East Greenland an expedition. My 8th adventure from Macmillan Cancer Support, 2006.

It’s often said that Inuit’s have around one hundred words to describe snow and ice, but if you include rain in that equation then there are probably many more words in the English language for inclement weather, as our weather is just as important to us as a nation. Most of Inuit words describe the condition of the snow and ice, in very much the same way that we describe the British weather conditions. Feathery clumps of falling snow are “qanipalaat” where as an icy mist is “pujurak” and wet snow on top of ice is “putsinniq” .Since 80% of Greenland is covered in ice, the fall of snow and movement of ice affects the Inuit’s lives in every respect. Their whole lives revolve around hunting for seal on the ice flows with their dog sledges and the seasonal break up of sea ice for fishing.

The Greenland ice sheet covers 1,710,000 square kilometers (660,235 sq mi), and is nearly 3 km thick in some places. Although the huge domed icecap depresses the land mass with its weight, the highest points still rise to around 3,000km. The present ice sheet is around 110,000 years, but there has probably been ice covering the land for around 18 million years. It was at one time much thicker than it is now but with what is often referred to as global warming enough fresh water melts on the icecaps each year to cover a country the size of Germany a meter deep. Melt water collects in a number of fast flowing blue rivers high on the icecap and pours into huge mile deep holes called moulins at a rate of around 42 million litres each day.

Although summer comes for a brief few months, snow actually falls in Greenland in every month of the year. Annual precipitation is substantially heavier in the south than in the northern part of the island, which is relatively arid. Since the temperature of the inland ice mass averages only 10 degrees Fahrenheit even in July, very little of the ice is lost by melting. Instead, the snow continues to accumulate, gradually compressing into ice. Although the sun can become extremely warm on a clear day high on the icecaps and the surface of the ice melts and forms small rivulets that eventually form larger streams.  Strangely enough the surface of Greenland rises at a rate of around 5.4cm per year probably due to the heavy falls of snows which accumulates on the icecaps and form ice. In fact the whole of the earth’s history can be told by taking ice core samples though a mile of pressurized snow. Great events such as volcanic eruptions and nuclear explosions are all recorded in the layers like a quilt on a bed. 

It’s difficult to calculate how much snowfall Greenland receives each year as the winds which are often hurricane force blow the snow about the surface.  Although the quantity of snowfall differs immensely from year to year it’s probably in the region of around one to three meters each year. Strangely there is evidence that increased snowfall, caused by global warming, may cause snow and ice to accumulate in Greenland’s interior, more than offsetting the increased melting on Greenland’s perimeter where glaciers appear to be disappearing into the sea at an alarming rate.

One may ask the question, is the idea of our icecaps melting a very real one? Maybe, if the entire icecap in Greenland was to melt then the oceans would rise by 15m (45 feet) and an awful lot of Britain would be under water! If this was to be the case I wanted to see Greenland before it lived up to its name.

I had planned to visit East Greenland, a place of wide empty spaces, glaciers, mountains and stories of both folk law and Viking history. The previous year I had been captivated by the great expanses of silvery ice that I had seen from the window of my aeroplane on my way to California.  It was at that point that a plan to return to trek here had formed, gathering momentum and becoming an obsession. The only company that ran treks there were “High Places”, who offered an expedition grade trek over 17 days. There was just one small problem, I had never used an ice axe and crampons before and the rucksack I would carry appeared heavier than me. I knew that I would have to train with my pack to be able to climb mountains and the cross vast expanses of wilderness that made East Greenland so remote and beautiful.

Months before I could not even lift the rucksack up to place it on my shoulders and now I was arriving in a small plane from Iceland with the other 14 members of my group. Our expedition leader, Asty and his lovely Canadian girlfriend, who had been a trained outpost nurse on Baffin Island, were waiting for us at the tiny Kulusuk airport. loading our bags onto the small  intuit fishing boats, the cold gave way to excitement and awe as we weaved our way through the narrow fjords, beautifully decorated with beep blue, streaked  icebergs. Arriving at Llinnera, which means, “the crossing between two fjords”, it seemed strange and even frightening to be left here on these remote shores alone with only our rucksacks and each other. We headed off to our first camp above the shores of a clear lake surrounded by the green slopes of flower covered mountains. Here Greenland’s national flower, Nivarsaq grow in abundance, it’s hues of pink rich in the summer sunshine. 

