Christoffer Petersen

After my failed attempt at getting into town the day before I finally got it right this time. Paddling in to Ukkusissat was a pleasure. Beautiful blue skies, snow-capped mountains and the promise of junk-food! One has to get one’s priorities straight and clearly, I hadn’t.

In town

The shop

I had been to Ukkusissat before, arriving by 4×4 having driven across the sea ice. This was a different approach and a very different time of year. I was stunned by the beauty of the place which I had failed to appreciate during my visit in the winter a few years previous. Ukkusissat is a pearl to be discovered in the Uummannaq fjord system. It is little surprise that it is a frequent destination for cruise ships. I wondered if I would be received as a tourist or as something in between.

I didn’t have long to find out as I met a previous student, Karl-Ole, in the shop. Juggling my two hot-dogs we chatted about the past in Uummannaq and what he was doing. Karl-Ole accompanied me throughout much of the time I was in Ukkusissat but left me alone to make my phone calls to Lars and Jane. It was decision time.

I called Barbara in Nugatsiaq first to let her know I had changed my plans and would not be paddling on to the most northerly settlement. I also told her she could eat my food and other goodies that I had sent on earlier by boat. I was later to change my mind about this.

Lars and Jane understood my decision and we agreed that I would keep them informed of my progress, backtracking through the fjords to Uummannaq. It would be five settlements not seven after all. I had been wrestling with this decision for many days and was feeling pretty good that I had finalised my plans. The sudden arrival of Tukummeq in the shop lifted my spirits even further. One of my star pupils of the last two years, Tukummeq has a huge and promising future ahead of her. (Watch this space, you might be reading one of her books one day!)

Karl-Ole was a practised guide having worked with tourists many times and we spent a bit more time wandering around the settlement. He invited me to a kaffemik in celebration of his brother’s confirmation. I had the offer of staying over but, as I had realised earlier, I was beginning to get used to my own company and I felt the need to get back to camp. Here is where the goals began to blur in my expedition plans. I was using a lot of energy on the change of physical goals, whereas the social goals had suddenly been met and yet I wasn’t ready to make the most of them. It would be later in Niaqornat that I would begin to experience this element of my journey.

I thanked Karl-Ole as best I could and made moves to get out of “town” and back to camp. Walking back to the boat I came across some beautiful dogs with incredible masks. Of course, I spent some time photographing them before struggling into my dry-suit again. While getting ready to leave a fisherman sailed over to within a few metres or so. I honestly though he was going to land so I asked if I should move my boat? He didn’t say a word, just ate and stared. Having played tourist for several hours in town I figured it as okay to be on the receiving end of his curiosity. After five minutes or so he threw some rubbish over the side and sailed back to town.

Ukkusissat was far from a let down, but my expectations were so focused upon physical goals that I was losing sight of the human element. I think I assumed too much. I think I felt that I should be able to blend in more than the tourists and when that didn’t happen I was disappointed, and yet when it did, I failed to appreciate it. Strange but true.

Paddling back to camp was uneventful. I was lost in my thoughts of the coming days and what I had to do to make the rest of the expedition “work”. I made my decision based upon my safety issues and the safety net I had put in place. I had been brooding over the problem for the past few days – actually since the satellite phone died and the dry-suit ripped back in the desert – but the fog outside of Ukkusissat had helped put everything into perspective. It was time to move on, in body and mind.

As I landed back at camp I was treated to the arrival of René and Lars (another Lars). They too had had to change plans for their summer adventures due to fog and injury. It was reassuring to talk to others about the importance of prioritising safety. I was also heartened by the fact that even their group, with the benefit of support from local hunters, was just as disappointed in not achieving their goals as I was. (Incidentally, in the rush to move my kayak to accommodate their three speedboats, I nailed my leg on a rock. The cut is still healing some months later. Big rock!)

Chris

Original Post with comments.

Leaving the white sands of the previous campsite, I stole along the coastline, heading up the fjord towards the next settlement of Ukkusissat.

