An Expedition to East Greenland, July 25 - August 8, 2017:

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An Expedition to East Greenland, July 25 – August 8, 2017

Icebergs, Glaciers, Cold Water, Wild Camping and Keeping Watch for Polar Bears

 

 

A brief piece of advice:  Do not spend the last hours before you depart on what will likely be a challenging kayak trip dipping into “More Deep Trouble: More True Stories and Their Lessons from Sea Kayaker Magazine.”  Particularly when one of the first stories in the book details the death of a woman on a kayaking expedition in East Greenland, your destination.  I will not relate further details of how Lone Madsen lost her life; you can read the account yourself.  But it left me with a faint unease about what lay ahead, a sense deepened by the next chapter in the book – this time, about a solo kayaker running afoul of the elements off of Popham Beach, an area very familiar to many of you who will read this trip report.  Oh, and of course the next chapter I read involved someone being attacked by a bear.  Oh my, were the gods trying to tell me something?

This trip had been almost a year in the planning after I reached out to guide Martin Rickard, whom I’d met briefly on last year’s kayaking trip to the Shetland and Orkney Islands.  This was to be the first journey I’d take without one of my kayaking buddies, which left me essentially planning alone for the trip.  While Martin set up a private Facebook group for the expedition members, it wasn’t a substitute for the kinds of trip planning conversations one can have with a friend about clothes and gear and food and…  I was fortunate in having one long phone conversation with Donna McCready, a woman I’d first met in Baja and with whom I subsequently paddled in Scotland (oh, the ways kayaking connects different people in different parts of the world!), who had been on several previous trips to Greenland with Martin.  We discussed layering, underwear (!), gear transport, souvenir shopping, food choices, money and a whole lot more.  But still, it was difficult not having someone with whom to share the trip.  This was the case as I planned, and it also affected the experience I had on the journey.

But months of that peculiar mashup of anticipation, excitement and anxiety finally ended when – disconcerting tales from my afternoon read still floating in my head – I set out for the airport in Boston to fly to Reykjavik, Iceland – four time zones east – where most of the group would gather, before we would fly westward to Kulusuk, Greenland, two time zones closer to home.

I know this isn’t a trip report about Iceland (I do hope one of those will be in the offing down the road!) but I did have to go through it.  Here’s my first view from the air…

 I did enjoy a wander about Reykjavik, which features a lot of sanctioned graffiti and other art.  Here’s a sample of some of what I saw…

And of course being me, I particularly appreciated the various polar bears, bedraggled as they were…

Reykjavik has two airports – strange for such a small city in an underpopulated country.  There’s the large international airport situated on an old US Army base an hour out of the city, and a smaller (also international) airport not far from downtown, where we would catch our Greenland flight.  We had planned to fly out on July 25th.  Most of our group – all Brits - met there for the first time:  four men and two other women (a third would meet us in Greenland).  But after waiting for some time, the flight was cancelled due to bad weather in Kulusuk, Greenland (we had looked online and seen that rain and winds up to 50 kts were forecast).  We were put up by Icelandair for the night in a decent hotel (whose buffet dining arrangements appeared to center largely around meatballs in gravy with potatoes), then transported by bus back to the airport the next morning.

 

Day One,  East Greenland!, Wednesday July 26 – Kulusuk to Kuummiut

Here's a map of the whole area we ended up covering.

And here in red is the route from the airport in Kulusuk to our first night's camp.  (I'll be alternating red and blue lines on subsequent maps so you can follow where we went.)

So,  back in Iceland, our second trip to in-town airport

saw us off on the first propeller plane I've been on in years.

The flight to Greenland is a bit under two hours, so with the time change, you arrive at just about the same time as when you left.  The first views of this huge white country through the dirty windows of the plane showed sheer mountains and a coastline ringed by ice.

As we descended, the patchwork of blue and white ice became clearer.  Surely one couldn’t paddle through this…

Our landing, on the single gravel strip in Kulusuk, was smooth enough.  We disembarked.

 

“Customs” was casual…as in…nonexistent.  (My passport shows no evidence I was ever there.)  Martin and our final group member were there to greet us. 

The previous day’s bad weather had moved on, and we arrived under bright blue skies and warm air.  Martin told us that then that the weather the preceding two weeks had been awful.  Cold and rainy and plagued by ice that made kayaking difficult, the expedition that preceded ours had ended days early.  Spoiler alert:  we ended up having pretty much magnificent weather for our whole trip.  More than once, as we paddled under sunny and cloud-free skies, Martin remarked that the previous group had not had even one such day.  I can’t imagine…

While our weather was excellent, the effects of two weeks of storms had left their mark.  As we had seen flying in, the outer coast was rimmed by a broad band of tightly packed ice, an unusual occurrence at this time of year.  We would be unable to start our journey in Tasiiglaq, where Martin’s boats are kept.  Instead, motorboats would take us north, away from the coastal ice, to Kuummiut, a village on the Angmagssalik Fjord.  (A brief word on Greenlandic place names and spellings…  depending on what map you are using, and what language it is written in – mine was from Denmark – place names are spelled differently.  For the most part, I will use the spellings from the map I had, except for towns where Martin gave a clear name that was spelled a bit differently.)  This is where the previous expedition had been forced to abandon ship – as it were – and our group would have to use the assortment of boats that had been chosen to fit the previous group.

But before we started paddling, we had to leave the airport – this is the view that greeted us –

and walk a long way down a gravel path to the boat dock, where we would be picked up and transported by motorboat to our new starting point.  The path felt all the longer as I was carrying a 115 litre dry bag (with backpack straps) that weighed…well…it must have been close to a thousand pounds give or take…filled with all my gear for paddling, camping and eating for the next ten days.  Here we are on the walk from the airport.

And did I mention…bugs?  It was good to have a bug net easily at hand.  But it helped that the initial views were pretty breathtaking.

Finally arriving at the dock, I struggled the pack bag off of me and almost levitated out of relief to be free of it.  Boats were coming and going.

We didn’t know how long we’d have to wait for ours. Thankfully long enough to allow us time to organize and repack all of our gear in preparation for being in kayaks.

 Our boats arrived in an hour or so.  This is the smaller of the two.

Loading the boats involved passing our gear bags down a slope of big boulders to where the the boats were floating.  Finally everything and everybody was aboard.  We roared off through the ice.

Looking behind us, out toward the open ocean, we could see nothing but a line of solid ice.

Our skilled driver

steered the boat through a field of ice, sometimes roaring at a high rate of speed, edging wildly to right or left, and sometimes slowing to a crawl to find a good path through.  An exciting ride…

In about an hour, our first view of Kuummiut.

We landed beside another tumble of large rocks and reversed the process that had gotten gear and people into boats.  Let me say for the first time here that my wonky knees wouldn’t allow me to do much more than get my unsteady self up onto a stable surface.  I am most grateful to all the others for their extra work in muscling my gear (and kayak, but we’ll get to that). 

I wish I’d gotten a picture of the slippery pool of fish heads that we had to jump over to get up onto the pier.

We walked to our first camp, a rather trashy – but flat – area overlooking the village and dominated by a large, but apparently never used, fish drying rack.

We spent some time getting boats sorted out.  Rockpool, NDK Explorer, P&H Scorpio, North Shore Polar among others.  I ended up in the Explorer.

Then some of us walked into town,

past a number of chained sled dogs - who would turn out to be an ubiquitous feature of the several villages we visited.  They made no aggressive moves toward us.

We went to the grocery store to pick up extra food supplies.

That night, we had our first campfire

and Martin went over where we might be heading, ice conditions permitting.  He said that those conditions could change rapidly, but for now, he was concerned about all the ice brought in by the two weeks of storms.

