The Times They Are A-changin'

There are no flowers on the kitchen table next door today. In fact, there is no table. We don’t spend a lot of time staring from our kitchen window into the neighbours’ kitchen but our windows do overlook each other. Often as I turn from the fridge to the counter to cut up vegetables I notice flowers or a bowl of fruit caught in the winter sunlight that comes through their window. We have nothing as interesting for them to look at in return, just our stainless steel fridge door and perhaps a bit of our stovetop.

Yesterday our next-door neighbours moved. For the last 9 years we have had the best neighbours anyone could ask for. They got to know people in the neighbourhood that we have hardly ever spoken to despite living here for over 30 years. They were happy to fill us in. Since we are retired we tend to sleep late and countless times during those winters I drew the blinds in the living room to discover that the neighbours, who rise early to go to work and get the kids off to school, had shovelled the city sidewalk outside our house as well as doing their own. Sometimes we were lucky enough to be able to return the favour, but I think they cleared our walk much more often than we cleared theirs.

They kept an eye on our house for us and let us know when there was a package delivered if we hadn't noticed.  They picked up the packages that arrived late and took them into their house for safekeeping if we were away for a few days.

When our garage door was open one morning in the fall they let us know and so we discovered that the e-bike had been stolen. We got it back the next day and our neighbours shared our relief. I often wonder how it is that I don’t know or see the things that the neighbours do. Am I just unaware or do I spend too much time in my own head to notice what’s going on outside the house?

During the summers it was lovely to wake to the sound of children laughing as they imagined worlds in the playhouse at the back of their lot. It was also fun to watch the kids on the swing attached to the ash tree in their backyard. There were conversations with adults and kids through the fence or standing in our front yards. The Easter Bunny from next door visited us with chocolates and a couple of years ago a sign appeared in chalk on the sidewalk in front of our house wishing us a Happy Anniversary. We sometimes left muffins on their step and we tried arrange to sing Happy Birthday to each of the family members. 

It was comforting to live next door to friendly neighbours. The people who owned the house before them  weren’t as easy-going.  They didn’t like the way our eaves trough was put up. In the spring, snow melted beside our driveway and ran onto their property. Water does tend to run downhill but somehow that was our problem. When we got a phone call from them or when they knocked on the door we wondered ‘What now?’

The neighbourhood is changing. The property across the back lane that used to be zoned for single-family dwellings is now zoned for multi-family and retail. Houses are coming down to be replaced by x-plexes. The other family from across the lane who also deserves the title of the ‘best neighbours anyone could ask for’ sold their property and, during the summer, moved farther into the neighbourhood away from the busy street and the back lane traffic to and from the bottle depot and the liquor store situated in the next block. The offer from the developer was simply too good to pass up. Their house and the one next to theirs will come down to make way for an apartment complex sometime in the next couple of years. I hope both of our former neighbours love their new locations and that they will have good memories of the time they spent near us. I wish them many joys and neighbours that are as kind, generous, and courteous as they are.

Perhaps having many more eyes from an apartment block on the back lane will be a good thing, although I feel a bit of trepidation about what that will do to the parking situation and to ease of access to our garage. Perhaps the couple who bought the house next door will be wonderful neighbours in their own way. At the moment, though, I’m a little sad that we never had the drinks on our deck or the barbecue in the back lane that we talked about. We did have many other good times, so today I’m going to pause, remember,  appreciate, and although I'm not Irish, offer an Irish Blessing which seems appropriate.

May the road rise up to meet you.

May the wind be always at your back.

May the sun shine warm upon your face;

the rains fall soft upon your fields and until we meet again,

may God hold you in the palm of His hand.

Why I like camping in the fall

There are no bugs. Well okay there are a couple of flies hiding out from the cold but I haven’t seen a single mosquito. There was one wasp but only one.

There are fewer people who want to camp at this time of year. The campgrounds can still be full on the weekends and, of course, there are fewer campgrounds that are open. When you get one with flush toilets and showers it’s a bonus. We also have an electrical hookup so we brought along a small electric heater that has a thermostat. By setting it at 10C overnight we keep the van nice and warm and, if we come in from a walk and are chilled we can crank it up to 18 or 20 and really get toasty before dropping it down or turning it off entirely.

That brings up another advantage of a hookup. Of course you can use hookups in the summer as well but it’s very nice when the wind is blowing to be able to plug in the electric kettle to make tea or coffee.

Camping in the fall is also easier on the fridge. In the heat of summer the poor little propane fridge works as hard as it possibly can to try to keep food cold and as for the freezer compartment - don’t count on hard ice cream.

I think the best reason for camping in the fall is that it’s not too hot. I’m not a fan of heat and you can only take off so many clothes to try and cool down. I love to go for walks when it’s chilly enough that you need a fleece or a light down jacket and maybe a toque. That is the perfect temperature and if you’re lucky enough to have brilliant sunny days there is heat in the sun.

But the best reason for camping in the fall is the scenery. As I write this, it’s the middle of October. The aspens are stubbornly clinging to their yellow leaves so that the mountain hillsides are sprinkled with flecks of gold. There is also the delightful feeling of making the best of this season before the snow coats the Rockies and the only place I want to be is in my house with central heating. It’s that last touch of freedom. I know some will scoff and extoll the joys of camping in a snow cave, skiing in pristine snow and keeping warm over a wood fire. I’m sure there are delights there too for those hardy enough to enjoy them. It’s a romantic notion, but I’m not in my twenties anymore and the older I get the more I enjoy my creature comforts. What was once a grand adventure is now simply uncomfortable and unpleasant and I’m in the incredibly fortunate position of being able to make choices about how cold or uncomfortable I want to be when the leaves turn and the wind whips through mountain passes.

Tomorrow we will park the van for the season, for despite talk of taking it out every month in the year, I prefer to stay home when the high temperatures never venture above freezing. Oh I might be tempted to go snowshoeing for half a day here and there but I’m pretty sure at this stage of my life I’ll choose central heating over camping in the van every time even though the van is equipped with a furnace.

Covid comes calling

This is 2022 and things are very different from when I was growing up. It sounds stupid to even say that because, of course, things are different. How could they not be? Sometimes when I think back, though, I’m stopped cold by what we used to do and the attitudes we held and never questioned.

When I was a kid the prevailing wisdom was that if you were too sick to go to school you were too sick to do anything fun you wanted to do in the evening. While that might be translated as ‘If you’re sick stay home - period,’ that’s not the way I interpreted it. I dragged my butt to school through colds, flu, and bouts of strep. I remember sitting in a math class with my throat so sore and swollen that when the teacher asked me a question I couldn’t answer it. 

I don’t remember my mother even suggesting that I should stay home. I may have forgotten that detail or perhaps she was in the habit of carrying on regardless of how she felt and she saw nothing unusual about it when I did the same thing. Also I might have been a slightly stubborn child and perhaps she figured there was no point arguing with me. So off I went to school sick or healthy. Luckily I wasn’t sick a lot. I wanted to go from grade 1 through grade 12 without any absences. I have no idea why this was important to me. Chickenpox in grade 10 had other ideas when I had to miss some of my final exams.

