This is the majestic view I have from my window on this, the longest day of the year

Qaanaaq —
Today was the longest day of the year. Up here, since the sun has not set for many weeks, this means that the sun reaches its highest rotational zenith; if there were a night, it would have been the shortest. And given the splendid sunny weather we have had all day, this really did feel like a long day!
Summer solstice coincides, not by accident, with Greenland’s national day. It is a national holiday marked by local community celebrations. In Qaanaaq, the whole village gathers for some recitations, singing and food for everyone.
Qaanaaq is a town of six hundred people (a correction from my earlier description: there are approximately two hundred dwellings here, and not fifty); all of them came out to celebrate. Some wore the traditional seal or bear skin outfits–just the pants or jacket: given the 10C degrees, they might have suffocated had they worn the entire outfit. The food served was raw whale; I took a pass, having tried it before… but they seemed to enjoy it.
I spoke with a few of them and discussed how early thaws and a changing climate is affecting Inuit culture. Life is tough for an Inuit to whom hunting and fishing on the ice is virtually the only means of survival. With an early thaw, their very existence is endangered. It isn’t just the bears…
An ice fog shrouded the sea ice on and off all day, but never went past the beach. Only the peaks of the tallest icebergs were visible above the white sheet, and I sat on a rock for an hour contemplating the extraordinary views. It was silent and peaceful; a welcomed calm to follow the intense focus of the last forty days. And a great way to rest my sore legs! The fog eventually cleared revealing some new large cracks in the bay, and considerably more water by the shore than two days ago. I am relieved to have ventured when I did–our first night here–in spite of the fatigue and hesitation I felt then. The weather has not been like then again since, in the way that I like to shoot ice: overcast. And given the accelerated melt, it is unlikely that I could get out now. I got it by a narrow margin, and the photo result– arresting! As they say: why plan for tomorrow what you can do today…

The Bay That Time Forgot

Qaanaaq–
It is always a tad unsettling to find yourself in a mirror after a long stretch of abstention. Not that you miss it, or think about it much. Which is perhaps partly why, when that reflection eventually stares back at you, you may find yourself in front of distant, slightly older relative. Forty days is long enough to have to get re-acquainted. Who is that strange bearded fella? And what’s he looking at? You lookin’ at me…?
For one thing, he is considerably thinner. Though there is no scale in the bare bone cabin that is our home (until the weekly Wednesday flight that will move us from Qaanaaq), and the mirror is quite small, it looks like I may have lost about fifteen pounds. Considering I’d lost twenty two after walking to the North Pole last year (over thirty five days), fifteen pounds in forty days is an improvement. Almost twenty five percent better, in fact! Regardless, now comes the time to put some weight back on, especially with the South Pole coming up in November…
A word on the physical toll of this type of trip: overall, the body fared pretty well. The strain was mostly in the feet, chins and knees. The flat of both Eric’s and my feet is pretty numb, and will likely remain so for a couple of months. This is especially the case for the left foot, and particularly the big toe. Eighty percent of the trip was made on one tack, and that toe is the last point of stress when setting the downwind ski’s edge against the kite.
Chins, one ankle and the knees are also sore or numb, which is hardly surprising considering we often spent ten to twelve hours a day–and often more–strapped tightly in ski boots. No matter how comfortably customized–thanks to my pals at Doc’s Ski Haus in Los Angeles!–it remains hard plastic!
Numbness also in the fingers which I account mostly to photographing, as is customary for me. No frostbites this time, though! The two index fingers are also numb from struggling to launch the handle kite–Yakuza–in low winds!
Finally, muscle soreness and fatigue especially in the shoulders and the legs, though I think the latter has a good deal to do with the natural Stairmaster of going up and down the mountain–twice–with heavy loads in the final two days. Yumi and Ron, if you are reading this: you would be proud of that routine!
Apart from the slight atrophy that comes from under using some muscle groups (chest, triceps) while over using others (core, legs, back) while losing weight, I am pleased by the absence of serious strain, or injury…
I ventured out alone on the sea ice last night, and spent all night in the company of the giants. I set off at one AM, with some apprehension as to the stability of the bay, seeing as I got trapped once in the middle of a frozen bay, alone, as it broke up before me and moved out to sea– with me on it! It remains one of the more intense experiences of my travels. I armed myself with the sat phone and a GPS and a number to the local police; two flares, in case of an encounter with Mr. bear; some food bars and liquid; warm clothes; and my cameras!
The greater challenge was getting past the rough ice that hugs the shore and breaks with the ebb and flow of the tides. Large and small chunks of ice are pressed together, but not bonded, with areas of open water. The trick is not to pick the pieces that will instantly roll when you step on them; or calculate the risk of stepping briskly onto them as a bridge! This goes on for the first two hundred feet or so from the beach. Once past that, the sea ice is relatively stable; the terrain mixes a multitude of puddles with the occasional open crack. Those are the ones to watch in determining the type of current, if any, and whether they are widening. A change is generally very subtle; but if they widen, my thought is: run–back to shore…! Luckily this did not happen and it looks like the sea ice will be here for another couple of weeks. An Inuit here shared with me yesterday that the bay used to break up in August; but in the last few years, it has been breaking in early July due to the warming temperatures. This shortens the Inuit’s ability to hunt on the ice, which traditionally makes for the best hunting opportunity (same for the bears, by the way) which they carry out with dogsleds. The melting starts their fishing season earlier, also, but the fish are more and more scarce…
Walking on the frozen sea, surrounded by icebergs the size of multiple stories buildings is a little bit like walking in an enchanted land where time stood still. The monolithic pieces of ice were spat out too late in the season by the nearby glaciers. As a result, they got caught by the freeze and wintered out in the bay instead of floating out to meet their demise early. To walk amongst them (occasionally up to them) stuck as they are in one spot, reminded me of the scene in The Matrix when Lawrence Fishburn trains Keanu Reeves how to stop the illusion of time and maneuver around it–to dodge bullets, for instance! It was that, or a set from Ice Age! It’s an arresting visual experience, which connects vividly with the spirit of the ice. These sleeping giants are headed to their inescapable fate; they are just buying time…
I spent six hours in their midst and walked for miles–distances can be deceiving–and made my way back, in the rain, around seven AM!
Along with some new images for my next book. I made it safely back to shore and sneaked into bed to give my sore legs some relief… A good night’s work!

