I remember saying: ‘Hey, bear’ – as if this were just another magical moment in the Arctic wild. A polar bear was standing on its hind legs just a few paces from me.
Its nose looked like a fist-sized lump of coal. Its eyes seemed to be made from jet-black marble and they were looking straight at me. The bear was female. She was enormous. She was hungry.
And she was sniffing in my direction.
As I watched warily, she was gathering information from a sense of smell that’s many thousands of times more sensitive than my own, and planning her approach.
Just as she would if she were stalking a seal. But she wasn’t stalking a seal. She was stalking me. As far as she was concerned, I was lunch.
My heart started pounding, so loudly that my radio microphone actually picked up each individual thump. And then, quite suddenly, the bear launched an attack.
I’ve been a wildlife cameraman for over 30 years, most notably on BBC natural history documentaries, so I know I represent pretty easy pickings for any large wild animal that decides to eat me.
That’s seldom bothered me, however, because I know I’m far more likely to be killed by just about anything else.
David Attenborough cameraman Gordon Buchanan was once moments from death after a polar bear decided to attack as he filmed in Svalbard in the Arctic Circle for a BBC series
The bear was about 500kg (79st) in weight and towered above the David Attenborough cameraman as she attacked the perspex cube from where he was filming
Buchanan with baby polar bears he encountered while filming the BBC series
Put it this way: if you combine the average number of human deaths per year due to attacks from sharks, bears, lions, hippos, elephants and crocodiles, you’re looking at about 2,500 fatalities.
Set against the 400,000-plus murders a year, or the 3,000 people who die every single day in car accidents, that really isn’t much at all.
Admittedly, during the course of my work, I’ve been charged by tigers and a black bear, as well as twice chased by elephants. But these were all cases of ‘performative’ violence – an aggressive display to get me to back off.
Not serious threats to my life. And not at all like my encounter with that polar bear.
To film what would become a three-part BBC series called The Polar Bear Family And Me, we’d travelled to Svalbard, a group of remote Norwegian islands deep within the Arctic Circle.
It’s a place where everything feels extreme. Extreme isolation, extreme winter cold and extreme darkness, giving way to extreme summer beauty. And it’s home to one of the densest concentrations of polar bears anywhere on earth.
Our destination was Edge Island, which has seldom had any human visitors. When we arrived in the early spring on an ice-breaking ship, the hills were still coated in dense snow drifts.
We had to take it in turns with a sledgehammer to clear the bow of ice and to smash the ice-ropes that decorated the ship each morning.
Buchanan admits not felling quite as safe as he should have as the polar bear attacked
Today the ice floes have become widely fragmented. This means fewer seals are coming here, forcing polar bears to look for alternative sources of food.
These include animal carcasses, berries, grasses or eggs, none of which are an adequate replacement for a blubbery seal. It’s little wonder their hunger has driven them to consider eating stray humans.
We weren’t naïve, of course, about the potential threat. I was fully aware that polar bears are among the very few predators that sometimes target humans as food.
That’s why the team working on the TV series had worked out a way of protecting me that should have been fail-safe. We called it the ‘Ice Cube’. In essence, it was a box made of Perspex, with aluminium edges and a door, in which I could comfortably sit with my camera, tripod and sound-recording equipment.
The idea was to use a long lens, which would allow me to maintain a respectful distance from the polar bears, without affecting their natural behaviour.
We’d put the Ice Cube together with a lot of nuts and bolts, much as you assemble a piece of Ikea flat-pack furniture. But this was no flimsy piece of kit: it had been carefully engineered to resist attack from even the largest and most powerful polar bear.
At least, we hoped it would. No one wanted to see it actually put to the test. Least of all me. I can remember how nervous I was, sitting inside it, when it was first towed out across the sea ice.
My biggest fear was that the Ice Cube might topple sideways into one of the great holes opening up on the ice.
Buchanan had hoped to use a long lens, which would allow him ‘to maintain a respectful distance from the polar bears, without affecting their natural behaviour’
Buchanan poses with a wolf during the filming of a series on Ellesmere Island in 2014
Polar bears are fascinating for nature lovers – but they can be deadly
Buchanan was filming in Svalbard, located in a group of remote Norwegian islands deep within the Arctic Circle
If it had landed on its door, I would have been completely trapped inside and submerged in sub-zero salt water.
A truly grim and grisly death by Arctic drowning.
I was also a little nervous about the Perspex becoming brittle in the freezing air, making it more likely to fracture in the unlikely event of a polar-bear assault. But we’d had a few goes at it with a sledgehammer, and it hadn’t budged.