In all of this there was no concern that I might be transmitting infection to other people. Even when I was teaching I dosed myself up with Tylenol Cold and Flu, armed myself with boxes of kleenex and staggered into work. It was much more effort to plan for a sub than it was to just go in. Besides, I used to joke, I probably got the bugs from the kids in the first place so why not give them back. Most of my colleagues did the same thing.

Covid 19 has given us a collective slap upside the head when it comes to attitudes like these, and that’s a good thing. Deena Hinshaw’s words, ‘Stay home if you’re sick,’ are loud and clear these days. So that’s exactly what we are doing.

Both of us have tested positive for Covid. We know how we contracted it and we wouldn’t necessarily do anything differently if we were to rewind a few days before we became infected. I’m grateful that we have vaccines and that we are both up to date with ours. I’ve been sicker with other viruses and I’m relieved that I now have permission to stay put and do nothing. How soon I’m going to get back out there will likely depend more on how I feel than strictly on a negative Covid test. I’m in no rush and I realize how fortunate I am that I don’t have a job where others are depending on me.

For now, the sparrows careen around in chittering gangs from bush to bush. The dog walkers make their rounds; a flicker putters around at the bottom of the Manitoba maple, and a cup of English breakfast tea, tepid now, sits on the window sill. In a while I will get out of my PJ’s; in a while I will get Odie up and the quiet of the morning will be broken. In a while I will empty the dishwasher. In this moment I am content.

Among Arctic birds: Arctic 11

High Arctic Explorer: Arctic 11

I love to watch the fulmars. They seem to follow the ship as we move across from Canada to Greenland. Lizanne thought they might follow us all the way to Greenland but somewhere mid Davis Strait we lost them. I don’t know why they follow. Maybe the ship stirs up tasty treats as it cuts through Arctic waters. Maybe they hope for a dump of garbage off the stern. Sorry birds; that’s not going to happen. Or maybe they just like to play in the air currents created by the ship.

Fulmar riding the air

They fly up to the stern of the ship, drop suddenly so you can almost touch them and then swerve to starboard or port at the last possible second. From there they arc out beyond the ship flying away to the stern only to turn and chase the ship again.

As I stood on the starboard deck one evening watching the performance one came within arm’s length of me. I swear he looked at me and kicked his feet in the air as he passed. I can’t think why a bird in flight would kick its feet in flight and I’ve never seen another bird do that. It looked like he was thoroughly enjoying himself soaring and diving alongside the ship.

Part of the fun for me is to try to capture bird moments with my camera. After this trip I have more photos of birds than of any other subject. Most of them are either photos of bird butts 'go-away birds’ or they are blurry blobs. Even though gulls, fulmars, and kittiwakes are much larger than the sparrows and robins at home, it’s still difficult for me to catch them in flight. The best shot would be of a bird in flight looking directly into my lens with the light glinting off its eye. I’ll keep chasing that shot.

On Arctic expeditions the birds I love to watch are the ones that don’t inhabit the south. One of my favourites is the thick-billed murre. Thick-billed murres are in the auk family as are puffins and penguins. One of the reasons I have a particular fondness for these birds is that they seem like such underdogs. One nickname for them is ‘flying footballs.’ They have the highest cost of flight of any bird because of their short wings better designed for propelling them as they dive than for carrying them in the air.. I love to watch their determined flapping and running across the water in an attempt to get airborne. I recall watching one little guy at the side of the ship do his run up to takeoff. Just as it seemed that his stubby wings would finally lift him from the surface, a swell came along and washed over his head. A few seconds later his head emerged and he began his running and flapping again this time successfully.

Coming in for a landing

It's hard to isolate just one

Ok guys who's leading?

I can so fly

Another thing I admire about the murres is that they seem to have to work so hard to survive. They lay a single egg on a rocky outcrop and the parents take turns tending the egg and then the chick. When it’s time for the chicks to join the flock in the water the father sits in the water far below the cliff and calls to the youngster who must then leap into the water with wings not yet ready to carry it up. If the chick is lucky it lands beside Dad and off they go to spend the next 6 to 8 weeks on the water where Dad continues to provide food. I’m not sure what Mom is up to during this time. If the chick is unlucky and lands on the rocks it becomes part of a banquet for the waiting polar bears.

The last of the birds I tried to photograph on the recent Arctic expedition were a pair of parasitic jaegers. Not a lovely name and in Europe they are called Arctic skua. They got their name for a reason however. They get their food by stealing it from other birds. When they are nesting they prey on other birds and their eggs. When they are at sea they wait for a gull or a tern to catch a fish and then chase the bird in order to fluster it and steal its dinner.

We came across a nesting pair in Croker Bay. They were none to happy with us and screamed and dove as people walked over the invisible line that determined their territory. I tried to stay far enough back that the birds would settle on the ground and preen. They have the most fascinating tails. In flight the parasitic jaegers have long straight feathers emanating from their gracefully rounded tails.

I don’t know how long I spent watching and photographing these birds but as with so many things when I’m completely engaged, I didn’t notice how much time had passed. When I looked up from my camera I saw that people were moving toward the shore to get in zodiacs and go back to the ship. As Jason told us many times, not everyone will fit on the last zodiac so I put the lens cap back on my camera and headed to where my splash pants and rubber boots were waiting. That photo shoot burned up half of the remaining battery for my Olympus camera but it was well worth it for the experience regardless of the quality of photos.

The camera conundrum: Arctic 10

So here’s the short version of the battery charger fiasco. I brought the USB cable but not the charging cradle for my battery. I thought I could charge it using just the cable. Nope. Scott asked the passengers at a daily recap if anyone was using an Olympus EM1 mkii. Nobody was but one person had an Olympus camera and kindly took my battery to her room for a quick check as to whether her charger would fit. It didn’t. Okay, next plan. There might be a camera store in Nuuk Greenland where I could pick up a charger.

In the meantime, I was in the ship’s gift shop and happened to notice a point and shoot Nikon Coolpix A 300 on the shelf behind the counter. A camera, with a zoom lens. Not bad. Even better that we had a credit at the gift shop. I bought the camera. As with all baby cameras, it has a pretty wide angle lens but given that photos I take with the zoom on my phone end up looking like pointillism, I was happy enough to get it.

Parasitic Jaeger in flight

After I charged up the battery, I began to play with it. There are a lot of things I like. It’s light and pocketable. Phone in one pocket, Coolpix in the other. The exposure compensation is in a very convenient spot. Twenty mega pixel is plenty for what I want, and the colour rendering is generally to my liking. My main complaint is one of the same ones I have with the phone: I can’t see the blooming screen in bright sunlight so there is quite a bit of ‘point the camera in the right direction and press the shutter.’ Pixels are cheap, opportunities are not so fire away and hope for the best. I hadn’t ruled out using the Olympus but I was thinking carefully about under what circumstances I would willingly drain the batteries.

