Many great Arctic explorers met their demise as they were about to reach their destination. I didn’t want to up the numbers but, as I squeezed into the seven-seater Turbo Beaver en route to Canada’s 59th parallel, I was convinced mine was inevitable. I needn’t have feared.

Just as we were about to take off, our pilot, Nelson, turned to us in a Top Gun moment, gave a thumbs up and said “Let’s do it!” Indeed.

We soared across the tundra, hugging the Hudson Bay coastline, peeling our eyes for any sign of polar bears. I was sure I had glimpsed a thatch of white fur, but my enthusiasm was soon deflated; “It’s a boulder,” Nelson deadpanned.

Unlike Parry, Byrd and Fiennes, our destination is not the North Pole. Nor do we want to be in the history books alongside the great explorers; I just want to make my lifelong dream a reality and quietly observe polar bears in the wild. Polar, panda, brown, black and grizzly – I’m a big fan of bears in all forms.

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• Gallery: Amy Lame in Arctic Canada

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We tend to anthropomorphise bears, but in reality they are far from cuddly cartoon Winnie, Yogi and Baloo. Scary and adorable, bears have a compelling alchemy of attraction, danger and repulsion. Yes, bears are sexy. Plus I’m jealous that they get to hibernate.

Dymond Lake Lodge is our first stop in search of the great ice bears. In the far north of Manitoba, the lodge is 30km (19 miles) from Churchill, the nearest town, which is a two-and-a-half-hour flight from cosmopolitan Winnipeg. The Turbo Beaver is the only way to get to Dymond Lake.

Safely on the ground, nerves were soothed with hot coffee and freshly baked gingersnaps. What a relief I’m not forced to eat boiled leather and lichen, as Sir John Franklin was on his 19th-century Arctic expedition.

Jeannie Reimer owns the cosy wooden lodge with her parents and husband Mike; together they welcome guests for hunting, fishing, and wildlife adventures. For six weeks of the year – mid-October to the end of November – all attention is turned to the polar bear migration.

While Jeannie supervises the kitchen, Mike facilitates the round-the-clock polar bear watch to be sure we catch a glimpse should a bear come near, but most importantly for our safety.

Polar bears may be cute, but they kill; males can reach 3m (10ft) high and well over 700kg (1,500 pounds). Hence, we are always escorted by bodyguards armed with rifles and pepper spray, and I felt more Victoria Beckham in LA than Arctic explorer. I’m enthralled by the prospect of spotting a polar bear, whether it tries to attack me or not.

And seeing one is a distinct possibility. This stretch of the Hudson Bay is the launchpad for more than 1,000 bears’ annual migration north in search of seals for food. For the bears to start their trip, the bay needs to freeze. Until that happens, the bears are hanging out on the desolate, scrubby tundra in a state of walking hibernation.

So we explore the tundra on foot with super-strong binoculars and very warm coats. We watch, wait, and watch some more. We spot a falcon, a weasel, a wolf, snow buntings and seals. But no bears... yet.

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