The photographs I would loved to have included in this blog post are just not good enough to show you the three tiny Arctic Fox cubs I found playing among the boulders a kilometre or so beyond my campsite. The small camera I had in my buoyancy aid just couldn’t capture them. I contemplated pulling into shore and taking photos with the larger DSLR but didn’t want to disturb them. I contented myself with observing them from a few metres distance as I bobbed among the icy debris from calving icebergs.

After spending so much time over the rifle I had found, cleaned up and put back in its proper place, I was paddling into the morning on this lonely stretch of my journey. After a short break on a beach, enjoying the last of my year-old Starbars, a present from Hilary and family, I put into the water again. Once firmly back in the seat and getting into a rhythm, I noticed the icebergs in the distance were being swallowed, whole, by the fog. Around 2 am I began to feel more than a little threatened by the encroaching blanket of white.

I have not paddled much in fog. I had never, up to this point, paddled in fog around icebergs. My worst nightmares were coming all too true. I could hear calvings in the near distance, but I could neither see the iceberg nor the direction in which the wave and debris was heading. It felt a little like playing Greenlandic Roulette with several thousand tonnes of ice that I couldn’t see. I was more than a little on edge.

Infuriatingly, as my world became smaller, more intense, I was illuminated by a light orange glow from the midnight sun, somewhere above me. I don’t think the fog was more than 10 metres or so high, but it was not evaporating any time soon. I considered pulling into the shore but I was not heartened by the steep-sided cliff faces and lack of suitable parking places. After a few more minutes of bobbing undecided about, I figured it was safer to crack on and not worry too much about what lay ahead. I would deal with that as and when it became necessary.

The first potential campsite I found around the point I vetoed on account of it not being close enough to Ukkusissat. I did want to get off the water as I could not see anything beyond the wall of fog, but I wanted to find a decent spot to camp. Then, shrouded in mist, “my” beach appeared and I headed straight for it. The usual camping routine was a welcome relief to the stress of being alone at sea with the bergs.

Well into the early morning I crawled into my tent and fell promptly asleep only to realise, a little later, that I had pitched the tent side on to the sun. As the fog burned away I was at once forced out of my sleeping bag and into the bright morning of a new day. There are some downsides to paddling through the night in the Arctic.

Knackered, but happy, I found little to complain about regarding my new view.

Ready for my first junk food of the trip I decided to walk into town, never mind how tired I was. I also needed water if I was going to keep up with my serious camp-coffee addiction. I found water, lots of it, but that was part of the problem. It might sound ridiculous but there was no way I was going to cross this raging Arctic river. I did walk up and down the sides looking for a suitable crossing point but I found nothing that wasn’t going to require me wading through metre-deep icy water gushing down from the mountains above. On another day it might have been different. Recently, however, Greenlanders and Norwegians alike have closely followed the story of three Norwegians believed drowned in a river around Kangerlussuaq. I was not aware of this but I decided to return to my new camp anyway.

The settlement of Ukkusissat could wait a day and I decided to paddle in following a good night’s sleep. Filling up my MSR water bladder – a seriously good bit of kit – I plodded back home, stumbling a few times out of tiredness.

Concerning camp abolutions I am reminded of a quote about which I can neither remember the author nor the exact words. It wasn’t Edward Abbey, although he has plenty of excellent words to describe the wilderness. However, several cups of coffee later and I was reminded, not for the first time, of a few lines of particular aptness that I would like to paraphrase for you all now:

“If you are going to take a shit in the wild, choose a John with a view.”

Several cups of coffee and a hot camp meal later and I was ready to choose my John with a view. The timing is critical. Too late and it is too cold to enjoy the moment as the sun has moved behind the tallest peaks. Too soon and it is hot enough for the mosquitoes and friends to make life miserable, or at least cause one to rush over the latest edition of the Financial Times.

In true Abbey-style, that night I got it just right!

Chris

Original post with comments.

P.S.

Tail Dragger is out today! 😉

Here’s that shameless link!

It has taken a while to get back into the blog. Several hotel rooms, numerous planes and one big boat later and I am ready to catch up on my kayak adventures of the summer. As I sit in this hotel room in Ilulissat, the smoke from the chimney of Knud Rasmussen’s house creeping through the window, the sun playing on the icebergs in the bay, I think back to another time and place, not so very far from here.