We arrived in Nuuk on a Sunday and, although it’s like a small European city, many places were closed. There were two stores that sold electronics. Both were closed and as I peered through the windows I could see that the chances were 99% against either having what I needed anyway.

I wasn’t done quite yet. We were staying onboard for the High Arctic Explorer voyage. Maybe someone on that one would have a charger I could borrow. As the new group of passengers came aboard I checked out as many of the brands on camera straps as I could. Mostly Nikon, followed closely by Canon with a smattering of Panasonic and Sony thrown in for good measure. Barbara, our host, asked at a recap if anyone had an Olympus charger that might fit. I was quite delighted when Jon, a friend from previous trips, put up his hand. After the recap he went to get his charger and I went to get my battery. Once again, the two didn’t fit.

At least I knew for sure that I wouldn’t have a chance to recharge the batteries. I chose two locations to shoot the last of the photos with the Olympus. On Monday August 8 we made a landing in Croker Bay. It was sunny and warm and the scenery was gorgeous. I decided there was no point in returning home with any juice in the batteries so I took the Oly. It was a good call. There was a pair of parasitic jaegers, also called Arctic skua, protecting their territory. I had a wonderful afternoon trying to capture their body positions in flight as they squawked at the human intruders. They are much bigger than sparrows so they were a bit easier to track. I also got a chance to try different settings as they flew.

The last battery died on August 10. Because we were unable to reach Resolute we sailed back to Greenland. We paused for a zodiac cruise amid the sea ice in the middle of Baffin Bay. It was foggy and chilly cruising among the bergs and the sea ice. Because of the temperature the battery drained more quickly than I thought it would but, again, I had a most enjoyable time taking the photos.

Cruising in the ice

I’ve come to a few conclusions. I’ll ignore the obvious one regarding battery chargers. I love shooting with the Olympus and I’m getting better at understanding the features. I hate carrying it on the plane though. It is smaller and lighter than a lot of cameras but the 100-400 mm lens is not a featherweight. When I add a second lens to the weight of the camera body, and throw in a book, a notebook, a few coloured pencils, a bottle of water, and the various cables and chargers I need for my other electronics, the backpack comes in at around 9 kilos. That is heavier than I want it to be when I have to sling it into the overhead bin. Before you ask, Richard is more than willing to do the slinging to help me out. There is a part of me that feels strongly that if I can’t manage the pack by myself I shouldn’t be carrying it in the first place. Perhaps I need to up the strength training in between trips. In any case that certainly wouldn’t hurt. The jury is out on whether I will continue to carry the Oly or whether I will look for a lighter travel camera. I really like the one I used in Holland and Belgium but the zoom on it is unreliable and it’s usually just as cost effective to buy a new camera as it is to try to get a point-and-shoot fixed. Oh well, I have another year to make up my mind.

Covid onboard: Arctic 9

Now that I’m back in Calgary I think I should talk about Covid 19 with respect to our trip to the Arctic. Covid was a major concern for us in the lead up to the trip. We wore our masks every time we stuck our noses outside the door, kept our bubble small, and met with friends mostly outside even though we were all fully vaccinated. I did my best not to think about what it would be like if one of us tested positive before we boarded the ship or if one of us tested positive once we were on the ship.

Adventure Canada required a negative PCR test within 72 hours of boarding the charter flight to Iqaluit and, at the initial briefing the night before we boarded, they administered a rapid test to each of us. One person we know of had a positive result on the PCR test and could not go on the trip. He signed up to go during the 2020 season which was cancelled and then postponed to 2022. It was a huge disappointment to him and his sister with whom he was to have travelled. It was also a sobering reminder to the rest of us.

We heard that on the trip before ours there were more than 20 cases. Then there was a five-day repositioning sail and only essential crew stayed on board while the whole ship was cleaned stem to stern, again. We didn’t find out until the end of our Heart of the Arctic trip that the ship remained free from Covid for our entire voyage. The protocols were strict. We wore our masks whenever we were in public spaces. We could remove our masks in the dining room when we were eating but the moment we stood up to get other food, the masks went back on. Unlike previous years, we sat with the same people for meals and went out in zodiacs with the same group.

At the first recap Jason Edmunds, expedition leader extraordinaire, demonstrated what he called the nutcracker method of drinking to be employed after a meal or anywhere else on the ship where we might have a beverage. Pull the mask down below your chin, take a sip, and replace the mask. I have to wonder if alcohol sales were in any way affected by the enforced slow down in consumption. People being people, we all forgot our masks at one time or another and all of us had the responsibility of gently reminding anyone in a public space whose bare face was hanging out to mask up. In every case the reminder was a shocked look of recognition followed by a hurried ‘thank you’ as the offender scurried off to get the mask or quickly whipped it out of a pocket and put it on.

There were many face-palm moments as we told each other “I got all the way to the mud room before I realized I didn’t have my mask,” “That’s the third time today I got up from the table without putting on my mask,” and conversely, “Don’t try to lick your finger when you have a mask on - bad idea.”

Those of us not in the health care professions got a small taste of the irritated skin and sore ears that comes from wearing a mask for extended periods of time. My main bugbear was the foggy glasses. I solved the problem by simply taking my glasses off and carrying them in a case attached to my belt loop. I’m extremely grateful for the successful cataract surgery that allows me to wear glasses or not as I choose. I know some of my friends will be re-horrified (if that’s not a word it should be) by my complete lack of fashion sense. In this case it came back to bite me when I leaned against my glasses and bent the frames. I did my best to bend them back but they are still wonky and fairly uncomfortable to wear so I continue to take them off when I don’t need to read. [ed. They are now fixed and I wear them morning til night as usual.]

I had a hunch while packing for the trip that I should bring a pair of drug store readers with me. After I munched my expensive progressives, I took to leaving those in the room and carrying around the cheapies. I also had a pair of safety sunglasses that I bought at Rona. It’s actually more comfortable for me to hike without the progressives so that worked out well.

On the last night of the expedition, Jason declared that our trip had been Covid free. We all cheered and I felt a twinge of anxiety about the new group of passengers that would board the ship while we stayed on for a second expedition. Even though they followed the same testing protocol as we did, Jason had to announce a couple of days into the trip that Covid was aboard. Everyone who was a close contact had been notified and the unfortunate soul(s) who tested positive enroute was confined to the cabin for 10 days. If that wasn’t the whole trip it was pretty darned close to it. I don’t know which would be worse finding out before boarding that you had Covid or getting onboard and spending the whole voyage in your cabin having contact with only the person who brought you food and water. I have to hope that whoever it was and however many people there were at least had a porthole to look out.