At 9 pm, it was still quite light (and throughout most of the trip, was light-ish  throughout the night).

Shortly thereafter, alerted by the distinctive heaving sigh of a spouting whale, we ran toward the water and were rewarded by our first whale sighting of the trip.  This is a finback.

And then it was time for bed.  We all went to sleep thinking that our plan for the next day would be to take a day trip north into one of the fjords past the village, to get our sea legs in unloaded boats and enjoy the scenery without any particular pressure to get anywhere.

 

Day Two – Thursday July 27 – Kuummiut to Ikasagtivaq Island

Yesterday’s plans were just that…plans.  We were to find on this trip that plans could change with the ice, with the weather.  And so they did on our first day of paddling.  Conditions favored crossing the fjord and heading south to an island at the gateway of a long traverse northwest, that would take us into a whole different area, where ice conditions would determine whether we might try getting into another fjord that was often impassible.  So no relaxed day in unloaded boats.  We would instead take down our camp, pack up, and move.

While we were packing up, we saw one humpback whale, fluke up, diving.  Too quick, no photo!

Here’s Steve, up since the crack of dawn, patiently waiting while the rest of us packed.

Finally, we were on the water – kayaking in Greenland! – heading out past wrecked boats.

 Once we were out in the fjord, w were greeted by a strong wind from the southeast, which would be in our face once we completed the one hour crossing of Angmagssalik Fjord.

But there were rewards along the way.  Icebergs.

It was a glorious day and the crossing was easy enough.  Sonja didn’t paddled wearing a pfd, saying that if she ended up in the water, she could do a more rapid self-rescue without one on.  OK….

Our first stop, at 11 am (“Elevenses,” the first meal of the on-water day, not to be confused with Number One Lunch or Number Two Lunch), saw me rather surprised to see everyone pulling jet boils and stoves out of their boats “for a brew.”  I can’t remember what I ate, but I do so rather forlornly – and coldly – following a fall on the slippery rocks.  Not for the first time, I got up muttering the “most kayaking accidents happen on land” mantra.  It would be a constant for me throughout the trip.

We continued on, into the wind now.  Paddling a fully loaded Explorer was real slogging work.  There were distractions of icebergs, and two finbacks spotted along the way, and then one of the red and white supply boats that we would see calling at different villages, dwarfing our boats.

After about 6 nm into a steady headwind, we turned east into a calm area, where I was happy to float and just look about.

Here’s Helen, reflected in the glassy water.

Finally, we were landing at our first wild campsite.

My Explorer.

In addition to several well-preserved foundations of ancient sod houses, there were other cheering signs of life.

As would be the case throughout most of the trip, everyone prepared her/his own meal at their own campsite.  Note that some people are wearing headnets.  We had been forewarned about the dread Greenlandic midges and etc, but as it turned out, we had little to fear throughout the trip.  When you needed ‘em, it was good to have a headnet, but often – thank you, breeze – you didn’t.

This was our supper view.

After supper – er, excuse me,  “tea” as my compatriots were wont to call it – some of us hiked up to one of the house foundations.  This campsite would see us beginning our through-the-night polar bear watches, and Martin encouraged us not to walk far from camp alone.  There was a small lake and flowers, yellow

and white.

There was a cross up on a bluff.

Plants cling to life.

And weird figures emerged from pools of water in the rocks.

From a distance, we saw two of our group who had hiked up after us.

And below us, our campsite.

By 9:30, the light was changing.

I went to bed because my first polar bear watch shift was to be at 2 am.  Each night, we would be woken by the same person, do an hour’s watch, then wake up our successor.  The next night, I would be on at 3 am, and so it would go. That first night, I donned long underwear top and bottom, trousers, fleece top, down jacket, storm cag, hat and mittens, dragged my Crazy Creek chair up to a high spot, and sat in worried contemplation for an hour.  Our instructions, if we saw a bear, awake the camp!  Martin slept with a rifle near at hand - hopefully to be used only to scare a bear away.  Any shooting of a polar bear requires reporting, and an investigation would follow.  These watches turned out to be among the most special times of the trip.  Being awake in the still night with enough light to see, thinking one’s thoughts, and keeping an eye out.  And withall, we would be rewarded by sitting alone in this special world in the light-dark of the night.

Two am:

 

Day Three  - Friday July 28 – Ikasagtivaq Island to Tinit

 

We were forewarned that this would be a long day, a seemingly endless and straight paddle up a 3 km wide channel with an unvarying line of steep mountains on both sides plunging into the sea.  A word here about measuring distances in Greenland.  There is gauging distance when you’re on the water – good luck with that; the air is so clear that something in the distance that looks a few miles away is actually a lot farther away than you think.  And then there is measuring distance on a map.  Martin’s unit of choice for distance:  a thumb.  As in:  one of Martin’s thumbs.  One thumb - one hour.  Today’s journey:  seven thumbs or about 25 km as I measured it on the map.

This day would end up being perhaps the worst I have ever spent on the water.  Long and painful.  But more on that in a bit. 

Once again, we started under bright skies.  The water was crystal clear, revealing patterned rocks below.

We launched

and started paddling.  At first it was quite wonderful.  There were interesting icebergs to look at, including this amazing blue jewel.  I would have been happy to spend some time circling and photographing it, but there were miles to go…

Have I said anything about the water temperature yet?  If it’s cold enough to support a population of icebergs in the bright sun, it’s cold.  In the mid 30’s.  Martin said that the temperature is close to freezing six feet down.  Pogie weather.  I had been thrilled in Maine to discover that pogies made it possible to paddle comfortably on cold and windy days.  In Greenland,  it took the observation of one of the group members to point out another feature.  But that was down the road…

So warm handed, I paddled on. This was the view for pretty much the whole day.

 

The day soon started feeling like an endless crossing.  While the mountains on either side of us were spectacular, we stayed to the middle of the channel to catch as much of the slight tailwind as we could.  Much of my enjoyment in paddling is being close to rocks, but on this day, they remained well out of reach. 

Two years ago, on a 17 mile July 4th paddle with Nancy Hill and others, I developed a muscle spasm in my right shoulder that lasted for a month, resistant to the ministrations of an injection-wielding orthopod and physical therapist and daily exercises of my own.  The painful spasm went on for a month, only yielding finally to the expert touch of my now regular sports massage therapist  (thank you, Nolan!).   I had worried about how my body would hold up to the rigors of a long distance trip, and as the day progressed, my worries gave way to reality.  The familiar painful ache started and didn’t let up.  Our goal for the day was mileage, and we kept a good pace.  I started to fall behind as the pain increased.  Blessedly, we stopped for elevenses.

I wasn’t interested in food; I just wanted to find a flat rock on which I could stretch out my back and shoulder in hopes that the point of pain would disappear.  It did for only a short time.  As soon as we started paddling again, my shoulder started firing up.

So, I was happy when an hour later, we stopped for first lunch at a beautiful spot, where large slabs of rock rose at a steep angle out of the water.

Again, my only interest was stretching out my shoulder and arm.  This was a perfect spot for it.

Others ate.  Here's Andy.

  

I stretched and fretted.  The it was time to get on the water once again.

 Everything seemed so impossibly far away.  Snow on the mountains across the channel.

For a short while, we paddled next to the slabby shore, which lifted my spirits – as did the temporary easing of the shoulder pain.

 

But (too) soon, we were back out in the middle, my shoulder was firing pain, and I was once again falling behind the group.  Hard to describe what a discouraging feeling this was, even with such muscular beauty all around...

