Flight Risk

42 - Churchill Wildlife Management Area Part 2

Once our fellow tourists returned from the observation deck and the bear's nap seemed to endure, our tour continued. The bus chugged down more bumpy roads, hitting large dips here and there. Two caribou walked in the distance, with white and light brown fur and tall, fuzzy wide antlers. They feasted on the vegetation but didn't approach to the chagrin of kids on board who speculated on the animals' ability to pull a sleigh and this tundra buggy.

The next polar bear we spotted was enjoying a lake too, closer than the previous one. Swimming seemed to be a popular activity, though, given the wind, even I would turn it down. Yet these bears were made for this. I doubted the water temperature in these pot lakes was anywhere near the frigid Hudson's Bay. If anything, this was like their hot tub.

This bear swam from the far end of the lake to the shore closest to us, growing close enough for its snorts to overpower the breeze rustling the bushes. It didn't seem agitated or aggressive, more curious at what this tall white vehicle and fifty-some spectators were doing in its territory.

Its swim morphed into a meander over the rocks and through the shallower water as water dripped from its fur. Like the other bear, it stopped to sniff the air and looked toward the bus. It was bigger than any black bear I'd seen in the wild.

Shutters clicked, intensifying their frequency as the arctic animal wandered at a cautious speed.

Our guide approached from the front of the bus with a grin on his bearded face. He tucked his hands in his jeans pockets. "If we're lucky, she'll be curious about us and stick around."

"How old do you think she is?" Marcela asked.

"About four or five."

"How do you know her age?" I asked as Caleb was busy taking pictures.

"She's not fully grown yet, which she would be by about six years old, but she's large enough to be on her own. To determine her exact age, scientists would extract a tooth and cut it to count the layers like a tree, but we won't be doing that today."

"Just on Wednesdays, right?" I teased.

He smiled then went to talk to one of the families. 

Another look out the window confirmed the bear had set her sights on the bus and was approaching at a slow but not threatened pace. Even though these buggies were around this time of year, she still looked at us like the foreign presence we and the vehicle were in her habitat. But even the kids' exciting pointing and quips didn't scare off the bear.

She grew close enough for the black in her eyes to meet ours and the twitch of her nose to be visible without binoculars. The wind ruffled her cream fur, yellowish on her legs and coated in chestnut-coloured mud slippers just like the previous bear.

Our guide engaged some kids whose faces weren't pressed to the windows to guess the colour of the polar bear's skin and fur before revealing that, despite what our eyes told us, their fur was transparent. The air spaces in it reflected sunlight to create that colour, allowing light to reach their black skin better and warm them up.

On the back balcony, people clutching fancy cameras and telescope lenses stood shoulder to shoulder, unbothered by the threat of the curious bear. With her adorable stare, fuzzy curved ears, and soft-looking fur, I understood why. We remained at our seats as we had a prime location to see her observing our side of the bus with those big, dark eyes. Given her cute appearance, I struggled to picture these animals as aggressive carnivores capable of taking down seals and attacking humans. Still, she was a wild animal, and it was part of their survival.

She shifted her weight until it rested on her dirt-streaked back paws. With a lurch she stood up on two feet, sniffing the air again. Even though she wasn't fully grown, her head and snout reached nearly our height on the tall bus, but luckily she wouldn't be able to reach into the windows.