An Inuit tour of Canada's most northerly territory is the best way to enjoy the region's stunning scenery - and its culture. Just watch out for the wildlife

Thumbing through her three-page list of essential supplies, Kristiina paused and mused over dried dog food. "I don't think we'll need it," she said, returning the bag of canine treats to the store room. "We often take a husky with us when we go camping. You know, for protection against polar bears, but I'm sure we'll be fine."

Camping in the Arctic clearly requires some thought. Kristiina's Inuit husband, Timmun, was to be my guide as I explored the vast area of Nunavut, Canada's newest and most overlooked federal territory.

Ten years after breaking away from the Northwest Territories, tourism here is still in its infancy. This, along with its wild terrain, rich wildlife and deep-rooted culture, makes it quite unlike anywhere else in Canada.

Making up one fifth of the country's landmass, Nunavut is its largest territory. But the population is only just over 30,000, the vast majority of which are Inuit, whose ancestors first settled here 3,500 years ago.

With the dark and bitterly cold days of winter long gone, summer showcases Nunavut at its most placid. Weather in the Arctic, however, is notoriously unpredictable. A blizzard shortly before my visit, in June, meant that much of the coast remained blanketed under snow, but this gave us the opportunity to explore the ever-receding floe edge, where the ice meets the sea. Come July the ice melts and the islands are surrounded by water.

Leaving Cape Dorset, a small town on the southern shores of Baffin Island's Foxe Peninsula, and travelling east along its frozen coast in Timmun's motorised canoe, formidable figures rose from the top of the low mountains: the inukshuk. These man-made rock piles, which resemble a person with arms outstretched, were ancient signposts built by the Inuits thousands of years ago, and the practice of building them continues to this day.

"They are showing us the way," said Kristiina. But not all of the inukshuk are navigational. They represent a variety of crucial meanings, such as good places to camp or recommended spots to fish for Arctic char.

The inukshuk has even been adopted as the symbol for next year's Winter Olympics in Vancouver, and later this year the Olympic flame will travel through Nunavut, the furthest north it has ever travelled.

We cruised through the open sea as eider ducks and snow geese glided above. There was not a soul in sight; only ice and mountains reflected in the water's glassy surface. Stopping for tea and a piece of bannock - a fried bread snack which tastes a bit like popcorn - Timmun's eyes examined the horizon. Nunavut is teeming with wildlife. The cheeky face of a grey seal emerged from the water with a splash but soon headed back under.

Later came another, but far more abrupt, stop. Eagle-eyed Timmun had spotted something lurking in the shallows just yards away. I peered over but saw just another iceberg. Then the "iceberg" turned its head and flashed its coal-like eyes at us.

It was a polar bear, and it swam through the water with broad strokes, dipping under the surface once or twice. Upon reaching land it leapt high and clawed its way up the frozen surface with a practiced, effortless strength and agility.

Utterly thrilled, we continued east, searching for an island to settle on for the night. Chunks of ice floated among us eerily, while further out to sea, out towards Hudson Bay, colossal bergs sat like gleaming cruise liners.

Tulukaat island - meaning "where the ravens nest" - was to be our home for the next two nights. Like much of the untouched archipelago, Tulukaat, which sits at the mouth of Andrew Gordon Bay 80km from Cape Dorset has welcomed Inuit families for centuries.

"Home, sweet home," quipped Kristiina as I jumped ashore. Inuit folklore dictates those arriving should always approach by crawling in at high tide muttering the mantra: "This giant land, I am stepping on it! Appapapapapapapaa!". Those who chose to walk risked never seeing Baffin Island again.

Keeping up with Timmun, who marched ahead in the deep snow, rifle thrown over his shoulder, required effort. We were tramping along when my feet froze and my heart stopped. Fresh polar bear tracks snaked over the ridges and vanished into the landscape before me. "A day old, I'd say," said Timmun. Maybe leaving the husky at home wasn't such a good idea.

