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“You never know what nature’s going to give you,” Jacquie Matechuk said standing on the deck of the Ocean Endeavour, her eyes searching the coastline of Baffin Bay. “It could be a whale tail. A bird. If you’re looking for it, you’ll find something.” 

I met the Canon Canada Ambassador from Cochrane, Alberta on Adventure Canada’s Into the Northwest Passage excursion from Kangerlussuaq, Greenland to Kugluktuk, Canada. As the expedition’s resident photographer, flooded prairies in Dundas Harbour, heavy fog in Pasley Bay and rough waters around Ilulissat didn’t stop her from capturing the cruise’s incredible moments with her Canon R5 mirrorless camera.

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Carrying a comparatively informidable Nikon D3500, I tagged alongside the 2023 Nature Photographer of the Year for two weeks to learn how to photograph — and properly respect — the wildlife, terrain, and communities of the Arctic.

At sea with no clear focal point, why stand shivering on the deck with your camera?

Some of the greatest gifts I’ve ever had behind the lens have been completely out of the blue. Fulmars came close to the ship; one passenger was able to get full-framed shots with her iPhone. Once, when we were coming out of the harbor, I saw three spread out icebergs and realized if I waited, it’d be cool to see them slide into frame together. In Pond Inlet, we had tiny fishing vessels buzzing around so we were finally able to get context for the size of the icebergs. 

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Everyone wants to see a polar bear or a whale; how do you manage your wildlife expectations?

I manage them by having none whatsoever. Nature gives us what it gives us and it’s up to us to make the best of it. Sometimes it’s jaw dropping and life altering; other times it’s the most subtle little discovery that, if you sat there with expectations, you would have missed it entirely. 

We were lucky to see polar bears from the ship, the zodiac, and on land, albeit at a considerable distance. Is there a lens size you recommend for wildlife viewing?

You can run 600mm to 800mm, really as long as you want if you can handle the weight of the glass in the wind. Long lenses are hard to keep steady. There’s so much vibration; a monopod set up on your foot helps absorb that vibration. From the boat, you can crank up the shutter speed to help mitigate those fine movements. The ship is one of the best places you can use the length; shore terrain is sloppy, cold, wet, slippery. You don’t want to fall with a big lens in those scenarios. 

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On remote islands, our blue-jacketed passengers and orange-vested bear guards are almost omnipresent through the camera lens. How do you incorporate or work around that?

Having bear guards in a shot can be really powerful. A tiny, little discernible person up on a rock miles and miles away from our group. I think that’s a dramatic image in itself, because the hill could be anywhere but having that character in the shot documents where you are and tells a bigger story. The back’s really blurred, the front’s really blurred, and he’s just in the middle of the wilderness. It helps tell the story of the distance and the great, vast areas that we’re travelling in.

I try to photograph what I feel, not what I see. It’ll mean more if something gives you a sense of joy, if you’re excited, or if you’re just mesmerized. Look for images that tell that story and you’ll be shocked at how well you’ll be able to convey those feelings to somebody that’s never been there. 

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We’ve seen elements of Arctic culture that are sensitive topics, such as the cemetery in Sisimiut and the drying polar bear pelt in Mittimatalik. Should visitors photograph these features?

As beautiful as a graveyard can be, in Greenland it’s considered disrespectful to take pictures of memorials and tombstones. When in doubt, unless someone in an official capacity says it’s fine, I would never even raise my camera. The pelt in Nunavut, technically, I could have taken an image from the road, but it’s a bit of a hot button topic. When people see sensitive topics like wildlife skinning and hunting without the context of understanding, they automatically chastise the community doing it. To take these photos is more of a risk than reward, and I would never want to single handedly misrepresent the culture, history, and lifestyle of the Nunavummiut people living here. 

You have to decide where your line is drawn, how close you want to get to it and how far you’re willing to stand back. That’s not a natural place for photographers to be; they have toes crawling just slightly over. And I’m not saying that there isn’t sometimes an opportunity to do that, but it never seems worthwhile risking the strong relationship we’ve built with these Arctic communities.

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