About to lift off from the adventure

N77°28.015 W69°12.601

You always remember your firsts. You first drive. Your first suit. Your first kiss. Your first love… And forty days on the ice, living in a tent isolated from the rest of the world is plenty enough time to make you re-discover a lot things, as if for the first time.
We did not bother setting up the tent last night, given the nature of the terrain: rocky, uneven and sloped. Instead, we spread our mats, laid out our sleeping bags and slept in the open, a flare close by in the event of a wandering bear! It was bright and sunny at four AM when I turned over. At eight thirty I called the pilot confirming clear local visibility and our 1100 hours pick-up.
I made another important call; set up a time lapse on my camera; and fell back asleep, dialing my internal clock for a ten forty five wake up.
“It’s coming over the glacier!”, I heard Eric shout. In a daze, I shot up to the fast approaching deep thumping of the helicopter’s rotors. It was 1040 hours; and twenty minutes early! I wanted the approach on film and jumped to my camera just in time for the craft’s final approach–and caught it by a hair!
The pilots greeted us warmly and enthusiastically, wanting to hear details of the trip.
“After such a long journey, I thought you boys might appreciate one of these!”, said one as he walked out of the cockpit holding two cans of Coca-Cola! The first pop…! Ironically, I had told Eric not a week prior, that one of the things that I crave after an extended trip on the trail for some reason–is a Coke!
We gathered our things, packed them in, and boarded the craft. Our first proper seat…! The rotors began slicing the air; the thumping grew faster, and louder; the machine shook as we slowly lifted off. And pulled away from the ground that we had gotten to know so well. In no time, the helicopter dove forward and the earth below started racing by. I looked over at Eric who put his thumb up, which I echoed. And I turned to the window to take in the bird’s eye view of what we had just covered on foot. It always looks so easy from above… I saw the rocky slopes we negotiated; the patches of snow we slid down; our campsite by the glacier; and in the distance, beyond the multitude of crevasses, I saw the ice sheet we were leaving–alluring, gigantic and forlorn.
Soon, more icescapes sped below us: glaciers scarred by crevasses pulling down to valleys below; ice rivers snaking through them with bright blue hues; giant moraines, dwarfing the glaciers with the sizes and reach that they once held; and small, domed ice sheets which could just as well have been scratched with our skis–but were not. From up here, everything begins to look the same…
Qaanaaq is a small Inuit settlement, about twenty minutes by helicopter from the bay we had reached. It is separated from Greenland’s main ice sheet by a valley, with a river slicing across it, pouring a torrent of melt water into the ocean. Qaanaaq is not directly reachable by ice from where we came from. Its airport is a patch of dirt, serviced once a week by Greenland Airlines. Our helicopter was dispatched from Thule airforce base, about an hour away.
We said our farewells and boarded a van that took us to our accommodations until Wednesday, for our plane out of here. I could not help but notice the exhaust smell from the vehicle’s tail pipe. Our first fumes…!
The village, which assembles perhaps fifty dwellings amongst its dirt streets, is dominated by the bay. Still hard, the sea ice holds trapped some gigantic icebergs, many the size of city blocks, fading away in the distance. It looks like a frozen valley of the giants that time forgot. I will venture out on it tonight and capitalize on this remarkable shooting opportunity.
The little house we’re are staying in is a sort of prefab affair, riddled with black flies, with no sewage but a plastic bag! In that respect, I almost prefer the outdoors…! We rushed to the market as it was about to close for the weekend to get food for the next few days. I found myself staring aimlessly at rows of product, dazed and overwhelmed by the quantity of choices (and this is a small market!) Our first commercial experience…
But mostly, I wanted to get back to our digs, throw everything in the washer, myself included! The first first shower! Now this is a first I have been waiting for! Next is the first kiss…