It was on this day that I first experienced the phenomenon of yo-yo group movement.  The faster people get ahead of the others, stop and have a breather.  The slower people keep paddling to catch up and as soon as they do, the group starts moving again and is soon spread out.  No rest for the weary.  The day was turning into an epic struggle.  I talked to myself, sometimes out loud, reminding myself to keep up good form.  Bad forward stroke exacerbates shoulder muscle pain for sure.  Thinking about my stroke was a helpful distraction.

In mid-afternoon, we had another brief stop – this time to get water.  It was good to get out of the boat.

Andy filled his various water containers.

This was the first time that I ever consumed untreated water straight out of a stream.  But Martin – and Steve, an accomplished mountaineer – reassured us that the water was coming off a snow pack and that no animals were up there to poop into it.  I experienced no untoward effects.

I was briefly cheered by a patch of flowers on the mountainside,

But soon we were moving again.  At least we had made some distance and could see up ahead (how far?  Again…how impossible to gauge!) the point in the channel where we would make a sharp left turn.  We also saw for the first time a glacier nestled up in the mountains, a landmark that would be with us for a good deal of the trip.

We finally made the turn.  It felt like a small blessing.  A blessing also was seeing in the distance one – or was it two – whales spouting.  We sat quietly in our boats, transfixed.  The quiet interrupted by the sound of the breathing whales, which alerted them to where we might see them.  And finally, we were heading to the final shore where we would make camp.  The group was far ahead; Martin stayed back as I quietly cursed the fire burning my shoulder.

The small village of Tinit passed to our right.

And then we were landing – on one of the easiest spots of the trip.  A mostly flat and rocky/sandy beach where even I was able to help carry boats above the high tide line.  I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy for a day on the water to end.  I set up a nice little camp.

One of the supply boats moored right off of our camp.

I don’t even remember having supper, but I know that I went to bed almost immediately, wanting to be flat and stretch out the troublesome shoulder.  The others made a big fire on the beach, and I could hear their talking and laughter as I experienced the relief of being prone and still.

At 3 am, Helen woke me for my bear watch.  It was again a special time to be awake and alone in the world.  Ahead of me, I could see the first light of the day lighting up the Greenland ice cap up above the mountains.

 

And looking the other way, the mountains reflected in still water, and the sun brightening in the east behind them.

 

 

Day Four – Saturday, July 29 – Tinit to Ingmikertajik Island

 

I got a good slug of sleep both before and after my bear watch and awoke pain-free. Oh my heavens, what a difference a day makes! The previous day: worst day ever.  The day ahead would turn out to be one of the very best.  Our plan was to go from Tinit down the east side of the Sermilik ice field to Pupik, four thumbs south.

At the campsite, we were all spread out over a fairly big area.  There was even enough room for a game of soccer…and a ball to play with.

 I had a cold breakfast (several days already had me sick of oatmeal),

I packed up and was ready to launch from our super-easy spot.

Julie posed for a photo with our mountain glacier behind her.

We paddled toward Tinit.

We had several missions there:  First, it might be our last grocery store for some time…or possibly until the end of the trip.  Second, we would be able to climb high above town to get a view of ice conditions that would determine where we would next go.

Tinit was a sad and bedraggled town, smaller than Kuummiut.  The houses were ill-cared for and there was trash all over the beach where we landed.  The grocery store was smaller and less well equipped than the small one we’d already shopped at.  But we topped off on sausage and crackers and some people even bought real food – frozen fish and vegetables.  We climbed up to get a view of Sermilik Fjord, also called “The Ice Field” by the locals for obvious reasons.

This was the view that awaited us.  A lot of ice, as befits an ice field.  It’s six miles across the water.  Who would know that without looking at a map?  (Notice the tents below; they weren’t ours – a hiking group had finished their expedition in town and were later waiting for boats to take them to the airport.)

I posed for a picture.

Then we climbed higher.  The six mile vista across the ice field was hypnotic.

We climbed down past a clump of oversized dandelions.  Even the weeds cheer in this land of blue and white.

After lunch, we headed out into the ice field after getting a briefing from Martin about safety when paddling in and near the ice.  He assured us that when we were in “ponds,” large iceberg-free areas in the ice field, he would stop and we would have leisure to take photographs.

Martin surveyed the route.

There were small icebergs, and medium sized icebergs, and large icebergs and humongous bergs.  It was hard to know from a distance just how big they were, but they were…very very impressive.

Blue stripes - frozen water - running through one of them.

We continued on.  We were in a landscape of abstract white sculptures of all sizes.

In the distance, another monster.

Martin had been keeping his eye out for an island that he’d never been able to land on before.  We spotted it about halfway toward Pupik, and saw that there was a small hut atop it.

We pulled up onto stripey rocks, planning to stay for lunch.

Andy, Steve and I remained below with the boats while others climbed up onto the island’s green top. 

They were gone for a while, then someone returned to announce that this would be our stopping point for the day, that it was just too beautiful a place to pass by quickly.  So once again it was time to unload and haul boats out of the water.  (Once again, inept on uneven or steep surfaces, I watched.)

The view from the island was absolutely stunning.  It was clear to me that I would never have another camp site as beautiful as this one.  I set up my tent on a narrow rock close to the island’s edge.  This was the view.

The island also featured pools of clear rainwater, warm from the sun.

 Most of the ladies retired to one of them, for a round of hair washing and general cleanup.

And one of our lot, Richard, proved himself to be COMPLETELY insane:

Although he had paddled without pogies or a hat and proclaimed himself to be a veritable furnace on the water, after his polar plunge he dressed in every layer of clothing he had brought and remained cold for hours.  Uh, yes...

After bathing and swims, a wander about the island. The succulent plants were plump and cheerful.

There were also many birds, artic terns, calling and swooping, too fast to be photographed.  This was the only place we visited that had such a bird population, and their racket throughout the day and night was most welcome.

It was one of the evenings when everyone sat together, hypnotized once again by the view.

Sunset.

Polar bear watch for me was 4 am.  This is what I saw, as over the hour, the sun rising behind me lit up the mountains miles away on the other side of the ice field.

 

Day Five – Sunday July 30 – Ingmikertajik Island to Hann Glacier in Johann Peterson Fjord

 

Today’s plan was to cross Sermilik and head down Johan Peterson Fjord, an area often clogged by ice that Martin had only explored a few times.  It would be another long day – seven thumbs, over 20 km.  Our high-up scouting had shown the entrance to the fjord was likely passable.

I didn’t get much sleep after bear watch, but enjoyed finding this iceberg floating below my campsite when I awoke. It made me think of an armadillo.

This is my campsite in full light of day.

Before we left, there was time to explore the island a little more.  There was a burial cairn some distance away.

Inside, you could see human bones – several skulls, ribcage and other bones scattered about.  Out of respect for whoever is buried there, I don’t have a photo for you.

Another beautiful sunny day (again, thinking of the group before ours without one single day of sun…) and calm water for making the six mile ice field crossing.  It wasn’t until a couple of days later, when we made the crossing back, that Martin talked about his apprehension on these crossings.  Conditions can change rapidly and dramatically for the worse, and it is not good to be halfway across when this happens.  He wanted to make good time. Yes, some time for photos, but no, no dawdling.

Here’s one large iceberg that deserved a shot.

I followed Steve in the ice field.

The crossing was uneventful, and to celebrate, we pulled onto a large flat iceberg at the mouth of the fjord for elevenses.

Helen and Richard, 

and Andy and Steve

had some tea.  While others brewed hot water, I didn’t wander far.  I had images of falling through a thin area on our floating lunch spot, so played it safe.

After the break, we headed into the fjord.  I liked this jaggedy blue iceberg, both from a distance

and closeup.

We found another spot to top off our water.

I was going through it a lot more slowly than the others.  Not drinking tea all day long will do it for you.

