I'm back to see the polar bears. In Winnipeg at the Hilton after uneventful (except for the hour long security line) flight from O'Hare.

Met a lovely couple from England in the shuttle to the airport. Audrey the wife is returning for a second go around with the bears, as a birthday present for her husband Arthur, who is on his first trip.

Will report after the get together dinner tonight. Need to find out whether this crew is as fond of long johns and pizza for breakfast as our wondrous Susan W (who I greatly miss).

Diane, I'm so envious !! I need to introduce Arthur to Tom. I hope you have another fabulous experience.

Oh I can't wait for more stories from Diane!

Me too! You're such an entertaining story teller Diane!

Diane, we will all be waiting for your trip stories. I for one, can't wait!

Karen, my asst Lori will be emailing you reports. Please upload them Thanks

Wonderful reports to look forward to! Thanks in advance!

It is 4:15 a.m. Meeting for the plane. 4:15 a.m.
I will say no more.

Posting for Diane:

This year's group, while not as great as the B&K group of two years ago
(how could it be?) has supreme potential. At dinner tonight, we few U.S.
attendees (5) were outnumbered by 8 Englanders, including a
mother/daughter duo just out of All Creatures Great and Small. Plus a
young French couple (she looks like Mary Louise Parker) on a month long
vacation. And a silent Swiss fellow.

If the last group had its stodgy (non-B&K) elements, this group is full
of laughing, chocolate cake eating bear lovers. Bodes well for a fine
experience.

I had forgotten the first day's early wake-up call -- head-um-up-and-out
at 4:30 a.m., for a 6 a.m. flight to Churchill. I took the announcement
much better, however, than the group's remaindermen, who shrieked in
horror. And that was the male contingency. The women just sighed,
knowing their responsibility for their other halves. Then two people, at
opposite ends of the table, demanded 4:45 a.m. coffee. At that moment I
knew I was amongst my own. Let the bean grinding begin. Columbian,
please.

If this is a sign of what is to come, we are in for some great reading! Thanks, Diane!

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.

awesome reading loved it!!!

Diane, your words come to life! I remember the very cold face slaps from wind in the upper Midwest in my earlier ears. Enjoy the tundra .. we're counting on your writing skills so we can enjoy them, too!

Cheers, Anne-

diane, your excellent writing is tremendously colorful, descriptive and wonderful! thanks for sharing your great adventures! i hope you continue to have a marvelous time. enjoy!

What a writer you are amazing!! I was not to enthralled with the helicopter ride either although had no problems with the movement you just really do not see that much and it is so expensive.

Gypsy's brings back fond memories as does Steve who I thought was an awesome guide so glad he is your "keeper" again.

Sounds like the weather is as expected. That very first trip we were SO lucky although cold we did not have the wind and falling snow. Of course we did not have the lovely LISA.

Hope you see TONS of bears sparring, mothers with babies and that the best bear of all SNAGLETOOTH is on stage. I wish you warm gypsy's soup of your favorite variety and hot coffee at lunch time.

Steve probably wont remember us now it has been too long but wish him well for me anyway.

Next installment from Diane:

First, indulge my bemoaning that I needed this. It has been a tough month. Full of illness, of myself and those I adore. Full of worries. Full of working on planes and in hotels, trying to catch up. Full of sleepless dreams. The bears, for now, hold reality to the corner, where it peeks in but can’t make the turn.

And the bears. 37 by the count of birthday boy Arthur. The best day this season, according to Steve. Including three swimmers, which he said was unheard of. The first was spied, again by the birthday boy, less than 15 minutes after we started bumping on the buggy. The last, less than two minutes outside of the buggy station, causing delay in our dislodging while he was crackered away.

Today I saw my first sparring (bears, not people), with two males doing the he-man dance.
Bite the face. Paw the shoulder. Give the serious stare. Then stand and “fight.” For almost an hour. Steve told us that this sparring reflects neither aggression nor territoriality. Just bored play, until the waters decide to freeze; and training for the feast-fighting to come. It looked just like the PBS specials. But it was happening outside my buggy window.

