Text and photos: Markus Ziebell, translated by Carmen Chaplin
At the end of July 2009, the moment we've been waiting for has finally arrived. After 5 months of planning, Michael Kujawa and I are standing on the rocky beach of Upernavik, the starting point of our kayak expedition through Northwest Greenland, our heavy-laden kayaks, each weighing over 100 kg, by our side. Ahead of us lies a stretch of 900 km of mostly uninhabited Arctic.
Our kayaks and our entire gear, including enough supplies to last for 35 days, have been shipped here from Aarlborg, Denmark, and already started their journey six weeks ahead of us. We intend to set off north with our kayaks, across Melville Bay, a 300-km long, uninhabited region, and then press on to Thule, Greenland's norternmost town. Melville Bay consists of an almost uninterrupted glacial scarp, with very few offshore islands. In this area, we can expect plenty of icebergs and fields of pack ice all year round. From the start, we are lucky with the weather. Calm and sun 24 hours a day mean that we make good progress. Then, in Tuvsaq, a small ghost town, we have our first setback. As we test the brand new gun that we carry for protection against polar bears, for the first time, it turns out that it doesn't work. When we bought it in Ilullisat, we were obviously sold a weapon without the breech that normally secures the bullet in the barrel. But we are lucky and, just a day later, in Ivnarsuit, we are able to swap it for an old 30-06 caliber gun in good working order, incl. ammunition. The daily target of 25 km per day that we had originally set ourselves turns into 40 - 50 km on most days. Which is actually necessary if we want to save enough provisions for periods of bad weather. In the first leg to Kullorsuaq, a stretch of about 300 km, we paddle through a crowded island world. But even here, we come across dense fields of giant icebergs. After just one week, we are already at the mouth of Melville Bay, and cast our eyes over a huge scarp. Here, the ice sheet sweeps down to the water from an altitude of over 1000 meters.
The ice fields extend beyond the horizon, and even from the higher islands it is hard for us to judge how the mainland can best be reached. Having travelled 50 km during our attempt to pass the Nansen- and Nordenskjoeld Glaciers, we end up in dense ice fields several kilometers from the coast. At first, we keep finding small channels we can squeeze through with our narrow kayaks. But then, a few hundred meters from the shore, it's over. The ice has been massed here by the wind, and there is no more open water. The floes are too thin for us to walk on, so we can't even get out and pull our boats across. We turn around and try again, this time keeping well away from the ice fields. But again and again, we get into tightly packed ice that thwarts our passage. So we finally give up after a few hours and paddle on for another 30 km tonight, back to the last ice-free island. Seventeen-and-a-half hours in the boat and 80 km of paddling later, we let ourselves be washed up there in the early morning, frustrated and exhausted. After a day of rest, we start plan B. On the map, we have discovered some small islands about 50 km from the scarp. We're hoping that it might be possible to land there and cross the central part of Melville Bay this way. But disappointment looms 45 km later, when Ajakos Skaer Island turns out to be nothing more than a collection of small, flat rocks that are no taller than the waves. We are forced to paddle for a further 30 km until we reach a wide shingle beach on Thom Island. Here, in the middle of Melville Bay, we celebrate Michael's 43rd birthday. We can't imagine a better birthday present. At an altitude of 100 meters, the view is stunning from the top, and we savour the icy scenery.
Just three days later, we arrive at Kap Melville Island, which spells the end of the glacial front. The nearest settlement is 35 km away, and we set up camp next to a steep, rocky cliff among rock debris.
During the night, the east wind gathers strength. Strong katabatic winds, so-called Piteraks, are blowing across the ice sheet. Since we have made good time so far, and we reckon we have already saved a week's supplies, we rest for another day. When we want to go to our boats the next morning.......they have gone! We had left them tied up at least 4 meters above the flood line, on the cliff's leeward side. In shock, we search the expansive shoreline in the hope of finding the boats somewhere, when the full implications of what has happened hit us. Not only have we lost our kayaks, we have lost almost our entire gear. Including our satellite phone, which is still safely stashed away in one of the boats, and now probably on its way to Canada. All we have left are a tent, isomats and sleeping bags. Because we didn't want to lure polar bears to the tent, we had even left all of our food in the boats. So now we are faced with two difficult tasks. On the one hand, we must try to attract someone's attention, and on the other hand, we have to stay alive until help arrives. We are reminded of countless Hollywood movies as we assemble dark stones in a large snowfield to spell out SOS in 15-meter letters. This should be easy to spot from a plane or helicopter, or so we hope. But just a few hours later, we are frustrated to discover that the sun heats up the stones, whereupon they sink into the snow and become invisible.
