By Jan and Bruce Lichtenberger

CHURCHILL, Manitoba — The brilliant orange sunset makes the frost-covered landscape look like an enchanted crystal forest, everything twinkling in red and orange. Gazing west I see nothing but snow-covered rocks and tundra. Then, as happens in the enchanted forest, one of the rocks gets up on all fours and ambles across the horizon.

We've flown to this tiny town in a turboprop. To me, turboprop is an oxymoron — real jets don't have props. I'm one of those people who begin Lamaze breathing right after buckling the airplane's seat belt.

So why do I go along with all this? Bears. Great white bears. This is the only way into polar bears' territory — except for the train, which takes two days, and I've gotten to a point in my air travel where my impatience finally outweighs my fear.

If you go Polar bears generally can be seen migrating to Hudson Bay in October and November. There are only two ways to reach Churchill, both from Winnipeg, by air and by train. Calm Air International Ltd., (204) 778-6471, flies daily, with tickets at about $450 round trip. VIA Rail, (800) 561-9181,, runs three trains a week for the two-day trip. Trains go from Winnipeg on Sundays, Tuesdays and Thursdays, leaving at 8:45 p.m. and arriving in Churchill two days later at 8:30 a.m. Return trips from Churchill are on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays, leaving at 8:30 p.m. and arriving in Winnipeg two days later at 8:05 a.m. Round-trip tickets bought seven days in advance or more cost about $185; last-minute tickets cost about $295; and sleeping accommodations cost about $350. Great White Bear Inc., (204) 675-2781, and Tundra Buggy Tours Ltd., (204) 675-2121,, www.tundrabuggytours.com, offer eight-hour excursions onto the tundra for $150 to $175 per day. Tundra Buggy Tours also offers packages that include round-trip air from Winnipeg, three nights at the Tundra Buggy Lodge, meals and tours, for about $2,300.

We're five miles out of Churchill, where the early-November sun is setting a little before 4 in the afternoon. It's a town of about 800 on the shores of Hudson Bay. The town reminds me so much of Northern Exposure's Cicely that I expect to see Rob Morrow and Janine Turner round the corner any minute.

There's one main street, paved only a few years ago in honor of Queen Elizabeth's visit. Along with several restaurants and hotels, there's the port — a major center for shipping grain to northern European countries.

Churchill's main attraction however, is Wapusk, in the Cree language, or "Great White Bear." This time of year, they're everywhere, to the point that for Halloween, adults in town stand guard while the kids quickly make their trick-or-treat rounds. Churchill drivers watch for bears crossing the road much the way Colorado drivers watch for deer on the highway.

There are more bright yellow "Polar Bear Alert — Do Not Walk in This Area" signs here than there are stop signs, and it's the only town I know that has a polar-bear jail. When the critters wander too close to the city limits, they're tranquilized and carted off to the metal Quonset hut on the edge of town, to be released onto the bay after the big freeze.

The view of the bay from the giant picture window in the city complex confirms that winter is definitely here. The knock-you-down wind that's been howling for days has solidified the whitecaps on the bay, and everything is frozen and gray.

In late fall, Churchill is the bears' main corridor for entry onto the ice on Hudson Bay, where they spend the winter feasting on seals. In early spring, females and newborn cubs exit the denning area 40 miles south and east of Churchill to do the same.

Polar bears are the largest of the carnivores, with adult females weighing up to 700 pounds and males maxing out at about 1,500 pounds and stretching to a length of 10 feet standing erect. They are farsighted, enabling them to scan the horizon for prey. They have such an acute sense of smell that they can detect seal pups hidden in snow caves 40 miles away. And though it's hard to imagine, they can run at speeds of up to 30 mph.

The bears mate in the spring, and by the time they leave the ice in mid-June, the females have tripled their weight in anticipation of their new arrivals. Females den during the winter and nurse for five months before being able to hunt again. The cubs are born between November and February and are blind and deaf at birth. Mom and cubs leave the den when the cubs are about 10 weeks old and their eyes are fully opened and they are able to keep their balance; they then migrate 40 to 60 miles from the den to the ice on Hudson Bay in three or four days.