The paddle down the fjord was very pleasant.  There was little wind.  And while my shoulder kept making rumblings of worse things to come, it never completely fired off and I was able to keep up with the group. At four in the afternoon, we had our campsite, overlooking the Hann Glacier, in site.  This campsite was 100% rock.  No grass, no flowers, nothing to cushion.  Secure your tent with rocks (as I actually ended up doing every day, rather than fighting with stakes), or just bivvy for the night as Andy, Steve and Martin with their zero degree bags ended up doing.

The boats got pulled up the steep rocks (no thanks to me).

I managed to drop a dry bag as I climbed up the steep rock and watched, helplessly, as it rolled into the water.  Andy ended up going in after it (many thanks!) and I found that this dry bag was basically a damp bag.  Fortunately the sun was still high enough in the sky for me to dry out the contents (which included the all important down jacket). 

A word here on sun and temperature in this part of Greenland in midsummer.  A day that has been warm and sunny turns rapidly chilly…and then cold…not long after four in the afternoon, even when the sun still seems high in the sky.  By five in the afternoon, most of us were wearing down jackets.

Martin spread out a map to plan the next day.

It was on this rocky campsite that I had an epiphany – courtesy of Richard, who was examining the various paddles that we had stashed up on the rock.  He picked up my Werner Cyprus and expressed surprise at how heavy it was.  Well…of course it was heavy, it had pogies attached….  Wait a second….it’s heavy BECAUSE  pogies are attached!  I removed the pogies and hefted the paddle.  Light as a feather!  Had miles and miles and miles of lifting a paddle weighed down by heavy neoprene pogies been part of my physical problem??  I didn’t know, but it was a thought for the next day.  I left the pogies off, stashing them under the Explorer’s front bungies to dry out over night.

I looked at the glacier.  I have no idea how far away it was.

The rocks were beautifully stripy.

I set up my tent on a boulder.  We were all a bit cheek by jowl here.

I had a full night’s sleep since my polar bear shift wasn't until 5 am.  It was a beautiful morning, full light.

 

Day Six – Monday July 31 - Hann Glacier, around Ingmikertikajik Island  and back up the Fjord to Ingmikerteq Island on the western edge of The Ice Field

 

Another bright clear warm day.  Not a hint of wind in the morning.  The boats awaited the morning’s carry down to the water.

We had planned the night before that we would paddle back out of the fjord, but only after we stretched the distance by three thumbs or so by continuing into the fjord and rounding a large island a mile further on.  Worrying about my ever problematic shoulder, I had hoped that we would take the short route and head directly out.  As it turned out, this would be another exceptional day.  Pain free and much that was beautiful to see.  I ended up being very grateful for the longer route.

It was easy to load the Explorer here.  (That wasn’t always the case.  There were boat loads that we all did knee deep in cold water or with the boat at a crazy angle wedged between rocks.)

Because he had bivvied, Steve had no camp to break down, and was on the water waiting for the rest of us in no time.

Soon enough, the rest of us were on the water, looking at attractive icebergs.

Today would be a test.  Warm and windless, it was a day to leave the pogies attached to the boat, not my paddle.  What a difference!  My familiar paddle felt light as a feather!  The sea was flat calm.

We headed toward the big island, and for the first time on the trip, we were able to paddle right up against the rock.  Sculptural and dramatic.

Rock and water.

Just as a mountain has false summits, this island had false ends.  Just when there was a small headland that promised a definitive turn around its northern end, it kept going.  But I didn’t mind.  I was enjoying looking at the texture of the stone.  And I was just about ecstatic that my paddle felt like my paddle again and that I was pain-free.  Yes, the water was cold – in the 30’s - but with sun and no wind, that was fine.

We stopped for elevenses at a wonderfully alluring spot.  Long stretches of smooth rock. 

Patterns written on the rocks…

Andy stood gazing out over the Bruckner Glacier, 2 km distant.

We were all reluctant to leave.  We’d walked and napped.  But we’d spent over an hour and it was time to start paddling again.  (We asked about the feasibility of using this site for camping.  Martin said that it was prone to being locked in by ice drifting down the fjord, and that a clear passage one day may be completely gone the next.  We were grateful for at least being able to have elevenses there.)

Bright blue sky and aqua blue iceberg.

And beyond, the Heim Glacier, the third of four (we didn’t see the last one) in Johan Petersen Fjord.

I found it hard to stop taking pictures of icebergs (and thought often of how Scott, my stone carving teacher, would have enjoyed the shapes and colors…).

While I enjoyed the freedom of pogie-less paddling, Sonja had stripped down so that she was (almost) drysuit-less as well as pfd-free.  She joked that she was the advertisement for how not to paddle in Greenland.  Hard to argue with that!

And then, a lacy iceberg.

Closeup.

The paddle back down the fjord was iceberg

after iceberg.  Alluring aqua arches carved in this one’s face.

And sharp contrasts of colors...

And finally then, at the end of a long – but wonderfully pain-free day – we found our night’s campsite.

A pink flower growing in…what?...showed once again the tenacity of life here.

We had lots of room to spread out here, and so we did.  I set up my campsite (a buggy one) higher up on some rocks

while others found some relief from the bugs closer to the water where there was a bit of wind.

More pink flowers next to my tent.

I went to bed well before midnight, but awoke then and poked my head out of the tent.  This is what I saw.

Bear watch was basically the start of the next day.  Six am.  I enjoyed sharing the quiet morning with this small flock of water birds.

Oh, and I’ve forgotten to mention.  Martin had provided the person doing the bear watch with a book to read:  A Kayak Full of Ghosts, a book of folk tales, of creation myths and so on told to the author by natives of Greenland and Alaska and other northern places.  We’d pass the book to each new person coming on watch.  I realized that the author was someone known by a friend of mine on Cape Cod, who’d given me another book of his years before.  Another experience of our small world…

 

Day Seven -  Tuesday August 1 – Across the Ice Field and south to an unnamed broad sandy beach north of Ikateq, an abandoned village

 

 

Another bright and sunny morning.  My but all this perfect weather is getting so tiresome  ;-).  As you may recall, when our journey started, East Greenland was hemmed in by pack ice thrown there by two weeks of storms.  We had initially thought that we would be unable to take the usual route to get to Tasiilaq – “going outside” along the southern coast, exposed to the Atlantic Ocean.  Instead, we would have to retrace our footsteps, north back to Tinit, back down the endless channel of my Worst Day Ever and onward.  As it turned out, however, wait a few days and things do change.  Martin was able to get reports that the sea ice that was requiring motorboats to go a long way off the coastline to get to Tasiilaq had dispersed.  We would be able to continue south and “go around.”

And so we threw in our lot with the southern route.  There would be no tuning back once the decision was made.

Once again, I broke down my camp.  I liked the pattern of these tenacious roots nearby.

 While my boat had been stashed on a flat beach for the night, making packing very easy, this was one of those places where some had to pack their boats while the boats were afloat.

We were soon on the water, and as always, icebergs were alluring.

It felt colder as we went south, nearing where Sermilik opens to the open ocean. The wind picked up, and a day that had started with such promise became a challenge.  I felt the occasional twinge in my shoulder.  Wanting a light paddle, I had not put pogies on. This turned out to be a mistake.  I didn’t want to take the time to reattach them for fear I’d once again fall behind the group.  And so I paddled on, cold and uncomfortable.

It was a relief when we stopped for lunch in a pretty spot below a hunters cabin.  Fresh water would be easily obtained a short paddle further on. 

We climbed up to a little saddle and had lunch out of the wind – sort of.  It was still cold.

Martin joined us after lunch to point out where we were heading.

