More from Diane:

It is 5 pm. We have been dropped off at the Aurora Inn after a full day of traveling, via airplane, guide Steve’s rickety school bus, and an up-and-down helicopter. We have an hour before being picked up for dinner. I need coffee.

But I am happy. Happy to be back in Churchill, where the wind is still shooting horizontally, the snow is falling ice, and the bears are here aplenty, at least from the air. Happy to be with this travelling pack (although missing the prior trip’s crew), who are so outwardly different but so easily melded. Happy to see the little kids out for Halloween, which is even bigger than I had thought. Happy to climb into the rickety school bus. Happy to see Gypsy’s never-ending long johns.

The day began inauspiciously enough. 4:30 a.m. (yes 4:30 a.m.). Piling into the shuttle to the Winnipeg airport. The new airport, which opened only yesterday. Lovely, for an airport.

6:00. On the propeller plane. Too tired to do anything but ask for coffee. Which, of course, poured over me a half hour later, when I awoke to the captain’s “good morning!” (not even “Good Morning Viet Nam!”).

Stepping off of the plane in Churchill, the wind slapped my face with a grand hello. I have waited for the cheek freeze since last March. Some may disagree, but to me, that sting signals life. Soon boots will crunch on snow. I love that sound. If only I weren’t terrified of driving in the snow.

Steve approached the disheveled group of 16. Looking just the same, except for the grey in his beard. Cock-eyed, bald with the grey beard, hat on, shuffling like the bears, wryly tired. Into the bus!

A longer city tour than last time. Over gutted gravel roads, to the polar bear jail (where errant bears go before being helicoptered across the water 40 miles away—90% return to Churchill within 24 hours). To the new town center, which has the medical center, full school, movie theatre, bowling alley…To the post office, to get those terrific Polar Bear stamps in our passports, and to the adjacent “store,” to get liquor. To the old military fortress, made of 12 feet of stone, constructed over 45 years, and which is now under a 25-year repair plan.

No bears yet. Instead, lunch. Gypsy’s! The “fancy” wooden table remains, showing Steve’s king status over the other tour guides and their metal table allotment. Although this group is not up to the eating snuff of my prior trip, my compatriots just need time. Cold, wind and time.

After the museum, my first Churchill helicopter trip. It seemed strange that the pilot wore a big honking helmet, but not his passengers. No, we only had headsets, into which the pilot spoke gibberish. A little bumpy lift-off suggested that next time, the helicopter should precede lunch. The landscape from above is even more barren than as seen from the ground. The ground, Steve said, contains no soil. Everything must “grow” from the rocks, which are 3500 years old. The rocks are huge charcoal grey looking hunks of stone, which were forced to the surface after the Ice Age retreated from this area. There are no tall trees, only small shrubs (called willows, but looking nothing like those at home). Because of the fierce winds, the shrubs grow leaves/needles only on one side. Nice directional signal.

Just when we thought all we were going to get from this ride was air sickness, we saw moose. And more moose. Just standing there. One with antlers. That’s when the pilot tipped the helicopter sideways, to give us a better view. That was the last I could look at the moose. The same thing happened after another 20 minutes, when we found bears trudging along to nowhere. Helicopter tip, stomach lurch, goodbye bears. I am proud to say that I exited the helicopter without having used the sickness bag. I am not proud to say that I immediately went out of the terminal building, and sat on the steps, for a very long time.

Tonight is dinner at Gypsy’s and an Imax-like slide show. Last year’s slide show blew me away.


Dinner was raucus, especially considering the septuagenarian and octogenarian participants. Arthur, whose trip is a birthday present from his wife, is English. So, he got to celebrate his pre-birthday at dinner, since by then it was his birthday in England.

And Lisa, tomorrow’s buggy driver, stopped in to check on her charges. Lisa looks just like the lead actress in the Prime Suspect tv show—young, beautiful and life-living. During my last go around, one of our group lusted after her throughout the trip. When we each took our turns to drive the buggy, he never looked at the road—just at Lisa. I asked Lisa if she remembered her admirer, given how many tours she takes each season. She remembered him, since he rescued retired greyhounds, but had no recollection of his yearnings for her. She also didn’t remember her polite decline of his invitation to go with him to a local Halloween party. She did, however, remember that she asked guide Steve (who she calls Mr. Clean, from the old commercials—can’t forget that head) to that very party that very year. She ruefully announced that bon vivant Steve stood her up, when he fell asleep at 9:30 p.m. Catcalls all around.

As we left Gypsy’s the snow was flying. By the time we returned to the hotel after a pictorial slide show, the snow pasted to the ground. While the others went to their rooms, I stayed outside and listened to the quiet. Before turning in I looked to the stars, let those big flakes cover my face, and listened to the bear-tracking sirens.

Tomorrow-- the tundra. The bears. Be still my heart.