It was no wonder that Erik the Red gave Greenland it’s contrary name believing that others would follow him after his extradition from Iceland for murdering another Viking. Although Greenland was covered in ice and ringed by tundra, stories of a land of west of Greenland reached his son Leif Eriksson. Newfoundland was farmed by those who travelled with him to plant berries and vines here. Vinland as it was known became home many settlers who travelled on long ships. The idea of Greenland as a green and pleasant land never really court on and if was left to the Inuit.

Having survived the journey in three small power boats, driven by our jolly Inuit boatman who seemed intent on racing each other through the fjords without a care in the world, it was good to be back on dry land, although it was a strange feeling to be left on the remote shores of a desolate and unpopulated land. The little boats left us with our huge bags and only each other for company for the next two weeks and we followed their departure with a strange mix of excitement and unspoken concern.

After walking for two or three hours we stopped to pitch our tents and on a gently slopping hillside with delightful views across a clear mountain lake.  Having already acquainted ourselves with each other in Iceland the previous evening we were already forming friendships and were well into our tent partner’s curiosities. Anne-Marie was to be my tent partner for the duration of the trip and proved to be a delightful one in every way, although I'm not too sure if she ever got used to the smell of my solitary pair of socks.

We took turns in making dinner for the group in the evenings, but Asty kindly produced a very tasty meal on the first evening, while we sussed out the workings of the petrol burning primus stove. I soon realised that I had the smallest cup and bowl in camp but this worked well for me as I was usually offered seconds before anyone else.

Our second day was once again bright and sunny which made walking a happy occupation even though our rucksacks were extremely heavy. Soft low bushes and brightly coloured flowers were abounding. Tiny snow buntings darted about in the long sweet grass and the valley was fresh and alive. We walked on to another smaller lake where a pair of Canada geese delighted us with their antics. It was a fairly easy day walking along the Ikaasaalap llinnera valley; the tussock grass tickled our ankles as we followed the river. Beautiful mountain scenery surrounded us, changing dramatically as we neared the bay.  To our surprise, ice sculptures littered the mouth of the river, washing up on the beach as life size natural sculptures of dolphins, birds, whales and even Mickey mouse. Each tiny piece of washed up iceberg; perfectly carved by the effects of the sea. 

We were fascinated by the deep blue hues and changing shapes. Even after we had made camp we were once again off to investigate the ice show that covered the beach. While waiting for an Inuit boat to bring some extra supplies a seal joined us on his icy viewing platform and rolled about in the rare evening sun enjoying the gentle warmth. The Inuit boat was late as it had been distracted by good seal hutting in the area, they hadn't been successful, which saddened them although we were happy that our seal had made it through another Arctic day. In the sea around Greenland there are five species of seal, Ringed, Harp, Hooded, Breaded and Common. I'm not sure what variety of seal ours was but his two top predators being man and the polar bear were never far away.  Life is always a hard one for a seal, it didn't look particularly hard lying on your back with a expression of absolute bliss, but unless you are a fox in the Arctic it probably about as hard as it comes.

Although we had already drawn straws and made cannibalistic plans as to who would be eaten first.  Asty found some spare emergency rations and Anne-Marie and myself made a very expectable meal of dehydrated mince and instant mash with it, followed by instant custard. When the boat came we were quick to receive the new supplies of food and petrol and the Intuits were once again off to hunt the evasive seal.

It was a perfect evening, still with a golden sunset over the distant icecap; we stayed up late enjoying the transformation of the sky and slept lightly to the murmur of rolling icebergs. Occasionally a huge serac would brake away from the glacier that extended from the frozen icecap that made a geological theatre of glistening ice on the opposite side of the fjord. We would jump in our sleeping bags and as the boom softened snuggle down into the warm folds of soft down that comforted us.