I signed off the last blog entry with a quote from Capone about kind words and a gun getting you further in life than kind words alone. Well, I found a gun at this campsite and I spent a lot of time pondering over what to do with it. I was curious about the hunters’ tent and amazed that it was an English brand, the same as my own. What amazed me more was finding a Savage .22 rifle, rusting on the rocks not two metres from the tent door. I sat down and played with the bolt, trying to free it. Gradually, I worked it free and found an empty casing in the chamber. The rifle was missing its magazine and the rust rubbed off on my fingers as I sighted icebergs and birds through the otherwise intact scope. I found it hard to believe that the rifle was just lying there, abandoned. The knives and other hunting material lying about were a common sight now, something I had grown used to during my four years in Uummannaq. But a rifle, well, that was something new.

I finally decided that I would take the rifle with me, clean it up and make it work. In the back of my mind I realized that I had no way of knowing how damaged the rifle was, nor if it would ever be safe to fire, but I was determined. Back inside my tent I stripped the rifle, removed the bolt and scope, packaged everything in watertight combinations of gaffa tape and pastic bags, and then began to break camp.

As I piled all my gear up I was still questioning my actions, remembering Frederick’s comments about good hunters not stealing food from others. I also considered that it was quite likely that a hunter would return one day, pick up the rifle, chamber a new round and shoot a seal, before discarding the rifle again. I thought too how the hunters’ camp was no different than a boat moored in the harbour, full of gear, ready and waiting to go. Could I really just take the rifle?

I argued with myself – there was no one else in the neighbourhood – about how dangerous it was to just leave a gun lying around for anyone to find, about what might happen if some kids found it, etc. I tossed the question back and forth, remembering that these waters were the stomping grounds of a hunting society, that the camp was no different from the boat, that my views on firearms and safety were different than a hunter’s views. I spent quite a while on this when suddenly another Arctic Fox announced his arrival.

This was all the distraction I needed as the fox and I played tag over several hundred metres. As I gave up trying to catch the fox with my lense I walked back to the camp, clear in my mid about what I must do next.

It took me ages to remove all the protective waterproofing tape and plastic. It took another while to screw the rusted scope back onto the rifle. More time was wasted trying to remove what little grease there was from my hands. I then plodded back over to the hunters’ tent, paced out two metres from the tent entrance and laid the rifle on the rocks, all the while conscious of the fox watching me from on high.

Two hours later than planned, I paddled on up the fjord.

Chris

Original post with comments.

I won’t pretend to have found the following quotes through anything other than the internet. Whilst I might think I am well-read, it all depends on the titles. I have read absolutely none of the following although I have dabbled a little in Thoreau.

One travels more usefully when alone, because he reflects more.
Thomas Jefferson

The doer alone learneth.
Friedrich Nietzsche

I never found the companion that was so companionable as solitude.
Henry David Thoreau

We are rarely proud when we are alone.
Voltaire

Take a course in good water and air; and in the eternal youth of Nature you may renew your own. Go quietly, alone; no harm will befall you.
John Muir

I have heard so many people say it is irresponsible to travel alone. Throughout my entire Outdoor Education career I have worked in groups, taught safety in numbers and planned to the strengths of the weakest link. My only real experience of solitude was a 24-hour assignment set during my Philosophy of Outdoor Education class at the then Charlotte Mason College in Ambleside, Cumbria. Colin Mortlock was my lecturer and he challenged us to spend 24 hours alone. A friend of mine crawled into his wardrobe – he managed two hours before his room-mate got fed up of hearing him fart in such a confined space and pulled him out. Another friend was doing well until it started raining and she was in danger of being drowned on her little island that used to be a small rise in a sheep field. I don’t remember anyone lasting the full 24 hours. I lasted three. My orange bivvy bag filled up with rain as I tried to wait out the weather on the fell top. My sleeping bag was drenched and I was absolutely miserable and promptly gave up.

At eighteen I thought the outdoors was about survival. I never realised that being outdoors was not about working against nature but living with it, in harmony.

Don’t push.

Bend.

The late Bill Mason taught me that through his books and videos. Journeys with Wilderness Inquiry as a “plug” showed me the way and all my subsequent adventures with Jane have helped build upon this philosophy.

