Jill Insley 

Freeze frame: photographing polar bears

A professional guide helps when photographing polar bears in the Arctic – especially if, like Jill Insley, you mistake them for a large lump of snow
  
  

Polar bear photo
Arctic adventure ... tourists taking photos of a polar bear from the deck of the Vavilov. Photograph: Jill Insley Photograph: Jill Insley

How hard can it be to photograph polar bears? They are the world's biggest land carnivore and live in a treeless environment, so should be fairly easy to spot. And their average walking speed is 3.5mph, so it shouldn't be too hard to get close. How wrong could I be?

Before setting off to the Arctic archipelago of Svalbard, I asked for advice from photographer and wildlife film-maker Sue Flood. Now, on the very first morning, I realise that I have already broken the first three of her rules: get to know your equipment (I played with my borrowed camera for one day before leaving); bring the right kit (it is raining – why don't I have a cover for the camera?); and wear warm clothing (it's difficult to get good shots when you're shaking with cold).

I am finding it hard to adhere to the fourth rule, too: make eye contact with your subject. The other nine people on the rubber Zodiac boat have apparently spotted a polar bear and are saying, "There he is! Can you see him?" All I can see through rain-smeared glasses is a rocky grey beach with a dirty-looking, boulder-sized lump of snow on it. Have I given up two weeks in the sun to shiver in a lurching boat for this?

Then the lump shifts slightly, and a smaller, black-tipped boulder appears from its other side – a head. It is too far away and in a terrible position for photos, but it is still our first polar bear.

My daughter and I are sailing around Svalbard on the Sergei Vavilov, a former Russian spy ship. Whaling and walrus-hunting were big here in the 17th and 18th centuries, but now seven national parks protect 65% of the archipelago, and hunting bears and walruses is banned. That said, anyone venturing outside Longyearbyen is advised to take a rifle with them. While we are in Svalbard, a Norwegian canoeist camping on one of the islands is dragged from his tent by a bear.

Most of the 103 people on board have booked through Exodus, and although the age range is wide – from 13-year-old Imogen, my daughter, to people in their 70s – everyone is reasonably fit and willing to have a go. The team do try to make concessions for less agile travellers, but weather and sea don't.

In the afternoon we head to an inlet where the remains of a dead whale lie just under the water. All of a sudden there are more bears than you can shake a stick at. One is spotted resting high above us on a ledge, then a mother and cub are sighted towards the top of a mountain. Most exciting of all, a young, scrawny bear is heading straight for the carcass.

We float about 20ft from the bear as it repeatedly dives into the water, emerging with lumps of whale meat in its jaws. Cameras are clicking furiously. I forget about being cold and uncomfortable. All that matters is getting a picture of the animal as it heaves its body furiously from side to side to shake water from its fur.

In the evening we return in the company of professional photographer Paul Goldstein. He knows exactly where the Zodiac needs to be positioned to get the best shots. A large male bear has already dined on the whale carcass and is starting a long, slow climb up the mountain, fabulously backlit by the sun.

"Wait until his offside front leg is coming forward," says Paul. "It opens up the bear's body and makes a better picture." Then, as the bear gets higher, he says: "Drop down a couple of f stops if you really want something unusual."

Most people on the trip are using amateur SLRs or small automatics. Most, including me with my Canon EOS 7D, are taking what Paul describes as "postcard" pictures, the type that will make people go "ahh", rather than force them to linger in admiration. But two days into the trip Paul takes us in hand. Showing a selection of his own images, he illustrates how positioning, light, speed and movement can turn a "nice" photo into a spectacular one.

He also urges us to be more cavalier with our equipment. "Take the cover off your lens and slip it in your pocket so you can change [lenses] without wasting time," he says. "Which is worse? Eventually scratching the lens, or knowing you have missed a once-in-a-lifetime shot because you were fiddling with lens caps? Cameras are tougher than you think."

The next day, as we edge through slushy ice towards a vast glacier. Paul explains how the calving of the ice at the front oxygenates the water, encouraging lots of fish to the surface. The result? Thousand of kittiwakes in a feeding frenzy.

"Slow your camera right down," says Paul. "Try 1/30th [shutter speed]." I do, and instead of a boring shot of birds behaving badly, I get a photo that looks a bit like an Arctic Monet. Some of the birds are in focus because they are flying towards the camera; most are blurred into an essence of motion.

But it is only when we head out into the open sea littered with ice floes that I really feel we are in the Arctic. We see so many bears it is difficult to believe they are endangered. The crew are extremely good at spotting these small blobs of cream in a vast area of white.

The crew spy a mother and cub, and the captain nudges the ship towards them until the vessel is resting against their patch of ice. The bears are so intrigued by the smells emanating from the ship (excited photographers and beef bourguignon) that they come right up and touch the side of the Vavilov with their noses.

Paul is obsessed with achieving "air" in his images. By this he means space between the animal and the ground, to give a real wow factor. And polar bears, despite their bulk, are very obliging: reluctant to get wet, they take giant leaps from one ice floe to another. One hopscotches over several floes.

But the gold medal goes to our very last bear. At Hornsund we see her walking across the top of the glacier. Reaching the side where ice meets land, she lies down on her front with her head and paws pointing towards the water and starts sliding. No air, and too far away for most people to get decent shots, but we will never forget this Amy Williams of the bear world.

Exodus's (0845 004 1382, exodus.co.uk) 11-day Spitzbergen Photographic Charter with Paul Goldstein tour costs from £4,139pp including SAS flights from London, accommodation in a twin cabin, meals and activities. Departures are on 16 June and 16 July

 

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