Too close for comfort

April was the cruelest month, and we were amid the deafening stillness that is the Ungava region in far-northern Quebec.

Surrounded by desolated shores and mountains, we journeyed farther north.

Left almost desperate and too hung-over for anyone’s good, fellow geologist Dan Headrick and I busied ourselves with the immediate task of surviving the first night.

Expected low temperatures and high winds spurred us on to reach camp. All went as we had hoped, with the return of the small-winged Beaver aircraft bringing us the basics to aid in our search for mineral deposits — and for our survival. Gas, propane, naphtha, kerosene, diesel and batteries would provide heat, light and transportation.

The daily snowmobile trip was long, cold and bumpy. The ground to be surveyed was made more difficult by drifting snow and blinding sun. With the weather as a constant withering companion, one longed for respite from the angry winds.

The occasional rain had become constant drizzle, and Ungava’s famous fog had leapt upon us. Graeme Scott and I had spent the day prospecting and stream-sediment sampling. We were within a mile of our tent when Graeme spotted a polar bear in our path.

I’ve long maintained, contrary to most, that above the tree line things appear farther away than they are. This bear looked awfully close. We removed our backpacks and stared at what had been an unlikely possibility.

The wind was strong in our face. We moved toward a large tree, uncertain of the best course of action. When the bear remained still, we continued to walk away and around, losing sight of the beast.

We stopped, and soon the bear came to our side of the slope and headed straight for us. It halted, sniffed a few times, shrugged and continued on its way. (Now, we were down-wind, and it was later suggested that that alone was enough to discourage the predator.)

Retrieving our gear, we watched the beast amble up the next rise, heading for the Labrador coast.

Grateful that no blood had been shed, we hurried back to camp. We had a story to tell that night, but the majestic king of the North had given us an experience to last a lifetime.

— The author, a geologist, resides in Val d’Or, Que.