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THERE WERE NEARLY 200 PEOPLE on our ship’s deck, but not one sound. In front of us, on the ice surrounding our bow, someone had spotted a milk-coloured smudge – possibly a polar bear. The air twanged with the tension of the crowd holding their breath and willing the creature into being. Then a black snout poked out, followed by a smaller, wobbly blob. A mum and her cub! It only took a second before the silence broke and we started snapping as many photos as our freezing fingers could manage. Here was a truly special sight – even in polar bear territory.

We were in the middle of the Northwest Passage in Arctic Canada, a place so far north, there’s nothing above it on Google Maps. With no accommodation in the area, we were living aboard our ship, the Ultramarine, a technologically advanced polar-class vessel launched in 2021 by boutique cruise line Quark Expeditions. For wildlife lovers, this is polar bear heaven: the Canadian Arctic is home to about two-thirds of the world’s wild polar bear population, estimated to be around 26,000. But more than that, the passage is a place that has captivated humans for hundreds of years.

Since the 15th century, when the Ottoman Empire dominated overland trade routes from Europe to Asia, explorers have been consumed with finding another way to connect the two continents through this remote channel. But ice and perilous weather foiled most of their attempts, and many died or disappeared trying. It was only in 1906 that the crossing was successfully completed on water by Norwegian explorer Roald Amundsen. (Another explorer, Irishman Robert McClure, also navigated it between 1850 and 1854, but partly by ship and on foot.)

These days, the way sometimes remains unfrozen for entire summers and the waters are much calmer. But it’s a bittersweet win. The smoother sailing conditions are a result of global warming, which, among other effects, is forcing polar bears further inland earlier each year and shrinking their numbers. Close to the Northwest Passage, Canada’s West Hudson Bay polar bear population has fallen by 27 per cent over the past five years, according to state government reports. And as the bears’ ranges increasingly overlap with that of grizzly bears, some experts fear the marine mammals may lose a battle with the grizzlies for territory. In some areas, hybrid bears called pizzly or grolar bears have been discovered.

A view from above

From the tip of the passage we made our way south-east to Prince Leopold Island, one of the largest seabird colonies in the Arctic. Here, the bear gods beamed on us again. On a zodiac outing, we spotted a male prowling the bottom of the sheer cliffs that echoed with the cackling of over 500,000 northern fulmars and other species that nest here every summer. Shutting off our engines and hanging back in the shallows, we got close enough to see it munching unhurriedly on the wing of a gull – a reminder that as the Arctic warms and food for the bears (usually seals) gets harder to find, birds are increasingly becoming a key nutrition source.

In between polar bear sightings, the days were spent either on zodiac rides (on one occasion doing doughnuts around icebergs) or treks across isolated islands speckled with relics from explorers past, our guides always keeping us on safe paths and on the lookout for more polar bears. People often think that cruises are sedentary, but on expedition cruises like this one, it’s easy to hit 10,000 steps daily.

One morning, we anchored off Devon Island, site of the sprawling 12,000-square-kilometre Devon Ice Cap and the world’s largest uninhabited island (it’s more than 75 times the size of Singapore). Known as Mars on Earth because of how inhospitable it is – there have been futile attempts to live here by everyone from the Inuits to the Royal Canadian Mounted Police – the land still draws brave hopefuls, such as scientists from Nasa’s Haughton Mars Project, who currently use it as a Red Planet simulation site during the warmer months.

Here, we were to get a view of the ice cap that others rarely see. One of the star features of the Ultramarine is that it’s equipped with two twin-engine helicopters that can take guests 1,000 feet above the wilderness, and the day’s blue skies offered perfect conditions for going up. As the blades thumped the air and we swept over the ice sheet, we caught our breath. From land, the face of the ice cap hadn’t revealed any hint of its size, but from the air, it stretched as far as the eye could see. The sun hung low in the sky, carving deep blue shadows into the lines and crevices below. It felt like we were flying over ancient epidermis, practically grazing the earth’s skin.

History and culture

Perhaps the most well-known strip of land in the Northwest Passage is Beechey Island, the final resting place of three of the men involved in one of the worst disasters in polar history. The ill-fated, 129-member Franklin expedition of 1845, led by British navy officer Sir John Franklin, went missing a year after it left. It wasn’t until 1859 that the fate of the quest emerged following a final search mission – every man had perished from sickness or starvation after being trapped by ice and battered by the Arctic weather.

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Disappointingly, it was pouring when we pulled up to Beechey, and conditions made it impossible to land. But from afar, three simple grey gravestones could be seen crouching unsheltered in the rain, recalling the terrible fate suffered by Franklin and his men.

It’s not all death and doom in these parts, however. Despite the area’s harsh conditions, it’s home to several thriving communities. One of these is Arctic Bay, a hamlet surrounded by hills on three sides that opens up to a magnificent vista of mountains and ocean. Most people in this town of 750 are Inuits who pivoted from a nomadic hunting life to a settled existence from the 1950s; many are now employed by the government as wildlife surveyors.

At these communities, cruise ships are generally welcome because they offer a source of supplementary income: each ship is charged service fees for the number of passengers it has onboard, which then gets reinvested into local jobs. There’s also a sense of festivity around the visits because work is put on pause and everyone gathers in the community hall, where the guests are treated to a cultural performance.

This being Inuit country, the displays often involve katajjaq, the practice of throat singing where two women duet using primeval-sounding growls, huffs, hums and chants. It’s thought to have begun millennia ago by mothers mimicking the sounds of nature to catch food for their children. On our visit, we were treated to a show of these hypnotic, rhythmic vocalisations by two charming young sisters, who after every piece broke the spell they cast by dissolving into infectious fits of giggles. As they bowed off the stage, it was clear how remarkably well the people of Arctic Bay had preserved their ancient culture. But some things don’t change, no matter where you are. A local whale surveyor, when asked about life in the community, lamented how busy he was: “I have to work all the time!”

All too soon, we were on our way to the tiny town of Resolute to catch a chartered flight back to the mainland. (The second-most northerly community in Canada, Resolute is so far north, you often have to look south for the Northern Lights, one guide told us.) We squinted out of the ship, hoping for one last polar bear sighting before leaving the Great White North. Instead, the landscape produced another prize: two giant musk ox, grazing on an almost-vertical cliff, their bulky bodies performing an improbable ballet as they nibbled their way across the cliffside on their disproportionately small hooves.

It felt like a final gift from the fabled Northwest Passage; a gentle reminder that although many of its secrets had been mapped by Franklin, Amundsen et al, and climate change is chipping away at it, this prehistoric liquid labyrinth of mystery and magic still runs deep. And just like it did with all those early adventurers, it continues to wield incredible power in luring humans to explore the world beyond their horizons.