In the world of wildlife filmmaking, there are occasions when we all get together and talk about future projects. One of these events happens at Jackson Hole in Wyoming. Back in 2005 I had my chance ‘pitch’ with boss man Fred Kaufman, Executive Producer of NATURE. Given the competition, the number of people and ideas that he has to listen to, these pitches are vital.  I ordered a salad. We sat on a bar stool. I banged on about the white wolves, and the largest of the falcons, the gyrs, these two stunning white characters on a dramatic stage.   He just kept quiet and ate, glancing up occasionally. As he didn’t interrupt me with a question, I continued to pitch, getting more and more excited as I painted the picture of the island, the noises, the elements, and how we would bring to NATURE’s screen a real jewel of a film. As I ended the pitch I picked up a leaf of salad and crunched it and heard him say the words… ‘Fergus, I like it.’ Believe me, that’s rare in this business! So, we were on! Hey, Fred!

Back in 2005, I was researching logistical issues for working on Ellesmere in Northern Canada and kept on coming across the name of a remarkable solo arctic explorer, called Jim McNeill. He was, quite surprisingly, another Brit — and soon after we met for the first time — I realized that this man and his outfit ICE WARRIOR were going to be intrinsic to working in the remote corners of Ellesmere Island. Jim had done it all before — alone. He had encountered wolves in various parts, and had wonderful photographs to whet my appetite even more. He knew when and how the ice would behave, which vehicles could move with what, how aircraft could land and where — it was all straightforward to him. He was soon a crucial part of my team, and together we started planning.

Crew members load an ATV into the plane on Ellesmere Island

We did a fantastic arctic survival course with him near Reading and he was even able to provide a blizzard for us. Elements of the course included navigation, orientation and first aid. Though I was a soldier once, as was Jim, his expertise was second to none. Jim was able to highlight all the areas that would be a health and safety concern. His emergency plan would be vital to ensure that in the event of an accident on Ellesmere, a victim would get out alive…

This was a two-phase plan. Phase One, the recce, involved Jim McNeill and Assistant Producer, Harry Hoskyns-Abrahall. They would identify the wolf activity area before cameraman Mark Smith was flown out to join them for Phase Two.

– Fergus Beeley, Producer of White Falcon, White Wolf

The following are entries from the field diary of professional explorer Jim McNeill, written during the expedition on Ellesmere Island in preparation for the filming of White Falcon, White Wolf.

Photos © Mark Smith, 2007

I’ve really enjoyed the camaraderie, friendship and company of the production crew and have fortified my huge admiration for a team of people that will remain very special in my thoughts for years to come.

Their dedication, tenacity and downright endurance in capturing and portraying the incredible wonders of our wildlife are facets that any of my trainee expedition members would learn heaps from.

I can’t wait to see the final programme, which is part of the new series of Natural World; scheduled to be aired on BBC 2 in the new year.

I’ve also journeyed in so many other ways too. From the emotional ups and downs of a gravely ill mother, for whom I nearly had to depart from this project, to the in-depth knowledge I’ve gathered from my team of wildlife experts.

I have also wrestled with what style of book to write and how should that book be (I’m still not sure); finally, the incredible journey of discovering what an Arctic summer is like in all its glory.

Goodbye to Lucy

As for the wolves, the subject of our expedition, my experience has been nothing less than magical.

Luckily I came here with an open mind because, like so many others, I was brought up on the fears and fables of wicked wolves, such as the ones in Little Red Riding Hood and Three Little Pigs.

Having encountered real wild wolves many times during my winter expeditions I have built up a huge amount of respect based on their obviously complex behaviour and their tolerance of such adverse conditions.

This respect has been enhanced on this trip, especially by a bonding with one particular wolf – Lucy.

I met her in the first few days of being here and spent an hour-and-a-half alone with her on my penultimate day; it was as if she had come to say goodbye.

My overall thought, as I sit finishing this report, is how incredibly privileged I feel to have experienced such a wonderful summer and if I have any words of wisdom they are these.

All too easily, we consider ourselves bound by our daily activities and often trivial commitments.

Take a look at these boundaries and if you feel the need to experience life beyond them then prepare yourself carefully and when you feel the time is right, go beyond that comfort zone and extend the realm of your experience.

I feel as though I represent the embodiment of a normal person, but many years ago decided not to be bound by “normal”.

Since then I’ve come to learn that almost everyone has more under their bonnet than they believe and that many dreams and aspirations are truly achievable. Live life to the full, you won’t regret it.

Before I sign off for the final time, it would be remiss of me not to acknowledge the enormous help given to me by the crew: Charlotte Godfrey; Jonny Keeling; Mark Smith; “H” (Harry Hoskyns-Abrahall); Mike Dilger; Ian McCarthy; and of course the bosses, Fergus Beeley and Tim Martin.

