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British Mensa Travel Special Interest Group |
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Planes,
Trains and Tundra Buggies by Anne Dearle We were travelling up to Moosonee on a train. You have to go by rail or air as there is no through road to Moosonee. We were having a cup of tea in the dining car and there were two Cree Indian men sitting at the opposite table drinking beer (not their first that day, it would seem) and talking. The train stopped, as it often did as anyone could thumb a lift anywhere along the line, and another Cree Indian got on and joined his pals. He was a trapper and he told them that he had killed a big bull moose, which was now in the baggage car. He promised moose steaks for all when he got the beast home. The three of them went on chatting amiably and reminiscing. One, who looked older than the others said he had once seen wolves in the forest, but he was not afraid because he felt that his ancestors would protect him. He sensed his grandfather's presence so he felt safe. He said he believed in the old Indian superstitions and the others agreed. There were many Cree Indians on that train because it was the weekend before Thanksgiving Day and they were returning home to celebrate with their families. One wondered what they had to celebrate, bearing in mind that their lands had been stolen by the early settlers and most of their ancestors had been killed off, either by starvation or a lack of immunity to the white man's diseases. The modern Cree Indians look far from prosperous and they are all overweight to the point of obesity. So it would seem that they are now in danger of being killed off by the white man's fast foods. Moosonee sits on the tip of James Bay, an inlet of the great Hudson Bay, looking across the water to the Moose Factory island where most of the Indians live. This is the home of the original Hudson's Bay Company and it was a thriving community in the days when it was the centre of fur trading. These days it is a cold, desolate place virtually cut off from the outside world. All that remains of the Hudson's Bay Company is a rather unglamorous, hangar-like building which houses the Northern Supermarket, which bought out its illustrious ancestor several years ago. On Sunday we spent the night in Winnipeg in order to fly up to Churchill, on Hudson Bay, on the Monday. We set off in a tiny 'plane like a bus with wings. There were just thirty-three passengers, one stewardess and one pilot. We had to be sprayed with de-icer before we took off because it was so cold and was snowing. We were to land at Gillam on route and then take off again for Churchill. During the flight I saw the pilot come out of the cockpit and go into the loo. He was in there a long time and I was beginning to wonder if he had been taken ill, but he eventually emerged and all was well. Thank heavens for autopilots! Our landing at Gillam was a hair-raising experience. We came through the low clouds only just above the tops of the trees and then we started to descend over a lake. We got lower and lower and I hoped the pilot realised he was over the water, when there was a bump and we had landed on a sort of gravel path leading to a hut which turned out to be the air terminal. The pilot came into the cabin and announced that he would be taking off again at 4.00pm, but not for Churchill because conditions there were too bad for him to land, so he would be flying back to Winnipeg. We all got off the plane and congregated in the terminal building. There were two parties of Americans and the two of us. Having got so far, nobody wanted to go back to Winnipeg. We all decided that we would get ourselves into the town to the railway station and wait for the train to come through at midnight. The train was our only option as there is no road north of Gillam. We attached ourselves to one of the American groups who seemed happy to adopt us and joined them in a patient queue to wait for the one available taxi to ferry us, four at a time, into town. In the event we were taken in the hotel van, which had joined in the operation, and got a free ride to the station. The stationmaster was a bit taken aback to find himself dishing out tickets to thirty-three unexpected foreign travellers, but he coped magnificently. He had no computer so, as everyone wanted to pay by credit card, he had to ring through to some larger station down the line to check each card separately. The whole thing took over an hour and, when it was done, he agreed to keep the station open so that we had somewhere warm and dry to wait for the train. The hotel restaurant invited us to join the locals for Thanksgiving dinner so we all trooped across the road and packed into the small, crowded dining room for an excellent meal of salad, followed by turkey with all the trimmings, vegetables and potatoes, finishing with pumpkin pie and coffee. Then we fought our way back through the worsening blizzard to the station waiting room. It was a long wait, but it passed by quite quickly because the Americans were such amusing company. We had several visitors, including a railway engineer who thought we were mad to go on and wanted to know why we were so keen to get to Churchill. We told him we were going there to see the polar bears and he said we would be better off going back to Winnipeg and visiting the zoo! Then the local member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police called in to see us. She was a girl who originally came from the UK (from Tottenham) and she did not wear a red coat or have a horse, which was disappointing. She told us that the local bus had got stuck in the snow and all the passengers would have to spend the night on it. At last, the train arrived with bells ringing and whistle blowing, and we all climbed aboard with great difficulty as the snow was swirling and the wind was so strong we nearly got blown over. We had been travelling with a group of British railway enthusiasts and had temporarily split off from the main party to fly on ahead. They were already on the train and were astonished when we joined them in the middle of the night in a flurry of snow. We had been meant to join up with them at Churchill the following day. We arrived in Churchill and were taken in a bus to join our 'Tundra-Buggy' about fifteen miles out of town. A Tundra-Buggy is a large, high bus-like vehicle on enormous wheels, which is able to drive slowly out on to the frozen tundra, riding over rocks and through shallow lakes. It was bitterly cold, there was a gale force wind, it was snowing heavily and the sea was beginning to freeze, but it was quite warm in the Buggy and we were reasonably comfortable. We travelled further into the wilderness, eagerly scanning the horizon for polar bears. Once we stopped to watch an arctic fox trotting along in front of us. We also saw ptarmigan and Canada geese. After about an hour we spotted a bear lying by some bushes, watching us. He was probably thinking "Oh good! Meals on wheels!" Before long, we saw two other polar bears and we stopped to see what they would do. We had a picnic of hot soup, sandwiches and cake, and then settled down to wait. Our patience was rewarded because two of the bears who, we were told, were young males, began to wrestle like small boys. They rolled over, pretending to bite each other, and then rose up on their hind legs and sparred playfully. In a few months time, when they are ready to mate, they will compete for a female and will fight for real. Polar bears are amazing creatures and it was wonderful to see them in their natural habitat. They are so enormous and have beautiful thick, creamy fur. They look so loveable but, in reality, they are vicious animals and there are many stories of people being attacked and even killed by them. Sometimes they go into Churchill looking for food, and there is a 'polar bear jail' where they are kept, having been tranquilised until they can be slung in nets under a helicopter, and transported back out on to the tundra. We spent
the whole day out on the tundra and then returned to Churchill to catch
the evening train back to Winnipeg. It is a journey of over a thousand
miles and takes two nights to complete. So, because of our hiccup in the
outward journey, we never got to stay a night in Churchill, meaning that
we had four days of travel just to spend the day there! Well worth it,
we agreed. First published in VISA issue 28 (spring 1998). |