Christoffer Petersen blog

I needed to rethink my strategy and decided to recoup in Uummannaq while organizing my gear for the next leg of my journey. I had decided to paddle on to Qaarsut and then further to Niaqornat. I would paddle the same route back again and aimed to be back in Uummannaq on the 19th of July.

Having had way too much gear with me on the previous leg of the journey I was pleased to be able to ditch the unneccessary weight. Spending a few days in Uummannaq also allowed me to repair some gear and post some entries on the blog.

The day started out gloomy, as the icebergs loomed in out of the low fog. Sledges blistering in the sun reminded me of the ice-less winter and caused me to reflect on the changes affecting hunters in the Arctic. Climate change is the buzz-word slung around with wild abandon by journalists, politicians, explorers and activists alike. It often strikes me as odd though that the majority of banner-waving climate activists are from the huge polluting nations, my own among them. Are we so focused on the Arctic because we truly are sorry that the hunting way of life is so threatened, or are we just trying to absolve our own collective guilt for living a life of luxury?

Whilst the media-houses of the polluting world are sending hordes of camera-toting journalists northward bound to capture the quintessential image of the last hunter, facing the uncertain prospects of hunting in a changing environment, governments are doing the same. Politicians, their aides and groupies are piling into planes and blasting in and out of Greenland to see climate change in action. At the same time, the representatives of each political party, anchormen and women of television news and newspaper columnists spout authoratative statements, basking in the glory of their rivals’ carbon footprints. It makes me sick. Just like I wanted to throw up over Hopenhagen COP15. Sorry, but as I have said before, climate change has been a hot topic since I was in primary school. Greenhouse gasses wafted over the television screen and tainted the newspaper print thirty-odd years ago.

One thing I learned while paddling in the weeks before I returned to Uummannaq was the total acceptance of mother nature. She decides, not me. We have to bend; we need to stop pushing. The Inuit have developed a spontaneous nature, as I have learned through experience and have been told by colleagues, as a result of being in tune with nature. You can’t arrange to visit someone in a settlement on Tuesday at four o’clock when you can’t know what the weather will be like on that day. Better to sail now, Monday at seven o’clock as the weather is calm and the visibility is good. I had days when I decided not to paddle, and other days when I could not paddle because of the weather. Equally, I had mega-paddling days when the conditions were too good to miss.

I guess what I am trying to say is that the more we try to change the climate the further we distance ourselves from it. We in the Western world are typically far removed from mother nature, we will never fully understand her. We watch the weather on the news and plan our weekend outing based upon the scientific model “some guy” told us on the evening news. During the epic focus upon climate change we now have a whole army of guys and girls telling us what is going to happen. But I tell you, having paddled for two weeks alone in the Arctic, I have been blissfully ignorant of what anybody has to tell me about the climate and the nature of the area I am paddling in. I learned to stick my head out of the tent and take a good look at the sky, listen for the activity of the birds and, as Karl-Ole told me, look at the dark band of water far out at sea to determine the direction and strength of the coming wind.

So, as I spent a few days in Uummannaq collecting my thoughts, food and gear for the next leg of my journey, I relished the fact that I was in the thick of nature, living and breathing the very atoms of climate change and I was doing it all by myself.

Chris

Original post with comments.

It was hot, again. The hot Arctic had returned and deprived me of sleep after my lengthy paddle through the night. Back on my home stomping grounds I decided I could sleep later and promptly made myself semi-decent in order to walk around the mountain and into town.

Passing my old house – I had moved out the day I started paddling – I was surprised to see it already occupied. It was not far from my house to Ditte and Peter’s where I was well-received and gratefully given a towel and pointed in the direction of the shower. Who was more grateful I can’t say, but several layers of grime later I was feeling much better.

Ditte provided cake, coffee and gossip! I felt starved of conversation having chatted mostly to myself for about two weeks. After a few hours I made my way over to the Police station to let Jacob know I was still alive but changing plans. He was very supportive as ever and genuinely interested in the expedition. Keeping the Police sweet was always high on my agenda and made the whole solo-paddling more palatable for both parties.

