Belugas and their gray calves seen from above in the shallows of Cunningham Inlet

The Belugas of Arctic Canada

Eight days at Arctic Watch on Somerset Island, 74° north on the Northwest Passage, where some two thousand belugas gather every summer to molt, nurse and play.

July 2023 8 Days Nunavut, Canada

From the drone, the mouth of the Cunningham River looks as if someone has scattered rice across the water. Drop lower and the grains become whales: white adults, slate-gray calves tucked against their mothers, dozens of them turning together in water barely deep enough to cover their backs. Every summer some two thousand belugas funnel into this shallow inlet on Somerset Island, and for eight days in July 2023 we watched them from the air and from a gravel spit at the water's edge, often just a few meters away.

Arctic Watch Wilderness Lodge sits at 74° north, 800 kilometers above the Arctic Circle on the shores of the Northwest Passage. It is the most northerly fly-in lodge on the planet, run each summer by the Weber family of polar explorers, and we booked our week more than a year ahead. The belugas are the reason most people make the trip, but the island gave us far more than we expected: a canyon of waterfalls, musk ox on the open tundra, a day of rafting and kayaking the river, a coastline still jammed with sea ice, and, one morning on the northern coast, a polar bear and her cub crossing the floes. This is our journal of that week.

Part 01

Arctic Watch, 74° North

July 21, 2023 · Arctic Watch Wilderness Lodge, Somerset Island, Nunavut

Aerial view of Arctic Watch's white tents on the bank of the braided Cunningham River, tundra running to the horizon — Arctic Watch on the bank of the Cunningham River. The rest of Somerset Island, all 25,000 square kilometers of it, has no permanent residents.

The plane set us down on a gravel strip in the middle of the tundra. A red-and-white windsock snapped overhead, and a small blue sign beneath it gave the coordinates: 74°4' north. There are no roads here and no villages, just the lodge, a line of ATVs and the long, bright light of an Arctic July. This far north the sun doesn't set in July, and it didn't once the whole week we were there.

Jason on a bench beneath the red-and-white windsock at the CYRW airstrip sign, Somerset Island, 74 degrees 4 minutes north — The airstrip sign: CYRW, Somerset Island, Nunavut.

Arctic Watch is a small village of white tents on a bluff above the Cunningham River: sixteen guest cabins, a gear tent hung with drysuits, and a long main lodge you enter through an arch of whale bones. Our cabin had a proper bed, a sink and a red hot-water bottle waiting on the blanket. It felt less like camping than like a very good expedition base, which is exactly what it is.

Arctic Watch's main lodge tent with an arch of whale bones over the door and Canadian and Nunavut flags on the roof — The main lodge, entered through an arch of whale bones. Our cabin, hot-water bottle included.

Inside a guest cabin at Arctic Watch: a double bed with towels, a red hot-water bottle and a beluga pillow — The main lodge, entered through an arch of whale bones. Our cabin, hot-water bottle included.

The lodge belongs to the Webers: Richard, Josée and their sons Tessum and Nansen, a family who have spent decades exploring the polar regions. Between them they have led some of the first successful expeditions to the North Pole and set speed records at both poles, and they have skied, kayaked and hiked across Canada's far north. It shows in everything from the guiding to the gear. We were in very good hands.

Jason and Grace in chairs outside Arctic Watch's white tents in low evening sun, whale bones on the gravel — Evening outside the lodge. In late July the light just circles the sky.

Then there was the food. The kitchen turns out gourmet dinners from ingredients gathered across Canada, including Arctic char caught locally, and after a day on the land nothing beat a roast carved in the dining tent or a square of tiramisu to finish. Between meals there was a cheese board, a well-stocked bar and a black camp dog with a well-chewed football, always looking for someone to throw it.

A medium-rare roast being carved on a wooden board at dinner in the Arctic Watch dining tent — Dinner in the dining tent. Seared fish, green beans and cucumber salad.

A plate of seared fish with green beans, tomato salad, cucumber salad and beets — Dinner in the dining tent. Seared fish, green beans and cucumber salad.

Downstream from the lodge, the river's braided channels spread across a delta and spill into Cunningham Inlet, the belugas' summer home. From the drone on our first evening the delta looked like marbled stone, and the sea beyond it was still white with ice.

Aerial view of the Cunningham River delta's ochre and silver channels meeting a turquoise bay, sea ice on the horizon — Where the Cunningham River meets the sea. The white band on the horizon is sea ice.