The important thing is that Covid didn’t spread on the ship; I don’t think the case(s) were severe: and we weren’t responsible for taking it into any of the remote communities we visited. We wore masks when interacting with the locals even when we were outside.



In Ottawa we continued to wear our masks when in public spaces indoors. At one point we hid out from the heat in the Rideau Mall. I watched for about 5 minutes and noticed only 6 people in addition to us had masks. I’m really hoping that as the vaccines get more sophisticated there will be one that not only protects from severe outcomes but also protects from contracting the virus in the first place. I don’t even know if such a thing is possible. In the meantime we’ve signed up for another expedition cruise next summer. We will cross our fingers and hope that we will be able to sail and if we have to follow the same protocols we will. However, it would be very nice to be able to dial down the level of anxiety caused by not knowing if you have Covid or not. I’m putting that though on the back burner for later. At the moment I have photos to sort, blogs to publish and both of my camera batteries are now fully charged. Lesson learned, I hope.

Guest post by Barbara Turner-Vesselago

[ed. This summer was Barbara's first trip with Adventure Canada. Before she left, Barbara asked me a few questions about the trip. As many of you know, when I get excited about something it's impossible to shut me up and there were quite a number of emails back and forth. Once we got on the ship there was very little connectivity and I kept thinking of other things I wanted to tell her. Barbara and her husband boarded the ship the day that Richard and I got off so I left a note and a drawing. See tip #7.

Enjoy the tips and, as a side-note, I didn't know there were some many brands of Merino wool!]

Ocean Endeavour with ice berg

Marian’s Ten Best Arctic Travel Tips

1. Top Tip: Wash underwear in stateroom. MH’s reasoning (if the soap in the bathroom dispensers is okay to wash with, it’s okay to wash your knickers with) made sense to me, and it made much more sense than sending underwear out to laundry or bringing 14 pairs. They dried quickly, as did liner socks, on a hanger in the closet.

2. Buy a neck tube. I ordered one from Lupa (Canadian), in sapphire blue (matches Adventure Canada jackets), even though I had never even heard of a neck tube before. I came to love mine dearly. Not only did it keep my neck warm, on deck and on zodiac excursions, it could also be pulled up to cover double chins (or whole face, at 5 a.m.) as required. Often required.

3. Don’t bring other currencies. You won’t need them. I didn’t bring them, and I didn’t need them.

4. Don’t buy anything new for the trip unless you absolutely have to. This would have been an excellent tip to follow. The time I spent combing through websites and going to stores before the trip will only be matched by the amount I’m about to spend returning all the things we didn’t use. (Barbara’s tip: Eddie Bauer, Patagonia and MEC will take things back even if you have used them, any time you want. They want you to be happy with them. What a concept.)

5. Consider merino wool long underwear. Dries fast, MH points out, and does not get stinky. I found MEC’s version scratchy, and also Merino Tech. But the merino wool Kombi tops (MEC) were fantastic – soft and warm. In fact, my husband hasn’t taken his off yet, and they are not yet stinky. My ancient polypro bottoms worked just fine, too (see Tip # 4).

6. Make sure everything has two uses. Like having some idea what your ideal weight would be, this is a good one to have hanging around in the background, to refer to from time to time.

7. Leave your rubber boots inside bottoms of rain pants for easy access next time. MH described this and also drew a diagram. The diagram alone has provided hours of head-scratching on-ship entertainment. [ed. Barbara didn't have the benefit of this photo and my artistic rendering of the concept left something to be desired.]

Configuration of rubber boots and rain pants

8. Get on top of sea-sickness in advance. I’m not sure how much doing this actually helped, but it certainly made me feel as if I was doing something, at a time when everything else – and I mean everything – was clearly heading far beyond my control.

These last two are not tips Marian gave us directly, but they were great tips nonetheless – provided via the age-old principal of showing rather than telling. This is what I’ve learned from being on the receiving end.

9.As you leave the ship, gift your friends with a bottle of wine for their maiden voyage. Have this presented in an ice-bucket with two glasses (and a folded napkin) in their stateroom when they arrive. You will know by now what an enormous schlep it has been for them, just to reach the point of boarding, and how very, very badly they need a drink by now.

10. Encourage your friends to sign up for an Adventure Canada trip to the High Arctic. You know by now that they will have the adventure of a lifetime.

Cruising in the ice: Arctic 8

HIgh Arctic Explorer: Arctic 8


Sunday August 14, 2022

Back in Ottawa

I can feel the heat through the window. I’m glad I’m inside and have air conditioning because this is hotter than I’ve experienced for the last month. It’s actually hotter in Calgary than it is here in Ottawa although the humidity here is much higher.

It was a good decision to spend an extra day here before flying home. When we mentioned this to friends on the ship they said they could suggest all sorts of interesting things to see. The offer was very kind and we’re not here to see things. We’re here to sleep in, take long showers in a space where we don’t need to keep our elbows in, and gradually readjust to life in the south.

I first ventured into northern Canada in my late 20’s on a bus tour with a company called ‘Canadian Camping Adventures.’ They had canvas umbrella tents and we brought our own sleeping bags and mattresses. The route took us into the Yukon and Alaska and when I returned home I knew I wanted to travel there again. The various trips to the north could be the subject of a blog entry but not this one.

Now that I’ve repacked my duffle bag yet again, I can sit with a cup of tea and reflect on the fact that this time yesterday I was sitting on a rock in the sun outside the Kangerlussuaq airport. I did a rather bad job of packing the night before and squinted into the sun as I realized that both my hat and my sunglasses were in my checked luggage. Mostly you will find me seeking shade; this time the temperature was in the high teens and the warmth was pleasant, so I stayed in the sun.

Kangerlussuaq airport 

On the way to the airport we took a short bus tour and saw muskox and a lone caribou. This is the closest I’ve been to muskox, or caribou for that matter. The caribou was right in front of the bus and the muskoxen were on the tundra a couple of city blocks away. They were close enough to see clearly and far enough away that to get a decent photo you needed to use a telephoto lens. Just one more point for remembering to bring the charging cradle for the camera battery next time. When we had a short tour on our last trip we saw muskox as tiny dark dots against the green of the summer tundra. You just never know on these trips.

Blurry muskoxen

What I’ve discovered is to focus on what we did get to see and do and forget about the published itinerary. We didn’t get to Dundas Harbour, Beechey Island, or Resolute this trip. All of those places were on the itinerary. Instead, we had a wonderful walk on the land in Croker Bay, where a pair of parasitic jaegers swooped and dove overhead. I decided before going to shore that it was a day to use up some of my remaining battery. I don’t know how long I stood watching the birds swoop and dive: time stops for me when I’m photographing birds. I stayed back, judging my distance by whether or not they would settle on the ground and stay there until someone else walked over the invisible line of protected territory. Close to me, Niap was seated on the ground quietly painting.