Last year I spent my first real solo time in Uummannaq fjord. Five days with the Folbot Kodiak and a humpback whale, hundreds of icebergs and little old me in between. It was amazing. Both liberating and a real test of my expedition plans and the boat.

I have wondered if having contact with the outside world during TSS2010 makes a nonsense out of the idea of solitude, but there were plenty of days where contact was not possible and this beautiful campsite was one of them.

In returning to my thoughts of safety in numbers I can only add that I honestly think my days of travelling with groups are over. Small groups maybe, Jane and I definitely, but I really need to make time for me and the big sky, the open water and the call of the wild. Jack London is on my reading list. He is partly responsible for this whole northern adventure. But when you have lain in your sleeping bag and heard the Arctic Fox announce his arrival, the whale exhaust his lungs when passing by, boulders crash and icebergs calve then the wild has truly called, and I wish to live long to answer that call again and again.

Of course, the last quote I have chosen is just going to make you wonder!

You can get much farther with a kind word and a gun than you can with a kind word alone.
Al Capone

Chris

Original post with comments.

It took me simply ages to leave Raven’s Death Campsite. The thought of tidying, packing, loading and then paddling just zapped me everytime. I realized, as I have always known, that I am best suited to camping with Jane or alone. I don’t think anyone else would put up with my tempo. I just like being out there and not having to think about anything other than moving on and settling in before moving on again. Ah, the simple life. The problem is my simple life was way too simple and I needed a serious kick in the arse to get going again.

I was not completely idle in camp though. Apart from copious cups of coffee I did fix the tent as I mentioned previously. The fix was proving to be very reliable. I was also perfecting my bannock-baking – although a few mishaps were tough to swallow – adopting the mantra “the kilos are better on the inside!”. Packing all my rubbish with me I never wanted to travel with waste food no matter how badly I had burned it.

One thing I did leave behind was a fine fishing line on a wooden reel. I had brought it along with the idea of fishing. Lots of people fish when camping, but I have a confession … I hate fishing. Really, it is so monotonous! A slim chance of reward for a whole lot of effort. As my food supplies did not rely on me catching anything I placed the reel where I am sure some kids will find it. A little offering in thanks for a great campsite. (Anyone worried about kids finding a fishing line? You have to remember these kids could fish before their grandparents were born!)

Of course, I didn’t leave empty-handed. I had an idea that I would take a raven claw with me. After snapping off a single claw and placing it in my map case I suddenly realised that I could take the whole bloody foot if I wanted too. My friend, the dead raven, was not going to need it and it would surely make little difference to a fox who had the whole body to snack on. Armed with my Leatherman I returned to said raven, offered some words in thanks and clipped his foot off. I have serious plans for this raven’s foot – a bit like the plans I have for the pilot whale jaw hanging off the sledge on our terrace. I just have to convince Jane that neither of them smell.

What you can’t see in these photos is the fact that the wind was blowing north-east onto my port side, the waves were coming from both the port side and head on the bow, while icebergs were moving against the wind on my starboard side towards me. I was in some choppy water and making little headway. So much for idling about in camp, I was paying for it now. I aimed for a small island – population twelve sledge dogs – and waited out the worst of the wind and tide for the next hour and a half. I then took to the water again and paddle directly upwind towards the island of Agpat before catching the waves along the shore and hanging a left into the Torssukátak fjord.

I succeeded in besting the wind and waves and then ran right into the midnight sun. Couldn’t see a thing. I only realised how spectacular and barren it was when I looked at the photos later.

Instead of paddling along the coastline of Agpat towards the old marble mine I decided to blast across the fjord and camp in what I hoped would be a suitable spot. On the map it looked like a little cove with a natural harbour. I was to be rewarded with one of the best campsites of the entire journey.

Chris

Original post with comments.