Aerial view of broken sea ice packed along the shore of Somerset Island, teal shallows and deep blue water

Arctic Watch from above: rows of white guest cabins, the main lodge and a line of ATVs beside the river

Braided river channels in blue, silver and ochre across the Cunningham River delta from above

A dark blue river channel snaking between silver and tan gravel bars, seen from above

The turquoise channels of the Cunningham River with Arctic Watch's white tents on the right bank

The Arctic Watch main lodge tent with painted belugas under a cloudy sky

The side of the Arctic Watch main lodge, with two painted belugas and Canadian and Nunavut flags

The lounge inside Arctic Watch's main tent: leather sofas, red cushions, a hide rug and bookshelves

Three of the Arctic Watch team laughing behind the wooden bar in the main lodge

Grace standing among whale bones laid out on the gravel riverbank near the lodge

Whale vertebrae and ribs arranged on the gravel riverbank, river flats behind

Grace crouching to play with the black camp dog and its yellow football on the gravel

A white guest cabin at Arctic Watch with a narwhal painted on its door

The coffee and tea station in the lodge with a carved Weber Arctic sign and a wall map

Caribou antlers and a narwhal tusk mounted above the lodge's wine rack

The Arctic Watch gear tent, a long corridor of drysuits, rain gear and helmets

A row of ATVs and side-by-side buggies lined up on the gravel at Arctic Watch

The camp dog lying on the gravel with its yellow football, driftwood and river behind

Top-down view of kayaks, rafts and swimmers on the shore after a polar plunge

Guests with a yellow raft on a pebble beach, snow-streaked cliffs across the river

Guest cabins and a row of Adirondack chairs facing the river flats

The Arctic Watch dining tent set for dinner with wooden tables and chairs

The chef carving a roast on a wooden board at dinner

A bowl of greens with grilled vegetables at dinner

Creamy cucumber salad with dill and red onion, topped with crushed nuts

An afternoon spread in the lodge: cheese board, grapes, charcuterie and cookies under a glass dome

Jason standing on the bench beneath the CYRW airstrip sign and windsock

Part 02

Three Waterfalls Canyon

July 22, 2023 · Three Waterfalls Canyon, near the lodge

Grace in a red jacket at the foot of a waterfall pouring into a turquoise pool in a layered limestone canyon — Grace at the foot of one of the three falls.

We spent our first morning getting to know the terrain at 74° north on an easy hike to Three Waterfalls Canyon, near the lodge. From a distance the tundra looks flat and endless. Then the ground simply falls away, and you are standing on the rim of a canyon of layered limestone with water pouring over its lip into pools of an improbable turquoise.

A tall waterfall plunging into a green pool, a small figure at its base for scale — For scale: that figure at the base is one of our group. A second fall stepping down the canyon wall.

A two-tier waterfall cascading down a layered canyon wall — For scale: that figure at the base is one of our group. A second fall stepping down the canyon wall.

Up close, the tundra is anything but barren. In the short summer it bursts into flower: white mountain avens, yellow Arctic poppies nodding among the stones, and whole fields of cottongrass, its seed heads like tufts of cotton wool. With blue skies on a sunny summer morning, it was a perfect way to begin.

White mountain avens with yellow centers growing from stony tundra ground — Mountain avens. Arctic poppies beside a lichen-covered boulder.

Yellow Arctic poppies among stones beside an orange lichen-covered boulder — Mountain avens. Arctic poppies beside a lichen-covered boulder.

Looking down from the canyon rim at a waterfall and turquoise pool, a hiker in red on the ledge

A hiker with arms raised on a ledge beside a waterfall in the canyon

White seed heads of Arctic cottongrass among tundra grasses

Close-up of Arctic cottongrass in the tundra

A hiker on the canyon edge looking at a slender waterfall, late snow in the gully

Grace in a red jacket jumping on a rock ledge in front of layered cliffs

A deep canyon cut into the flat tundra plateau, snow patches on the ridge

The canyon from above: a waterfall and turquoise pool, a hiker in red on the rim

Part 03

Musk Ox on the Tundra

July 23, 2023 · The northeastern trail, Somerset Island

A musk ox with long curved horns and a shaggy coat grazing on a green bank beside a stony stream — Both male and female musk oxen carry these long, curved horns.

The next day we brought out the ATVs and buggies and followed the northeastern trail across Somerset Island in search of musk ox. We eventually found a herd a couple of kilometers off the trail, grazing on a green bank beside a stream.

A herd of about a dozen musk oxen spread across the open tundra of Somerset Island — The herd spread across the tundra.