Wandering around town I bumped into Makkak and was promptly invited to dinner. Makkak and I had worked together for four years and I was delighted to come for dinner especially as it was my last chance to see Aviaq, her daughter, before she left for Minnesota. There was masses of food and plenty of guests as Makkak and family prepared for their coming summer holidays.

With a full belly and hours of fun conversation filling the void, the scurge of the solo paddler, I made my way back through the mountainside to my tent overlooking the bay.

Chris

Original post with comments.

On a small island, pop. 3 dogs, outside Saattut, I decided to go for Uummannaq. The conditions were really good. Too good. Leaving that island I paddled to the next to call Jane and tell her my plans. An iceberg calved about one kilometre away just as I had finished my call and was about to get into the kayak. It made for a bit of a nerve-wracking time as the surge continued with quite some power behind it. The kayak lifted up and was pushed over the low outcrop of the island pulling at my arms as my lower body was immersed in water, only to leave me standing high and dry on the rock as the kayak was pulled in the opposite direction as the sea retreated. With no sign of the water abating I decided to go for it, timing my “wet entry” and paddling off the rock as the surge retreated. All flustered, I paddled on to the only island before Uummannaq.

There was a lone dog on this last island before Uummannaq and I contemplated stopping as the wind was picking up and I had another five hours ahead of me with no opportunities to go into land of any kind. I turned my back on the dog to make some soup while I thought about my next more.

Sipping my lukewarm soup I suddenly felt a nudge on the back of my legs and turned to see at least twelve dogs who proceeded to try and crawl into and onto the kayak looking for food – they could smell the empty chocolate wrappers I had in my deckbag. That was it .. I couldn’t stay here! I performed a very difficult peeing manouevre as I didn’t want to strip out of my drysuit entirely with all these dogs around. Turning my back on the pack I made quite a picture peeing out of the suit – there is no fly zip on this model! I then turned to shoo the dogs away from the boat just as they started to battle for dominance over their new found prize.

I jumped into the kayak and then began the next leg of a very loooong paddle! I reached Uummannaq island after 4+ hours and then realized that if I wanted to camp within walking distance of the town I would have to paddle even further! It took ages. On the way I encountered angry gulls that spent the next twenty minutes dive bombing the boat. Leaving their area – do they really need so much space? – I rounded yet another point and battled into the teeth of wind and waves determined to make me pay for every paddle stroke. I was not amused.

To cap it all, Spraglebugten, the bay in which I was to camp, was completely devoid of flat camping sites. Stony rocks, broken glass, tummocky grass, there was little respite to be found on shore. Only when I beached and walked up towards higher ground did I by chance spy a flat, shingle terrace with a fine view, just made for me and my tent. I promptly scrambled down to claim it, although the competition for such a fine site was, admittedly, non-existent. The yacht moored across the bay had all the comforts of home without needing to share my space.

I was finally in my tent eating pasta a little after 07:00. I had started paddling at 18:40 (on the water) the previous night. My paddlathon was over and I was in back in familiar waters.

Chris

Original post with comments.

Also, July’s newsletter is out today. If you haven’t signed up for it, you can find it on Substack. There are free stories! 😉

The weather was simply perfect. I was eager to move on and there was nothing to stop me this time. I embarked on what was to become a twelve-hour paddlathon, from the previously dubbed “white sands” campsite all the way to Spraglebugten: a bay on the otherside of Uummannaq island. I was heading home! I did not, however, realise that I was going to be paddling quite so far when I set out, it just turned out that way.

Of course, I was slow to start as usual. I took plenty of photos to document what was likely to be the last time I camped in this beautiful place. I also wanted to try to emulate the photos taken by kayakers I admire like the team from Adventure Philosophy in New Zealand. Whereas I wasn’t paddling in the extremes that they experienced in the Antarctic and around South Georgia, I did meet Graham Charles in Uummannaq and enjoyed paddling with him a few times.

