Christoffer Petersen blog

Just a quick note to say that if you have pre-ordered any of my books, you will probably get an Amazon mail (or several, if you have pre-ordered more than one – thank you!). It’s not spam. I just had to reschedule a lot of release dates today, as Before the Devil Wakes needs a bit more attention. I’d love to say it’s Petra’s fault, but this one’s on me. 🙂

So, I have moved “everything” forward, but I fully intend to pull things back to earlier dates according to my new writing and publishing schedule.

Sorry about the muddle, but it needed to be done.

Thanks in advance for your patience. 🙂

Chris

As the fog cleared all my excuses evaporated. It was time to get moving again. Looking at all the gear I had to get in the boat I was constantly reminded that my hectic and stressful start had resulted in at least one dry bag too many. Packing was getting easier, so long as I was on a beach. The Folbot Kodiak has a lot of volume but one has to think carefully about how to pack it to ensure best trim. Trimming the boat made all the difference for each paddling stint. If I had a beach to pack from then I was guaranteed good trim. Give me a bad launching point and a couple of clouds of bugs and I suffered all day, especially in wind and waves.

Paddling along the coastline of Hydralgskis Pensinsula I kept a wary eye on some whopping bergs on the horizon. Bergs make great waypoints on open crossings. Until they begin to explode of course. As I neared the point of the pensinsula and began to edge into deeper water a monster berg decided to calve spectacularly. I was between the resultant icy wave and compassion-less rocks of the point. Perfect. With nothing to do but keep paddling, I kept paddling.

It was a particularly smooth crossing after that with very little iceberg activity. I had hoped to see some sign of whales but knew that they rarely ventured this deep into the fjord. Completely alone, with nothing and no one in sight, I got to grips with solitude and found I kind of liked it.

I pulled into the desert at the bottom of Stor Øen to stretch my legs. It was then that I discovered a rather large amount of water in the bottom of my boat. I began to fear that hasty building of the folding kayak and some “interesting” landings had put a hole in the hull. I started to think about the consequences. It was then that I decided to get out of my dry suit and take a pee. Pulling at the seal on my left wrist I tore off a huge chunk of rubber and reduced my dry suit to a glorified rain jacket.

Crap.

This was just the start of my problems in the desert.

While contemplating the combined consequences of both a hole in the boat and a hole in my dry suit I kicked around in the ubiquitous green fishing line and rope that can be seen all over Uummannaq area, perhaps even Greenland? Anywhere you can fish anyway. As the clouds began to build and the sky to darken I decided I might not push for Saattut this night. I decided to paddle a little further to take a look around the corner. On seeing icebergs move against the wind in the opposite direction I wished to travel I figured the tide was against me and the paddle would be a trifle challenging. I pulled into a bay and found one of the worst take-out points of the trip and made the best of a bad deal. (The pictures below are not the take-out point in question.)

Still annoyed at the holes I went ahead with putting up my tent, wanting to get out of the rain as soon as possible. As I started to push the poles into place I found that the bottom of one pole was missing an end. Damnit! That was three things I had discovered that had failed in the space of a day. I didn’t know how long it was going to take to fix the different bits of kit and therefore knew that I was approaching my “window” of five days without contact. It was soon 48 hours since I checked in and there was no mobile signal in the desert or for many kilometres in all directions. If the weather and repairs allowed I could easily get to Saattut within 5-6 hours, but if not I would be approaching the safety margin agreed with Jane and Lars. This was as good a time as any to try out the satellite phone.

I called Lars’ mobile in Denmark – a little after midnight Danish time (sorry about that Lars!) – and I got his answer service. I know I said I had a hole in the boat, but I did not remember saying whether or not I was all right before the battery died, completely. It was fully-charged 5 days ago and had not been used. But I had a feeling that it would not hold very long as it was an older Motorola model that I had borrowed from a friend.

Crap.

This was a testing moment. I had included the satellite phone in my safety plan to compensate for my being alone. The Chief of Police in for the North of Greenland had told me that it was not smart to travel alone. In light of the recent tragedy and the annual rescues and deaths in the wilds of Greenland I was conscious that I should do everything I could to compensate for being alone. My margin of error just got bigger.