An easy walk brought us to the top of the island where we set up camp. Our tupiq (Inuit tent) was made from canvas rather than the traditional material of sealskin, and set up in the middle of a large clearing. Half of the interior became a bedroom, with sleeping bags laid out, while the rest of it created a kitchen-come-living area: exactly the same set up as in ancient Inuit dwellings.

Hunting is, like it or not, a reality of life in Nunavut. Surviving in the Arctic is a constant challenge and the Inuit are by nature hunters and gathers. "Inuits are not trophy hunters," Kristiina explained somewhat defensively. "They learnt to navigate using the current and tides, the moon and stars in order to live."

Even now, eating "country food" remains a means of survival. With the nearest town an hour's flight away, food is sold at a premium in Cape Dorset. A loaf will set you back $5 in one of the town's two supermarkets and seal, walrus and caribou meat, which you certainly won't find next to the chicken kievs, provides people with accessible and nutritional food.

Meat is always shared among the community and, more importantly, the hunting is not only skilled but also humane. Over the centuries, the Inuits have developed lifesaving uses for every part of the animal. Caribou pelts keep people warm in the average -26°C winter temperatures; the skin of a bearded seal becomes rope for the qamutik (sledge) and soles for shoes.

As Timmun, his brother Niviaqsi and Kristiina prepared to tuck into the boiled seal Niviaqsi leaned in. "Would you like to try some?" he asked, cutting off a morsel of the purple-ish meat. A strong offal taste flooded my taste buds and evoked childhood memories of my Nan's liver dishes.

"It's certainly an acquired taste,"

I said diplomatically as I served myself a large bowl of caribou soup.

A late-night stroll followed dinner. The sun still bright in the sky, not a hint of dusk on the horizon. Niviaqsi and I sank in snow and trekked up hills covered in black moss. Our camp, sitting on top of the next hill, was the only sign of humanity.

"If I had my way, I would live out here permanently, like my ancestors did," said a wistful Niviaqsi. "There's nothing to worry about out here, only finding your food."

"Would you not get lonely?" I enquired. Niviaqsi shook his head.

"No, but I would miss a shower and proper toilet."

Next morning I woke to the sound of the whistling kettle. Crouched over the stove Kristiina was busy preparing fresh bannock while Niviaqsi fetched teeth-numbingly cold water from the nearby electric-blue ice puddles.

Before spending another day exploring the area, we ate lunch alfresco on rocks overlooking the Hudson Strait. I watched a procession of small icebergs glide past in the distance.

Back in Cape Dorset, Pootoogo, a local man whose name means Big Toe, showed me around. Spread across four valleys overlooking Tellik Inlet, people first abandoned their nomadic lives to settle in Cape Dorset in 1913 when the Hudson Bay Trading Company opened a trading post.

Today it's home to 1,236 people and four full-time Mounties, making it one of Nunavut's biggest communities. There are no restaurants, postmen or road names in Cape Dorset. There's only one bus and it's quad bikes, dusty pick-up trucks and snowmobiles that dominate the gritty, unpaved roads. Kids in hoodies and shades congregate at the general store as mothers carrying their bundled babies in colourful amoutis (traditional Inuit anoraks) do the weekly shop.

Further away, the screech of grinding and sanding rebounded at every corner but there was little construction taking place. This was the sound of creativity: marble carvers and sculptors. Cape Dorset, the epicentre of Inuit art, boasts more artists per capita than anywhere else in Canada.

Art is also big business. One piece by one of the most famous Inuit artists, the late sculptor and printmaker Joe Talirunili, fetched $278,000 (£169,00) in 2006. So it's no wonder that the younger generation are spending as much time learning to sculpt as hunt, preserving their culture but helping it to progress, too.

Way to go

Getting there

Air Canada (0871 220 1111, aircanada.com) flies London-Ottawa from £532 rtn inc tax. Onward connections to Cape Dorset with First Air (001 613 254 6200, firstair.ca) from £737 rtn. A seven-day summer tour from Cape Dorset with Huit Huit Tours (+867 897 8806, capedorsettours.com) costs from around £1,400, inclusive of guides, food, accommodation in Cape Dorset and three nights' camping. Tours run in July and August.

Further information

nunavuttourism.com; canada.travel.