Finally, my family – Lori, Mac, Kirsty and Helen – who constantly and loyally put up with my absence, and the Walker family for hosting a fantastic surprise return party!

It was 0300 and Mark and “H” were off filming the snowy owls feeding their young with freshly hunted lemming – or at least trying to. Despite the fact that Mark had spent nine hours in the hide, he’d only seen the male come back twice with food for the chicks.

I was looking after camp as usual and a good job too!

I was sat in the tent, deeply into this book about sailing around the world, when a noise pulled me back into the land of the living.

I looked back towards the entrance of the tent, and who was there but Lucy. She’d come back to see me after all this time.

I quickly grabbed my camera, altered the lens and got out the other side of the tent to see that she and two companions were nosing about in the trailer.

They all started to run off, despite my gentle greetings, but it wasn’t long before Lucy returned and we managed to spend the next hour-and-a-half in each others’ company.

It was really magical, just what I needed to inspire me again. It had been so long since we last saw them that we’d almost given up.

At 0430, Mark and “H” turned up from the hide, and having passed the wolf den on the way back, knew they were around again.

Mark, as ever, immediately got the camera into action and was capturing bits and pieces of behaviour.

By 0600 the wolves had all gone back to the den for a sleep, so we took our chance to sleep as well.

Rising at 1400 turned out to be perfect timing.

Having had breakfast, washed down with some tea, the wolves were on the move again. They passed our camp and headed westward, with Mark and “H” following.

Our hide, dubbed the “sweat box”, was moved from near Sally the snowy owl up to the fox den where Mark and producer “H” were concentrating their efforts.

There had been little sign of the wolves except for three young ones who came back to the den to rest and play for about 24 hours before disappearing. We’re all hoping to see them again before we leave.

The whole of River Three was covered with chicks – ruddy turnstone, sandpipers, jaegers and snow bunting – all being protected by their parents as they wandered around the riverbeds.

It’s amazing what pluck some of the parents have. I was driving the All-Terrain Vehicle (ATV) down to the beach on a test run, having fixed the vehicle, and to my astonishment this ruddy turnstone leapt out in front of me apparently pretending to have a hurt wing.

I slammed on the brakes coming to a halt less than one metre from the bird and saw that she’d been protecting her young chicks a couple of metres further on. Lovely to see!

In my previous entry, I promised to reveal the real identity of “H”. He is, in fact, Harry Hoskyns-Abrahall, who has just turned 32 years old. We celebrated by cooking him real pancakes.

He is a seriously all-round good egg, as far as I am concerned. Dashingly handsome, six feet and five inches tall, a thick head of dark hair, complete with square jaw, kind blue eyes and good teeth – if he was a horse I’d buy him.

Harry’s a really nice guy and a knowledgeable and truly dedicated wildlife enthusiast. Fergus – the boss in Bristol, you may remember – refers to him as his “feral friend”.

“H” is the one who sits for hours on end, some way away from the hide, advising Mark about what’s happening around him so Mark can capture the event on video.

We would like you to erect a dark cloth tent approximately 1.5m in length, breadth and height in an exposed, windy and cold position; crawl into it with a very big tripod, a large camera with enormous lens, a tiny stool, some lunch, dinner and breakfast; a couple of thermos flasks; some warm clothing (hats, gloves, down jacket, etc.) and a good book.

We would then like you to stay there, awake and alert, for the next 11-and-a-half hours to film something that may or may not occur. Do not let on that you are in there, act covertly, and do not come out until you are helped out by someone else.

This is precisely what Mark Smith, our cameraman, did to film Sally the snowy owl and her first few chicks feeding.

With the nest about 25m away, Mark couldn’t make the slightest noise in case it would frighten Sally away or she’d look at the camera. Such dedication, patience and downright personal suffering continue to amaze me.

When I went to collect Mark on the ATV at 0600, he insisted on walking the 3km back to camp “to try to get my head back together”, he said. I could fully understand what he meant.

As a person that puts up with a fair amount of suffering myself, on my solo polar expeditions in particular, you can imagine we have quite interesting conversations before bedtime.

In the next instalment I’m going to reveal who producer “H” really is – cue the James Bond theme.

Perhaps not concentrating quite so much on the wolves and bringing the other wildlife to the fore. The chances of filming the wolves predating, we had to admit, was extremely remote and we would be incredibly lucky.

This was mostly because of our inability to follow the wolves. They are able to get across the tundra’s rock-hard hummocks far better than we can on our ATVs. So it was back to seeking out new areas and different wildlife.

But first, it was time for Jonny to depart and for our re-supply to arrive; along with a replacement ATV for the one which I had pulled the handle bars off.

This was quite a major undertaking because, as the light was better at night, we’d been working during the normal night time and sleeping during the day.