Apart from the annoying failures of different bits of gear I was frustrated that I could not get a message out. I now felt that the very bit of kit that was supposed to save me in an emergency was now going to force me to paddle in order to get to Saattut to get a signal for the mobile and to let everyone know I was okay.

Of the entire trip this was the single best learning experience for me. The fog outside Ukkusissat came close but in a different way. I suddenly felt that I could relate to how others must feel not knowing how I was or even where I was. In many ways the failure of the satellite phone was the best thing to happen to me. It made me safer. I never wanted to take it with me in the first place, I figured it would be a white elephant that I would lug around and never use. Now it had become a potentially dangerous white elephant depending upon what I did next.

It sounds like I am making a mountain out of a molehill but I was alone. I was however in an area where I knew people fished and even the hotel boat visited during the week. The only thing I didn’t have was water – the desert is appropriately named! With nothing I could do about the weather I decided to find iceberg debris for my drinking water.

I heard a dinghy sailing by and on impulse crawled out of my tent to wave at them just for a little insurance. If I missed my check-in at least someone had seen me alive and well on this particular date. Over a fresh, steaming mug of iceberg-coffee, which is basically coffee made from the inland ice sheet, I mulled over my day.

On closer inspection the Folbot Kodiak had no real holes to speak of, I had just had one too many hasty wet entrances and exits – the spraydeck on the Kodiak is not the easiest to slide in an out of when launching. My tent – a trusty Quasar from back when Terra Nova was called Wild Country (gear-geek info) – was about 15 or so years old and this was the first breakage during a hard, outdoor life, and I fixed it with a tent peg inside of ten seconds anyway. My only problems were the dry suit and the satellite phone.

At this point, provided I could get a message through, I did not think the satellite phone was such a problem – only the problem it had created needed fixing. The dry suit however, was another issue altogether. But, surrounded by water, anywhere I went would requiring paddling, so I decided to conveniently forget about it. Stupid is as stupid does and all that.

I crawled into my sleeping bag and waited on the weather.

Chris

Original post with comments.

I found plenty of excuses not to paddle the next day. Amongst the best were the “promises to be safe” and “not take chances with calving icebergs in the fog”. Pretty convincing arguments when you are a democracy of one, in a pup-tent, with a particularly good book in your hands. My most convincing argument was of course the need to “air my finger”!

What?

Remember the slice I took out of my finger on Day 1? No? You’re not missing much but I was missing a tiny chunk of skin which I kept cutting away as it dried out. I was taping my finger up when paddling and I needed more air to make it heal faster.

That’s my story and I’m sticking with it.

Chris

Original post with comments.

It was an overcast day that greeted me when I crawled out of the tent. The heat of the day before had made me reconsider the merits of sleeping through the day. An Arctic Fox woke me and I decided to get going, not least to arrive within the opening times of Pilersuisoq – the local store in the settlement of Ikerasak; I would be arriving at the first of the Seven Settlements today.

The paddling was very pleasant. Overcast and cool, I spent a lot of time looking along the shore, still half-convinced I would see something of interest or even see sign of the unfortunate men lost in the tragic boat accident earlier.

Paddling along the coastline; there is always another point to round. It is like the false summits when hiking in the mountains. What you see before you is rarely the final destination. There is always a little further to go. I found that when I could see my destination I usually had a few more hours of paddling, especially on open crossings. When I could taste the campsite before me I had yet one more hour. It was frustrating at times and paddling faster just didn’t seem to make any difference. Getting used to the distances in Greenland is difficult. Geographic features, be they islands or mountains, are always, always further away than one thinks they are.

Nearing Ikerasak I started to see life on the tiny outlying islands. On these islands, Greenlandic sledge dogs would roam free, not even tempted to swim to the mainland – smart dogs! They seemed to be more content than the dogs chained in the larger settlements and towns, and the pecking order was firmly established. The dogs stared at me as I paddled past, losing interest as I showed no sign of dropping off a hunk of seal meat. (Some days later I would meet more hungry dogs on several islands outside Saattut.)