As the next day was wet, visibility on the peak behind us was dubious so we did not make an ascent of it as scheduled. Instead we enjoyed the beauty of the area, moving on to a nearby camp, making trips in the rain to hunt for flowers and Arctic birds and developing friend ships. One of the lads even entertained us with a quick dip in a small lake.  As we had to carry all our food, tents and equipment, things like extra clothes and books had been either left behind or prioritised. I had decided to manage with one spare pair of knickers and socks for the two weeks and a copy of “The Mountains of my life” by Walter Bonatti.  Strangely enough out of all the books available to read, two copies of this book made it on the expedition, with the six people who decided to bring a book along. It was a great book as it had nearly 500 pages and plenty of room for my own drawings on the blank spaces. As for socks and personal hygiene Anne-Marie and I made a pact that unwashed socks, bodies and wet woollies would not come between our friendships as long as they stayed on our own side of the tent.

It wasn't a big area in the tent either and with our rucksack wedged in the small area behind our heads and our wet clothes and boots in the other small vestibule we were happy with our lot.  As the days went by we would often find ourselves having to ring out our clothes before we put them back on cold and wet. It wasn't long before they dried anyway as it was always windy and our clothes being lightweight fluttered about like we were preparing to parachute off the open ridges.

A small Arctic fox in full summer coat was happy to visit our tents and tried desperately to get any food that might be left around. He didn't far well as we were always terribly hungry from carrying our huge rucksacks over demanding terrain,  although Asty had a kind heart and would tell us not to feed them but tack titbits up onto the hill above as peace offerings.  He would still find his way into camp and steal random things such as our plates, poles and socks. We would chase him all over to get our one and only plate back as there was no way of replacing it out in the wilderness. Identifying the wildlife is always a pleasant pastime and Asty had a delightful manor of delivering information in a quiet and pleasant tone. I lent a lot by listening to him and we often shared our insight and knowledge of the wild places we had visited.

Just out of interest there are two species of Arctic fox the Blue and the White. Ours was a light brownie grey in colour and was most likely a white fox as the Blue is much darker in the summer. Being carnivores their diet is mostly small mammals such as Lemmings or berries, fish and molluscs. They often scavenge on Polar bear leftovers and their numbers drop dramatically when the Lemming population decreases.

The following morning Anne-Marie and I decided to make an early start and surprise everyone with a cuppa; we collected some water from a nearby stream and proceeded to light one of the primus stoves. It was a bit of an ordeal as we hadn't expected the burst of flames that came from the joining tube. That small brown fox had nibbled his way through the stove as it smelt irresistibly of food. Fortunately we had a spare but it made cooking more difficult for a group of 15 with only one stove.

We were to head off inland today along the shores of a wild river outlet up past a lake and onto the head of Amitsivartiva fjord which means the narrow place.  Unfortunately since the first day one of our group had picked up an injury and decided that he could not continue with his painful leg injury and having to carry a heavy rucksack over an unrelenting landscape. Asty left us in the safe hands of his Canadian partner and made provision for a pick up, Inuit style for our unfortunate friend.  When Asty join us some hours later he confessed to us that he had had to leave him in a small hut with enough provisions for a week as it could take some time before he was rescued. We later found that same friend back in Reykjavik, Iceland, having only just made it to the hospital after nearly two weeks. You really don’t want to pick up an injury out there!

Now down to 13 of us and only one leader, whose only instruction had been to keep to the left of the valley we found ourselves at a wide river delta. The area of river crossing was spread over about a mile, the river having broken into swift freezing streams of various size and difficulty. After looking at our choices I decided to follow an old a wryly kiwi, who although dressing in what looked like an elf costume from Santa’s grotto, was good at finding easy roots and didn't falter when challenges came his way. We took off our boots and waded though the open freezing waters lower down the river. Although there was a lot more of it, it was do able, whereas up stream the others were realising their era as a crossing would not only be dangerous but impossible up near the falls.

