True North

Sunset on
Hudson Bay

I still don't know exactly why I felt so drawn to the arctic before I ever went there. But now that I've been many times, some of the reasons for the affinity have taken shape: the landscapes that, from a distance, create the illusion that they are bleak and lifeless, up close, reveal a symphony of life; the plants' and animals' remarkable capacity for thriving under extreme conditions; familiar birds in unfamiliar contexts, such as yellowlegs singing atop a spruce; the intoxicating arctic light. For whatever the reasons, the urge to explore the northern regions of the world led me first to Churchill, Manitoba, an area that encapsulates most things boreal. That first trip iced it for me, as it were.

Twenty years ago, in June 1978, I co-led a Massachusetts Audubon natural history tour to Churchill with one of the best in the business, Jim Lane. (Many of the earliest editions of the American Birding Association's popular series of bird-finding guides, including the Churchill guide, were authored by Jim.) Our mid-June arrival was intended to coincide with the peak of migration along this stretch of Hudson Bay's western shore. As our train rolled into town, the last stop on a 1000-mile run from Winnipeg, we were greeted by a blizzard: gale-force winds and zero visibility -- a total whiteout.

Later that evening, after the group retired, I ventured out alone. By then a spectacular transformation was taking place. By 8:30, the sun, low, yet still two hours from setting, was making fleeting appearances through the cracks in the clouds. The wind was nearly calm. As I made my way down to the mouth of the Churchill River, I remember thinking that I had never seen such stunningly beautiful scenery. I came upon flocks of Long-tailed Jaegers roosting among immense, ice-polished, silver-granite boulders, and I spent an hour stalking them, approaching one to within fifteen feet. They were the first I had ever seen.

As the sun neared the horizon, and the clouds flared, I continued down to the bay and began to pick my way out onto the ice flows until I reached open water. By now the surface was glassy calm. I stood transfixed by peach-hued icebergs and chattering flocks of feeding phalaropes. A flock of Arctic Terns approached, attracted by something as yet unseen by me. Then, a pod of Beluga Whales surfaced only yards away, puffing and whistling and clicking as they fed on fish just below the surface. Within seconds, I was amid a riot of feeding whales, terns, long-tailed jaegers, phalaropes, and Sabine's Gulls, all against an arctic sunset backdrop.

This was my first day in Churchill. I was sold. But there was more to come.

Long-tailed Jaeger