A good day dawning! Starting with a cup of “mud”, my own recipe of Nestle Choco Hot Creamy chocolate powder mixed with copious amounts of instant coffee, whipped into abandon and then chewed until I have to employ my finger around the edges to get the last bits of goop. The orange Swedish folding mug in the photo above has been on many a trip in the wilds and has the stains to prove it. Whereas I am interested in maintaining good hygiene standards when in the wilds I won’t get any smilies pinned onto my tent! Boiling water for drinks I boil enough for the flask plus one drink. I might start with a soup. To clean the soup out I follow up with an instant coffee – usually a bog-standard Nescafe. A little later I might try a powdered Latté or Cappucino mix. To clean that out, and dissolve the lumps I missed despite frantic stirring, I finish off with a flavoured instant coffee.

At this point, completely out of my skull on caffeine, the tent starts to spin ever so slowly, uncannily in tune to my full bladder. Depending upon the weather and the presence of winged-teeth I barrel out of the tent to pee. If the weather is fine I stay out and take photos, if not I barrel back into the tent and boil up some more water for that final cup of mud.

In this northern Buena Vista Social Club I pass the time by poring over the map, writing in my diary, reading whopping great books and listening to my MP3. Being quite dated with a chunky MP3 player of limited storage space I have to seriously consider what I want to take with me. This trip I chose to take the BBC dramatisation of The Lord of the Rings. It is pure dead brilliant though unfortunately spliced with some frightful music in between. I can’t help thinking Mr Jackson might have been inspired by Gollum in this series developed for radio. I can heartily recommend it for all LOTR fans. Of course, with all this entertainment packed into my tiny living space it is quite an effort to pull myself out and visit the settlements.

Leaving Frodo and Ned Stark to fend for themselves a bit I wandered through a Tolkien landscape into “town”. Saattut is about 21km as the raven flies from Uummannaq. I have been here a few times previously in the summer and once drove here across the ice in a pick-up together with Lars, Suzi, their son Tiuri and Jane. Arne, Hotel Uummannaq, drove us all the way to Ukkusissat and back that day. I have, however, never arrived in Saattut by the back door as it were. It was a totally different settlement that I experienced.

I was a little late for the service house where I hoped to get a shower, nor was the shop open. I had mixed my days up and thought that is was Saturday already. However, I learned from a man hoping to buy “strong tobacco” from me, that everything would open again in an hour. It was lunchtime on a Friday. I decided on a shower first and tried out my Greenlandic in the council office where I paid 15,- dkk for a key to the shower. The toilet bucket was a welcome sight too – do remember that Jane and I have been using a metal toilet bucket for four years and this council bucket was pure luxury!

To say my skin was greasy is a serious understatement, so I’ll leave it at that and we’ll move on shall we?

I met an old student in Pilersuisoq, Aqqa, who I remembered as being bright and cheerful and very studious. She had not changed and it was fun to catch up. She knew I was moving to Qaanaaq and would be there herself on holiday when Jane and I were due to arrive.

Splashing out on ice cream and bottled water I checked in with Lars and was rewarded with relief associated with no worries from his side regarding the garbled satellite phone message. We agreed that the satellite phone was now defunct and took it off the safety plan. It was interesting to note, for me anyway, that I was reluctant to tell both Lars and Jane, later, that I had ruined my dry suit. If I went in the water the failure of the dry suit would be more critical than the satellite phone. I felt that if I confessed about the dry suit I would have to make a more serious decision. We brushed over the topic quickly as I changed the subject each time.

The church in Saattut.

The view form the centre(ish) of Saattut towards the harbour.

Clean and content I wandered around “town”, careful not to take photos of people. I could not hide the fact that I was a tourist but I did not want to offend the locals either. I had been just as curious about arriving in Saattut as I had been the other day in Ikerasak. Whereas I did not really talk with people here either, I did get a much warmer feeling about the settlement. Previously, while translating for tourist groups in Saattut, I had felt very distant from the people. This time I realised that more people knew me and it felt as though my presence was accepted. The Liverpool Football Club baseball cap I was wearing helped too, especially when meeting former students – avid Man United supporters to a man! (I should perhaps apologize to Folbot that I rarely wore the cap they sent me with the Folbot logo. I have a big head … no comment necessary … and the LFC hat just fit better is all.)

I made my way back to Raven’s Death Campsite and could almost taste the first cup of mud on my tongue!

Chris

Original post with comments.