Niap at work

I’ve downloaded my photos and had a quick look. I’ll need to spend time with them on my computer to evaluate the images I captured. I already know that, even if all the images are crap, I had a wonderful day. It’s an enjoyable challenge for me to try to find the right exposure, composition, and shutter speed to capture something of what I’m seeing as I follow the movements of the birds, first with the naked eye and then with binoculars or camera. I hear the birds call probably to warn the humans to get away from their nest and ask myself how I can convey the birds’ determination in a still photo.

I’ve spoken before about my interest in photography and the various camera equipment I’ve had over the years. Now my focus is different. I still consider composition, light, and shutter speed, all the technical things that make cameras work but I’m finding more and more I’m concerned with story. It’s no surprise to me that I have a pretty good idea of how a story works in written text and not such a good idea of what a story is and how to tell it in photographic images.

I’ve read blog posts and listened to talks about story in photography and it’s still a slippery concept. I’ll continue to read and watch videos about the topic because I enjoy that. When I have my camera in hand, I find myself asking, “How can I tell this story?” even though I’m not exactly sure what the story is. My method is to get out there with the question and the camera and see what emerges.

And, in a roundabout way, that brings me back to the experiences we had on this trip. Because it was foggy and we didn’t have a good chance to land at Douglas Harbour, Jason, our expedition leader, chose to turn the ship around and sail back to Greenland which was our closest ‘extraction point.’ I haven’t made friends with that term yet. It leaves me feeling a little like an abscessed tooth. Coming from Greenland to Canada on the first part of the trip we sailed far north to avoid the sea ice. On the way back to Greenland we came closer to the sea ice so we could tuck in behind it and take a zodiac tour amid the ice floes. It was foggy and ice bergs rose out of and disappeared into the mist. We were almost equidistant from Canada and Greenland and the water beneath our zodiacs was over 2 kilometres deep. We were, literally, in the middle of the ocean.

Ocean Endeavour emerges

On our way back to the ship I couldn’t see the lights of the ship until we could distinguish the shape of its hull. Others said they could see the lights and our zodiac drivers had GPS coordinates and radio contact with the ship. I’m willing to bet that there is only a handful of people who have been for a zodiac cruise in sea ice in the middle of Baffin Bay.

Last walk on the land

Our last walk on the land was at Hollanderblugt Greenland, another new place. We got a little way up the slopes of the hills and enjoyed the vista of a calm brilliantly-blue sea. We passed quietly by a burial site that Lisa, the archeologist, judged to be a child's grave given the length of the pile of stones. She told us that the Inuit often buried their dead in places that had a spectacular view and this spot was no exception. We saw many goose tracks, the tracks of foxes, and a beach of sparkling black sand. The tundra was spongy under our feet and made for comfortable walking. I will return again and again in my imagination to that beach as we stay close to home during the winter.

Another opportunity because of our altered plans was the visit to Sisimiut. We’ve been to Sisimiut on previous trips in sunny and overcast conditions. This time it was sunny and warm and after a tour of the town where we saw new things, Richard and I opted to walk out beyond the lake where we watched ravens and black backed gulls and where I noticed a corral for horses I hadn’t seen before. I will always remember the snowmobile races on the water that we came across on our last visit. There were no snowmobile races this time and that allowed us to explore an area we had wondered about before.

I’ve often heard the expression, ‘life is what happens while you’re making other plans.’ The same can be said for expedition travel. We didn’t get to some places on the itinerary but we had unique experiences every step of the way and that’s what keeps me coming back.

Missing Beechey Island: Arctic 7

High Arctic Explorer: Arctic 7

Sunday August 7, 2022
[ed. I didn’t draft very many blog posts on the second part of our trip ‘High Arctic Explorer.’ I’m not sure why I didn’t. Oh well. One of the characteristics of travel in the Arctic is that you are always, ALWAYS, at the mercy of ice, wind, fog, and swell. Around the middle of the trip Barbara, the host, asked if I would give a short talk on what the ‘adventure’ part of adventure travel looks like when you’re in the middle of it. This is what I said:]

Cruising in the fog

I have a bit of a story to tell you tonight. It won’t be very long but it starts off when I was a kid. When I was a kid, I didn’t like to clean my bedroom. Those who have seen my woodshop would say that I haven’t changed much. One day my mum put her foot down and told me I had to get my room tidied up. I must have been near the end of the task because I was in the process of capturing and disposing of the immense dust dinosaurs that had accumulated on every horizontal surface and under my bed.

I remember I was running the dust cloth over the top of my dresser and listening to a CBC program about the Franklin expedition and the three graves on Beechey Island. I stopped dusting and listened. Something in that story caught my attention. It wasn’t immediately a desire to see the place, just something that remained a tickle in the back of my mind as I grew older.

Like most white kids of my generation I was completely ignorant of the fact that Franklin was a very short English blip on the vast richness of the Arctic’s past. Still it was, for me, the beginning of an interest in the land and her peoples.

Fast forward to 2015 and my introduction to Adventure Canada. A friend Photographer, Scott Forsyth, was going on a trip to Newfoundland and Labrador and his excitement about the adventure was contagious. We joined him on that trip and learned that Adventure Canada offered a trip into the Northwest Passage. The teenager with the duster in her hand appeared and announced, “I want to be on that trip.”

On the Newfoundland Labrador trip there was one day when we couldn’t make a landing because of the swell and I was a bit disappointed but loved the talks aboard the ship that were offered instead.

It took until 2018 for us to embark on our Northwest Passage trip. As soon as we arrived in Ottawa, I was introduced to ice charts and the true meaning of adventure. At our first briefing Jason showed us an ice chart with a whole lot of red on it. In fact, the Ocean Endeavour had turned around half way across Davis Strait and headed back for Kangerlussuaq. Instead of starting in Canada we were to spend an unanticipated day in Ottawa and then fly to Greenland.

Fast forward again further into the trip and a few ice charts later. We were heading for Beechey Island where we planned to land. As we got closer the ice coverage near the shore got thicker. There was to be no landing on Beechey. I was disappointed but, by then, I was thinking differently about adventure. Before Beechey Island, I had considered adventure through the lens of hiking, canoe, and bicycle trips that had a few blips in them but, in general, proceeded as planned. Of course, I knew the possibility of not being able to complete a trip according to plan was there, but I tucked that bit of info in the back of my mind where I didn’t give it much attention.

Jason and the ship’s captain tried to shift the schedule and the route to get us through a Northwest passage. In the process I think we saw Beechey twice more. Once it looked like we would be able to land but our human concept of time, the ice, swell, and fog had other ideas.

For the rest of the trip the ice continued to determine our course. The specific details have faded, but it seems we sailed toward several communities in hopes that we might be able to disembark and fly south. We spent an extra day at sea sailing as fast as we could back to Mittimatalik where the Adventure Canada staff pulled off one of their routine miracles. Somehow, on the long weekend in September, folks behind the scenes chartered every available small aircraft in Yellowknife to fly us from Mittimatalik to Yellowknife where we boarded a 737 charter that took us to Edmonton.

