Chairs scrape against the floor as passengers spring to their feet, half-eaten cookies forgotten. Binoculars rise and faces light up with excitement as they turn to the frost-lined windows. A flurry of motion follows as guests scramble up the stairs to the deck; I’m among them, but not before sprinting down to my cabin to grab my camera and every lens I brought.

On deck, a crowd has gathered, but the bear is so far away that even with my rented 800mm zoom lens, I can barely make out the white dot against the grey and brown rocks of Devon Island, the largest uninhabited island on Earth. The chance to spot iconic Arctic wildlife like polar bears, belugas and narwhals is a bucket-list dream for most on board Ocean Endeavour, but as we’re learning, an Arctic expedition is not like an African safari. The chance of spotting wildlife is rare, so passengers are always on high alert. During long stretches of downtime between meals and activities, I bundle myself in every layer I brought and walk laps of the ship’s deck, camera in hand. Surely, if I can optimize my time outside, I will catch a glimpse of something.

During one of our many conversations, he pulls out his phone and shows me a picture of himself beside a bloodied polar bear carcass. “This was the last polar bear I got,” he says with a grin, adding that polar bear meat is too rich for him, so most of the bear goes to the community freezer. “I keep the skin and give the wildlife officers some samples.”

He explains that hunters can voluntarily provide an analysis of their catch to wildlife officers in Nain to be used for scientific research. Samples of meat and skin are submitted along with a booklet containing the hunters’ observations about the bear, including its size, sex and body condition. “I think we should share because we help them and we find out more things about the animals.”

This ethos of cross-cultural cooperation and knowledge sharing infuses a good portion of the programming on board Ocean Endeavour. Many staff and guests on board share a concern for the sensitive environment through which we’re travelling.

The Arctic is changing rapidly, warming nearly four times faster than the rest of the globe. As temperatures rise, the once-impenetrable sea ice is thinning and retreating, exposing fragile ecosystems. Permafrost, which has held ancient carbon for millennia, is beginning to thaw, releasing methane and contributing to global warming in ways that are not yet well understood. Glaciers that once shaped the landscape are shrinking at an alarming rate, and the shift in temperature is disrupting marine and terrestrial food webs. While Western science scrambles to make sense of these changes through satellite data and remote observation, the Inuit are the catalysts for understanding how these transformations may impact the land and the people and wildlife that rely on it.

On day seven, we debark in the small Inuit community of Mittimatalik. Here, most of the community hunts and fishes to offset the astronomical cost of food flown up from the south (two litres of milk can cost upwards of $50).

“A lot of times, we resort to country foods such as seal, caribou, whales and char in order to sustain our families,” says local guide Kelly Akpaleeapik. Intake varies by household, he adds, but in general, most families eat from the land more often than they do from the store. As we walk through the town, evidence of that ancient and vital relationship is everywhere — in the caribou antlers mounted on homes, the skins drying on frames and the bones of past catches arranged on front porches. Across the North, hunters’ cabins dot the landscape — simple shelters built for anyone needing a place to rest while on the land.  

But the hunt is changing, says Akpaleeapik as we pass a home adorned with various caribou skulls. “Last winter, the ice didn’t form until mid-December. It’s usually formed around the end of November, but it was about three weeks late. This makes it difficult for us to get more seals,” he explains.

For Akpaleeapik, helping scientists study Arctic wildlife is a way to educate visitors to the north and assist with preserving different species. For several years, he worked as a polar bear monitor and scientist’s assistant, teaching researchers how to look for wildlife and humanely capture animals for study. He is more than happy to share his knowledge of the Arctic ecosystem, especially if it prevents misunderstanding between Inuit and scientists. 

“Misunderstanding creates more misunderstanding,” he says. “To solve that problem, I think it’s important to educate. There are no ill feelings when I educate people. Everyone has that equal chance of learning and teaching because students also teach their teachers.”