Having just gone to bed, we had to get up at 0700 to give the charter aircraft company the local weather conditions. We then gathered up all the excess kit and Jonny’s personal belongings and loaded them in the trailer.

Plane pick-up

Mark deserved a well-earned rest, so he stayed back at camp while Jonny and I walked the hard 10km to the airstrip while “H” drove the ATV and trailer; not an easy or comfortable option by any means.

The day was really hot with no wind at all, and the mosquitoes were plaguing Jonny and me. On several occasions, Jonny even resorted to using his bug head-over. This is a net that covers your entire head to prevent the little pests sucking your blood out. It’s only partially effective and makes you even hotter.

We got to the top of a ridge overlooking the airstrip we had used three weeks earlier and could see the “dead” ATV ready to be returned.

Just as we reached the ridge, the plane came in and landed, but not on the strip. Instead, the pilot touched down on the beach of a nearby large lake. Apparently, the pilot had not been told about the strip and landed where he could.

I set off for the aircraft while Jonny went to drive the stricken ATV over to the aircraft. Meanwhile, the crew had unloaded the new ATV and began making their way over to the airstrip.

The pilot, Richie, apologised for not landing on the strip and said he would fly the aircraft over to the airstrip, which was pretty fortunate as the broken ATV didn’t want to start up again.

Musky smell

My job was to get the new supplies back to camp whilst “H” explored a nearby valley.

It was quite a journey back. I took a high route over the nearby mountain, too high in fact, and had “fun” trying to get down the slope without turning over. Then I had to negotiate the tundra hummocks which, with the big load, took ages and pounded my back which I had damaged the previous week.

Eventually, having made it back to camp with my back in shatters, we set about seeing what goodies the plane had brought us.

Fresh fruit – ah! Pop drinks – ooh! Crackers – ee! More coffee and tea – all were greeted with great delight. We were feeling a little more civilised, as it had been a whole month since “H” and I had had real food.

The evening brought a great surprise. A whole herd of musk oxen came over the brow of the eastern river bank to munch away at the hairy lousewort and drink in the river. The wind was blowing in a direction that meant the animals “cannot smell us”, Mark explained.

There were 16 of them in total, including four young ones. I’m always amazed at how secure they look on steep ground. It was a lovely end to a very hard and long day.

It was about nine in the morning and both Mark and Jonny had been up all night filming other creatures. Both were shattered but they weren’t going to miss the opportunity of getting some wolf action.

The three of them (”H” included) went to the den, located about 2km up river, and watched the wolves sleep, move, stretch and sniff around the den. All of this was expertly filmed by Mark – how he kept his eyes open I have no idea.

I was left in charge of the camp as usual but had a wonderful surprise when a beautiful fox crossed the river just in front of me. It had come from the east and was obviously looking for food.

The Arctic fox grows a beautiful white fluffy coat in winter to keep it warm and is not very big. In fact, the Arctic hare is quite frequently bigger, although it would be considered a good dinner by the fox, given half a chance.

The fox’s summer coat is quite strange but still beautiful; the face, tail, back and outer sides of the legs being dark and the rest light grey. It’s as if they’ve had a summer makeover by an over ambitious spray painter.

The fox was also on the “shot list” to ensure the programme covered the entire story of what goes on during the Arctic summer.

I followed this one across the river to see where she went. She clocked me straight away and kept stopping, turning and sitting down to make sure that I wasn’t following her. In no time at all she had disappeared across the plains to the west.

I went back to camp and continued to sort out the equipment and excess food to be returned with our pick up and re-supply that was due to arrive in a few days.

Jonny Keeling was a late replacement for Fergus Beeley, who had unfortunately broken his leg just weeks before on a filming trip in South America. Jonny’s own schedule did not allow for him to stay for the duration so he planned to return on the re-supply.

The following morning, at six o’clock, I heard the sound of an ATV returning and got out of the tent to see Mark manically waving goodbye to me as he shot past the camp toward the beach.

I quickly realised he was in hot pursuit of the wolves who had had enough of idling around and were off already on their next hunting trip – this time eastward.

At 0830, Mark returned to camp and just fell off the ATV, reminding me of the cowboy films when the exhausted, half-dead hero, who had been chased by Indians for days, staggers into camp to pass on the all important message – “They’re coming!”

Apparently Mark had followed them along the beach and, to his surprise, they suddenly turned south over the sea ice toward an island eight kilometres away.

The sea ice was in no condition for us to traverse, so he took to high ground to film them disappearing over the ice. This added a new dimension as we had assumed that this time of year the sea acted as one barrier that they would not cross.

But just as we have come to learn, it doesn’t stop these incredible creatures. The puzzling thing was that only seven had returned and then gone off again. Could the alpha female be in a den somewhere else? Will we ever find out?

They’d been gone for seven whole days and the majority of the crew felt that they were not necessarily coming back.