So why am I telling you all this? Well, I have never set foot on Beechey Island and this might or might not be the trip where I can do that. The other thing that has changed since my first trip is my attitude to adventure. When I was young adventure involved a certain amount of discomfort and it was all wonderful. Now I truly appreciate a warm bed, hot food and a shower when I go adventuring.

Something else I appreciate is that when I come on one of these adventures it is not so much to experience a specific place but to experience whatever the land, her people, the weather and the ice have in store for me. If we set foot on Beechey Island I will be truly delighted, and if we don’t, I will have fond memories of the welcoming give of mossy tussocks under my boots in Disko Bay, seeing Nancy’s paintings take shape, the ethereal blue of the icebergs, and the many laughs and stories that are part of this voyage. Regardless of whether we return home via Resolute, Kangerlussaq, or some other landing place, I will have had an adventure and that’s what I signed up for.

Ice

[ed. Once again we missed Beechey Island. Instead we experienced a cruise amongst the pack ice halfway between Canada and Greenland where the water was 2km deep. Quite a number of people have been to Beechey Island but I’m willing to bet that not very many have been in a zodiac negotiating among the ice pans in the middle of the ocean. That is another sort of adventure.]

Bread or a doorstop?

I’ve written before about the desire to bake bread during the pandemic and the other day I decided to dig out a recipe that was one of my favourites when I lived in the small suite in Banff in the building that was once the Bankhead railway station.

During the winter most weekends weren’t particularly busy, and I’d often spend my Saturdays baking bread for the next week. I had a gas heater in the living room and I’d put the dough near it to rise. My circumstances are much different now than they were then and I haven’t made that recipe for over 30 years. Time for a little adventure. The recipe used rolled oats and molasses and I remembered the dough being very sticky. I used to refer to it as bubble gum bread. Be prepared to use lots of flour on the counter and hands when kneading it. For most of my bread baking I have used ordinary rather than quick-rise yeast. The jar I have at the moment is quick-rise. Okay, I can find out how to deal with that.

To the internet for the differences between regular and quick-rise yeast. Let the dough sit for 10 minutes and then form it into loaves instead of doing the first rising in a bowl, punching down the dough and, after a second rising, shaping the loaves. Sounds good. Sounds quicker. Now where to put the dough to rise? I think the last time I made bread I put it in the oven with the light on and that worked.We use our convection oven most of the time now and low and behold, there’s a setting for proofing bread on it. I put the loaves in the convection oven and started it on the ‘proof’ setting. I forgot to cover them. I kept checking on the bread and it didn’t seem to be doing anything. I began to think of the bun recipe my mother gave to one of my aunts. It was a standby for Mum but when my aunt made it one my cousins called the results ‘cement patties’ and the other referred to the buns as ‘asphalt balls.’ I began to envision doorstops.

Too late to do anything about it so I left it alone until the timer went off an hour later. When I looked again, the loaves had actually risen but they didn’t look quite right yet. I set the oven to proof for another 20 minutes. At the end of that time I took out the loaves and poked my finger into the dough near the edge of the tin. The indentation remained. Time to bake them. I followed the directions I had for the temperature but used some convection and cut down the time. When the beeper went, I removed the loaves, turned them out of their pans and thumped them on the bottom. There was a satisfyingly hollow sound. Bread done. I waited for them to cool a bit before cutting into one of them. Mum would not have been satisfied with the texture, too many air pockets but the bread tasted fine. Doorstop averted.

Heart of the Arctic reflections: Arctic 6

Heart of the Arctic 6

Ocean Endeavour

[ ed.On one of the last days of the trip Cedar Swan, CEO of Adventure Canada and host on the Heart of the Arctic trip, asked if Richard and I would give a thank-you, from the passengers’ point of view, to all of those who worked hard to give us the best experience possible. This is what I said.]

When Cedar asked us if we would say something at this gathering, I had a bit of a chuckle to myself. Cedar had no way of knowing that, having been married for 36 years, Richard and I can canoe, ride a tandem bicycle and wallpaper together fairly amicably. When it comes to joint writing projects, each of us wants to be in charge. One of the easiest ways to solve the problem is to each take a section.

In his section, Richard has talked about all the fabulous people who made this voyage possible and in my section I’d like to offer a few personal reflections.

We took our first trip in 20015 and I blame Scott entirely for that. When he told us about the trip we thought it would be a really interesting trip of a lifetime. He was right about the interesting part and entirely wrong about the ‘trip of a lifetime' part.

There is magic in the Arctic. Richard and I have seen parts of the Western Arctic on foot, on horseback and in a canoe but this ship offered us a new mode of transport and a chance to go to places we never would have gotten to on our own. We have met people we never would have met on our own and because of these experiences my world has expanded.

I’m a city kid and will never be anything else but because of people like Martha and Nancy, whom you’ve met, Robert, Ashley, and Jenna whom some of you have met, items in the news have become more personal. When I read that Iqaluit has difficulty with their water supply, I wonder how Ashley and her new daughter are doing.

When I saw news coverage a couple of years ago about Billy Gautier going on a hunger strike to protest a dam on a Muskrat River, I remember him as the skilled carver who sailed with us and who burned out the motor on his grinder because he forgot the ship’s voltage was different from what is supplied to the homes in Canada.

When I read about global warming I wonder how the hunt will go for my friends. I wear my sealskin mitts proudly and tell anyone who asks that I bought them in Mittamatalik from the sister of the hunter who killed the seal.

When I’m given the opportunity to, as Lizanne would say, bang on about how wonderful the Arctic is, I do so until my listeners start to roll their eyes and hide their yawns. I was a bit nervous about the voyages this season because 6 of my friends are first time travellers with Adventure Canada. I wanted all of them to have a wonderful time and I also wanted them to experience some of the awe I experience each time I have the privilege of sailing in these waters and walking out on the tundra.

So, for me, this voyage and the others I have taken are voyages of connection, a connection to part of the country many southern Canadians will not see, and a connection to the people I never dreamed of meeting and whom I now count among my friends.

I hope each of you will have particular moments from this trip that will return to

you in other times and places and you will pause for an instant and remember the land we have travelled through, the people we have met, and the laughter we have shared.

I know for some there have been moments - when the Ocean Endeavour rolled in the swell for instance - that the experience was less than ideal. I hope in hindsight that those moments will also become part of the adventure. Personally, I hope that this voyage will NOT be the trip of a lifetime. As long as I can continue to safely lumber into and out of a zodiac I plan to travel these waters on this ship. As this trip draws to an end I wish all of you safe journeys as you move back into the world beyond the Arctic and once again, I want to thank all of those who worked so hard to organize and orchestrate this experience.