Musk oxen have lived in the frozen Arctic for many thousands of years, roaming the tundra for roots, mosses and lichens. Males and females alike carry long, arched horns, and both wear the same dense, shaggy coat and striking long beard. Watching them graze, the calves close at their mothers' sides, felt like looking back into the Ice Age.

A herd of musk oxen with calves grazing on a grassy bank beside a stream — Calves stay close to the herd. Two of the herd grazing.

Two shaggy musk oxen grazing on the tundra, another behind them — Calves stay close to the herd. Two of the herd grazing.

The tundra keeps its bones. Near the herd we passed the skeleton of a musk ox, its skull and horns still attached, and our guide held up the skull so we could see the full sweep of those horns. Then it was lunch on the tailgate of the buggy, sandwiches built from jars and coolers in the middle of nowhere.

Our guide holding up a musk ox skull with curled horns, the ribcage at his feet among cottongrass — Our guide with a musk ox skull we found on the tundra. A calf watched us from the slope.

Musk oxen with calves on a slope, one calf facing the camera — Our guide with a musk ox skull we found on the tundra. A calf watched us from the slope.

A tundra pond reflecting the sky, cottongrass on its banks and two hikers in the distance

Musk oxen on a grassy slope, one standing, one lying down and a calf nearby

A musk ox skeleton, ribcage and horned skull, lying among cottongrass on the tundra

A musk ox skull with its horns still attached, beside its ribcage on the tundra

Close-up of Arctic cottongrass seed heads

Lunch stop on the trail: a guide unpacking at a side-by-side buggy, ATVs parked behind

Making lunch on the buggy's tailgate, jars of condiments and vegetable sticks

Part 04

A Day on the River

July 24, 2023 · Cunningham River

Aerial view of a yellow and an orange kayak paddling down a teal channel of the Cunningham River between white gravel banks — Kayaking the Cunningham River.

A perfect sunny day on Somerset Island means taking out all the toys. The guides loaded up the rafts, kayaks and stand-up paddleboards, and we spent the day hiking, rafting, kayaking and paddleboarding our way down the river.

Top-down view of a row of kayaks, paddleboards and two yellow rafts lined up on a gravel bar beside green water — The fleet, lined up on a gravel bar.

From the water the river feels like a secret. Its channels braid and split across wide beds of pale gravel, the water clear and teal over the stones. From the drone it looks even less real: a turquoise thread wandering through a land the color of sand.

Kayakers in yellow and orange boats paddling down the Cunningham River beneath a low cliff — Paddling beneath the cliffs. Kayaks and a paddleboard on a wide, still pool.

A flotilla of kayaks and a stand-up paddleboarder on a wide blue stretch of the river — Paddling beneath the cliffs. Kayaks and a paddleboard on a wide, still pool.

Then came the polar plunge. At a deep pool below a limestone ledge, the braver members of the group jumped in, one of them with a backflip, into water that has no business being swum in at 74° north. Lunch followed on the gravel, laid out on the equipment cases, with fields of cottongrass behind us. So much fun, and a great way to see how many different landscapes the Arctic holds.

A guest backflipping off a limestone ledge into the teal Cunningham River while another watches from the edge — The polar plunge, with style. The same river from above: a raft on a turquoise channel between gravel bars.

Aerial view of a yellow raft on a turquoise channel between white gravel bars — The polar plunge, with style. The same river from above: a raft on a turquoise channel between gravel bars.

Aerial view of the river winding in a wide loop through the valley between sand and gravel flats

A paddler in a drysuit and cap standing among cottongrass on the tundra

Hikers with backpacks on the gravel shore looking out at an ice-choked bay

Aerial view of a lone paddler on a teal braided channel between silver gravel bars

A guest in a red life jacket on a limestone ledge above clear teal water before the plunge

A guest in a red jacket standing beyond a field of cottongrass

Our guide scanning the tundra with binoculars, a big blue pack on his back

Aerial view of a river channel cutting a clean line through tan tundra

Aerial view of kayakers and rafts on a blue channel, ATVs parked on the gravel bar

A row of colorful kayaks lined up on the pebble shore of the river

Riverside lunch laid out on equipment cases, buggies and guests behind

Standing in a field of cottongrass on the tundra under a big sky

Part 05

The Heaviest Ice in 44 Years

July 22–27, 2023 · The northern coast, Somerset Island

Aerial view of a group walking a gravel spit between a sea of broken ice floes and brown shallows — Walking a gravel spit between the sea ice and the shallows.

The summer we came, the sea around Somerset Island held the most ice in 44 years. Floes jammed the shore in broken white plates, lay stranded in the shallows and piled into blocks along the beaches, and beyond them the pack ice ran flat to the horizon. It made for stunning landscapes, and for resting spots for the seals.