After about an hour in the water my feet were so cold that I had lost all feeling in them. This lasted for the rest of the day and by lunchtime I was not only feeling unwell with girls problems but it had started to rain heavily once more and my feet had started to develop trench foot, a painful problem from staying in cold wet socks for five days. It wasn't only me who was relieved to see camp, several others had also developed this problem with their feet, but bravely no one shared stories of their aches and pains. Those who could make it down to the bay went in search of a food drop but once again returned empty handed. We all took refuge in our tents, striping off our cold, wet clothes and shivered, naked in our sleeping bags, only putting our wet gear back on to dash to the call of nature if it was entirely necessary.

Time went by and we had resolved our selves to the idea that we would be sleeping with empty stomachs that night, but Asty obviously had other thoughts. We heard the clatter of cooking and muffled voices, muted by the steady patter of rain on the tent. Then one of the lads uttered the most wonderful sentence I have ever heard “Give us your cups girls” and he appeared a few minutes later with steaming hot cups of soup and great slabs of rye bread. Just this would have been a bountiful bonus, but our six saviours returned a little later with a call of “Well, let’s have your bowls then”. Two small bowls of dinner was posted under the tent door. We both looked hungrily at them in the din light. I honestly had never contemplated having had such a meal before, pasta mixed with a combination of tinned pilchards, sardines and mackerel. Well it was food and it was hot! So we ate ever last bit and then enjoyed one final pleasure; a cup of tea. Although very satisfied with our friends endeavours we asked cheekily if they could go to the toilet for us, but this was the one thing we had to do for ourselves.

My feet had been my main concern; they had burnt terribly in the night and had been almost impossible to walk on during the evening. Each hour through the night I’d rubbed them with antiseptic cream, hoping that they would not let me down the following day. We woke to more rain but I put on my dry, waterproof socks, took the tents down, ate breakfast, hoisted our heavy rucksacks on our backs and headed off down to the bay were we would start our climb. Asty had known that we all needed a good meal in us that night as the next day was to be a long and difficult one.

I’m always careful now not to make a suitcase too heavy to carry. I think it must go back to carrying one a heavy backpack Greenland! From below, the cliff looked vertical and appeared to continue on up into the leaden sky forever. The clouds filled the skyline like grey wolves among the trees in an ancient forest.

Somehow, I am not sure where either my strength or courage came from; I made it up that rocky face to the huge plateaux that lay stretched out before me. It was a magnificent day, marching along, on that four billion year old rock. I kept wondering just how many people had ever trodden those rocks before me and in my heart I knew the answer was probably just a handful. The views were vast, mountains and glaciers to the south and east and the immense inland icecap that covers Greenland to the north and west. Between us lay the great Sermilik (Egede og Rothe Fjord), forever moving forward its great burden of dying icebergs destined for an Atlantic voyage, unlike any other. We enjoyed a gargantuan lunch of great hunks of black rye bread, cheese, salami and jam upon an extensive table of immeasurable flat rocks, watching the blue and white icebergs floating as if in a still summer sky in the fjord below. It was a perfect place to be, and so each with our own thoughts we shambled on like old men, bent over by the weight of our rucksacks. Finally descending to Tinitequilaaq, a tiny town of about one hundred inhabitants, here we intended spending a rest day and the pleasure of a shower.

Our camping site was not quite what we were used to, a sloping, grassy area behind the town that rested between the graveyard and the refuge dump, space obviously being a premium in this boundless country. The problem in Greenland is permafrost; for most of the year the land is under snow and ice, which only melts on the surface as the summer’s warmth warms the earth, never reaching the rocks below. Graves are dug shallow and close to the warmth of habitation and rubbish burnt alongside the beautiful still waters this Arctic paradise. For the first time in over a week we saw children playing football in a muddy street, people scuttling in and out of grimy wooden buildings and shared our camp site with a group of German climbers and redundant Greenland husky dogs.

