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.

Stupid move: Arctic 3

Heart of the Arctic 3, Friday July 22, 2022

Well, I’ve made some pretty stupid moves in my time and this one is right up there with the best of them. I can’t charge my camera batteries. Yup, you got that right: I very carefully packed the cord labelled EM1 mkii and left the charging cradle at home. I just assumed that I could plug the cable into the camera and it would charge from a normal USB port. Never assume! What elevates this decision one more notch on the bone-headed scale is that I’ve travelled with this camera before. I had it in Australia in 2019. Yes, that’s the trip where I lost the memory card down the side of the airplane seat to travel back and forth between Vancouver and Auckland for all eternity. Is there a pattern here? Is there a message I’m not getting? Anyhoo, I have 1 ½ batteries to last me a month and I have my cell phone, the same one that saved my bacon in Australia.

Today we had a choice of a hike in Sylvia Grinnell territorial park or a walk around Iqaluit. Richard did the hike; I did the town tour. We saw the old Hudson’s Bay post, the dog yard, the museum and the visitors’ centre. I spent a fair amount of time wandering around with my camera taking photos of whatever interested me. Some of the details of this walk may surface later. For now I want to concentrate on something else.

The kudlik

When we got back to the ship the Inuit onboard welcomed us by lighting and tending the kudlik. I’m always amazed at the skill and concentration that goes into keeping the flame of the kudlik burning evenly and with just the right intensity. For Inuit on the land the kudlik was a primary survival tool. This little stone lamp heated snow for water, dried clothing, and cooked food during the long Arctic night.

Simple ingredients: Arctic cotton for the wick, a stone bowl to hold the fuel, a stone platform for the bowl, seal or whale oil, a bow drill to start the fire, and a stick to tend the wick. Bathe the wick in fuel then move the cotton around so that the flame creates an even line burning at a uniform height. Too much flame? Drip some oil onto the hot spot to quench it. Too little flame? Feed a little more fuel to that spot or change the configuration of the wick. Small movements, now tacit knowledge learned through repetition and refinement since childhood. Tonight Crisco oil was the fuel. Use what is easily available. As the stories rolled, the drum beat, and the throat-singers sang, Martha, Nancy, and others took turns tending the light. [Hindsight: I apologize for not keeping track of all the women who tended the light. I was home reviewing the draft when I realized my error.]

After supper we watched John Houston’s film, Songs in Stone: an Arctic journey, the story of his childhood in Cape Dorset and of his return years later to scatter his mother’s ashes in the place where Inuit ingenuity met settler technology to bring Inuit printmaking to the rest of the world. If you get a chance I recommend seeing it. The day was rich in experiences: some wonderful and some not so much. Stay tuned for more on the camera saga.

At anchor in Iqaluit: Arctic 2

Heart of the Arctic 2

We are anchored in Frobisher Bay off shore of Iqaluit. We were supposed to sail out this afternoon. Having travelled with Adventure Canada before, we are used to changes in itineraries. There are a couple of reasons that we are here and not farther up the coast. The first one is no surprise: pack ice. It is choking the mouth of the bay and we will require the services of an icebreaker to help us get out. The second is that one of the bridge party is having difficulty getting here. He will be here tomorrow. I hope that we manage to get out of the bay. Interesting as Iqaluit is, I don’t think we can entertain ourselves for two weeks in Frobisher Bay. Gives a whole new meaning to the refrain line from a song ‘Frozen in Frobisher Bay’ though.

The start to the day went as planned, got up, got checked out, saw our luggage go onto the bus, got to the airport and onto the plane. We both decided that we would have breakfast when it was served on the plane. It was not bad for airline food. For some reason I got a gluten free version which meant I had a couple of strips of French toast and Richard had banana bread. There was also yogurt and juice but they informed us they were out of coffee and tea. How can you be out of coffee and tea when you’re a charter flight and only picking up one load of passengers? Oh well. I had a Coke.

Ashley, who has travelled with us on previous trips, lives in Iqaluit and I got to wave to her from the door of the bus and see her young daughter before we took off in the zodiacs to board the ship. There are a few friends from previous trips with us and it’s a bit like returning to a summer camp that you love.

I got out the camera tonight to take advantage of a very nice sunset. Not sure I got many good photos but it was fun. I ran into Scott, friend and photographer, and we got chatting about gear. My micro 4/3 set up certainly is smaller and lighter (it’s all relative) than the Canon and Nikon gear that seems to be prevalent. [I’m adding this next bit of foreshadowing now that I’m back home.] There are other problems with not having gear that is common to other photogs on the trip.

One of the most frustrating things is dealing with the mask and glasses. The glasses are always fogging up so I can’t see much of anything. At least I was smart enough to bring a glasses case with me. I have strapped it to my belt loop and I put on my glasses when I need to read something. Otherwise I’ve been leaving them off. I suppose I should try the anti fog wipes again but those tend to leave huge streaks. It will be interesting to see how I deal with the little challenges in the days to come. Now for some more photos of Iqaluit.

Old Hudson's Bay building away from the current town of Iqaluit

Near the Husdon's Bay post. Beautiful day with +20C temperature. That is very unusual.

Looking down on the town

Dwarf fireweed also called river beauty is very prevalent in the north

No idea what these are but I liked them

Visitor's centre

I'm a sucker for reflections even of telephone poles

I spent about 10 minutes watching this guy

On our way: Arctic 1

Heart of the Arctic: Arctic 1 July 18, 2022

This was the smoothest take off we’ve ever had on a holiday. Because we’ve been getting up at 5:30 for the last 3 mornings, it wasn’t hard to get up at 5:00 this morning. And, we had our bags packed ahead of time which is unheard of for us. We still had some last minute stuff to do like emptying the dishwasher and taking out the garbage but nothing onerous.

On our way out this morning I pulled out one of the zucchini plants. They were just too close together. I hated to do it but for the survival of the others and in order to have a better crop, I had to do it.

The plane was late getting in from Toronto so instead of leaving at 9:20 it was 10:50 before we pushed back from the gate. We had planned to get some lunch when we got to Ottawa which was supposed to have been about 12:30 Calgary time. By the time we actually got here it was 3:30 Calgary time and we were well and truly hungry. We got a cookie, some pretzels and a cup of tea on the plane so that was better than nothing. Both Richard and I were really cold on the plane, maybe because we hadn’t had anything to eat. Once we got cookies and a hot beverage we felt a bit warmer.

Our room looks out over the Rideau canal and we are right above a lock. I’m hoping that sometime in the next two days we’ll actually see a boat go through that lock. It was raining when we got here tonight but there’s now a heat warning for the next two days. Didn’t we just do this in Calgary?

Room with a view Chateau Laurier

We had a bit of an Abbot and Costello moment in the airport. We went to get a sub while we were waiting for the luggage to unload. Richard went downstairs to see what was happening and I finished my sub upstairs. He texted me to say that he had the bags. I texted him to say I’d be down. In the meantime he started up. Somehow we crossed each other so there were a series of ‘where are you’ emails. I eventually spotted him upstairs and through a series of hand gestures I thought he wanted me to go upstairs so I did. In the meantime he want downstairs so our positions were reversed. On the third try we ended up in the same place at the same time.

It’s now 10:30. It shouldn’t be hard to fall asleep tonight despite the lack of exercise. Tomorrow we’re up at 7:30 local time so that we’ll be ready to get a cab and go for the PCR tests. There are a lot of people here who aren’t wearing masks. I’ve got my fingers crossed that the virus just stays away, period.

Off to bed. Another adventure awaits tomorrow.