SINCE READING ABOUT them in the yellow-trimmed pages of National Geographic as an impressionable young boy, cultures centred around the need to hunt for survival have captured my imagination. Modern conveniences mean we never want for anything. You fancy wagyu fillet steak for supper tonight? Coming right up. You want to guzzle a dozen oysters at your client lunch? No problem. Every possible foodstuff from every imaginable place is at our fingertips. And in recent years us Brits have become much better at understanding where our nosh comes from. Indeed, there has been something of a food revolution in this country. Jamie, Gordon and Hugh have taught us well. We get it.

Nowadays, many financial folk are turning to pheasant shooting for client entertainment and personal recreation. A great way to fill the freezer, spend time outdoors and scratch a sporting itch. But anyone can crumple a stately pheasant in the Home Counties – how about we increase the stakes and take it up a notch?

What if your life now depended on hunting? Think about swapping your cosy Mayfair office and the pub around the corner for a remote polar ice cap and nothing but a bolt-action rifle and shotgun – could you provide your firm with elevenses? With a hunger for adventure and exploration, I decided to test my survival instinct by switching London’s creature comforts for an uncharted polar safari.

My first intake of Greenlandic air was, well, breathtaking. The insides of my nostrils instantly froze when faced with the bitter, -25ºC temperature. Since Greenland was colonised some 5,000 years ago, the diet of its inhabitants has been mostly made up of animal protein. The unforgiving landscape is simply too harsh for edible plants to prosper here, rendering meat the only option.

Today, the country has advanced somewhat. Supermarkets supplied twice a year by container ship bring frozen vegetables, cereals and bread. But the taste for meat persists. The survival of the native Inuit is no longer solely dependent on the animals they hunt, but the spoils are still a major source of sustenance and protein.

Accommodation was basic but cosy – a simple cabin with a wood burner and no electricity – nestled on the edge of the

spectacular Kangerlussuaq Fjord with far reaching 360º views. My first day hunting started with a sunny view of the fjord and wind-scoured mountains that reminded me of the Scottish west coast. After a breakfast of eggs and fish, I climbed onto the skidoo behind my guide Jan, ready to hunt our lunch – Arctic hare.

Riding the skidoo over the frozen fjord focused my mind somewhat. The wind chill sapped my body temperature. The ice had to be a minimum of 10cm thick to support the weight of our vehicle. I had to put my trust in Jan and put out of my mind the stories of people going through the ice as a result of riding over unseen fissures. Before long, a more immediate worry was my high-tech man-made fibre clothing – it was just no match for the extreme cold. Jan provided a thick sealskin smock adorned with a hood trimmed in sled dog fur, which soon remedied the problem – proof, if it were needed, that animals that evolved in this environment are better equipped to deal with the extremes than we are.

The good thing about the bitter cold is animals favour the edge of the fjord, and after glassing the mountainous edges, we spotted the first of our chosen quarry in a small gully sitting in some windblown snow. It wasn’t easy, though – the brilliant white fur of the Arctic hare acts as a cloak of invisibility against a pure white background, making a sighting all the more difficult.

We traipsed over the broken edges of the fjord – a delicate business – stalking to within shotgun range. Because the fjord is tidal, the ice shelf rises and lowers on each tide breaking the sides against the rocks. This creates deep crevices and peaks that needed scaling to get to the land. After negotiating this obstacle course, we were ready to walk the hare up between rock valleys and snowdrifts. When flushed, ▶

Nevermind the MuskoxSIMON BARR gives up the creature comforts of the City, picks up his shotgun, and heads to Greenland to test out his survival instincts. Talk about earning your dinner…

THE KIT

■ Outfitter: Polar Jagd jagd-groenland.de

■ Ammunition: Hornady DGX 400-grain, edgarbrothers.com

■ Rifle: .416 Big Game by John Rigby & Co, £7,787, johnrigbyandco.com

■ Shotgun: Zoli Z Expedition EL, edgarbrothers.com

■ Binoculars: Leica Geovid HD-B Rangefinders, from £2,650; edgarbrothers.com

■ Boots: Sorel Caribou Wool boots £140; sorelfootwear.co.uk

■ Outerwear: seal-skin smock, purchase from locals

After glassing the mountainous edges, we spotted our chosen quarry in a small gully – the white fur of the Arctic hare acting as a cloak of invisibility against pure white snow

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▶ the hare bolted higher up the rock faces, offering some spectacular sport with a shotgun and an excellent start to my trip.

I woke up early the next day filled with anticipation about the forthcoming hunt for muskox, a creature that looks like a primitive polar buffalo. The sky was overcast, leading to a noticeable rise in temperature making the long journey across the frozen fjord significantly less painful. Armed with an open-sighted .416 Rigby Big Game rifle, and Hornady DGX (Dangerous Game Expanding) 400-grain ammo, I was confident I could topple this large, thick-coated mammal.

Little stirs in Greenland. When the skidoo stopped, the only sound I could hear over my tinnitus was ice sizzling on the hot exhaust like sausage fat on a barbeque. Regulating one’s temperature is a tricky business. A bit of walking leads to sweating and overheating, which leads to chilling. Simply removing a glove to adjust a camera or scope can result in aching fingers and near frostbite. Existing in such extreme cold draws hugely on the body’s fuel reserves and requires careful and close attention.

With the skidoo unloaded, we started our long hike onto the tundra in search of these magnificent, prehistoric-looking animals. There are no trees on the tundra, or indeed any of Greenland, and the beasts usually have the high-ground advantage, so

planning a long downwind route using dead ground is the only way to outsmart them. If they see or smell you they steadily walk away, taking you further from the relative safety of your skidoo.

After a dedicated upward climb and a final crawl, I came up on my animal that was stood feeding in a group of three about 100 metres away. This was as far as I wanted to shoot with the express sights of my Rigby. I rose up and took the first shot

freehand without the animals realising I was there. With the absence of seeing a reaction through a scope, I immediately took another insurance shot. The mature bull ran a matter of metres and toppled. The satisfaction was immense. By luck, we managed to get the skidoo quite close to the animal to load, so we could haul it out and skin it closer to the safety of camp.

Harvesting nature’s bounty in brutal sub-zero temperatures alongside native Inuits prompted some serious reflection on the plane home. From start to finish, the trip felt different, and rewarding – and unlike Bear Grylls, I didn’t stay in a cosy hotel when the cameras were switched off.

My boyhood ghost would have revelled in the escapade. Hunting in such an extreme environment gave a whole new meaning to food shopping in Waitrose’s frozen food aisle. HFor more info on Greenland: greenland.com

I rose up and took the first shot freehand without the animals realising I was there. With the absence of seeing a reaction through a scope, I immediately took another insurance shot

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