At one point, Steve coaxed a big male under the outside buggy “patio,” over which we stood on a grated floor. That big black nose nudged ever so slightly up through the floor grates. Had we been brave, we could have smelled his breath. Then Steve held his outstretched palm high over the buggy’s side. The bear backed out from under the buggy, looked up, and jump-stretched onto the patio wall. Its stretch lasted 5 minutes. Those ears were two feet under the railing, which tells you where the face aligned.

Lunch was postponed and postponed again, while bear after bear trudged to us. By the time our soup was served (two hours late), the buggy was surrounded by 12 bears—11 males, 1 female (who kept her distance from the males), and no cubs.

My bears returned with a vengeance. But they didn’t remember me. I waited for recognition, for some sign of re-welcome. I stood in the buggy’s back porch, watching them, fighting the wind, hoping my bears would recognize my flying hair and iced glasses. I waved, but didn’t call. Guests don’t yell in their hosts’ homes.
My bears did not respond. Oh, they looked at the buggy, and incidentally at me. Out of boredom, not affection. They sloped around the buggy’s tires, and stretched up the buggy’s steel. Looking for food, not company.

No matter. I am back where I belong. At the most wondrous place on earth. More wondrous, even, than the penguins. Antarctica is crisp and clear. The sun streams through the water and ice like crystals; the penguins, and even the ugly elephant seals, seem digitized. HD on steroids.

The tundra, on the other hand, is like the old cinescope. Grainy. A little blurry. Like a cataract.
Thick grey clouds hide the sun. The land under the snow is brown, grooved by the buggies’ thick tires. The ice, when there is ice, is marled. The bears, and the foxes and ptarmigans, blend into this wasteland. They don’t stand out from it. I suppose this makes sense. If you stand out, you get eaten.

Either way, the November tundra, is a land of desolation. Antarctica, in contrast, is a sea of
life, above and below the ice. That I love it so speaks more of me than the tundra. I’m glad I’m not a psychiatrist.

Today was full. Tomorrow it repeats, hopefully with cubs.
p.s. This group continues to coalesce nicely. Lots of “look, look”, lots of sharing seats, binoculars and cameras, and lots of laughter.
And, pie for breakfast. The tradition continues, begun by Corrine of Paris (the Mary Louis Parker resembler), who had doughnuts and apple pie, followed by toast and jam, for her first meal. I looked at her plates, looked down at my oatmeal, and ordered more coffee.

Oh my! Diane, you really need to pursue a career as a writer; such prose! The heck with the legalese!

Diane, you have captured northern Manitoba perfectly! I am loving following along with you. For those who would like to view some of what Diane is able to see, you can log on to www.explore.org and watch the polar bears in Churchill on web cams.

Diane, I am hanging on to your every word...and photo! Thanks so much for helping me feel like I'm there.

In awe of your great writing Diane - one of my favorite sentences:

The bears, for now, hold reality to the corner, where it peeks in but can’t make the turn.

Diane, I am also loving your wonderful reports. Looking forward to more and more. Thanks!

Such fun to read! I especially love the photo of the polar bear feet!

Diane, your reports have exceeded my expectations! Loving it when I see a long post from you, and immediately get a cup of coffee and just enjoy!

Diane, as always, your writing enthralls me. Thank you for your detailed adventures of bears and gypsy's!!

carman, thanks for the link. No bears yet, but I hope they come.

There's a bear on web cam right now....

you're too nice.
not up to snuff today, so delayed in the report from the second day of tundra.
but this crew, on the last day, ate blueberry pie, pumpkin pie and cherry pie for breakfast! the men looked askance, but we women knew it was necessary. my oatmeal looked so pitiful in comparison.

Ngaire--Steve did remember you. He is the same. Just the same. His story about his midlife crisis marriage......

Beth used word enthralls & Diane think you'll get kick out of this - when my granddaughters were in 5th grade we would learn two new words and practice using them in sentences - enthrall and enclave were ones I remembered - one of them said after few days of using those words "I am enclaved to shop with you today, Honey"

perfect Joanna. perfect

Diane, eat PIE! or whatever sugar-laden things you can find!

Diane, whatever holds you up for posting, I think we'll all wait. But if you don't feel up to it, just give us one one your brief posts like you usually do!

Like,
perfect day,
okay day,
bad day.

