Storyline: Hiking in Nunavut August 1-12, 1998
Wow! It’s 6:30 a.m. and I’m sitting on a rock on the shore of Eclipse Sound.
The sun is warming my back. It’s still cool enough that my breath is condensing as I exhale, but I feel warm. Between me and Bylot Island, 25 km across the Sound, but looking much closer, are two bright white icebergs. The closest rises about 150 feet from the water and looks, as Tim says, like Dick Tracy’s hat. The sun, still fairly low over my shoulder, forces its way into the folds and cracks on the surface of the icebergs, and leaves dark shadows on the white surfaces.
We arrived at about 7:30 p.m. yesterday after an uneventful but awe-inspiring trip. Ottawa to Iqaluit on a Boeing 737—a full breakfast and good service by Inuit-owned First Air. My first view of Baffin Island was through 60-70% cloud cover, giving me tantalizing glimpses of the dark land below. We bank hard right and sink to the runway…much tighter than any approach permitted at southern urban airports.
Once in the terminal, Michael heads for the store to buy postcards. Tim & I venture outside to the overcast but not unpleasant day. The temperature is about 8°C and I’m comfortable in a T-shirt and light cotton pants, the air being quite still. It feels good up here. I’m still thinking of how, as I looked down from the plane, I had a strange feeling that the dark land I had glimpses of below was ‘home’, and how my mind had dismissed the thought as romanticism.
The air has a tinge of dust about it in Iqaluit. The dust has been thrown up from the dry unpaved roads by the few cars and trucks that rumble by. Tim points out buildings and their functions—a curious blend of modern, almost alien high-tech structures and more traditional frame buildings.
We head back to the airport, and Michael tells us that it was good he stayed behind. His backpack had lost its tag and they didn’t know where to send it. Even after he told them we were going to Pond Inlet, they tried to tag it for Pangnirtung.
Our flight to Pond Inlet is supposed to leave at 2 p.m., but it looks like it will be delayed. We talk to Scott, a Venture Scout advisor and his 16-year-old son Chris, who are also headed for Pond Inlet and Bylot Island. It’s Scott’s sixth time visiting Baffin. The previous five trips were all to Auyuittuq via Broughton Island [now Qikiqtarjuaq – many places have reverted to their Inuktitut origins]. It’s Chris’s second trip to the arctic. They are making it a biannual event, and both love it. Not loving it so much is the Creative Director for an Australian advertising agency. I didn’t catch his name, but Michael spoke to him at Ottawa airport. He’s met his father in Iqaluit, then they’re going to Pangnirtung Pass via Broughton Island. It’s not his cup of tea, but he’s been dispatched by his mother who doesn’t want 70+ year-old dad to do it alone. Not a happy camper. Neither is his dad, who’s chafing at the delay—he needs to get to Broughton by 5 p.m. to get his park permit, or he’s afraid he’ll lose two of his precious ten days waiting for the office to reopen. Life in the Arctic is on Mother Nature’s schedule, not ours.
There’s not much to see from the large windows of the Hawker Siddely turboprop. The clouds have closed in as we cross the spine of the Island. But as we descend to Broughton Island, over pack ice blown onshore, it’s another incredible sight. Everything is in shades of grey as we bank back towards shore. The mountains are HUGE and the ice looks like a freshly broken jigsaw puzzle waiting for willing hands to reassemble it. We land on a sand and gravel runway and taxi to an oversized prefab airport building. It looks like the whole population has come to check us out. We disembark for a 20-minute layover, and it’s COLD and miserable and I start to question whether I’ve packed enough warm clothes. My jacket is in my backpack in the checked luggage, and all I have on (above the waist) is a T-shirt and sweatshirt (remember, I’m new at this game, and obviously not as prepared as I perhaps should be).
I snap a few photos of the ice in the harbour and the looming mountains, then breathe a sigh of relief when we are called back to the plane. We see the father and son headed for the village; the father with a purposeful stride, the son resignedly trudging along behind.
I order a cup of tea. Tastes like the bag was only dunked once, but at least it’s warm. The flight attendant is friendly. She has been since I called for her as we sat on the runway in Iqaluit, waiting for the engines to warm up and for clearance to take off. She waved that she wasn’t allowed to leave her seat, but I pointed outside the aircraft and she reluctantly unbelted and came to what I was up to. I showed her that a clip on the engine cover was not secured. The engine was shut off while the ground crew came and fixed it.
More clouds as we head northwest to Clyde River, but we get a break a few km from the airport. Those big mountains around Broughton are nothing compared to this! The stopover in Clyde River (Kanngiqtugaapik) is only five minutes. Enough for the smokers to disembark for a few quick puffs, then we’re off on the last leg. Now the view becomes awesome. The clouds begin to part and we are thrilled by the beauty and barrenness of what we are graced to see. To starboard is water. And ice. And icebergs. And coves and bays—deep gouges in the shore. To port is a field of mountains—grey and black and white. We cross one bay and have a great view of the ice blown onshore.
Crossing a narrow promontory, we see…nothing. The next bay is totally fogged-in. Up where we are, the air is clear, but it must be miserable at ground level.
We fly up a glacier-filled valley in to Pond Inlet (Mittimatalik). The mountains rise above us on both sides—it’s breathtaking.
And Pond is bathed in beautiful sunlight. It feels about as warm here as in Iqaluit. Scott & Chris have arranged their Bylot trip through Dave Reid, the same outfitter that Michael and my brother-in-law (Jim) spoke to. But Dave doesn’t remember Michael & Jim’s call. So it’s off to the co-op for camp fuel, then on to the hotel for a chat with Dave. He’s setting-up a kayaking group so he takes Scott, Chris and the three of us to the campground for the night. We’ll talk tomorrow as there’s no immediate need to make our arrangements.
The campground is a couple of km from the village. Dave drives us up the gravel airport runway and down a track. There are tent platforms (built to protect the fragile tundra), and we grab the one closest to the shore. A clear stream runs down beside the platform—our source of clear, clean drinking and cooking water, fresh from a glacier upstream. It’s now about 9 p.m. The sun is still high and Bylot Island is lit up for us. The icebergs are a picture-postcard touch as we make camp. We’re also very hungry, so it’s chili and bagels for dinner, then a quick haul up the hill behind the campsite before we pack it in at about 11:30. The sun is still shining, and I’m feeling great at the end of the first day.
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