Then it was time for a postprandial nap.  I snuggled under my orange storm cag, a black hat across my face.  You can see me looking like clothes spread out on the ground to dry.

Then it was time to get on again, a brief jaunt around the corner

to a little  rushing river where we got more water.

We passed a dirt filled iceberg that had the face of an ugly old man.

I don’t know why, but in the early afternoon, I started wondering whether there was ever fog in this part of Greenland.  Martin said that it was common,  particularly in the afternoon.  I don’t think that it was more than an hour later that we saw this: across Sermilik, a white band of fog snaking in from the sea.

It made a dramatic stripe across the bottom of the mountains across the fjord as we paddled on.

And as it came in, it rose higher, blocking more of the mountains opposite.

But it was fog-free on our side, and the view of the beach and hump of rock to the left where we would camp was clear. 

The color of the water changed from the beautiful aqua and blues we’d seen all trip to brown.  We were in a very shallow area with muddy sand below.  We had a low tide slog to bring the boats closer to a good landing spot near the camping area.

As we started to set up camp, the fog came to visit our side as well.

And in no time, this was the view.

Andy in his red Peak UK drysuit showed up nicely.

With damp fog replacing the sun, and the wind picking up, it was cold up on our knoll.  A few people found a place to sit out of the wind.

Yellow-gray fog blanketed everything and hid all but the closest icebergs from our view.

I went to bed, trusting that Martin would awake me for 11 pm bear watch, the first shift of the night. He did, andf or the first time, time crawled by on polar bear watch.  Even wearing all my layers of clothing, I was cold.  And it was too dark to take photos.  

It had been another hard day – this time because of the distance, cold and fog.  After days of nothing but sun, I thought, “This is what I imagined Greenland would be like.”  And once again wondered how the previous group had managed when all they had was cold wind and rain without a glimpse of the face of an iceberg being lit up by an early morning or late afternoon sun.

 

Day Eight – Wednesday August 2 – Our beach to Hunters Camp on Manginersierpik Island via Ikateq, an abandoned village

 

 

When you have become accustomed to days of bright sun, of being awoken by 6:30 am heat in your tent when the sun has risen just enough, it is difficult to look outside your tent and see…that the fog has stayed the night.

Looking out, rock blended into iceberg into the foggy beyond.

The mountains around us were partially obliterated.  But Steve still seemed pretty cheerful as he greeted the day.

There was hope as time advanced.  The sun was clearly up there somewhere and there were hints of blue when we looked up.  Then, we could see the mountain behind us emerging from the fog – an encouraging sign for the day.

 

We had a slow morning waiting for the tide to come in.  There could be no launch until the mudflats were under water once again.  This allowed for the sun to do its job, and when we finally launched at around 11 in the morning, sun and fog were still doing a balancing act as Helen set out.

But as we went south, we began leaving the fog behind, although the mountains across the channel were still mostly obscured

We passed a bird iceberg.

Then another, all white and blue and shadows against a gray fog background.

And then it was completely clear in front of it as we approached the Ikateq, the abandoned village, once home to a US air base that left it behind in the late 1940’s.  It struggled on for years, but when the government would no longer provide a school teacher, all the villagers left. 

Fewer than fifteen buildings comprised the village.  We climbed up into the village, looking back to where it was still foggy.

Abandoned.

From higher up, the view down to the little red church and schoolhouse building.  Fog lay low on the water beyond.

The church.

I was amazed at what had been left undisturbed inside the church.  The altar

and a hanging in the shape of an anchor.

Andy was able to prove that the pump organ could still be played.

In the other half of the building, the school.

We picked up bits of wood scattered about to lash onto our boats to provide a fire at our campsite that evening.  As it got colder, the prospect of an evening fire became all the more attractive.

Once we had finished exploring the village, we backtracked a bit so that we could head down a passageway to the open ocean that Martin had never been down before. 

Across the channel, a wisp of fog remained low down on the mountains.

And then, we were through the channel and there was only iceberg-littered open ocean ahead of us.  But think back to the image from the airplane as we flew in, where icebergs were a jigsaw puzzle that no boat could get through.  The way here was clear.

Yes, there were icebergs – and I enjoyed looking at the various textures on this one – but there were broad passages between them.

And finally, we were approaching the hunters camp where we planned to stay the night. We saw two figures on the rocks as we approached.  It was two hunters, who said they were off to hunt seals, but might be back later that night.

On the rocks where we would have to haul up boats, they had left the bloodied carcass of a seal, head still on and skin down.  To the right lay all the entrails and internal organs of the seal.  Blood ran down the rock.  I did not take a picture of the carcass, or not directly anyway, but note the blood where we moved the boats up above the tide line.

If you could keep your eyes off the carnage, it was a beautiful site!

We lit a fire and huddled around it.

The hunters cabin, where we might have slept, was dirty and depressing.  I was happy to set up my tent as a place to snuggle on this cold cold night.

Bear watch started at midnight.  Fortunately, the fire was still burning and there was still wood to keep it going through most of the night.  But when one is supposed to be keeping an eye out for polar bears – particularly when there is a nice polar bear supper left enticingly on the rocks by the hunters – it is important not to allow oneself to just stare into the hypnotizing flames of a fire.

While the fog had not returned, it was quite dark.  I didn’t take any pictures, just huddled by the fire and watched the time slowly go by until my hour was up.

 

Day Nine – Thursday, August 3 – “Going Around”

 

 

A notable day for me – not only because we would be making a passage around two big headlands exposed to the sea and swells, where rogue waves born far in the east might come rolling in – but because it was…well, it was my birthday…and I’m not getting any younger.  (I had already figured out I had at least 10 years on the young pups on this trip!)  I knew that friends and family at home would be thinking of me, and that was a cheering thought to start the day.

I poked my head out of the tent at 5 am and saw that weather conditions would be favorable for the outside trip.  Enough of this morning fog.  Back to beautiful days…

Uh, no…  Two hours later, when I was ready to get up, this is what had rolled in.

Martin had made it clear that conditions had to be perfect for going around.  The route was too exposed for paddling on a windy wavy day.  Apparently fog is no bar to perfection;  there was no wind and the seas were flat…  Our plan was to round the southern coast of Angmagssalik Island and continue past the fjord leading to Tasiilaq, where we would eventually end the trip.  We would spend one night at one camp, where Martin said we would be able to bathe in pools of water,  then paddle a short distance to what Martin called Whale Watch Camp, where we would spend two nights and have a full day of rest, the first on the trip.

So it was that in the fog we packed up and in the fog we launched.

 

And in the fog, I posed for an obligatory iceberg photo.

And then we headed off into the fog.

The sun was trying.  It really was.  Hints of blue high up as we paddled close to shore.

Martin plotted a compass heading to keep us on track to clear the first headland.  But before we rounded that first headland, a group of rocks emerged out of the fog.  They were perfectly positioned to be hit by incoming swells.  And before I knew it, with little warning, a wave started to form to my right.  I had no time to point the Explorer into it, and as I cried out, “Whoaa!!!” it broke directly on me.  Thank heavens for many experiences of bracing into waves.  I instinctively threw out a brace – with visions of a very cold Greenland capsize dancing in my head – and buried up to my chest in white water, felt it pass and I was still upright.  This was one happy moment!  (I didn’t learn until later that Steve, who was behind me and saw my wave interaction, had to deal with another one right after.  He, however, had enough time to face it front on and to generate a few power strokes to get up and over.)  I don’t think I’ll ever forget that Birthday Brace.

Phew!  My heart racing from the close call, I paddled on.  The sun continued to battle with the fog.  We rounded the first headland.  It would have been nice to see it in its full sunny glory, but this image will have to do.

