“We’re  about to do the most counter-intuitive thing in the world,” senior guide Terry Elliott says with a grin as he starts his briefing. He’s right. Strolling within 100m of one of the world’s apex predators would seem a foolish undertaking, even to the most daredevil nature lover. But at the remote Nanuk Polar Bear Lodge in the Canadian province of Manitoba, guests are led on walking safaris at close range with this fearsome Arctic animal. Given they can run at speeds of 40km/h, it sounds utterly terrifying, but Terry assures us we will be safe as long as we listen to our guides and stay calm. Nonetheless, I’m surveying my fellow guests and wondering who might be able to manage a 41km/h sprint.

Our contingent of 15 travellers, a mix of Canadians and Americans with one other Australian, has flown to Nanuk in a small plane from the tiny sub-Arctic town of Churchill, perched on the edge of Hudson Bay. Once the scene of fierce rivalry between France and Britain for control of the fur trade, Churchill is now first and foremost a tourist town, and its No.1 drawcard is the polar bear, closely followed by the beluga whales that converge on the bay from June to September.

To observe the bears at close proximity, though, you first have to find them. This vast wilderness is the size of California and the landscape is dotted with pale rocks – known as “polar boulders” – that are easy to mistake for bears. It’s September and the estimated 1000-strong Western Hudson Bay population is doing what bears do when the weather is warm. They’re biding their time during the long wait for winter when the sea ice forms and they can venture out to hunt bearded seals. Snoozing and snacking on the last of the summer berries are main preoccupations, plus feasting on any carrion they might stumble upon.

Occasionally, though, one gets lucky and pounces on an unwitting beluga whale that has strayed too close to shore at low tide. That’s precisely what happened a week ago. Polar bears can smell a meal from about 30km, so a now very stinky whale carcass has been luring bears for days. All of which means Terry and his fellow guides, Jamie “Hondo” Honderich and Brandon Stuebing, know exactly where to find them.

But first, we get a thrilling introduction to seeing a polar bear up close. We’re tucking into a welcome dinner of fish, prawns and coconut rice when excitement surges through the dining room. A bear has been spotted just outside, near the runway where the plane delivered us earlier. Knives and forks are discarded as we rush to the picture windows with cameras and phones. Our hosts immediately urge us to move slowly and quietly so as not to scare the animal away. What follows is an incredible hour as the beast mooches among the vegetation, largely hidden from our lenses. With daylight fading, we’re giving up on getting any satisfactory photos when an extraordinary thing happens. The bear strides nonchalantly into the lights of the lodge, like an actor stepping on to a stage. We are mesmerised, and then the show abruptly ends.

A former goose-hunting lodge, Nanuk is the third property established by Mike and Jeanne Reimer, who founded Churchill Wild, a lodge and tour operation, about 30 years ago. It has eight rustic rooms for a maximum 16 guests, pampered by a dedicated team of 11 who prepare hearty meals, bake sweet treats and pour glasses of wine. The property is protected by a sturdy but by no means bear-proof fence, with an electrified barrier along the front. A lookout tower offers expansive views of the surrounds, and two lower decks are also prime observation posts, especially when bears come a-calling.

But the real adventure occurs out on the Hudson Bay lowlands. It’s a marshy landscape of endless horizons, where tides rise by up to 4m, creeping almost imperceptibly 3km inland across the flats. There are granite-strewn streams, carpets of sea asparagus, boggy ponds of clay that entrap vehicles and, further inland, clusters of white spruce and tamarack trees, willow and birch. Aspens are putting on an autumn display, their golden leaves fluttering in the breeze, and everywhere are Canada and snow geese, which take to the skies en masse in noisy outrage as we approach. With a little luck we might also see black bears, wolves, moose, caribou and Arctic foxes but the polar bear is hands down at the top of everyone’s list.

The following morning starts with a bang – on my door. A black bear and two cubs have been spotted just outside. I rush to the window as the trio scamper across the grass. Hopefully it’s a good omen for the day. After breakfast, we are taken for a walk in search of last night’s visitor, which has been spotted from the tower. It’s our first chance to put into practice Terry’s instructions: walk behind a guide in silence and single file and, when given the signal, spread out into a narrow “V” so each person can see over the shoulder of the one in front. Sure enough, the bear, a female, is nestled in the bushes. She lifts her head, sniffs the air and looks in our direction. Shutters click like machine guns until she eventually decides it’s time for a nap and drops out of view.

Our mode of transport over the next few days are called “rhinos” – two giant, lumbering, eight-wheel trucks custom-made for the Hudson Bay terrain. They’re tall enough to potentially keep a bear at bay but open to the elements to ensure ample viewing. We climb aboard to head out to the beluga carcass, hoping the bears are still there. When we arrive on the scene, one bear dashes to the safety of the water, scared off by the sight and sound of the rhinos. Another is obliviously having a nap, while a third is tearing strips off the whale remains and a fourth appears in the distance.

We start walking in a line behind Hondo and Brandon towards the sleeping specimen. It rouses and gazes straight at us. We stop and wait, then continue on when the guides deem it safe. Terry is bringing up the rear and all three men are armed. There is no doubt it’s unnerving to be at ground level with these animals but at the same time the guides’ calm demeanour puts us at ease.

When it comes to safety, Churchill Wild has devised a strict code of practice, and it’s one we will later see put into action. If a bear gets too close for comfort, guides use a firm loud voice to (ideally) send the animal packing. If that fails as a deterrent, rocks are hurled in its direction. Starting pistols with fizzers and bangers are the next line of defence. “That’s as far as I’ve ever had to go with a bear,” says Terry, proud that in his 18 years of guiding with Churchill Wild he’s never had to resort to the next, potentially lethal, stage.

