AMUNDSEN GULF, N.W.T. -- The polar bear bounding along the frozen surface of the Arctic keeps looking over his left shoulder as he puts distance between himself and the 8,000-tonne icebreaker plowing through the ice.
Viewed through binoculars, he appears to be a large creature, most likely an adult male, which means he could easily weigh as much as 600 kilograms.
The stunning cliffs of two-million-year-old rock on Banks Island would be overrun by ecotourists if they weren’t so isolated.
Even though the captain of the Canadian Coast Guard research vessel Amundsen brings the icebreaker to a halt, the bear keeps running. Eventually, the creature disappears behind an ice ridge and is only glimpsed again for a brief moment as a flash of pale yellow fur against a backdrop of brilliant white.
I had seen wild polar bears before, near the ecotourism mecca of Churchill, which bills itself as the great white bear capital of the world.
But there's something more awe-inspiring about seeing such a massive, top-of-the-food-chain predator amid the vast expanse of Arctic nothingness than there is from a Tundra Buggy rolling along the coast of Hudson Bay.
Though I was only metres away from some of the polar bears I saw outside Churchill, spying a lone animal bounding along the ice was a little more magical, even though he was more than a football field away.
There is no guarantee you will see bears if you visit the Western Arctic, though the Amundsen Gulf -- a stretch of water between the Northwest Territories mainland and Banks Island -- is as good a place as any to see large carnivores.
\ A polar bear stands amid the icy nothingness that is the Amundsen Gulf.
The crew of the Amundsen had spotted a polar bear every day for five straight days prior to my arrival on the ship. But they can also go weeks or even months without seeing a single one of the creatures, whose numbers in the Arctic are a matter of dispute between Inuit hunters, oil and gas companies, government officials and independent wildlife scientists.
According to the World Conservation Union, there are anywhere from 20,000 to 25,000 polar bears in the Arctic basin, with 60 per cent of the creatures in Canada.
But five out of 13 of this country's polar bear subpopulations are believed to be in serious decline, likely, but not conclusively, because of the gradual loss of summer sea ice, the most visible manifestation of climate change in the Arctic.
Wildlife scientists also say the bears are overhunted in some parts of the Canadian North and should be protected, a notion that enrages Inuit who report seeing more and more of the massive carnivores in some parts of Nunavut.
Inuit have long maintained western science has failed to respect their knowledge of the land. The year-long Arctic mission undertaken by the Amundsen is trying to address this issue with a concept called "two ways of knowing" -- an attempt to reconcile quantitative science with qualitative, traditional knowledge.
That said, it's entirely possible increased sightings of polar bears near Inuit communities actually indicate the animals are stressed out and are not doing well. Polar bears hunt for seals on ice, so their presence close to land may mean they're not venturing out as far as they used to and are changing both their feeding and denning habits.
To the west in Alaska, polar bears are getting skinnier, resorting to cannibalism and are choosing to give birth on land instead of on ice. To the east, in M'Clintock Channel, severe overhunting has led to a voluntary reduction of quotas.
And on the west side of Hudson Bay, where the bears have always spent their summers on land, waiting for the bay ice to refreeze, the long-term prognosis is bleak. Hudson Bay polar bears have been getting thinner as their winter seal-hunting season grows shorter -- so thin in fact, females may no longer be able to give birth, polar bear authority Ian Stirling wrote in the fall 2007 edition of The Wildlife Professional.
Biologists believe the hungry bears living around Churchill could eventually migrate up the coast of Hudson Bay or even disappear from Manitoba altogether.
But here in the Amundsen Gulf, polar bears appear to be doing OK. The North Beaufort subpopulation, which includes the gulf and nearby Banks Island, is officially listed as stable, with an estimated 935 bears.
In this part of the Arctic, polar bears share the ice and land with a smattering of grizzlies, and are even capable of mating with their southern cousins. The existence of a hybrid polar-grizzly was confirmed by DNA testing in 2006.
If it wasn't for its remote location, the Western Arctic would be overrun by ecotourists, as Banks Island is home to the world's largest muskox concentrations, two species of caribou, two bird sanctuaries, pristine Aulavik National Park and the stunning cliffs of Nelson Head, sheer walls of two-billion-year-old rock that rise up 425 metres.
Ringed seals and Arctic foxes are also spotted in the gulf, though I personally haven't had any luck seeing any so far.
I'm content with my single polar bear, who was last seen bounding away from the belly of an icebreaker, either because of the noise made by our steel crashing through sea ice -- or because the presence of people registers as danger in his ursine brain.
bartley.kives@freepress.mb.ca
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