We use one of our bags to make a flag, and place it at the island's highest point. But unfortunately, the flag is so small that we can barely make it out even from our camp... .
During our explorations of the island, we try different plants to still our hunger. Besides seaweed, we feed mainly on grass seed for the next few days, which has a slightly nutty flavor and therefore probably contains some fat.
We make a fishing rod out of an old nail, a piece of tinfoil and a coin, but we don't get anywhere with this, either, when we try to fish in the shallow waters around the island.
Since the nearest town, Savigsivik, is on another island, we have no way of getting there on foot. Eventually, we discover a small shelter which is being used by the Inuit during the winter hunts. Our hope is that the locals also use it in the summer. The latest notes on the walls are already 3 years old, however, which isn't very encouraging.
We move our camp to the shelter, plant a flag, and put a sign above the door so we don't miss any possible rescuers.
During the next few days, we're getting noticeably weaker from hunger, and our movements are getting slower. Especially at night, we are plagued by hunger pangs, and all our thoughts revolve around two questions: "How many days, weeks, months, until another human being passes by this place?" and "How long can I survive without food?" Luckily, we are able to distract ourselves with various chores in the daytime, so despite our low spirits and the tremendous tension, it never comes to any arguments. We are still firmly united by a common goal: we want to survive. We keep imagining that we hear motor boats in the distance, but we can't see any.
We keep imagining that we hear motor boats in the distance, but we can't see any.
Just a few hundred meters from the shelter, we come across several abandoned turf houses. The ceilings have all collapsed, but one can still picture what it must have been like to live here.
Among the debris, we even find some remains of the former inhabitants. We definitely don't want to end up like this.
Three days later, when we come out of the shelter in the morning, we can hardly believe our eyes: just a few meters in front of us, there is suddenly an Inuit kayak!
A hunter must have been here in the night without us noticing, and he must have left it there. We are sure that he will return soon and use the boat to hunt. The only question is, how soon? After a long day of waiting, we decide to build a paddle and a spraydeck, to see whether we can save ourselves by our own efforts. From the wood that's lying around and some old nails, we manage to fashion a 5-kg emergency-paddle, and the spraydeck we make out of a plastic bag.
The next day, day five since the loss of our gear, we find during a short test run that the boat is very stable in the water, and we are both ready to have a crack at the crossing. Since I'm the only one who speaks a little Danish, I end up setting off for Savigsivik, 35 km from here. My attempt almost ends in failure as early as the ring of icebergs that has formed around our bay due to the constant east wind. I have to search for a long time before I find a narrow channel between two towering icebergs, just wide enough for the kayak. I'm thinking: "What if something breaks off now...", but the next moment I'm already out in the open water.
I don't have any protective clothing anymore, and to capsize would mean certain death. So I'm doubly nervous every time break-offs from the countless icebergs cause tidal waves. The heavy paddle, which already weighed five kg when it was dry, is putting a strain on my shoulders, and I am forced to put it down for short intervals every 100 strokes or so. Still, the sleek, light boat glides along at a good pace, and six-and-a-half hours later, I reach the settlement without further mishaps. Getting out, I lose one of the bags that I used as boots, and step straight into the icy water. At this point, though, wet clothes don't matter anymore. I am safe now! I quickly find someone and tell him about my problem. He promises to help us, although he doesn't think there is any chance of a boat being sent before tomorrow because of today's Confirmation celebrations. In the meantime, I am plied with coffee and cake. Then, to my surprise, as soon as we agree on a price for the rescue operation, things happen very fast after all. Just half an hour after my arrival, I am sitting in a motor boat with one of the hunters, on my way back to Michael. When we are finally both in the boat with what's left of our belongings, the motor doesn't start. For a short while, it looks like we are going to stay stuck here. Only now, there are three of us. So we are relieved when we hear a reassuring chugging sound after the spark plugs have been taken out and dried several times. On our way back, we stop to look for seals, but the hunter has no luck today, and we reach the safety of civilization less than an hour later.
The fireworks and dance that evening may be part of the Confirmation celebrations, but we still feel a little like Asterix and Obelix, the cartoon heroes, who are celebrated in their village after they return from their exploits. People keep asking us in their broken English about our adventure. Only here, the feast consists of raw and rotting whale- and seal meat, and dovekie, as opposed to Asterix and Obelix's favorite wild boar. My stomach is struggling with these delicacies, but that's probably normal after having just been on a diet.
We spend a few more days in this small hunting community before we can continue our journey, and then, with the help of the Inuit, we travel along the coast to Thule - in a motor boat, this time.