I was a little curious as to how I would be received in Ikerasak. I have been there twice before; once by snow scooter, a second time in a taxi across the sea ice, never in the summer. Each time I have been in Ikerasak it has been to visit Betina and Thomas, colleagues of mine teaching in the settlement school. I have great respect for their work as teachers and could see the results of their hard work when I received the 10th graders from Ikerasak during their final year of schooling. Jane and I drove across the ice to be at Betina and Thomas’ wedding a few years ago.

My friends have now moved on and, short of a few student connections, I don’t really know many people in Ikerasak. I must have arrived at a particularly quiet time too as there were few people wandering about that I could see. Most people were at work or inside on this cloudy day. Some people might even be sleeping as it is not unusual to be active at strange times due to the 24-hour light that can play havoc on one’s daily rhythm. As it turned out I met just a few of my former pupils and spent most of the few hours in the settlement making the promised progress calls to Lars Simonsen, Jane and, of course, my mum!

In the build up to the expedition I had talked a lot with my mum about being safe. Jane and I had avoided talking too much about the subject while Lars was extremely practical and a lot more switched on than I was. I would soon discover what it was like “not knowing” when my blasé attitude was put to the test. However, I did enjoy making contact and assuring everyone that I was well and enjoying myself.

Betina and Thomas’ house.

The church in Ikerasak.

The kindergarten.

A thin house.

After a little sightseeing in Ikerasak I was actually ready to leave again. It just wasn’t what I had anticipated. Maybe I just slipped in unnoticed or, more likely, I was just another “Dane”/white faced tourist poking around with his camera. I have come to the conclusion that cameras are crap in areas frequently visited by tourists. I don’t think Ikerasak has as many visits by cruise ship passengers as Ukkusissat for example, but I definitely stood out. One thing I did find amusing was my sudden need to talk to people – and you think the camera was the problem! – and when I spotted Michael, a student of mine, I launched into verbal diarrhoea. Clearly I had been out in the boonies too long with nothing but foxes for company.

It had been three days!

Leaving Ikerasak I got my groove on and found the boat and paddle responded well and I blasted away for an hour across the bay to my next campsite. It felt good. All my somewhat dulled expectations of the first settlement though resulted in an interesting diary entry that night:

Now I realise, as I perhaps have always known, the Seven Settlements are purely way-points on a deeply personal journey proving to myself that I have what it takes. Pissing my territory and putting ghosts of inferiority to rest. The language be damned, I am who I am and I can do what I say I will! As the icebergs crash and fall around me I paddle on, playing it safe and making progress all the same. I know my limitations but I also know my strengths and capabilities: paddle on!

Growing up in a split family, being raised by my mum alone, competing for the attention from my father and his new family, encountering problems dealing with men in positions of authority during both my schooling and professional life, I have always carried a bit of a chip on my shoulder; an inferiority complex fostered, I believe, by the fact that deep down I might have believed that I wasn’t good enough for my father. This has been frustrating at best and downright destructive at worst. I can, fortunately, thank my mum for the drive I have to experience new places, cultures and experiences, to suck the veritable marrow from the bone of life. This ambition to prove myself, however, has often resulted in challenging conflicts where I have always known I have the capability to do a thing but lacked the sense of self-confidence to show others. It was interesting for me to see this manifest itself through the words I wrote on the pages in my diary. This expedition was turning into an inner journey, and I could feel that it was coming perhaps 20 years or so late.

Paddle on!

Chris

Original post with comments.