OR happy birthday

You have impressed me with your posts as a woman of few words UNTIL you get on a ship or a trip, when you really come alive!

I think we have more to come~ ;) ;)

The wait is over, more from Diane!


So cold. Even for me. Without the wind, about 20 degrees. With the wind—a gazillion below. Hair sheeting horizontally, and then straight up. That cold pain, just like a hot burn. A buggy full of Pillsbury dough boys.

What a great day.

The troops know the drill. In the bus, the short rickety loud drive to Gypsy’s. Line up to order breakfast (yes, Corrine had pie). Off to the wooden table. Tea for the Englanders, cocoa for the French and Swiss, coffee for my countrymen—two cups on the table for me.

Off for the half hour bouncy ride to the buggy station. Even the school bus had trouble rounding the curves. Happy to be at the station, transferring to the buggy. Our driver today is Bill. The weather forecaster. The singer. Who has equipped the phone booth (local for the bathroom) with an outside red light (no jokes please), to avoid unnecessary interruptions.

And we’re off. Speeding (eight mph) to the far eastern part of the tundra, to find cubs, birds and foxes. “We’ll only stop for spectacular bears, so if you can’t see them without binoculars, we’re moving through.” So different from yesterday, when we would stop for anything, no matter how far away, even bear rock (the joke of a “bear” which, on closer view, is just a big rock).

Three hours later, Arthur has cited 9 bear from way afar. But nothing else. We search. And search. And search again. Success. A big male walking across the semi-frozen pond. A delight. And then nothing.

The troops are becoming disgruntled. Steve is uncharacteristically serious. He rails at the film crews parked at various sites. If these crews find a bear, they hone in and surround it (from the allotted road grooves—even they can’t divert from the established “roads”.) “They have no respect for the tundra.” The bear stresses from the invasion. Other bears sense the stress and stay away.

One film crew is from PBS. Another is streaming live footage. Another, which we do not see, has Dan Ackroyd, Rob Reiner and their families enjoying the scene as they film a documentary. Steve is neither star-struck nor otherwise amused.

After consultation with the other buggy drivers, we backtrack and head to another site. This takes an hour. Steve finally smiles. “Look at those beauties.” And the festivities begin.

Had we not had the treasure of yesterday, we would not have had the mental woes of this morning. Had we not had the disappointment of this morning, we would not have had the absolute delight of this afternoon. For during this afternoon, we were treated to hours of huge bears as they sparred, explored our buggy, jumped up our windows, and took a chunk of the buggy’s piping from underneath. That and minestrone for lunch. Couldn’t get any better.

Initially, the bears remained hidden in the willows, so that we could barely make them out. The bears don’t like the wind, even with their furry parkas. So they hunkered down. Eventually, one by one, three big, fat, healthy males wandered to the area near our buggy. Ignoring each other, they did their own thing in their solitary way.

One big guy spent close to an hour digging for something under the tundra’s ice. He looked. Then pawed. Then jumped up and down with those huge front feet. Over and over, until he dislodged a rectangular ice chunk. More sniffing. Bear nose pushing into the hole of the dislodged piece. More paw jumping. Bam. Bam. (I got this on video, but it is a shaky one, since it was so windy on the porch that the slippery railing was no use in steadying the camera).

At the same time, two others were scratching their backs at opposite ends of the buggy. Having tired of his ice play, the third wandered to the closest of the two and began his nudging. Face play. Mouth to mouth, teeth to ear. We thought it looked like the end of a good first date. Steve chided us for reading too many romance novels. I say we haven’t read enough.

And then the games began. The bigger of the big bears started pushing his companion. With his paw! Just like an eight year old! The other bear objected, wanting to lay down, but relented. Paws flying, bears standing on their hinders, boxing without lethal punches. Round after round. The bigger bear pinned the “smaller” one, just like a wrestler, except that he stood with his big bottom sticking up in the air. The pin held for a couple of minutes, until the other bear got himself up and around, and pulled the big guy to the ground. Hidden by the willows, until a big willow rustle. After which the two bears shot up on their hinders and went at it. They would stare at each other just before each round’s silent bell. Half-happy, half-stalking-serious. Totally cool.