After erecting our tents we girls trundled off to shower in the communal washhouse and communal in was. We five girls, cleansed by the delicious warmth of clean shower water, called to the boys that it was their turn and headed back to make tea at camp. I was chosen as water collector, there being a very large number of chained dogs laying in wait before the waterfall. The dogs snapped and barked furiously, I could feel their sharp white teeth brushing the surface of my waterproof trousers, but tea was needed and Asty had stressed that it must come from the falls as it was contaminated once it passed the dogs’ liar. The German climbers looked perplexed at what they had witnessed and offered the small stream that trickled through their camp, but in clear English I told them that tea was needed in the British camp (this wasn't technically truthful as we had in our numbers an older New Zealander and an Australian) and only the freshest water would do. They gave me the most incredulous look and shaking heads they waved me on. I didn't volunteer for water duties again whilst we resided there and only Asty seemed brave enough to venture into emery territory. The problem was in guessing just how long their chains were, each seemed to have a different length and some lunged at ones derrière more quickly than others.

As circumstances took over we ended up having to decamp the very next day. I was singled by my group from the top of a ridge above town to quickly descend, pack away the tent and hop into a waiting powered fishing boat that quickly crossed the water to the island that we were to cross the following week.  The others followed and after the boat had made its third and final trip, the jolly Inuit fisherman waved us farewell and we started our ascent of the first mountainous slope. We had left early as the weather forecast had changed for the better and we looked forward to some fine clear weather in the days ahead.

That day seemed to go on forever, but it was good to be continuing our journey on foot across this beautiful wild land. Everywhere here the glaciers shone in the sunlight. That night we camped by a river and sleep the sleep that only the wiry do upon rocky hillocks. We had explored the area the night before without our heavy bags and watched a prefect sunset leaving us with both delightful memories and worrying thoughts. The rocks here were as big as small cars; they looked as if holiday makers had filled them with cases that had subsequently tumbled out and fallen in the spaces. It was difficult to jump these with a fully laden rucksack and not fall between them, so I had no other choice other than to do just that. By the time we reached the glacier I was well experienced at falling and jumping the first rather wide bottomless gap in the ice, I was warned by Asty not to fall in the crevasse.  With my legs dangling on the lip of the abyss and my heart leaping I was chastised by our lovely gentle leader in soft but firm words, not to do that again, but I think he knew in his heart the it was inevitable that this would be repeated by me at least a few more times.

The icecap was glorious; deep blue rivulets and icy turquoise pools greeted our every step. We almost splashed our way across as the sun rising high in the deepest magenta sky, melted the ice into soft slippery streams. On we went up and over the Mittivakkar glacier. Lunch was spent in another idyllic spot with towering dark peaks laced by iced skirts. Deep pools reflected the images and doubled the raw beauty of the scenery. There inevitably was more wobbly rock jumping in the afternoon (there are no footpaths here and nothing has been tested by others before, it’s like crossing a room full of furniture that has been heaped in a corner and strewn about precariously) and plenty of tiny trees and bushes to wade through. Over the next few days we edged along tiny paths clinging to great rounded rocks jutting high above lakes, climbed mountains, watched great northern divers in equally great lakes where we camped blissfully in golden sunlight and covered in a coating of flies.

Happy that we had found our next supply of food we set about making an evening meal. The flies were like tormentors here beside the lake. It was our teams turn to cook once again and there was a plentiful supply of heavy cheese and more tins of ham, so that’s what we had and ate it with pasta in a rather gooey sauce that I made. The others went around like zombies flinging their arms about, casting off the clouds of flies while hidden in their net hooded facial disguises. To the flies it must have looked a rather bizarre event, to witness such strange human apparitions devouring food from under there hoods. I myself preferred to face the flies in the flesh, they didn't seem to bite me, perhaps on account of my lack of current personal hygiene.