Even if they did come back they couldn’t possibly have pups which would have starved by now. Unless we just didn’t see the mother coming out of the den at night to get some fresh air.

Unless she had such a cache of food from previous hunting forays she didn’t need feeding, or unless the hunting party had been unsuccessful so far and had nothing to bring back to the pups and mum.

All of these points of conjecture made it rather difficult to plan events.

Jonny Keeling exchanged emails with Fergus Beeley back in Bristol, who in turn sought the advice of various scientists and series producer Tim Martin.

The plan was to continue filming Sally the snowy owl throughout and look for some Arctic hares to film, perhaps with leverets.

We could also get more footage of the Jaeger nest, especially when the eggs hatched.

Another plan was to look for a fox den in the hope that we might be able to film a mother and cubs.

So Mark kept filming what he could around the story while Jonny, “H” and I kept trying to locate other stuff.

When the crew does find something to film, the dedication of these guys comes to the fore.

No matter how tired Mark and Jonny are, they are always on the case, eventually returning to camp exhausted having perhaps captured just a few seconds of the final programme, if anything.

Fundamentally, they are all wildlife people and occasionally their particular area of interest comes through.

For “H”, it seems to be birds and I’d say the same for Mark. Jonny is evidently a good all-rounder.

As for me? Well no-one seems to know anything about plants so I’ve picked up the mantle having a natural interest in them and I am rapidly becoming knowledgeable on Arctic plant life.

It’s not just plants either. Insects abound and whoever it was that told me mosquitoes didn’t exist above the latitude of 75 degrees – well I’d like them to join us at our base camp for a day without insect repellent!

The day was beautiful; there was a slight chill to the breeze but hardly a cloud in the sky. The idea was to try to get to the other side of the large river delta that carries much of the melt water from the mountain range.

The delta was scattered with lots of smaller rivers, all of which ran into River Two. The first few crossings went really well and at each crossing I’d take a GPS reading so that I could return the same way and identify it for future use.

Then came Mr Big! I searched for any sign of a shallower, faster flowing section. It was a while before I found a possibility, a stony bank that was as deep as I really wanted to go.

It went upstream for around 30m but fortunately crossed from one side of the river to the other with deep channels either side. I had made it and was completely chuffed with myself.

Unfortunately, just as you think you’re doing well, something has to spoil it. As I attempted to cross the next stream, I realised that I had been swamped by thick mud.

Out came the shovel for the second time this week, and after half a dozen attempts to dig out the ATV, she came free. I was euphoric, yet shattered by the one-and-a-half-hour ordeal.

Then I noticed that the river level had suddenly begun to rise. I was on a mud flat with water rapidly rising, making passage across the flat less and less likely. I scouted around the patches that were still relatively dry, trying to find a place to cross onto more secure ground.

Each one proved too risky. I leapt off numerous times to see if it was OK underfoot, but each time my boots would sink in and I’d have trouble getting them out. On one occasion I got so stuck that I lost both boots and I had to roll out of the mire as I just kept sinking in.

Things were getting a bit hairy – I had to get out, and fast. I chose what I thought was the best possible route across two sections of three metres of who-knows-what.

With the longest, driest run-up, I thought I could get some forward momentum that would hopefully keep me from getting stuck.

I backed up Polaris and went for it, hitting the first section of water at 30 miles per hour. In just 3m, I had come to a very rapid and sticky halt.

I made the decision to abandon the ATV and look after myself. I was exhausted enough from the previous digging out and I thought I might need some energy to get myself to a safe position. I wasn’t sure how far the river might come up and the rapidity with which it had risen so far alarmed me.

It took me quite a time, and I lost one boot three times, but I made it to the other side of the delta, exhausted but relieved.

I walked for another two or three kilometres, hoping to find a way across the marsh lands and around the lakes but to no avail.

I climbed the nearest hillock which gave me a great view and used the satellite phone to call in.

“How are you?” asked Jonny.

“I’ve had better days,” I replied.

We’ve all noticed huge daily changes in the rivers around here.

Sometimes they are full and flowing and others, a little trickle and easily fordable.

I think it has something to do with the fluctuation in temperatures and therefore how much melt water is being carried.

It is also dependent on whether some big piece of snow has suddenly slipped into the water way up on the mountainside.

Jonny went to a sharp and distinctive headland overlooking the fiord that on a previous expedition my team called “never-ending point” due to the never ending journey getting there.

The very cold atmosphere of winter as well as the ground we’re travelling on tends to fore-shorten estimates of distance and size, which can be very frustrating if you’re not used to it.

From there he climbed up on to the mountain to its very summit, about 700m, and saw the spectacular view over another fiord, big sharp mountains and a massive ice cap rising to 2500m.

I always think of ice caps as yummy ice cream which has just been dolloped on a mountain range. I’m beginning to dream of real food; that’s a sure sign of having too much of the super-freeze-dried muck.