The plan we had was simple: place it at a respectable distance from a seal’s breathing-hole, wait for a polar bear to arrive, then record the action.
I knew this game of ‘cat and mouse’ could take many hours, with the polar bear waiting patiently by the hole for the arrival of a seal that might never come out. However, as it turned out, the action was almost instant.
The bear arrived. She completely ignored the breathing-hole and made a beeline for me in the Ice Cube. This was most definitely not part of our plan.
She was supposed to have stopped at the hole some 50m away, but she’d decided to hunt me instead.
It would have all been over very quickly, had it not been for the cube. First, the bear took her time sniffing around a small gap in the door, then suddenly she crunched her two hefty paws directly on to it. The cube lurched and the attack began.
The photographer has travelled the world to capture animals in their natural surroundings
Buchanan has been a wildlife camerman for over 30 years – and is well aware of the risks
His new book details adventures over the last 30 years as David Attenborough’s cameraman
Oh my God – was the door locked? With one hand, I quickly checked the spring-loaded locking mechanism.
Meanwhile, the bear’s breath was steaming up the plastic sheet that stood between life and death.
With each of her heavy blows, the cube rocked back and forth. But it held firm.
Next, the bear got right up on her hind legs. She was 7ft tall, about 500kg (79st) in weight and towering above me.
Exploring the roof panel, she managed to insert the tips of her claws into a gap between the fittings. She was prying for any weakness that would allow her to peel the Ice Cube open, as if it were nothing more than a tin of Scottish kippers.
‘Being this close, you get an appreciation for what this animal is. She’s one of the most powerful animals on the planet.’
I was somehow managing to speak steadily, alternating between delivering my words to the camera lens and glancing warily over my shoulder as the bear started grinding away at the Perspex panel behind me. ‘. . .one of the most intimidating animals on the planet. . .’
The bear paused in her violent work and briefly peeped in from behind me, almost comically, as if we were engaged in polar bear peek-a-boo. ‘. . .and one of the few animals that actually see us as food. . .’ And then she was back to shaking the Ice Cube again.
All too soon, she found what she was looking for: another gap. This one was a few inches wide, enough for her to insert almost her entire glistening nose. Then in came her claw tips again. Still no give, so she reverted to pure brute force.
Clubbing the front of the cube with both paws, she raked it with scratches. Next, she used her teeth, and the Perspex visibly flexed.
This was seriously alarming. Even when our strongest crew member had tested the plastic with an almighty blow from the sledgehammer, he hadn’t managed to bend it.
Minutes slid by like hours. ‘Not sure if I like that. Not sure if that’s good,’ I said, as the bear stooped over me.
How much more of this could any of us take – me, the cube or the bear? Which one was going to crack first?
As the assault rumbled on, I verbalised my biggest fear. ‘Her best bet. . .,’ I took a sharp intake of breath, ‘would be for her to get her full weight on top of it. Just like she would when she’s breaking into seal lairs. . .’
Talk about tempting fate. As soon as I said that, the bear clambered on top of the cube.
This was it then. A few more almighty blows and – as I admitted out loud – she was actually going to break through.
Buchanan was left speechless as the polar bear tried to break into his cube for nearly an hour
Just at that point, to my astonishment, she stopped. She was breathing heavily, the result of 45 minutes of full-on effort to reach her prey.
Something vital had just shifted in my favour.
‘Every time she pushes and exerts force, she uses up calories,’ I remarked, as she sat down on the snow to rest. ‘Is there anything worth eating here? Anything worth using up energy for?’
As I was speaking, the bear began to shuffle off. She was done. Despite near-overwhelming encouragement from my scent and apparent vulnerability, she’d finally realised it was just too difficult to break into the cube.
Then she gave me one more glance back, just double-checking she was absolutely sure of her decision, before slowly wandering off.
It had been too close for anyone to have felt in any way comfortable, and it was not something I would ever wish to repeat.
Had that polar bear managed to break in – which she probably could have done eventually – I’m certain I wouldn’t have lived to tell this tale.
Since that terrible day, I’ve often been asked how I managed to remain so calm.
Despite his terror, Buchanan recognised it was ‘an extraordinary experience’
The truth is that I was utterly terrified – yet through the fog of fear, I was also aware of what an extraordinary experience this was to capture on film.
Concentrating on my job, as the bear did her utmost to reach me, turned out to be a survival strategy.
By continuing to film and to talk about what was happening, I’d stopped myself from giving in to what my brain was screaming at me to do: cry, yell, unlock the door and try to make a futile run for it.
Adapted from In The Hide: How The Natural World Saved My Life by Gordon Buchanan (Witness Books, £22), published February 6. © Gordon Buchanan 2025.
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