The thud of the approaching chopper filled the air. We waited in the freezing cold, crouched down low, hugging each other, our heads turned away from the swirling cloud of snow dust that now filled the air. Soon the helicopter was hovering above us. As the huge rubber wheels touched the ice pack, Eugene, our Russian guide, gave us the signal and we bundled into the sparse interior of the Mi8. Within seconds we were airborne, flying low over the Arctic ice-pack that surrounds Sredniy, an island in Northern Siberia on the archipelago of Severnaya Zemlya.

We had come to Russia's High Arctic to paint the largest and most feared land predator on the planet, the polar bear. It was going to be a cold trip.

Over the next two weeks we ventured onto the ice on foot looking for signs and tracks of bear. In the evenings we flew with research teams across the ice-bound islands where we spotted our first two bears, running free across the pack. We made drawings and film from the chopper door but were unable to land on two occasions due to unsafe ice conditions. It wasn't until a few days later that we were to land successfully close to a huge male bear.

The chopper circled around the large male polar bear. We quickly gathered our kit, paints, paper and cameras and secured our clothing, as the pilot gave us the sign to get out. The helicopter hovered just feet from the surface of the ice as, one by one, we jumped out onto the snow below. Once on the ground we huddled together as the chopper lifted off leaving us alone on the pack with the bear.

As the sound of the helicopter faded in the freezing air, we stopped and waited. From ground level it was hard to see the bear because of a ridge of ice spread out in front of us, leading to the open water. Cautiously we moved forward, intensely aware of the speed and agility of the predator we were now stalking.

Although the bear was a good eighty yards away and hidden behind the ridge-line, we knew that he could close that distance in under five seconds.

We continued to move towards the ridge, monitoring the ice rubble with our binoculars for signs of sudden movement. We laid down our paper and pots of pre-heated paint. Water freezes on contact at Ð30 ¡C so we boiled our painting water and stored it in insulated bottles. Once a line or mark has been made on the paper, the paint freezes leaving the beautiful imprint of ice crystals forever embedded in the surface of the painting.

Keeping our eyes on the ridge we crouched down and waited. After no more than a minute the bear peered around an ice fissure. He was now facing us, sniffing the air. We started to paint quickly, confident in the knowledge Eugene, our armed guide, was alerted to the bearÕs new-found interest. Greg Williams (who works with us to create unique photographic art images) started to shoot footage and film, Greg sitting prone with a huge 700 mm camera lens aimed at the bear.

For the past 15 years we have painted together in close proximity with some of the most amazing animals on earth. We have a set routine for our painting that entails having our equipment in place and then working fast and as spontaneously as possible to capture the immediacy of the moment. Whether we are working under water, in the jungle, desert or even at the North Pole the basic systems are the same. Good equipment and clothing are essential whether you are at Ð35 ¡C, +35 ¡C or at 35 m under water. Each environment presents a particular challenge or difficulty that needs to be overcome. Apart from the freezing of our paintbrushes and water bottles, the biggest threat to painting in polar regions is frostbite. To be able to paint we had to work in thin fleece touch-gloves and constantly stop work to warm our hands in our large over-mitts. To keep warm in the high Arctic you have to be constantly moving, and when you are standing still and painting your toes can quickly become numb and then freeze. Despite the fact we were all wearing triple layer mukluks our feet soon got cold and we were forced to move forward once more.

The bear seemed curious. After watching us for a short while he rounded the ridge and began to approach our position. Then he started to run. We shouted over to Eugene and he told us to stand firm. The bear was now at full tilt running in our direction and all of us started to feel a little on edge. Suddenly he switched his direction from right to left and slowed down to a lope. He circled us and soon we saw his objective. He was heading to the open water inlet 50 m to our left. We watched and waited, moving slowly toward the water's edge. The bear then crashed into the icy water, swimming across the short section of open sea. He looked tired and he lay for a while, now on safe ice, watching us, his breath steaming in the golden light. He then began to roll and play on the ice, cooling himself on the frozen surface of the pack.

It was now well past midnight and the light had turned a rich golden orange colour. As the bear settled a distance from the water's edge, six seals (the source of his interest in this section of sea ice) surfaced, watching our movements with keen intensity. The water steamed and created illusions of fire as the sun dipped low on the horizon.

We were transfixed. The bear was now completely relaxed, lying forward on his forepaws switching his attention from us to the seals. We realized then that it does not get any better than this. To watch and paint a predator in the wild, in his natural habitat, is a wonderful experience. We had intruded far enough into the bear's hunting domain and we retreated to the safer ice to await the return of the helicopter.

As we moved away we watched the bear approach the water, once more silhouetted against the haze of ice, sea and sky. Again he swam, crawled, lay and played in the snow, giving us one last magical memory on our final day on Sredniy. As we flew back to camp that night, we circled the bear for the last time and watched him bounding across the ice, a magnificent free animal running wild.

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