The water, when I was finally to get on it, was crystal clear with hardly a ripple to be seen. The icebergs were behaving – in this area anyway – and I was good to go.

I blasted straight across the fjord, heading for the point from which I could then see Saattut. Why oh why there is always another point I do not know, but it is sadly often the case. I began to feel as though the paddle to Saattut would take forever. My bum and various appendages were becoming hot, sweaty and numb. Lovely!

The icebergs were a welcome distraction though. As usual, they made good way-points to break up the long paddle. I still had not realised just how far I would paddle this night but as the hours passed and I approached the late evening I began to think that the weather could not get any better. Rounding the point I spied Saattut and the tiny islands before it.

Whereas the population of the settlements might be small the population of the tiny islands that surround them, especially Saattut, are both small and furry. How friendly they were was disputable. These tiny islands though were going to be my lifesaver in terms of getting out of the boat and stretching my legs. Whereas I might have wanted to spend a bit more time walking around, the number of dogs on each island quickly determined how long I would stay.

As the sun moved behind the mountain my new-found canine buddies and I took leave of each other and I paddled on, racing to get back into the sun to warm up. Saattut was still tantalizingly out of reach and I began to contemplate where I would be spending the night, or if I would paddle through it as the sun moved around me. I made my decision on the next island, and nearly lost my boat as an iceberg calved before me.

Chris

Original post with comments.

Straight from the diary … hold on, weird musings and anecdotes ahead! Og til MorAnne – jeg håber Google Translate can klar dette indlæg! ;O)

I sleep too long. I sleep well, but too long, every day. It is now 10:15 and I am just starting to get up. I don’t think it is quite apathy, but the thought of packing all this is just … eurch! It is the same every time. If the boat packed itself I think I would get further each day. Alas, it does not and I just have to get it done. It is the problem of dishes that slows me down every time. The “big kitchen” dry bag has the most bits in it, including the Trangia that sits in the very bottom. Until it is clean the bag can’t be packed which means the tent remains a mess. A pain in the arse but true. The Trangia dominates camp life! And it determines how quickly I move on from place to place. Amazing really, it is three pots. Well, I can read a few more pages and then get moving damn it!

It was a very leisurely paddle today along the coastline, looking for foxes – didn’t see any! I am now back in my favourite campsite – White Sands. This sounds crazy, but the fact that I have returned and confirmed that the hunter’s tent is indeed a Quasar, makes my decision to take five and not seven settlements all the more palatable. Silly, eh? Just another one of those “Chris things” that make me, me and gives other people a hard time trying to figure me out.

I had a melancholy moment earlier; I think I need to see people I love and soon. It is day twelve and it will be day eighteen before I see Jane [I never did see Jane until the end of the expedition]. I usually share these outdoor experiences and it is weird not to. Don’t get me wrong, I now enjoy being alone too, but I think I am discovering a definite period of time when solo is okay and when two would be better. Perhaps ten-day solo trips are the perfect period for me? I am also getting a little homesick for the creature comforts of home. Problem is, our home is in six containers and the prospect of making a new home for us is going to take some time to realise. Exciting though – who knows what our new home looks like? Whatever and wherever, we will make it “homely”, we are good at that.

Different bits of kit now need replacing. A lot of it is very old now and showing signs of wear and tear. In complete contrast to technology, I love aged outdoor gear, with holes and dents that remind you of how and where you got them. There comes a time though when stuff just needs replacing. Unfortunately, we are moving into an economic period (Jane minus job) when that will be hard to do. We’ll figure it out though.

Just looking at my salty “paddlers’ hands”, cool. Do love that. Reminds me of my old poem “Neoprene Refugees”, not sure about the title but the content has always been spot on.

“Neoprene Refugees”
by Chris Paton
30th August, Glasgow 1999

Salt encrusted windows,
blistering blue paint,
sand-drenched wicker mats,
air with heavy seaweed taint.

Kayaks parked out back,
wet boots dripping on the porch,
fatigued biceps, mildewed toes,
inspecting callouses with a torch.

another painful days’ paddling
over brilliant blue water
thru dip and swell; the bow from hell
curses thru sun-kissed laughter.