Several tour operators in Churchill offer excellent opportunities for viewing the bears in their natural habitat. The tours travel onto the tundra of the Cape Churchill Wildlife Management Area to view snowy owls, ptarmigans and arctic foxes as well as polar bears.

Our first day out brings a rare blue sky and sunshine — for the only day of the trip, as it turns out. Thirty minutes of bouncing along the tundra in a van on oversize tires is rewarded with the sight of several male bears lying on the beach sunning themselves in the kelp.

Despite the cold, it's a perfect day for us to open the three photo hatches on the top of the van and set up to shoot. Two of the bears get up and circle each other. Their luxurious fur sparkles in the sunlight, the most beautiful golden color.

And then it's play time. They're up on their hind legs with their front paws on each others' shoulders. One takes a swipe; the other opens wide and chomps down on his opponent's neck. Ouch — he's got him by the ear. Snow flies from under the bigger one's feet as he uses all his body weight to move his sparring partner back several feet. In this quiet, frozen world it's a kick to hear the snorting, grunting and heavy breathing of the playing bears.

Another bear wanders into the area and lies on the shore well away from the others in the group. He rests for a while, then rolls onto his back and strikes various humanlike poses, managing to rub off the number that was painted on his back for whatever "management" reason we humans put it there.

Around the corner comes the most gigantic bear I've ever seen. He's half again the size of any of the males in the group, and when he walks into the area, everyone scatters. He does nothing aggressive other than being himself, but that's enough.

A short distance away we spot a mother with last spring's cub sleeping in the willows. There aren't many females with cubs in the area, since males are known to kill the cubs. After a good rest, mom and cub decide to walk out to the shore.

It's a scary thing to watch, wondering whether she knows there are 10 big males out there. She leads her cub out to the bay toward the right and changes direction when she sees the big male who's wandering in from the east. But look out — going west, she's heading into the whole pack. We watch tensely as she picks her way around the threatening males and then suddenly settles the whole issue with a ferocious charge, backing up one of the males and growling in his face, as if to say, "Stay out of my way and leave my kid alone." "Well, OK" seems to be the response, and she and the cub proceed on down the beach.

All viewing is done from vehicles that keep a reasonable distance from the bears, very much the same as in the game parks of Africa. The animals seem accustomed to the vehicles and comfortable enough to sleep through the comings and goings.

Unlike in national parks such as Yellowstone and Rocky Mountain, there are no tourists stressing the animals by walking too close, feeding them or trying to pet them. The bears, however, have the option of going wherever they choose and occasionally want to satisfy their curiosity about what's in our van.

On a few occasions a juvenile meanders over to the van, circles it, then stretches up on his hind legs and peers into the windows. Our small van is shorter than the traditional "tundra buggies," so he's able to achieve eye contact with the occupants. From the inside looking out into the beady black eyes and the wriggling snout, it's like, "I'm as curious about you as you are about me. I don't mean you any harm and trust that goes both ways," knowing full well that he could smash the window if he wanted to.

One of the tour operators, Tundra Buggy, also operates the Polar Bear Lodge, a set of structures that are like train cars coupled to form a train featuring sleeping cars with upper and lower berths, a lounge car, a dining car and kitchen, and viewing platforms on the exterior. At times, sleeping bears can be seen outside the lodge. After the lodge's lights are out, visitors are treated to a rare experience of the real darkness of the night sky.

I'm a wildlife fan, not a biologist or any kind of expert, but amid a lifetime of traveling and animal watching, I keep thinking that at a very basic level, humans around the world aren't really all that different from one another and that the creatures sharing the planet aren't all that different from the humans. We all need the basics: food, shelter, rest, play, companions and space to nurture our young.

Jan and Bruce Lichtenberger own In the Light Photography in Greeley and spend much of their time traveling, photographing and writing about their adventures.