I have always felt the pull to "go North". It felt like my own Manifest Destiny. Growing up in southern England, my natural inclination when it came to choosing a university was to trace the map upwards. Landing in Lancaster gave me ample opportunity to explore the great outdoors of the Lake District, the Yorkshire Dales and the Highlands of Scotland.
Since moving to Canada, the name Churchill began to call me. It conjured up mystical images of a far flung community at the edge of the map, a place where you could experience larger-than-encounters with one of the planet's most inspiring and imposing creatures: Ursus arcticus, the Polar Bear.
Opportunity arrived in the shape of a commission from Destination Canada, the agency mandated to promote the land of the maple leaf to the world. Part of a series highlighting quintessential Canadian experiences that a little out of the ordinary, our task was to capture what awaits travelers who make the journey north from Manitoba's capital, Winnipeg to the community that clings to a narrow peninsula between the Churchill River and the vast Hudson Bay.
But there would be traversing fields of snow or adventures in trucks out on the frozen tundra. We were going in August, in the heart of the summer.
On a personal front, my life had taken some unexpected twists. I was recovering from a fight against cancer, and having regained my physical strength following a period of aggressive chemotherapy, I was beginning to view the world with fresh eyes. The final descent into Churchill's tiny airstrip is devoid of trees and pockmarked with small pools, creating a barren landscape that evokes the surface of the moon.
The short drive into town - primarily a wide main street, reminiscent of those you associate with the 19th century Wild West - with a handful of side streets leading to single story residences - underscores that fact that you are at the end of the line. While we were there, that was further amplified by the fact that a broken section of the rail line, the only land route that links Churchill with the south, had stranded the train, and sent the cost of everyday items through roof as all supplies were reliant on being shipped or brought in by air. I have to admit, it wasn't quite the mythical place of legend that I had anticipated - in spite of the "Warning: Bear Country" signs that were much in evidence.
Over the course of our four-day visit, we captured different aspects of what Churchill has to offer. Giant building-sized murals created by Indigenous artists, as well as songs, dances and stories from the Dene from across Canada, who had gathered in town to commemorate Thanadelthur, a local Cree woman whose efforts in relationship-building brought peace with the neighboring Chipewyan, and forged connections with traders that ultimately led to the establishment of the Hudson's Bay Company.
Yet one day - one mind-expanding day - ranks as one of the most memorable in all of my travels: August 8, 2017.
It began with a boat ride to the Prince of Wales Fort, an impressive relic of colonial days when a British garrison was posted here to protect the valuable trade routes. For the purpose of our film for Destination Canada, I had become the subject of the story, providing the narrative of fulfillment of my northern quest. As I stood on the parapet of the fort, my cameraman lining up an aerial shot, my heart missed a beat. I lifted my binoculars to confirm that the large white shape that had materialized on an island across the water in front of me was not a boulder catching the sun. I was not mistaken. Through my trusty Leicas, I was watching my first wild Polar Bear.
As our local nature guide Paul Ratson later told me, nothing can describe the moment you first see a bear. He was bang on. It was definitely in the "time-stands-still" category. Yet it was undeniable - it was clearly a Polar Bear, lazily exploring the coastline, doubtless looking for food. Having alerted my colleagues, we quick-stepped it back out waiting Zodiac and motored around to the island.
Rounding a corner, we connected again, this time the mother with a cub in tow, picking at the remains of a seal carcass. We cut the engine and drifted nearer, getting to with 50 feet of these remarkable animals. No, it wasn't in snow, and no, it wasn't a close encounter with a bear's muzzle inches away through the glass window of a tundra buggy. But somehow this seemed more real. It wasn't staged, it wasn't expected. It was an authentic moment where our lives and these bears became intertwined. It was staggering.
After a celebratory lunch, our next activity awaiting - kayaking in the Churchill River. With the late afternoon sunset bathing the group of paddlers in golden light that twinkled on the rippling waters, it was a beautiful scene, but there is one reason that brings so many people onto the water - and that is because of what resides under the surface. The Churchill River plays host to the largest known concentration of breeding Beluga Whales on the planet. Small in size, but large in character, these white whales are known for their curiosity and playfulness.
Paddling out across the estuary, it didn’t take long to encounter the beluga. Pods of up to 20 were easily visible and true to form, they made a beeline for our armada of kayaks and canoes. I had learned earlier in the day that they respond well to singing, so in full voice, I paddled away with multiple whales in tow.
At one point, I looked down into the murky water and a beluga was right underneath me, just under the surface, so close that I could see its eye and “smile” of its upturned mouth. Moments when you truly connect with a wild animal are rare but incredibly powerful. That experience will remain with me forever.
Back on shore, we met up with a group of 30 high students from across the US, celebrating their last night around a beach fire. Full of enthusiasm and passion about their experience in the Canadian North, they invited me to participate in a share circle, everyone saying what they were most thankful for. When my turn came around it was an easy answer: the combination of encounters with nature and the incredible local guides who had made it possible.
Over dinner, we were buzzing about the day’s exploits, but there was one treat left. Travelling to Churchill in the summer, the chances of seeing the Northern Lights are slim. Relatively lighter skies and reduced solar activity makes a summer viewing a rare occurrence. However, our server - an Aussie - told us of the phone chain that exists that ensures that if the lights are showing, those who want to see it won’t miss out.
Several coffees and anxious looks out of my window later, around 1:30am, the call came. We scrambled out of the hotel, grabbing camera gear, and headed down to the beach car park where a few hours earlier we had enjoyed the fire.
A faint blue-green was visible above us, but as we watched, the heavens exploded with lights, dancing and gyrating. I was as if an invisible hand was painting vast washes of colour across the sky. Yet again - in one breathtaking, heart-stopping, invigorating day - my mind was blown. One of the most amazing sights in nature was playing out in front of my eyes, and after what we had already experienced that day, it seemed somehow pre-ordained.
I returned to my room, emotionally exhausted but still wired from the day’s events. Churchill had delivered...and we still had two days to look forward to.