The frigid air is a bone-chilling minus 40 degrees — a deceiving sun shines fiercely from the killer blue sky. Exhausted huskies huddle together on howling Hudson Bay. A looming snow-crusted figure hovers over them.
Sensing our presence, the caribou skin-clad shape turns slowly. Weather-worn features peer out from the depth of the frozen fur hood. A smile cracks the leathery countenance as the old Inuit musher raises a hide glove in greeting, calling out to us in Inuktitut.
“His dog team got stuck in that deep pond of slush and now they’re refusing to go on,” our guide Joseph Kidlapik explains, interpreting for the stranded Inuit dogsledder. This is the final leg of a gruelling three-day competition known as The Hudson Bay Quest, where traditional Inuit mushers compete alongside non-native dog sled racers.
Phillip Kigusiutnak, 75, and his team have faced driving sleet and rain, frigid winds and blinding squalls, not to mention temperatures plummeting from freezing to -40 C, in this 400-kilometre dog sled race which starts at Arviat, Nunavut, and winds up in Churchill, Man.
The Inuk musher has just passed the last checkpoint in this sub-Arctic marathon and is on the final sprint to the finish when disaster strikes. Seemingly stranded here on desolate Hudson Bay, the Arviat elder appears calm — almost cozy in his caribou skins.
“He says this is a tough race, even for the Inuit, but he knows his dogs will run again when they are rested,” interprets our guide. “Phillip has been running dogs since he was very young, learning from his parents when he was only six years old.”
Sure enough, several hours later we’re cheering for the racer as his dogsled team crosses the finish line. Meeting intrepid dogsledders, competing in one of the north’s oldest modes of transportation, is all part of an authentic northern experience in Canada’s Arctic Seaport.
One of the original New World arrival points for Old World explorers, Churchill (population 1,000) is probably better known today as the “polar bear capital of the world.” Here you can even get an official polar bear stamp in your passport.
“There is a chance we’ll see polar bears, and also caribou, moose, wolves, seals, Arctic fox, snowy owl and ptarmigan,” says our Churchill Wild host, Mike Reimer, on the first day of this sub-Arctic adventure, as we slowly make our way by
snowmobile-drawn komatik (traditional Inuit sleigh) over Hudson Bay’s heaved ridges of sculpted blue-green sea ice. Local trappers tell us ice conditions are the worst they have seen in a long time, so we will have to be extra cautious.
The rugged Fire & Ice tour promises more than a winter wildlife experience. Outfitted in Arctic expedition-style clothing, we’re here to immerse ourselves in Inuit customs, strap on snowshoes, and learn the craft of igloo building.
And as long as no bears are prowling nearby, we’ll get the chance to sleep in our “ice cottages” to take in nature’s premier pyrotechnic show — the aurora borealis.
Dymond Lake Lodge is a cosy wilderness base — a welcome oasis here in the isolation of the frozen tundra 24 kilometres west of Churchill. Don’t expect cellphone service, Internet or even running water and flush toilets for that matter — permafrost surrounds pipes at this time of year — mercifully the shared bathrooms are indoors. Melted ice is our wash water, with generator-powered electricity available each morning and evening.
The toasty temperature in the lodge plays havoc on digital cameras coming in from the frigid Arctic air. Combating condensation, the trick is to leave cameras in plastic bags in the unheated outer cloakroom, but bring the batteries in where it’s warm or they’ll quickly lose their charge.
Wild snow goose, ground caribou soup, and maple marinated walleye are a few of the authentic Arctic dishes on the menu. There’s also a traditional trapper’s lunch with tea and fresh bannock baked over an open fire while we’re out snowshoeing.
Snowmobiling across the open
tundra, we meet a hunter who is preparing fresh ptarmigans to
“pluck and fry up.”
“We call this a pana — a snow knife,” explains Inuk guide, Joseph Kidlapik, later as we bundle up to learn all about igloo building. “Panas used to be made from whale bone or caribou antler, but I bought this metal knife at the co-op,”
he says with a shy smile.
Joseph, a soapstone artist and handyman, along with his wife Mary, who teaches traditional sewing at
the local school, have joined us to share some of their Inuit traditions and customs.
They start with the basics of language — Qanuipit means “How are you?” in Inuktitut, and Quyanamiik is “Thank you,” while raising your eyebrows means “yes,” and a wrinkled nose says “no.”
Mary models a striking white and blue trimmed amautik (a traditional baby carrying jacket) her mother has made, along with a pair of intricately embroidered kamiks — her town boots. And Joseph’s father catches the fresh Arctic char we enjoy at dinner.
“There are still many people who think we live in igloos,” says Joseph, referring to the stereotypical question of people “from the south.”
“As you can see we live in modern houses with cable and phones, but we still know how to build igloos. Just last winter my son and I were out hunting and couldn’t get back to the cabin before dark, so we made an igloo to sleep in.”
Joseph continues our igloo building lessons, poking a long slender metal pole into the frozen landscape, finally finding the perfect snow to be sawed into solid blocks.
Using a simple handsaw, we dig our way into the snowpack, cutting out about 10 large blocks to use as the foundation of our igloo. Surrounding himself in a circular snow wall about half a metre high, Joseph expertly wields his pana, carving each snowy block to fit the next, and slanting them slightly toward the centre.
“Once you get the igloo built this high (gesturing to his waist), you can finish it from the inside to stay warm,” says Joseph, demonstrating how to make each row of snow blocks slightly smaller, still angling them inward to create a dome roof for the igloo, which won’t cave in under the weight.
About 30 snowy building-blocks and a couple of hours later, Joseph carves out the smoke hole and igloo door, while Mary shows us how to pack the cracks between the blocks.
Silky caribou hides are used to cover the snowy floor and igloo entrance. Our cosy “ice cottage” is ready for tonight’s sleepover.
It’s a magical night — our icy igloo glows in the warm light of the traditional kudliq (seal oil lamp), while the endless northern skies shimmer with the dancing flames of the Northern Lights.
Janie Robinson is a Barrie-based freelance journalist whose trip was subsidized by Travel Manitoba travelmanitoba.com or toll-free at 1 (800) 665-0040.
IF YOU GO
- The next Fire & Ice Adventure is March 28 to April 1. Find details at churchillwild.com or by calling 1 (866) 846-9453. The Webber family has been welcoming guests to their lodges for
30 years and to Churchill Wild adventures for the past 15 years. There are cookbooks with their lodge recipes, too. Details at webberslodges.com and blueberriesandpolarbears.com.
- The Polar Bear Capital of the World is the only human settlement where these bears can be watched in the wild — best time is October to early November. The aurora borealis lights up the night skies over Hudson Bay from late November to late March. Birders flock in from late May through September. Every summer, over 3,000 white beluga whales come to the Churchill River to feed and calve.
- Churchill is accessible by air or the Hudson Bay Railway line — built over permafrost and muskeg in 1929 and requiring a crew of 3,000 to complete. It’s a two-night, one-day 1,600-kilometre trip on VIA Rail from Winnipeg to Churchill. Calm Air, Kivalliq Air run regular scheduled air service from Winnipeg year-round.
http://www.canada.com/calgaryherald/news/travel/story.html?id=312984e8-771e-4950-a1ee-22456ac9ba6e
http://www.quizilla.com/stories/7989375/winnie-the-pooh-bears-name
www.fishlakemanitobanarrows.com