Top-down view of a seal hauled out on a small ice floe in dark water — A seal hauled out on a floe.

We spent several afternoons on the northern coast, walking the gravel spits and rock ledges between the ice and the tundra. On one beach lay the skeleton of a whale, its vertebrae lined up on the stones like a row of stools, and Grace couldn't resist hoisting one of its long, curved bones over her head. Standing on a stranded floe with ice in every direction, it felt like another world, and we were enjoying every minute of it.

Aerial view of two people standing on a jumble of stranded ice blocks at the shore, floes on dark water — Two of our group on a pile of stranded ice. Grace and the whale. Looking out over the floes.

Grace in a red jacket holding a long whale bone over her head beside a whale skeleton on the beach — Two of our group on a pile of stranded ice. Grace and the whale. Looking out over the floes.

Standing beside a whale skeleton on the stony shore, one great bone planted upright, sea ice beyond

Aerial view of sea ice laced with blue melt ponds and a long crack

The black camp dog standing in the shallows among stranded ice floes

A guest leaping across the rocks at the water's edge, cliffs and floating ice behind

Standing on a stranded ice floe in the shallows, sea ice to the horizon

Aerial view of a long gravel spit with buggies parked, a turquoise lagoon on one side and the sea on the other

Thick floes of sea ice floating on deep blue water

Part 06

A Polar Bear and Her Cub

July 27, 2023 · The northern coast, Somerset Island

Aerial view of a polar bear mother and cub on a floe of sea ice laced with melt ponds, a dark headland on the horizon — A mother polar bear and her cub on the sea ice off the northern coast.

On one of our trips out to the northern coast we had a wonderful surprise: a mother polar bear and her cub, roaming the sea ice. At 74° north the ice is exactly where they belong. Polar bears spend about half of their lives hunting, mostly for seals, and a coast crowded with floes and hauled-out seals is just the place for it.

Aerial close view of a mother polar bear beside a blue melt pond on the sea ice, her cub lower in the frame — She pauses beside a melt pond, her cub just behind. Mother and cub between pools of meltwater.

Aerial view of a mother polar bear and cub on the ice between turquoise pools of meltwater — She pauses beside a melt pond, her cub just behind. Mother and cub between pools of meltwater.

From the drone they looked tiny against the ice. The cub stayed pressed to its mother's side as she picked her way along the edge of the floe, stopping now and then beside the turquoise melt ponds before moving on. After days of looking out over what seemed like empty ice, it was a reminder that the ice is never really empty.

Aerial view of a polar bear cub pressed against its mother at the edge of an ice floe — The cub never strayed far. Walking the edge of the floe. The sea ice from above.

Aerial view of a mother polar bear and cub walking the edge of an ice floe beside dark open water — The cub never strayed far. Walking the edge of the floe. The sea ice from above.

Part 07

Two Thousand Belugas

July 24–27, 2023 · Cunningham Inlet, from the air

Aerial view of the Cunningham River delta pouring into the inlet, belugas gathered as white flecks in the turquoise shallows — The Cunningham River spilling into the inlet. The white flecks at its mouth are belugas.

The main event at Arctic Watch is one of the most unusual beluga gatherings on earth. Every summer, from about mid-July to mid-August, some two thousand belugas flow in from the Northwest Passage to the shallow waters of Cunningham Inlet to nurse their calves, molt, socialize and feed. It is a world-class beluga nursery, and being face to face with it was easily one of the most incredible wildlife encounters of our lives.

Aerial view of a line of belugas moving along the edge where the brown estuary shallows meet deep blue water — A line of belugas along the edge of the estuary, where the river's fresh water meets the sea.

The reason they come is the river. Where the Cunningham pours into the inlet the water is shallower, warmer and fresher than the open sea, and belugas use it to shed their skin. Each summer they slough off the old, yellowed layer, rolling and rubbing against the stones on the bottom to scrub it away, a molt unlike that of any other whale. You can see it in our photos: the pale yellow patches on some of the adults are old skin on its way out.

Top-down view of a dense pod of belugas spiraling in the shallows, gray calves beside their mothers — A pod packed into the shallows. Gray calves tucked in among the white adults.

Top-down view of about a hundred belugas packed together over a gravel bottom, gray calves among them — A pod packed into the shallows. Gray calves tucked in among the white adults.