By the time we reached the second headland less than a mile later, it was more clear.

The wind was starting to pick up, and across the fjord, a thick band of fog stubbornly remained in place.  And if we were to continue as we'd planned, that would be what we would heading into.

It would be impossible to find the landing to our first camp past the fjord, so Martin made the decision that we would head into Tasiilaq for the night and try to go directly to Whale Watch camp the next day.

Before we made the turn north into the fjord, there were a few more icebergs to admire, spooky in the fog.

Tasiilaq, the seventh largest town in Greenland, has a population of over 2000 (compare this to the abandoned village of 15 houses we’d seen the day before…).  The first view of it that you have as you head into the fjord is of an enormous pile of trash and garbage spilling off a high hill toward the sea.  Trash disposal is a problem in Greenland, and it was always distressing to see the amount of junk left on rocks and beaches near village settlements.  We passed the garbage dump, and saw the town perched prettily on ridges and hills fronting a mountain range in the rear distance.

There were a number of houses that looked quite new.  I thought of my sister, who is an architect, and I knew she would like pictures of houses, so here’s one:

We made a plan to stop in town to shop at the grocery store.  Accustomed to the scantily equipped village stores we’d seen so far, it was a bit disorienting to walk into a fairly large…almost supermarket.  I stocked up on staples to get me through to the end:  salami, cheese, crackers, three bottles of Pepsi Max and a bag of American Style (aka Cool Ranch) Doritos. 

We had a choice of two camping spots. The first, right in town (in fact, right next to the garbage dump and a very busy helicopter pad), Martin had named Vietnam as its general trashiness and near constant whup-whupping roar of helicopters coming and going reminded him of the setting of the TV series, MASH.  Never mind that MASH was set in the Korean War, we got the point.  The second would involve continuing on past the town toward the end of the fjord, where there was a huge meadow and walking trails.  The choice was clear.  We continued on.

The mist draped the mountains as we neared the meadow camp.  It was another easy landing spot, a rocky beach where even I could help move boats.

I set up camp next to pretty clump of flowers.

This one was right out the door to the tent.

It was early enough that there was time to read…

oh, and to suck down a refreshing bottle of diet Pepsi.

The rest of the day was quiet and uneventful.  I hardly moved from my seat, which I set up behind the tent out of the wind.

There was no need for bear watch tonight.  Any bear would likely hit town first, and as Martin put it, “They’d sort it out there.” 

So we all slept through the night, looking forward to two final days of paddling and a full day of rest and two nights at Whale Watch camp.

 

Day Ten – Friday, August 4 – The Best Laid Plans…

 

It would be a nine mile paddle to the place where we’d finally have a rest day, which we would presumably spend sitting and watching whales passing by in majestic numbers.  It had been a while since we’d seen any, and we were all looking forward to it.  I was also very much looking forward to staying in the same spot for two nights and to enjoy a full day of restorative rest.  Since the awful day of almost unremitting pain, I had experienced only intermittent shoulder pain, but not having to do anything for a day still seemed like a real treat.  It would not be an early start as we had to wait for the tide to come in.

So, five am looked like this...

 and seven like this...

But it was a nice lay-in morning, and by nine all was well…

There was time for a wander about.  A stream…

But were the clouds telling us something?

Whether they were or not, it was still a morning for walking about and enjoying the camp.  There were carpets of flowers

and fresh water for washing up.  Here’s Helen and Gordon doing chores.

But the tide came in, and once again, we all broke camp and launched…into a headwind that seemed to increase as we approached Tasiilaq.  My heart sank.  Nine miles to go into a southeast wind that would be in our faces the whole way.  And across he fjord, where we were heading, the stubborn band of fog remained.

Wind and fog and building seas.  Fog stayed thick, wind picked up and the seas with it.  Paddling a fully loaded Explorer into a headwind.  No fun!  And the seas picked up more.  Martin encouraged us all to stay together but I had trouble paddling fast enough and called out for those in front to slow down.  Martin commented at some point that this was not what the weather forecast had predicted.  I had trouble not thinking about the More Deep Trouble story I’d read before I left home.  What lay ahead for us:  four hours of paddling into increasing wind and building sea, with water temperature in the mid 30’s, and no landing spots for mile after mile.  Martin suggested we continue out of the fjord and when we reached the headland at its end, make the turn and see what conditions looked like.  He’d already said that they would be worse.

He finally stopped for a moment and waited for everyone to gather up in the bouncing seas.  He asked how we were feeling and what our thoughts were.  Without a moment’s hesitation, I responded, “I don’t want to do this for nine more miles.”  (And I haven’t even mentioned that if the reward for what would be epic slog would be whale watching, we were unlikely to experience it as the fog continued to be dense where we were supposedly heading.)

He responded, “Conditions will be worse when we turn the corner.”  And then, “Let’s turn back.”  I experienced a flood of warm relief, even as moments later I worried about whether I was just being the cautious old lady in the group, holding the others back.  But in my heart and head, I knew that continuing - into conditions that had not been forecast and were deteriorating, in the fog, in lethally cold water with no takeouts for mile after mile - made no sense.  I checked in with one person, who said that she was relieved, and that I had been unable to see her white knuckles under her pogies.  But by this point, having uncomfortably experienced myself as the weak link in the group since the outset – an unfamiliar and unhappy feeling for sure – part of me just didn’t care whether others would blame me for not making an attempt to continue on.  The conditions (combination of weather, sea state, wind, and water temperature) didn’t feel safe and I was confident in my own assessment of them.

I am sorry I have no pictures of what it was like but it had been two hands on the paddle at all times for me.

It was hard turning around in the wind, but we soon had it at our back and were coasting back toward Tasiilaq.  At a calm spot, we gathered up to discuss whether it would be back to our previous night’s camp or Vietnam.  Unanimous decision:  the meadow!

 

I looked behind me to what we were leaving behind.  The rough water was some distance away at this point, but the fog was surely still there.

We passed the Tasiilaq supply boat.

 Some of us decided to make another grocery run.  The paddling part of the trip was essentially over at this point.  We had had only this day to make it to Whale Camp, and wouldn’t make another attempt.  So there was discussion of topping up supplies of wine – and in my case, diet Pepsi. I volunteered to watch the boats while others went to the grocery store.  While I floated in a trashy little harbor, I had a nice conversation with these two fellows.

And so we ended the day where we had started, back at the meadow at the head of the fjord.  Mountain, shadows, fog. 

We all knew exactly where to go to set up our tents and reestablishing camp, where we would stay for the next two nights, was an easy relief.

That night, it was cold, but there was plenty of wood to make a fire on the beach.  Also, there was trash to burn.  It was nice to huddle around it…

 

 

            Day Eleven – Saturday August 5 – Meadow Camp

 

A whole day of nothing but sleeping and reading and eating and walking.  No one was up early.  No point, anyway, because it was cold and still partially foggy.  I took a brief walk along the shore

but decided to return to my warm sleeping bag.

When I finally got up for the day, it was still chilly out and I had soup for breakfast.  This stuff was good!  Noodle soup with lime.

I read all morning, had lunch (salami and cheese, of course!), and then took a walk up to a carpet of flowers up on a mountain.  There were pink flowers

and purple ones.

I came down and walked across a stream and up a hill on the other side of camp and looked down.

Andy spent part of the day fishing…without success.

As evening fell, the temperature dropped and fog rolled in once again.

We made another fire.

As we sat there, someone noticed a small creature running in the distance.  An Artic fox!  A very bold Artic fox.  He came closer

then retreated to wrestle with a line attached to some trash.

Then closer again, checking out the boats

Finally choosing my Explorer.

He eventually ran off, and with the evening’s entertainment over, it was time for bed.

