Just Back: a long day in Svalbard As we approached the bear on inflatable Zodiac boats, the ocean spray numbing our faces, the sound of camera shutters frantically opening and closing echoed the constant squawking of migratory seabirds in a summer feeding frenzy. Like them, we had found what we had come for, and were eager to take advantage of our small window of opportunity. "Thirty metres is as close as we're allowed to get," said our guide, Pat, but we were already closer than that by the time the bear showed any interest in our presence. As we watched it slip into the water and pass right in front of our Zodiac, the frozen silence of held breath seemed to amplify the popping sound made by the icebergs we had been using for cover, as though we were floating in a giant bowl of Rice Krispies. At the same time, the thunderous sound of new icebergs tumbling into the water from glacier faces sent shock waves across the fjord and down our spines. Such encounters are never guaranteed in Svalbard. Not only are the bears notoriously difficult to spot against the monochrome Arctic landscape, but they are also becoming increasingly rare, and Pat was keen to put this into perspective for us: of the world's 19 subpopulations of polar bears, eight are declining, three are stable, and only one is increasing, while insufficient data have been collected on the rest. Watching in awe as the animal hauled itself back on to the tundra, we knew how privileged we were to be so close to the world's largest land predator. Yet despite its fearsome reputation, the bear appeared well below fighting weight, its diminishing summertime physique mirroring the seasonal thinning of the ice. King in winter, the beast now looked on through bankrupt eyes as a nearby glacier stirred from its slumber with another thunderclap, causing a flurry of avian activity as thousands of kittiwakes descended on the carnage to gorge themselves on the confused fish. For a brief moment after the echoes of the icefall faded away, time almost stood still. Then again, as we hadn't seen the sun go down for the duration of our trip, the entire concept of time seemed irrelevant. Back on the ship, a midnight dip in the open-air Jacuzzi, surrounded by shimmering mountains and ancient glaciers, helped us wind down after an exhausting day on the fjords. For the ice bears, which still have months to wait before the sun sets over Svalbard, it had been a very long day indeed. Email your entry, in as close to 500 words as possible (with the text in the body of the email itself rather than attached), to justback@telegraph.co.uk by midnight next Wednesday, December 18, 2013.