On day two I paddled from Stor Øen to Ikerasak Island, aiming for the “Reasonably Flat Rock” campsite that I visited last summer. There was little in the way of ice compared to what I experienced last year on this stretch of water. I chose an open crossing as I am way too familiar with the coastline of Stor Øen having paddled it many times now. Whereas Uummannaq fjord is pretty sheltered by the Nuugssuaq peninsula it can still be adventurous paddling in iceberg choked waters. Sadly, a couple of weeks before I started, three young men lost their lives when, we presume, their boat hit a wooden pallet lying flat in the water. Their bodies have yet to be found. Being aware that local people have lost their lives in the very water I was paddling is very humbling. Whilst wanting to make the safest crossing at the shortest point at all times I also wanted to avoid large concentrations of ice. As I could clearly see a channel between the bergs for the 18(ish)km ahead of me, I decided to go for it.

Lars Gram of Gram Kajak in Denmark heard of my expedition on Facebook and he generously offered me a Greenlandic Paddle to use on the expedition. When paddling canoes I have always favoured a wooden paddle for both aesthetic and performance reasons. When kayaking, however, I have been won over by the lightweight carbon fibre models that glide through the water. I was a little sceptical about paddling with Lars’ Greenland Paddle. I know what you are thinking … I live in Greenland, surely I should at least try a traditional paddle, especially as I have made sure people see my Folbot folding kayak as a modern interpretation of the Greenlandic skin-on-frame qajaqs. With this in mind I gratefully accepted Lars’ offer and arranged for him to deliver it to Lise and Sander in Denmark and they would send it on the ship with our other goods when Jane visited them in May. I just thought I could try the paddle a few times and then strap it onto the kayak and get back to my carbon fibre wonder-paddle.

The above picture is VERY misleading, but fitting if you want to believe that I ditched the wooden paddle at the earliest opportunity. The tape around my finger is from my sacrificial blood-letting the night before. Whereas I did get a few blisters from using the Greenlandic Paddle in the beginning it was nothing I did not expect and was more likely a result of technique than anything to do with the paddle.

I have to say I am a convert. I LOVE the traditional Greenland paddle! (I even took it as baggage on the flight to Qaanaaq.) It took me some days to stop twisting my wrists with each stroke – I am used to a feathered paddle. It took several more days to begin to work up a good rhythm and enjoy the effortless paddling that it allows. Not once did I use my carbon fibre paddle. I started paddling with Lars’ paddle from that bloody first day and I stopped using it only when I arrived back in Uummannaq twenty-four days later. During all of the days paddling and especially the long stretches, I would need to stop to stretch my legs before I ever felt the need to rest my arms. Thanks Lars! And to Fat Paddler … you were right!

I have always said that I paddle after midnight to avoid the worst of the mosquitoes and tourists. Actually, I paddle mostly at night as I used to think that the weather was more stable and it was always cooler. There were many nights when the weather was not so stable, but the worst part of paddling after midnight was sleeping through the day – the heat was unbearable!

Brace yourselves for a scary image, me, naked, sweating in a tent. Not pleasant I can tell you. During the start of the expedition I slept a lot. Okay, I admit that I slept a lot during the entire expedition, I could have easily made it shorter, but the truth is I enjoy the wilderness as it is there that I truly relax. As I sleep so much out there I need more days to enjoy the scenery and wildlife. Sleeping during the heat of the day was not good. At this particular campsite, a little to the left of Reasonably Flat Rock I definitely got a little feverish and dehydrated. The root of the problem would be arriving in camp around five or six in the morning, eating dinner, reading too much (I can thoroughly recommend “A Game of Thrones” – thanks to Jes for suggesting it!), and then finally falling asleep around nine in the morning, just as the Arctic starts warming up.

Sweating through a fever during the day does have some benefits. It is during the night that the wildlife is most active and the light is better for taking photos too. On the days and nights when I didn’t paddle I would often wake to the yip of an Arctic Fox declaring its’ territory. Scrambling out of the tent we would stare at one another for a few minutes until one of us blinked. He, or she, would then turn tail and scamper off only to stop again to see if I was coming. We played this game over many nights, different campsite, different fox, same behaviour.

All in all the expedition was progressing very well: already by day two I was slick with a layer of salt and sweat, turning my days into nights, abandoning modern technology and flirting with foxes of unidentifiable sex.

What could possibly go wrong?

Chris

Original post with comments.