 

Day Twelve – Sunday, August 6 – Meadow Camp to Vietnam

 

August 6 was the official end of the trip, but we still had two nights in Tasiilaq before our flight out on the 8th.  Martin had built that time in the schedule to allow for ice conditions that might get a group hung up for a day or so.

No great surprise – at this point – it was another foggy morning.

But two hours later…

There was no rush because high tide wouldn’t float the boats until early afternoon.  We anticipated a lazy morning.  However, we woke to find that our little fox friend had visited during the night, made an attempt to make off one of Steve’s small dry bags and a kayak bootie, but abandoned them a few yards from Steve’s tent.  He had, though, found happier hunting at the most distant campsite.  One of  Helen’s hiking shoes was gone.  For the next hour, almost everyone fanned out over the large area, searching for the shoe.  While someone did find another chewed up shoe, it was not the mate to Helen’s, but did give us a sense of the fate of that boot…

While we looked, we got a chance to enjoy some of the pretty sights one more time.

Then it was time to leave.

It was an calm and easy paddle back to Tasiilaq.  We landed at Vietnam and set up camp for the last time.

Another camp, another nice view.

Puffy white flowers…

Most of us walked into town in the early evening to retrieve the gear bags we’d left behind the first day in Kuummiut, and which had been transported to Tasiilaq for us several days later.  On the way, we came under attack by a couple of fierce locals.

Surviving that, we continued on.  It was a sporty walk up and down streets built onto steep hills.

I liked the decorations on this one...

We finally found where our gear bags had been left, and mission accomplished, we carried them back to Vietnam for loading when we were ready to go.

The sun set behind a mountain…

Time for bed.

 

Day Thirteen – Monday, August 7 – Tasiilaq

 

And after twelve straight days of Greenland sun (even if the recent mornings had been foggy), on the thirteenth day, we woke to overcast – not foggy – skies, and later in the day, it rained.

A lazy day.  Some people took the opportunity to walk into town to the public showers (open only three days week) to get clean.  I figured I could hold out another day until I arrived back at the exquisite guesthouse – with expansive shower and endless hot water – where I’d stayed in Reyjivik.  And anyway, given my experience of walking the hilly town the afternoon before, I knew it was going to be a sweaty day!  Nonetheless, I put on clean long underwear bottoms – under rather filthy trousers – and top and felt marginally cleaner.

The helicopters next door started up early – signaling that despite the overcast, visibility was good enough for flying.

I walked into town to see the museum and so some shopping for local crafts.  I found this bit of graffiti rather appealing...

Outside the tourist office, a signpost with which to orient oneself…

A crow flew from a fish-drying frame.

And I admired the town schoolhouse, five connected buildings above a soccer field.  I knew my sister the architect would particularly appreciate the simplicity of the buildings, their complementary and contrasting colors, and the asymmetric placement of the windows.

After a tour of town, I walked back to camp.  In addition to having a garbage dump and heliport right next door, we were also neighbors to a field of chained dogs.  At various times, without any specific trigger, all of them would start howling and yowling and yipping and crying.  But no barking.

Our plan for evening was to celebrate the end of the trip at the one bar in town.  At seven, the fog returned and we did the hilly walk into town as the light dimmed and mist was all around.

The only alcohol one can buy in Greenland is beer and wine.  So the choice at the bar was essentially…beer.  In thanks for all the extra boat and gear carrying the others had done, I bought the first round.

Steve was soon challenged by a local to a friendly game of table football.

He lost, seven to three.

The bar got more crowded as the evening went on.  Bad – and loud - American music blasted.  It was strange and sad to hear a roomful of intoxicated Greenlanders howling out the chorus to John Denvers’ ode to West Virginia, “Take Me Home, Country Roads.”

Several of us left to make the trek back to camp in almost full darkness at around 11 pm.

Last night in my little tent.  I fretted a bit that the weather would prevent our flight leaving, but soon enough I fell asleep.

 

Day Fourteen – Tuesday August 8 – Tasilaq to Kulusuk to Reykjavik

 

I needn’t have worried.  This was what I woke to at three am…

And four hours later, we had the first bright and beautiful morning we’d had in a number of days.

We had two hours to pack everything up for the motorboat trip back to Kulusuk.  Soon enough, bags were packed and ready to go…

Our taxis arrived.  The smaller boat for luggage, the larger for the seven of us leaving that day.

We all said quick farewells to Martin, who had another group coming, and Sonja, who wasn’t flying out until the next day.

And then we were roaring off through the icebergs for the half hour ride to the airport island.  A few last stunning icebergs, mammoth as sports arenas in the distance.

The route back was of course littered with smaller icebergs, through which our driver 

skillfully steered.

The luggage boat weaved through the icebergs next to us

or sometimes just sped through our wake.

And in no time, we were in Kulusuk, where it had all begun two weeks before.

Since we'd left,  rough wooden stairs had been installed across the big boulders over which we’d had to scramble on our way out, so unloading was a lot easier, with a fire brigade chain moving all of our stuff up onto the pier.

All that remained was asking a friendly stranger to take a group photo (left to ride: me, Andy, Steve, Gordon, Richard, Helen and Julie),

and then the long walk - this time uphill – back to the airport.  I made it halfway, my million pound pack impossible for me to carry standing straight up.  I bent forward and trudged until I could go further.  Thankfully, someone returned to carry the torture bag the rest of the way.

We had five hours to kill at the airport.  You can see that there was likely not much to do inside.

They kindly let us check our bags...below a polar bear skin...

I noted the sign that said it was forbidden to take stones from Greenland.  Oops, too late for me!  My garden at home has a rock from every international place I’ve paddled, and Greenland would be no exception.

We slept, and bought bad snacks from the snack bar, and did a bit of shopping.  Finally, it was time to go.  We headed back through “security.”  My bionic knees of course set off the metal detector.  I gestured to the one person manning the “security” area that I had artificial knees, and he waved and said, “OK” and waved me on.  So much for any security risk I might represent...

We boarded the plane – a slightly bigger prop plane than the one that had brought us there – and we were soon heading off down the gravel runway.

We took off, and as we did, I couldn’t stop taking pictures of the beauty below.  Here’s the lot of them, as Greenland and its ice shrank below us.

And so Greenland was over, and in no time we were back in Reykjavik.

In the end, the long hot shower at the Reykjavik guesthouse was pretty heavenly.  In a way, it marked the true end of the trip as I dressed thereafter, head to toe, in clean clothes.

 

A few words on a few things:

The weather:  As I said, we had really excellent weather throughout – with the exception of one day at the end when we were off the water for good. Fog was only temporary.  Sunny days felt pleasingly warm – in the 60’s.  Even so, I wore my heaviest NRS fleece top under my drysuit every day, and on foggy mornings, added a polypro base layer.  I also wore polypro tights under smart wood long underwear.  Smartwool socks kept my feet warm.  The instant that we were in our boats, floating in near-freezing water, I never regretted being so layered.  Dealing with hands was a different issue.  Pogies kept them warm, but seemed to give me blisters where I held the paddle – and added weight to the paddle that affected my tender shoulder.  Lighter pogies would have been ideal.  When we landed, even in full sun, as it approached five in the afternoon, the temperature dropped.  I wore a down jacket every day, sometimes adding a fleece top as well.  I kept hat and mittens in the jacket pocket, and especially for bear watch, they came in very handy.

Speaking of Polar Bears:  One of my wishes for the trip was that on the very last day, and from a safe – but photographable - distance, we’d see a polar bear.  We didn’t.  But we did hear that the day after we camped near the Hann Glacier, locals hunted and killed a bear.  (Communities are allowed a certain annual quota.)  Images of polar bears are everywhere.  The grocery store flag featured one.  There was the graffiti on the rocks.  Native artwork featured bears.  I am glad to know that they are out there, but am concerned at their fate.