As was the buggy. All the upper windows were down. The door to the porch was wide open. A few brave Texans were on the porch, if for only a couple of minutes, their fingers frozen as their cameras clicked. The winds were fierce, like the bear play. Too cool for words.

Eventually, the two parted and layed down in the willows. After a while, the smaller of the two lumbered to the third bear a bit away, again in the willows. This time, the smaller bear started sparring with the third bear.

In the middle of the second sparring match, the big, big bear decided to walk over to the buggy. Slowly, without purpose. Just to see what was up. He circled the buggy’s from half, looking at the tires, the windows, and us. He looked right at me through the front window. Then he sloughed onto the buggy’s side, and jumped right up. One woman was so startled that she clicked on the picture button without realizing it, and ended up with a close up of the bear’s face, his nose smushed against the window.

After using the buggy as a stairmaster, the bear dropped back down to the ground and moved under the buggy. I was right at the front on the right side. We felt a tugging, and the bear walked away from the buggy. With a piece of the buggy in its mouth. A silver intake something. The boor came back for more, and the driver stomped his feet twice, muttering “Not again.” The bear moved out of the bottom of the buggy and looked up through the windshield. The driver told us to move back, because this bear was so big that he could break the windshield if he jumped up onto it. The bear backed off. I wasn’t happy about that.

I glanced to my left, to see the other two bears still sparring. It was like the circus, with the jugglers in one ring and the acrobats in the other. I thought of a takeoff of one the title of one of my favorite plays—I Am My Own Circus.

After the disappointment of the morning, the crowd was going wild. Those unused to winter were on the buggy porch without hats or gloves. The others were either peering out of the pulled-down buggy windows or scrunched up at the buggy’s nose. Even the jaded Steve was howling. The driver of the buggy behind us, frustrated with our find, radioed our driver, telling him that the buggy company’s owner was calling our buggy back to the station. It didn’t work. Steve got on the radio and rubbed it in but good.

Eventually, of course, the blood sugar highs lead to devastating lows. It was time for the bumpy hour trek to return to the station. But not before the three bears (all poppa bears) moved to the tundra buggy lodge just ahead of us and started playing in the wheel area. Steve relented, giving us an extra few minutes, before paternally nudging us back into our seats for the trip home.

That trip was filled with “Did you see that?” and “Can you believe it?”; with the sharing of pictures and videos and, sooner than we would have liked, with the sounds of low snores. And one tiny female English voice—“But we didn’t see any cubs.”

True, we didn’t. But Steve said that we saw more bears in these two days than he had seen thus far this whole season. What lucky ducks.

Thank you, Diane.
This is so very cool!

Doug

And Diane's last installment :(


The bears are gone. Or rather, we are gone from the bears.

At the last dinner and breakfast in Churchill, Steve volunteered that we were a good group and told us stories of some of his hideous customers.

Most recently, the tour company’s owner agreed to tour a Chinese group, in the hope of opening a new profit avenue. Apparently, the Chinese had different rules of etiquette and of the road. They had no concept of a tour guide as the guy they must listen to and follow. The basic buggy rule, of course, is that the group must be seated while the buggy moves, because it is so bumpy (this rule also, of course, is increasingly laxly enforced as the tour progresses). The Chinese group never sat down until the guide (not Steve—can you imagine?) shut off the engine and laid down the law. The group pushed and shoved everywhere, line or no line. But most stupidly, despite the continuous warnings not to be outside the city after dark, this group took it upon themselves to get up in the middle of the night, and trounce the nine blocks through Churchill, and beyond its guideposts, looking for bears. Three nights! Jeez. The tours are only in Churchill for three nights. And with no knowledge of English, except for the group’s translator. Good thing that those volunteers prowl the city’s circumference at night. But they are supposed to be looking for bears, not people.

Then there are the people who, according to Steve, “don’t know diddly about Churchill or the tundra.” People of both genders greeting Churchill in thinly lined raincoats, with no gloves or hats. Just a suitcase full of camera stuff.

Or the women who climb down the Churchill plane’s stairs in spikes. Or in minks (nice touch, you environmentalists).

Or the woman who complained that her sheets were too thin.