Sunset at sea

A hike through geology: Arctic 5

Heart of the Arctic 5: Thursday July 28, 2022

My idea of gorgeous

Yesterday we got a chance to go out on the land. Most people signed up for the medium hike. The advanced and the difficult hikes were not billed as photographer friendly and I always want the chance to take a few photos without feeling that I’m holding the group up. In addition, as I get older, I find that I need to take more time to find my footing rather than just barrelling ahead.

It was a gorgeous day, another one warmer than I have ever experienced in the Eastern Arctic. When we landed the tide was out and we had a reasonable walk to where the life jacket bags were beyond the high tide line of the beach.

Each group had a leader and a bear guard. There was a polar bear sighted in the next drainage to where we were to be hiking. Our guide was the expedition’s geologist and he is more passionate about rocks than anyone I have ever met. He is a lovely fellow and capable of waxing poetic for ten minutes at a time about the geological features of whatever landscape we find ourselves in.

John Houston one of our bear guards

I hiked with his group the day before and we made frequent stops to look at the ground and the hills around us. He tends to start out his mini lectures with a question. Nothing wrong with that if you’re addressing a group of undergraduate geology students. As most of you know, I’m more interested in birds than rocks and the nuances of different types of granite and how they are formed are largely lost on me while I scan the skies for feathered things or try to find interesting compositions through my camera lens. We walked for a few minutes and then stopped as he pointed out yet another fascinating feature of the landscape.

The organizers of the groups had timed it so that there would be space between the various groups as we had landed at different times. After a while of sauntering and looking at rocks we noticed that the group behind us was catching up. One of the guides with that group tactfully pointed out that we were proceeding at the pace of the beachcombers, the ones who just wanted to hang out and putter around on shore. It was suggested that perhaps we should pick up the pace just a little.

Some of us were pretty keen on that and started to inch ahead of Marc to try to give him the hint that perhaps we should be moving on. That didn’t really work and the bear guard reminded us that we were supposed to be behind the guide. Sigh. Marc loves his rocks so much and he kept noticing features and stopping to tell us how excited we would all be by his latest discovery. Finally we got to the top of the saddle where Laura, our bear guard, had earlier seen caribou. We were pretty interested in looking for animals as we had noticed plenty of tracks on the way up in the soft mud of the tundra.

As we stood for a few moments on the saddle, the next group caught up with us. When Laura moved off some of us, a larger number of rebels this time, began to follow her. Martine, who was the bear guard for the other group called us back and reminded us again to stay behind the guide. I muttered to a friend, “Can we poke him with our hiking poles to get him to move a bit faster then?” Martine probably had consulted others on the radio and she certainly had noticed what was happening and the potential mutiny in our group. She offered us three options: if we had had enough hiking for the day we could return with her to the landing site and take time wandering the shore. If we wanted to do a bit more hiking we could go with a second group, and if we still felt energetic we could go with Marc’s group, the speedy ones. I bit my tongue wondering how long Marc would be able to go without stopping to point out something.


Since I was feeling good and partly because I was curious about how this would work in practice, I opted for the speedy group. Marc did manage to walk for longer periods without stopping to explain something and we proceeded over the saddle and down to a lake. Then Marc and Laura consulted the map and suggested we go back via the next drainage over. I was all for that as the views were spectacular and the temperature was warm. We won’t talk about the mosquitos.

With pretty much everyone in agreement, we started the climb up the side of the hill. The rock at that point was smooth and exposed and it was like walking on a highway. I was huffing and puffing as usual when I went uphill but was able to keep up quite well. I passed a couple of people who were clearly struggling. One woman who was retired from the military hailed from Florida and I guess there aren’t very many significant hills in Florida. She was cheerful and stopped frequently to take photos of flowers and bugs. I saw two bees on the hike but they didn’t stay in one spot for long enough for me to get a photo, so you’ll just have to trust me on that one.

Like a paved highway

A second woman was having an even more difficult time. She was moving ahead doggedly not speaking to anyone. Richard, who has hiked with many groups of people, has a great sense of when people are having a tough time of it and, like his dad, he wants to do his best to encourage them. I realized that I could no longer see him around the curve of the hill and figured he had stayed back to do what he could to help. When I got up to the group I mentioned to Marc what I thought was happening. At first he seemed relieved that someone was watching out for the slower folks.

Then he got a radio call that the tide was rising and we were to hurry to the zodiacs because it was getting tricky to load them in the deepening water. Someone called out to the group that it was time to put the pedal to the metal. I thought this was distinctly unhelpful because, from what I could see, the folks at the end were doing the best they could and to try to move faster would only make them more anxious and possibly lead to a fall.

When Richard reached us I told him I had spoken to Marc and he confided that, indeed, the woman at the end had fallen once while trying to negotiate a steeper, rockier part of the hill. Marc asked Trevor, the young, fit photographer, if he would take over as sweep. Richard and I rejoined the middle of the pack.

When we stopped next Trevor reported that the folks at the back didn't seem that interested in speeding up. Oh the confidence of youth! I well remember wondering why those older folks didn’t just speed up. I didn’t realize at the time that they were going as fast as they could. Now I see it could have been because they were having trouble catching their breath, or they were unused to the uneven terrain and were worrying about their footing, or perhaps a knee replacement or hip replacement made it more difficult to negotiate uneven terrain. I’m sure there are many other reasons I haven’t considered and that didn’t even cross my younger mind.

As we descended I got going a little faster than I should have and rolled my ankle, not once but twice. I wiggled it a bit and kept walking but it was a reminder not to let pace outstrip caution.

We all arrived at the shore in one piece and made it into the zodiacs albeit quite a bit later than when the last zodiac was supposed to leave. As we rode back I had mixed feelings. I was a bit frustrated that we had been so slow at the beginning and then had tried to make up the time by rushing. I also felt a connection to the two at the back of the pack. I’ve been in that position and I know what a horrible feeling it is to be holding up the group and to simultaneously be doing the very best you can to the point of exhaustion. I was lucky in the situation where I got in over my head on a hike to Western Brook Pond in Newfoundland. I had the opportunity to turn back which I did. It was a humbling experience.

In the zodiac heading home

It’s easy to say that the folks at the back should have joined a different group but the pace at the beginning was perfectly suitable to them and they didn’t know that the terrain would get more difficult. To be fair, the guides probably hadn't been on that particular hike either and were going from maps and what they were able to scout before the hikers arrived. 

I imagine there was an interesting debriefing among the staff at the end of the day. It’s so difficult to organize hikes for people of different abilities. All the passengers are adults and have paid a good chunk of change to be on this trip. It's all very well to tell people to consider their abilities carefully before selecting a group, but how can you accurately describe a hike so people will be able to make informed decisions? You can’t very well say to people, ‘You can’t go on this hike,’ because you don’t know what people’s capabilities are and so you have to trust them.