Gear:  I was very happy with my Hilleberg Soulo tent, although it was never really put to the test.  Martin said that the previous group had nights of howling winds that flattened tents and required moving tents in the middle of the night to better withstand the wind and rain.  I had bought a new 20 degree water-resistant down bag at REI and it kept me toasty warm at night, when temperatures sometimes dipped below freezing.  I was less happy with my Exped Synmat as one of the dividers between the vertical baffles blew.  The pad still held air, but the pad was no longer symmetrical.  This is the second Synmat that has failed on a long trip. I won’t get another one. 

Making room for a Crazy Creek chair was the best gear decision I made.  I had a comfortable place to sit for meals, for bear watch, and at the end, for hanging out at camp and reading a book.  I also brought hiking poles that folded into fours.  Most people probably wouldn’t need them, but with my wonky knees, they provided support and stability in a very rough environment.

Wild Camping:  Most of our campsites were not easily accessed from the sea.  Hauling boats up steep rocks and over large cobbles wasn’t easy for those who moved them.  We had straps to help with four person carries, but a fully loaded expedition boat is HEAVY  I am most grateful to the rest of the team for the extra work they had to do when I was not able to help.  I was mostly able to haul my own gear for setting up camp, but there were times that others helped with that as well.  Once we had everything at the campsites, they were all pretty wonderful.  Sometimes we were all close together in a limited amount of space (and here, my small tent came in handy); at others, we had lots of privacy.  But this was the most challenging camping I’ve done from a kayak – and this includes my expedition to Alaska – because the terrain we had to negotiate to get to a campsite was often quite difficult to traverse. Greenland’s is not a smooth and welcoming geography.

Food:  I was fine with eating freeze dried meals that I purchased in Iceland.  I had only a Jetboil so couldn’t do real cooking.  I was impressed when others whipped out frying pans and pots and made meals of scallops and spinach.  It was nice getting treats and topping off supplies in the three villages that we visited.  I bought two things that turned out to be inedible.  One was a freeze dried meal that was described only as “meat.”  Its primary ingredient seemed to be salt, the second pasta, and the third some kind of mystery meat.  The other was some kind of sausage/pate thing that was pale and disgusting.  When I finally consigned it to our trash fire, I thought its high fat content would have it merrily spitting juices in the fire, but it merely compressed and congealed and after some time, disappeared.

Bugs:  I was prepared for bug hell, but didn’t find it.  The worst bugs that we encountered the whole trip were on the long walk from the pier to the airport in Kulusuk.  Every few days I put on my bug net, but it really wasn’t too bad.  The temperatures at night were cold enough that the bugs stayed wherever they go when it’s not toasty outside.  And during the day, we were mostly on the water.

 

 

I have been drawn to northerly (or in the case of Antarctica, far southerly) places since I was 12 years old.  I anticipated that this trip would be difficult –  physically challenging and because I was doing it without a buddy.  It was.  But it was a real privilege to be so intimately connected with both water and land in this spectacular country for two weeks. I’ve had friends react to my reports of previous trips – to Alaska, the Galapagos, Scotland, Wales and Mexico – saying “trip of a lifetime.”  Not really.  But in the case of Greenland, yes.  Trip of a lifetime.  I feel privileged to have seen this pristine environment (excepting the trashy areas near villages) before global warming has a greater effect; to have been up in the middle of the night watching the light change against mountains and still water.

Thanks to Martin, Steve, Andy, Julie, Helen, Richard, Sonya and Gordon for sharing the journey.  Thanks to Donna M for steering me toward it.   And thanks to my home paddling community and other friends, who encouraged me to go.  As I said before I left, “This is a trip I will be very happy to have done.”  And so I am.

 

Prudence

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

.DS_Store

 

[kate]

This was the best lunchtime I've had in a long while (alternating between your trip report and NASA's live eclipse coverage...). What a wonderful wonderful trip. All those icebergs, the bare rugged mountains, the light at 2 a.m., the profusion of wildflowers - thank you so much for sharing via abundant photos what I'll probably never see. I know that feeling of being the one who can't keep up with the group, and of being the one who says, "No, I don't think we should keep going forward." You made the best choice for yourself and, I suspect, the group (esp. the woman w/o a pfd). Those final photos flying away from Greenland - my goodness, what a wild place. I'm so glad it exists.

Kate

[Gcosloy]

An awesome trip and trip report. Thanks for sharing.

[Inverseyourself]

So many superlatives come to mind, Pru! I'll just also settle for awesome as well. I have so many questions for you, even though I'll unlikely make it to Greenland or Iceland as a paddler anytime soon. Besides, after your trip report, what could possibly be left to discover!?

I really need you to go to Antarctica or at least South America for me next! Can you do that? 

[David M]

Well Prudence, you've done it again.  A superb report with just the right mix of reflection in and on action.  You've also challenged me to engage the dreaming and planning mechanisms. Thanks for taking the time to share the journey. 

[JaneC]

Prudence

Where to start.  A magnificent report beautifully written and photographed. I am in awe of you and your incredible sense of adventure. I have read this report while here in Iceland. Perhaps a tamer trip could be had here

[Paul Sylvester]

A great write up with beautiful pictures.  Happy that you were able to make this dream come true. 

The idea of lunch on a flat iceberg and the concern of falling through a thin spot. Yes, I might have that concern. 

Surprised that you were able to have a few fires. I might have thought limited resources would have been cleaned up by locals.

 Thanks for posting.

 

[ejwilliams]

Prudence,

I really appreciate your generosity and honesty (and photography skills) in sharing this amazing adventure. I enjoyed taking extended time to read every word and look carefully at every photograph, trying to imagine the experience. I loved seeing the changing light, water, rocks (loved the stripey ones) and icebergs, as well as the mountains, camping spots (that fox is so cute) and villages. Who knew icebergs could be so varied and beautiful? It was helpful to me that you shared about worries and bad days as well as the good.  This trip report was good for my soul, I can't imagine what it was like to be there.

Elizabeth Williams

[rpg51]

Glorious trip.  Good lord I love the north. 

I have never used a guide on a trip - but I have also never been in an environment like that.  I would definitely want some one along who has been there before for sure.  You won't soon forget that trip!

 

[Phil Allen]

Once agin Pru, an amazing trip report for what sounds like an amazing trip.  I'm very envious.

 

Phil

 

[BethS]

Pru,

What an amazing journey, and once again, what a wonderful account of it. I have to say I am so impressed at your ability to get fantastic pictures during what was not an easy trip or exactly ideal circumstances, to say the least!

Thanks so much for taking us along, to a very magical place.

Beth

[mesbennett]

Pru,

what a treat to find this report...I am in deep hot texas and without boat but longing to paddle so it was great fun to follow your trip..BEAUTIFUL pics wow

maryb..who still sometimes lurks on the NSPN site ...a fix for a former paddler!

[prudenceb]

11 hours ago, mesbennett said:

Pru,

what a treat to find this report...I am in deep hot texas and without boat but longing to paddle so it was great fun to follow your trip..BEAUTIFUL pics wow

maryb..who still sometimes lurks on the NSPN site ...a fix for a former paddler!

Mary,

So glad you still lurk and that you enjoyed the trip report.  I enjoyed paddling with you - Jewell and Muscle Ridge come to mind - toward the end of your paddling career.  

Texas!  Stay cool! 

Prudence

[Suz]

Pru, your trip reports continue to delight.  Many thanks for the time you put in to them.  I enjoyed vicariously traveling along with you.

Suz