While on foot, all three guides carry a 12-gauge shotgun – loaded, safety catch off. If necessary, warning shots would be fired before anything deadly occurred. Such a tragic turn of events would be unnecessary, we’re assured, because the guides are experts in polar bear body language; they know the difference between a curious bear and an aggressive one; they know when it’s safe to approach an animal and when to retreat.

We spend the next hour or so admiring our posse of bears from every angle. The sun comes out just as two emerge from the water, washed clean and white after their messy feeding on the putrid whale. The wreck of an old steamship, the Mooswa, which broke free from its mooring at the nearby former Hudson Bay Company headquarters during a storm in the 1920s, creates a dramatic backdrop for our photos. Then a big male starts plodding directly towards us. Err, is it lunchtime? Actually, yes, but not for him. We retire to the rhinos for hot soup and wraps, perched high and dry with bears dotted around at regular intervals, like the glowing markers on a watch face.

We return to the beluga carcass the next day to find four bears again in the vicinity. A young female rips strips off the skeleton then plods in an arc around us. We walk carefully, led by the guides who cautiously keep pace. Her trajectory eventually brings her within just 60m. A small bird splashes nearby, startling her, and she sprints a few paces with alarming speed. There’s not a single guest whose heart doesn’t leap into their throats at this sudden flurry, but in the blink of an eye Brandon and Hondo are in front of us, forming a barrier, guns at the ready. As our pulses return to normal, the bear settles down for a sleep, backlit by afternoon sun that creates a glowing halo on her thick fur. 

Our closest encounter, though, occurs on the final full-day excursion. We have headed out along a trail peppered with the prints of black bear, wolf and moose. Brandon, an experienced hunting guide, puts his lungs to work, producing a long mournful call in the hope of attracting an amorous moose. No luck on that front, or with the elusive wolf pack that patrols the region.

I’m sitting next to Terry, who is driving the front rhino, when there’s a flash of white in my peripheral vision and I turn to see a polar bear rushing into the willows. The rhinos draw to a halt and we wait to see if it will reappear. It does – a big healthy female that peers at us over the scrub. 

We proceed on foot, circling around to get a better look. She seems mildly interested in her human fan club but what’s really got her attention is one of the rhinos – specifically the storage bins on the side packed with freshly baked savoury pastries and cakes. Seated on her haunches, dinner-plate paw resting on a tyre, her mouth agape as she sniffs the vehicle we were sitting in just minutes before – it is impossible not to be awestruck. This is a magnificent animal, enormous, powerful and frightening. How is this scenario going to play out?

“That’s my lunch,” shouts Terry as he and Brandon walk forward, putting the first of the safety protocols into play while we watch transfixed from behind. “Hey, no!” Terry calls out again, loading a starting pistol as he gets closer. The bear looks toward them and I hold my breath. Nonplussed, her focus returns to the food. A rock is lobbed in her direction, and another, which connects with the metal body of the truck with a loud ding. And that’s enough to send her off, round white rump bouncing into the bushes.

We giggle, partly with relief but also with amusement, and it feels almost disrespectful. How can an animal so imposing, capable of wreaking incredible damage with teeth and claw, be chased away with a couple of well-aimed stones? There’s a perplexing incongruity to what just happened.

As we return to the lodge, driving into the late afternoon sun, the trail is laced with thousands of shimmering spider webs spun by arachnids that literally shoot the breeze. I quiz Terry about his almost 30 years of guiding in the sub-Arctic. It’s a stint that has seen him made a fellow of the Royal Canadian Geographic Society but it’s soon coming to an end. At age 64, he’s planning to hang up his binoculars and retire to his home on Vancouver Island.

When I ask what he will miss, he pauses and replies: “There’s something about the north. The north gets under your skin.”

That night, another knock on my door summons me to the lookout tower, where the northern lights have decided to put on a farewell performance, dancing across a sky silhouetted by spruce trees. Guests are hushed, the silence interrupted only by the occasional click of a camera lens. People of the Cree Nation believe the lights are the spirits of ancestors watching over them, and it does feel magical and mystical.
There is, indeed, something about the north.

Penny Hunter was a guest of Churchill Wild – Nanuk Polar Bear Lodge, Travel Manitoba and Destination  Canada.

https://www.travelmanitoba.com/
https://info.destinationcanada.com/

In the know
Churchill Wild operates a range of itineraries at its three lodges. The seven-day Hudson Bay Odyssey tour at Nanuk Polar Bear Lodge run from August to September; from $C18,095 ($19,650) a person, twin-share. Includes return flights from Winnipeg to Churchill and Churchill to Nanuk, two nights’ accommodation in Winnipeg, guided tour of Churchill, all meals, snacks and beverages, including wine and beer with dinner. Guests are provided with wet-weather gear and rubber boots. Inquiries to: info@churchillwild.com. churchillwild.com
 

More to the story

Polar Bears International describes the prognosis for the Hudson Bay bear population as “grim”. The conservation group says warmer temperatures, which reduce the time bears can hunt on the ice, impairs breeding and causes starvation.
Churchill Wild guide Terry Elliott is less pessimistic. He says the population in the Western Hudson Bay area has been “relatively stable” since censuses began in the 1980s. That said, he acknowledges that the window for bears to fatten up on seals each year has narrowed by about one month.
There’s evidence the bears are altering the territory they inhabit in response to climate change, he says, especially when currents and conditions in the bay push the sea ice further south, extending the hunting season in that area.
“The ice has always melted in Hudson Bay,” he says. “These bears are more adapted to an ice-free period than bears, say, in the high Arctic.”