Maybe it’s the teacher in me, but I can’t help looking at the human interactions around me and wondering how things could be made better, even as I look through my lens or pick my way around the boulders. The day was wonderful, the temperature unseasonably warm, the skies blue, and the hills of the tundra spectacular. Getting back to the ship I felt satisfyingly tired and when I look at my photos during the dark winter days it is the feeling of accomplishment and privilege that will come back to me. I am so fortunate to be travelling in this land. It also does me good to remember that the hike leaders, as well as the hikers, are doing the best they can.

A pretty big hunk of quartz

Inuit prints and seal bones: Arctic 4

Heart of the Arctic 4, Wednesday July 27, 2022

Kinngait from the hilltop

There is so much to learn and so many people capable of teaching me but I feel slightly overwhelmed. I’m here on this ship, in the middle of the Arctic. The land passes by in the clear blue of Arctic summer and I need to choose. I can watch the PowerPoint slides, so carefully prepared by the people who know, the people who lived into and who love their subjects. They are an invaluable resource and there is not enough time.

Not enough time to simply sit on the deck in the sunshine. Not enough time to make pencil marks in my sketchbook or to add the colours of the Arctic light to the pages I have already sketched in.

And so today before lunch and before we take to zodiacs to go onto the land, I sit in the cabin with my keyboard. I am missing a presentation on the ancient peoples of the Eastern Arctic. I know it will be interesting and that this presenter will have prepared with care. I need the quiet at this moment, need to download some of what has been running circles in my head.

It has been two years since I was north of 60 and each time I come I relearn what a special place this is. Yesterday we were in the community of Kinngait (Cape Dorset) where Innuit printmaking started. We watched as a veteran printmaker applied colour to a plate, confidently using first yellow and then black until the surface was covered to exactly the right extent. When the ink was on he took a sheet of paper and a sheet of wax paper and put them together. Then he laid the papers onto the stone with the waxed paper facing up. He took a bundle of some sort also covered in waxed paper and rubbed it over the surface of the paper to transfer the ink.

He stopped, looked around at his appreciative audience and then said in Inuktitut, that he had to get the special tool. He walked over to a drawer, reached in and held up a spoon, an ordinary dessert spoon. He grinned showing gaps in his teeth, returned to his print and began rubbing the edges of the image with the spoon. I suppose the spoon is such a good tool because it is rounded and allows him to apply pressure exactly where he wants it without the danger of tearing the paper. When he had finished with the spoon he ran his hand over the back of the paper then grasped it carefully by its top corners and pulled it away from the stone block. [ed. I regret I didn’t write down the printmaker’s name and now I don’t remember it.]

Spoon as a printmaking tool

Again he smiled and slowly turned, holding the print up to all 360 degrees of the room while cameras captured that moment. He laid the print on the table in front of him, took a bottle of what looked like oil of some kind, squirted a bit onto the block and wiped it off with a rag.

The translator stressed how important it was to clean the block. Someone asked how he managed to get the prints so close because he was applying the different colours by eye. The answer was practice which turns into experience. The two prints were not completely identical but they were very close.

Our guide then told us that each artist makes a total of 65 prints so he can choose the best 50, the number of prints in the limited edition. I found out later that the prints we saw him make would be destroyed after we left. They were for demonstration purposes only and he had already done a run of that particular design.

Photo credit: Richard Gaskell

In the gallery I spotted a lovely carving of an owl all in white. I admired it very much but it was too big and heavy. I wanted something smaller and lighter to carry home. Then I spotted a little ookpik made of green stone. It had one wing raised as if in greeting. Knowing that there were others coming through the gallery I didn’t hesitate to pick it up and carry it with me for the rest of the tour. I also like the brilliantly coloured designs on t-shirts, but t-shirts discolour and wear out and the little owl will sit in my study waving its wing at me long after the t-shirts have been turned into rags. I paid cash for my little friend although at the print shop they also took credit cards.

After the young woman calculated the GST there were a few coins left in change. I didn’t particularly want to carry coins so I suggested she put them to the side of the cash register. She smiled and did so. She directed me into the next room to have my purchase wrapped by Mike.

My little owl 

Mike is an affable sort and as he worked to cut off a cardboard tube with a hand saw to package up the print purchased by the person ahead of me, he talked about joining the military directly after high school. He said that boot camp was like baby camp to him, so familiar was he with being out on the land. He said he had been deployed all over the place.

When it was my turn I told him that I had wanted to come to Kingait for a long time. His hands stopped moving for a moment. He looked into my face and smiled, “I'm glad you finally got to come,” he said, his hands folding the bubble wrap and tearing strips of tape. I thanked him and he thanked me and I walked out into the brilliant sunshine with my bubble-wrapped owl held in one hand.

In the afternoon we went to the site of a Thule encampment. All around a small pond were bones of seals and walrus. Our ship guide Marc St. Onge, a geologist, told us that at the time of the encampment the land would have been at sea level. It was now on a saddle between the sea and another large body of water. When the ice from the most recent ice age melted, the land began to spring back now relieved of the weight of the ice.

As we walked through the park, we saw wildflowers in purple, yellow and white, and we found a few tiny mushrooms. The rocks sparkled with flecks of mica. On the other side of the saddle was an inukshuk a couple of feet taller than a person. The interpretive sign explained that inuksuit (the plural of inukshuk) were used to communicate many different things. One might be placed as a message to land at that place on the shore. Another might signal a good hunting spot.

As we looked out onto the sea beyond the saddle we noticed something breaching the surface of the water off near the distant shore. Dozens of binoculars came out and pointed in the direction of the splash. Again a breach in the surface of the water and this time we could see that it was a beluga whale, perfectly white. As we watched we identified at least two individuals, perhaps three. I didn’t bring my mirrorless camera with the telephoto on this walk because I decided to save battery for the next expedition where there would be more birds and probably more likelihood of seeing seals and maybe polar bears.

There was one woman on board who thought that her charging cradle might fit my battery and she took it to her room to check. It didn’t. I thought that would probably be the case but it was generous of her to try. People have been very understanding, commiserating with me about not being able to recharge my batteries. This morning Andrea, one of the Inuit, on board characterized her culture as one of reciprocity: I will do this for you now because I can know that later when I need something and you can help me you will. That’s the feeling I have about the folks on this ship.

Perhaps it’s the north; perhaps it’s the welcome we received from our Inuit friends; or perhaps it has something to do with the mindset of people who choose to take a trip like this. I don’t know. I do know that as I go about the ship or on excursions I hear a lot of laughter, people talking and listening, genuinely interested in the experience of others. I have also heard very little complaining. There are things people won’t be happy with but it seems, so far, that we have embraced the spirit of adventure and taken all the changes in plans in stride. We are privileged to be here, privileged to be welcomed into this land by the people who call it home. When I first came on one of these trips, it was to be the trip of a lifetime. Since then I have come on 4 more trips and will likely come on more. I want to travel in these waters and on this land as long as it retains its hold on me and as long as I can get into and out of a zodiac.

Some love the excitement of cities. I love the vastness of the Arctic landscape when the small plants bloom and the world is embraced by northern light.