From above, the calves are easy to pick out. Belugas are born gray and only turn fully white as they grow up, so each dark shape in the water is a young whale, usually swimming right alongside its mother. Watching a hundred of them turn together in the shallows, the calves shadowing every move, we felt incredibly lucky to be there for such a fleeting moment.

Top-down view of dozens of belugas and their gray calves scattered across the dark green water of Cunningham Inlet — Belugas and their calves in the shallows of Cunningham Inlet.

Top-down view of eight belugas swirling together and churning the teal water white — A tight knot of belugas churning the water. Calves and adults over the dark water of the inlet.

Top-down view of about a dozen belugas with gray calves in dark teal water — A tight knot of belugas churning the water. Calves and adults over the dark water of the inlet.

Part 08

Spy Hops and Bananas

July 24–28, 2023 · Cunningham Inlet, from the shore

Photographers standing, sitting and lying flat on a low gravel spit, belugas surfacing just offshore, brown hills behind — Photographers on the gravel spit, with belugas surfacing just offshore.

The best seats are on the gravel spit at the mouth of the river, right at water level. Some of the group stood at their tripods, some sat on the stones and one lay flat behind a long lens, and the whales came to us, close enough to watch them breathe, roll and look back.

Two belugas spy-hopping side by side in deep blue water, a brown hillside behind — A pair of spy hops. Up for a look.

A beluga rising vertically out of the water with a splash at its base, other whales at the surface — A pair of spy hops. Up for a look.

The belugas of Cunningham Inlet are known for their behavior, and two moves became our favorites. The first is the spy hop: a whale rises straight up out of the water, head and neck vertical, and holds there for a moment to have a look around. Unlike most whales, belugas have a flexible neck, so when they spy hop they can actually turn their heads to look at you.

A single beluga spy-hopping straight up out of the water, its eye visible, a blurred hillside behind — A classic spy hop. Close enough to see the blowhole.

Close-up of a beluga spy-hopping toward the camera, the blowhole on top of its head — A classic spy hop. Close enough to see the blowhole.

The second is the banana. A beluga lifts its head at one end and its tail at the other and bends its whole body into a curve, like a banana floating on its side. Whatever its purpose, it is ridiculous and wonderful to watch.

A beluga in the banana posture, head raised at one end and tail raised at the other, body curved between — The banana: head up, tail up.

They are loud, too. Belugas are among the most vocal of all whales (sailors called them the canaries of the sea), and their calls carry a long way. Eight days on Somerset Island was not nearly enough.

Two belugas at the surface, one lifting its head, pale yellow patches of old molting skin on its body — The yellow patches are old skin, on its way out. That upturned mouth gives every beluga a permanent smile.

Close-up of a beluga's head at the surface, its eye and upturned mouth line visible — The yellow patches are old skin, on its way out. That upturned mouth gives every beluga a permanent smile.

On our last morning we went back to the spit one more time. A pair of tails rose out of the water together, crossed for a second like a signature, and slipped under. Of everything we have seen at the ends of the earth, the belugas of Cunningham Inlet are near the top of the list.

Two beluga tails crossed above the water, other whales surfacing behind, flat horizon and blue sky — Our last morning at the inlet.

If you go: the belugas are in Cunningham Inlet from about mid-July to mid-August. We booked Arctic Watch through Weber Arctic more than a year in advance and stayed eight days, which gave us time for the land as well as the whales.

A beluga spy-hopping tall among the backs of a crowd of whales

A beluga lifting its tail clear of the water while another surfaces beside it

Beluga tail flukes raised vertically out of the water, other whales at the surface

A beluga spy-hopping with water cascading off its head

Watching belugas from the shore with our guide, whales surfacing offshore

A beluga arching its tail out of the water in front of the brown shore

A beluga's head at the surface, another whale behind it

A knot of belugas, one rising in the middle, yellowish molting skin on some

A Nursery at the Edge of the Ice

Somerset Island has no roads, no villages and, in July, no night. From the plane it looked like the emptiest place we had ever been: gravel, tundra and a sea still locked in ice. A week on the ground filled it up. Musk oxen grazing beside a stream with their calves at their sides. Poppies and cottongrass between the stones. A mother polar bear picking her way along the edge of a floe, her cub pressed to her side. And at the mouth of the Cunningham River, two thousand belugas turning together in water barely deep enough to cover their backs, the gray calves shadowing every move.

The whales stay only a few weeks each summer, from about mid-July to mid-August, and then the inlet is quiet again. We were lucky to be on the spit while they were there, close enough to hear them call and to watch them look back at us. If you have ever wanted to see the Arctic at its most alive, go in July, and go to Cunningham Inlet.