Beaching in the gloaming,
paddles braced side by side,
pulling cramped limbs from the cockpit,
“another burst around the point?” I lied!

Cosy on a sunken coach,
wet legs entwining one another,
steaming bodies and steaming mugs,
damp, salty kisses with my lover.

Edited 15th March 2010

I have deliberately not said much about Nansen. I am thinking of him now as there are a few photos of him left on the pocket camera and I already deleted a lot of him from this winter. I think he has a good home at the Children’s Home in Uummannaq. I saw a kid give him a treat on the very day I delivered him. There are lots of kids that get a lot out of the dogs. Plus, he will adapt and quickly learn who takes care of him. He won’t get nearly as much fuss and attention as he got before but neither will he be lonely, and he has always been a good “Uncle” to pups. Yeah, he is going to be alright. I was walking him less and less towards the end. I was just too busy and didn’t make time for him. We won’t have dogs again in Qaanaaq. It is too demanding, both physically and emotionally. I will enjoy dogsledding again and look forward to going out with new colleagues, friends and maybe hunters, but no more dogs of our own.

Thinking of Qaanaaq is very exciting! I am curious as to life so far north. Haven’t had much time to really think about it. That time will come – it is going to be a long, dark winter! Can’t wait!

Now Hamilton’s “The Naked God” is getting interesting. Perhaps I needed to be ready for it? Lying in the tent in this beautiful and peaceful campsite, distant waterfall, few birds tweeting, warm – not too hot … I am enjoying reading and relaxing. I have finally started dinner; playing with the Trangia always reminds me of Sam Gamgee’s pots that he carries with him from The Shire. Reading about Ombey’s Royal Marines reminded me of Afghanistan and that, unfortunately, I truly do not have any idea of the hardship nor the horrors of war and its effects on the population of war-torn countries. My fascination for war is boyish, I am a “boy” still, at heart. I mean no disrespect to the soldiers and civilians affected by war but I find it all-engrossing. Must remember to reflect both sides in my writing from now on.

The hunter’s tent is a “Quasar”, damnit! With snow valances!

I miss my wife! It’s been two weeks – doesn’t sound that long, but it all happened so chaotically. That last day, those last days, packing, cleaning, leaving … it was all shit, really.

It got cold suddenly – sun dipped behind the mountains again. It’s just circling – will be back in a few hours time. I’ll gird myself to go out for a pee soon. Last one before bed! Shouldn’t drink any more coffee now!

It’s weird being so totally alone. Not even a distant drone of a boat. I’m out here, in the Arctic, alone … cool!

I sometimes – more often than I should – think about what I/we would do in the event of of an outbreak of war or natural disaster. We have nearly all the essential gear, but it’s nothing without food and water. “The Road” was a tremendously thought-provoking book. Must read it again sometime. The image of pushing a shopping trolley, one eye fixed on the rear-view mirror, taped onto the side, a gun with one real bullet and five wooden ones designed to deceive the “threat” … just brilliant. Tragic. Desperate, but brilliant. Of course, it’s not all that brilliant if we experience it ourselves now, is it? The Greenlanders would do okay. The hunters and fishing families anyway. Of course, it would take a backward shift to compensate for the lack of fuel and bullets, but their culture is not so very far removed from the old days of kayaks and harpoons [most definitely not in Qaanaaq – daily life here!]. Of all the northern peoples, they would cope. The majority of them [hunting and fishing families] I see have simple needs and desires too. Once the booze was all used up we might start to make real progress! It wouldn’t be too great a stretch of the imagination to think of Qaanaaq cut off from the rest of the world. With one flight a week and only two ships a year … they are practically cut off. What am I saying? We will soon be cut off right along with them!

There are rocks falling down the mountainside as I write this, that and a gull, a stream and the tiny movement of water on the shore is all I can hear right now. Rocks must have fallen from some height … still falling …

Chris

Original post with comments.

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.