Unfortunately not all our prearranged food stores had survived the six week storage period and all the bread had become rather like green lumps of rock covered in fur. Our challenge that night, when making visits to the “toilet” was to find as many deep cracks in the rocks as possible to hide the rotten bread. The Arctic foxes would find it and enjoy it when times were hard. We choose to eat the plentiful supply of chocolate hobnob biscuits instead!

The following day we were to undertake another climb. It was wet, cold and very miserable. A few of the group decided to stay in the windowless food shelter but I decided to take my chances out in the wild weather. We crossed a large stream, rushing, white and numbing, its sharp claws piercing and biting our chilled legs as we humbly dug pole or ice axe into its depths, barely managing to stay upright in the tumbling flow.  Then the climb began, no one wanted to quit and so up we went, higher and higher into the snow and freezing rain. We sat numbed eating half frozen bread and cheese and climbed a little higher until our dear kiwi made the brave decision to call it a day. We all followed without hesitation. Our unnamed peak, remained unclimbed too.

The weather had improved the following day and the long walk around inland lakes, reviled their beauty. Dwarf birch, tiny willows, crowberry, blueberry and Arctic river beauty all combined in soft greens and gentle pinks. Alpine ladies mantel, harebells, sorrel, angelica and rose root were woven into ancient rocks in the tumbling terrain. We wondered through a little canyon and emerged at the shores of yet another lake. Walking along the lakes edge was difficult enough but carrying a huge rucksack up over the difficult slabby rocks here, pulled us over and a made every one of us slip and grasp the razor sharp edges of jutting rocks. We looked down on the dark water, lapping at the slides in little eddies and watched two Great northern divers with young on their backs, glide across the wide lake. 

Finally after several days of walking we came to our last lake. A short climb brought us over a rocky knoll and dropping down a board gully our last camp site at Nordfjord was insight. It seemed almost impossible that we had made it this far, over snow, rock, ice and water but our adventure hadn't ended yet. Looking up at supper time we stared upon the mountain of Imertivap Qaqqartivaa (Sofia’s Fjeld). How were we to climb this mountain of snowy slopes and rocky ledges? We slept on our thoughts and woke early to discover its secrets. The climb was interesting; cutting steeps into the soft snow and working our way up around deep blue pools that’s waters melted from glacial ice. Looking down we saw the fjords with silent icebergs drifting, cool and clear and clouds drifted over to blanket the glaciers below. High above our challenge was at its peak, it appeared that all of Greenland lay before us in this frozen land. With grasps of breath I made the top and trembled with deep fatigue, cool tears covered my face and warmed my heart. I had made it! Now a quick decent was called for and we used our Ice axes as anchors to ski on the heels of our mountaineering boots. It was quick indeed and soon we were gobbling warm, fresh bread delivered by the Inuit’s fishing boat. Quickly we took down our tents and leapt into their boats for they had hasty plans to make for Tasiilaq.

Tasiilaq, (formerly Ammassalik) which means “that which looks like a lake” is the largest village in East Greenland with a population of around 1500 people. The people here live in colourful wooden dwellings and make a living from fishing and hunting. We stayed in a small house and slept on dry wooden floors with a bucket in a cupboard for a toilet. Here the bucket is collected everyday by a van on the only road in town. The boys went down to the wash house and I asked the other girls, who had a proper house if I could borrow their bathroom to quickly shower off a weeks’ worth of dirt and grim. The men forgave me for being a girl but refused my socks entry to our humble abode. I had worn the same socks and pants for over two weeks as clothes were just too heavy for me to carry. 

The next day I explored the island alone and watched a helicopter resupplying a settlement on its far shores, it was finally warm and sunny and now time to go home. On final boat ride through the mighty icebergs back to the airport and a long flight up to Point Constable in the far artic, over a multitude of glaciers, innumerable crevasses of the deepest Colbert and incalculable mountains, countless and still.  In inhospitable environment but who beauty was immense and untold. We journeyed home via Reykjavik in Iceland and learnt that more travesties had happened in our world. Controls on hand luggage were at a zero point and everything had to be placed in the hold. It had been strange that we had been so completely removed from the civilized world but also an amazing experience.