding away. By Friday I was a world away, or what seemed like it – in the middle of the barren Canadian tundra, on the shores of the Hudson’s Bay. Arctic Ptarmigans whizzed by over head, but the only audible sound was that of a polar bear’s breath in the crisp arctic air.
Well, that’s not entirely true. Along with the sound of the polar bear’s uneasy breathing as its cub wandered closer to our Tundra Buggy were the ‘ooos’ and ‘ahhhs’ of those crowded around me and the clicking and shuttering of their cameras. I had escaped Toronto to visit one of the most sought-after November destinations on the planet – Churchill, Manitoba. Why? You may ask. What in God’s name is in Churchill? Well, it’s the “Polar Bear Capital of the World” and I wanted to catch a glimpse of the world’s largest carnivore.
Churchill just happens to be the most-accessible place on the planet to see polar bears (ironically enough it’s not the most accessible town – you can only get there by rail, plane or boat). The great white mammals arrive here in July after the sea-ice melts and survive in the summer months on the fat reserves they built up in the winter months of hunting. When the ice freezes in mid-November, they travel north once again for a winter of hunting and feasting after their months-long fast. So as they wait for that ice to freeze in October and November, it’s the perfect time to voyage up north, board a Tundra Buggy and play I-Spy, scanning the tundra to locate the white-on-white. Our flight left Edmonton at 6:30am on Friday. We were served a quite edible ham and cheese frittata on board and were given the low-down on Churchill’s polar bears by our on-board naturalist. Two hours later, we touched down in Churchill and were hastily loaded onto yellow school busses which took us to the Tundra Buggy launch. On our way, we passed the Polar Bear Jail – a large Quonset where bears who get too close to town are placed and held until they can safely be transported back to the wild. If a local resident spots a bear in town, they simply dial 675-BEAR, a 24 hotline, and the bear will be taken to jail. Paul, our bus driver, tells us that there are currently 20 polar bears in the jail right now, but it can accommodate up to 28. When it gets too full they safely drug the bears, net them and helicopter them about 40 miles out of town. Baby cubs get to ride right in the helicopter – I’m considering a career-change to helicopter pilot for this reason alone.
We arrived at the launch and were loaded into the Tundra Buggies, which are large people-carriers equipped with massive tires for trudging through the snow and ice, fitted with interior seats, a toilet, a cozy fire place and a back viewing deck. They hold about 40 excited passengers who can hardly keep their bottoms on their seats as they anticipate spotting the first bear of the day.
Our guide was a dashingly handsome, adventurous-type named JP (Jean-Phillip). You know the kind; they’re a rarity in downtown TO, unless you hang by the Mountain Equipment Co-op long enough. It takes about half an hour to navigate through the ‘potholes’ of the tundra and there were only a few times when we had to hang on for dear life for fear of capsizing. Before long we were tundra-cruising and bear-spotting. A fellow polar-bear seeker on my buggy – a large man in what appeared to resemble hunting attire -spotted the first bear. “There, at 2 O’Clock,” he announced. Everyone immediately jumped off of their seats (even though JP explained we couldn’t stand-up unless the buggy had come to a complete stop) and in an instant, cameras and binoculars were out and people were yelling in unison, “Where?! I don’tsee it!”
And sure enough, there was the first bear. Off in the distance, grand and wild. We saw over 20 bears that day. Some in the distance, some up close. We saw little cubs and bigger cubs, we saw males and females, we saw sparring bears and sleeping bears. In the afternoon, when we were stopped for a hot-soup break, we spotted a mama and cub snuggling near some willow bushes. Roused by the noise of the buggy, they looked up and eventually, after taking their time and adequately stretching, began to wander in our direction. As mama cautiously examined us, baby came right up to the buggy, exploring just as a child would. The cub went right underneath the buggy and as we all stood on the back viewing deck waiting for it to emerge on the other side, it suddenly appeared right below our feet, visible through the grate on the floor of the viewing deck. For twenty or so minutes, we were face to face with this polar bear. JP crouched down and proved to be a polar bear whisperer, blowing warm air through the grate causing baby to jump right up and stick its nose through the holes in the grate. As if JP wasn’t attractive enough, you can imagine what it was like when he was touching noses with a baby polar bear.
Everyone around me was silent. We all stood in awe as JP and this polar bear, a bonified Canadian icon, shared a moment. I suddenly understood why this trip was on so many ‘bucket-lists’. Eventually, mama and cub left us, trekking into the blistering winds and falling snow that had begun to descend on the tundra. The arctic sun began to fade and we headed back towards town. We had one hour to explore Churchill before boarding our aircraft again and heading back to Edmonton. By now it was dark, but the handful of gift shops and restaurants were a glow, beckoning us to come and hastily spend our money in the short time we had. Downtown Churchill couldn’t be further from where I was standing the day before, at Queen and Bathurst. The one main street is lined with a selection of gift shops, a few hotels, a couple of bars about to perk up with live music for the Friday night and the occasional polar bear sighting. I’m not sure how long I would want to dwell in Churchill, especially with milk averaging at a price of $10/gallon and fresh fruit and vegetables a rarity, but it truly is a unique spot on our nation’s map.
My fellow tour-mates loaded up on sweaters adorned with polar bears and the words ‘Churchill, MB’. The only thing I needed to take away from Churchill was the image of the baby polar bear sticking its nose up through the grate. The next time I’m standing at Queen and Bathurst and can’t hear myself think, I will think of that. And maybe JP.