What to expect (well, not the sheets) and what to bring are described in the materials groups receive after final payment. There is loads of information on the internet. And these people don’t read their documents. “They don’t care.”

You don’t need fancy clothes for this trip. REI needn’t make a big sale. Just Wisconsin winter layers. Even Floridians can figure that out.

In fact, Steve said that one of the nicest things about our bunch was that we weren’t dressed like the latest REI ad. Sweatshirts, sweaters, jackets, boots, socks. No fashion plates among the bunch. He liked that we meant business. I liked that no heels or stockings were involved.

Also, days passed before we asked each other what we “do” (for those not retired). No one cared, except as our work histories affected one or another discussion (we almost solved the English school problem, but Steve gave his five minute signal before we could pull it all together). We wanted to know about families, kids and grandkids, dogs (lots of dog talk), horses and, of course, the next trip. It wasn’t until days in that we found out that our silent Swiss gentlemen had climbed to the top of Mt. Kilimanjaro. To the top! And he didn’t volunteer that info. Someone asked him, in the context of some conversation about something.

Well, the last breakfast has been eaten, and the last coffee drunk. Bless them, Liz, Linda, Rosi and Corrine had pie—blueberry, cherry and pumpkin. Our English compatriots had never had pumpkin pie, so an extra piece was ordered. The wife-owner responded that she had specially made the blueberry pie for us at midnight (they work so hard during the high tourist weeks).

At the airport, Steve told us that we were one of his best groups of the season. Arniel (one of the few U.S.ers, but born in India) cracked that he must say that to all the girls, but Steve demurred. Steve did say something similar to Susan W.’s group two years ago, but I know for a fact that statement’s truth. I don’t care whether this group was or was not a “favorite.” I watched Steve smile for picture after picture (note that he did not smile for the group photos), hug his charges and make one last crack to each of them. He is a doll.

We landed back at the new Winnipeg airport around 2 p.m. After check-in, I headed downtown to the Forks and the Exchange districts. I walked and walked, for the first time in almost a week. Through the punk, nose-ringed gallery area. Through Hudson Bay Trading Company’s remaining store which, disappointingly, is now like a Macy’s. To the Winnipeg aboriginal museum, which is exquisite and full of textures. A sunny, warm day. Back to the birkenstocks.

I am bagging the last dinner in Winnipeg. Another early wake up. 4:30. a.m. A long bath, antibiotics and room service awaits. Maybe even a Real Housewives show. Any Real Housewives. A girl’s got to come back to reality somehow.

At the end of the first Churchill day-into-night, after we had been on the go for 16 hours, I told myself that I could not do this trip again. Too old. But by the end of the first tundra day, I knew. I’ll be back. To my bears. They are greater even than the penguins. I can’t describe how great they are to me. Or why. Those feet. Those teeny ears (to retain heat). Those innocent but knowing eyes. Those ambling tons of grace.

Who would rip my lungs out in a second. I never asked if there was a psychiatrist in our group. I could have arranged for a house call.

Thanks for listening.

Diane,so sorry it's over, but so glad it was everything you hoped for and more! Take your time easing back into reality! So looking forward to your next adventure; do you have one planned?

Thanks so much; it was great!

Kathy said it all - we appreciate you taking us along for the "ride" XXOO

It's over??? Say it ain't so, Diane. Thank you so much for your wonderful descriptions of Churchill with (most importantly) bears and without. You need to set up a blog. I know others, outside us LCTers would love to read of your adventures. Many thanks.

I'm sorry it's over but happy it was so special. I am a BIG bear lover so really enjoyed your postings. I guess for now I'll just live with my numerous bear photos and dream of your experience. Thanks so much Diane.

The buggy has plenty of room for you all next time

You are a TOUGH cookie Diane- I know how cold that can be and I think we did not even have it anywhere near as cold as you did. I remember having difficulty breathing it was so cold.

Fun to see the WOODEN table at Gypsys food tastes so good when it is really cold outside. I am having a cup of tea in the cup I bought at Gypsy's. It is white with black eyes and nose. A polar bear in a snow storm...

Great pictures too - one day you should do the Arctic trip you see the bears in a totally different setting along with the glaciers, birds and wonderful ice and it is not as cold as Churchill.