Three days or a lifetime?

Many accounts, narratives, etc., from the Arctic hold common themes of quest and defeat, aspirations and accomplishments. A disconnect to the landscape itself develops as the land often fills the role of adversary. The lands' indifference to human life makes it a target of contempt. Somthing to be conquered or overcome. The landscape is reduced to a stage for the exposition of a personality or for scientific (guilty) or economic theory, or national or personal competitions (oil, minerals, race to the pole, etc.). The land becomes a tool; something to exert oneself against; to cast one's character in the light of enobling ideals; to sojourn among exotic things; to make collections and erect monuments. Rare were ventures to the north without a thought of ownership or utility. Few endeavors or travelers lacked timetables of accomplishment. With every expeditoin into the landscape, however, the hope of a fresh experience, that the land would reveal istself, or that feelings of beauty or solitude would penetrate deeply. Allowing the land to be a source of wisdom requires perceiving it's light and dark side. Or not conforming the land to binary categories (light/dark, continuity/change, surface/depth, right/wrong) in the first place. As I have written in a previous post, we all apprehend the land imperfectly, even when we go to the trouble to wander in it. Our perceptions are colored by preconceptions and desire.

So I am one of those travelers whose prescence is dictated by a timetable. And my views are colored with my own preconceptions and desires. Despite this, will attempt to relay the experience of the past three days...

On Sunday morning I interviewed a local hunter that moonlights as a dogsled tour guide. Dines (pronounced DEE-ness), born and raised here on the east coast of Greenland, has good English skills and the interview went so well that he invited me on a day trip to a nearby settlement to pick up his sled dogs. In my mind 'day' menat we'd return before the day was over and 'dogs' meant the plural of dog (more than one, maybe six?). From the 10AM interview we scrambled to ready ourselves for the improptu trip. I tossed some warm clothes and my camera in a backpack. My inquiries about bringing a sleeping bag, toothbrush, contact solution (overnight supplies) were met with 'no, no, we'll return'. I then served as porter and financial backer of the expedition, as we spent the next three hours driving people around town (Tasiilaq), buying fuel & groceries, and and hauling bags for a family that would be following us to the settlement (Isertoq) in a seperate boat. Their boat resembled a miniture tugboat. Emphasis on miniture considering they were a family of three generations and nine total.

As Dines and I departed Tasiilaq, I wondered aloud why the family needed to follow us?

Because of the sea ice, of course. It was safer to travel in tandom in case the sea ice was too thick and we had to turn back or were trapped in the ice.

Wait what? Sea ice? Suddenly Dines' meager boat looked even smaller. Trapped? Aha, the first hint that our 'day' trip could be anything but. Thoughts of my sleeping bag, or rather the absence of, were quickly swept away by the awe-inspiring ice choked waters. The scene reminded me of a quote about encountering such striking and humbling beauty that the observer is left with the feeling that their life was but a prelude to witnessing such beauty. I wouldn't go so far as to say I have lived soley to experience that moment of sailing into the icy mountain fringed waters, but it was close.

Boating in the ice

Needless to say, I took many pictures and even video, which I must post at a later date. Despite Dines extreme skill in weaving/racing in and through large and small icebergs, I couldn't help but nervously cringe as loud thunks and chunks struck the boat. The journey was breathtaking and several times we found ourselves between large ice chunks, the motor churning at full throttle trying to power us to open water. At the exact moment my mind was considering how easily the boat could be punctured by ice, Dines, reading my mind, volunteered that the boat was enforced with seven centimeters of extra casing to protect the hull. I have no idea if this was plenty or lacking, but I decided to let it be a good thing. Full throttle was proving tutile, so I was dispatched to the front to hack at the ice and navigate the boat Venice-style. Going was slow and we reversed our course or dead-ended like a mouse in a maze. Sunny skies and calm winds laxed our pace and I basked in the adventure. As the ice began to ease and our boat accelerated, Dines inadvertantly tested my blood pressure and nervous system during a three second span in which he spotted a flock of Eider ducks, snatched up his shotgun, and fired both cartridges. Two shots, three fowl. All while cruising at 40km/hr and in an instant.

Swift moving ice and closing gaps seperated the following family from our trail, but judging by Dines reaction this was completely normal. We stopped in an area of relatively sparsely 'berged water and had a late lunch. A shear vertical wall bordered the 'cove' where we stopped for lunch and just happened to be a favorite seal hunting spot of Dines. After lunch we trolled around quietly in search of seal. The hunting here differed greatly from that which I did in Nuuk. Seal is a staple of the diet and this particular day Dines' dog were awaiting food (seal) in the settlement. Thus we had to get a seal. We would hunt until we had one. We spotted a total of around twelve over the course of three hours, with Dines taking two. Dines and a seal
The seals he shot turned out to be small, but combined with the now four Eider ducks (a favorite food of Dines's girlfriend) in the boat, Dines was satisfied. We continued on towards Isertoq, now weaving around islands and inlets in addition to the icebergs. During our hunt the other family had passed us and we caught up to them hunting edible Rose Root plant on a rocky shore (pictures of the seal, plant, etc. at a later date). Rose root tastes like something you'd find in a fresh salad, similar to a spinach taste but bitter. After the plant hunting, we continued on to Isertoq, with the icecap gradually rising from shore the rest of the way.

Isertoq

Isertoq is a settlement of sixty to seventy people. Incredibly small. One store, a post office, a church, and a small community building. The ice cap rising from the ground nearby, Isertoq is a common starting point for ice cap crossings. Upon arrival we went straight to greet Dines' dogs. White Greenlandic Sled Dogs. Usually sled dogs are working dogs, not pets, but because Dines dabbles in sled dog tourism, he has raised his dogs to be friendly with people. The dogs can go for long stretches without food and are usually kept on small islands or chained on long lines on rocky coasts. The dogs received Dines with pure jubilation. Dines' soft commands and manner with his dogs redefined kindness. After a while of greeting and straightening ropes, we visited Dines two aunts in town. Offers of food were abundent and it gradually became apparent that we would be staying in Isertoq for the night (it was already 10pm anyway).

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Uncropped

Without mincing words, the settlement is depressing. Dilapidated buildings, trash everywhere, yet surrounded by stark beauty. As Charles Kinney, Jr. describes Greenland, it is a bipolar polar community. Stark beauty masking social distress.

Contrast

Beauty

During my time in Isertoq I was invited into three different homes. I ate seal, raw and cook. Cooked blubber. Dried narwhale. Fresh caught salmon and halibut, raw and cooked. But more on food for another post. The homes I entered were strangely juxtaposed from their ragged exterior. Comfortable, decorated, homey. Modern appliances (TV's, DVD players, stereos, etc.) and Danish designed home furnishings. Nice sinks and kitchen wares, yet no running water. There is no running water in the entire settlement. All go to the town water tank for their water needs. The out of place interiors amongst the apparent poverty left me contemplating using the description '2nd World'. I hate the terms 1st world/3rd world, but the awkward mixing of Danish and Greenlandic society will have to be described as Second World for the time being.

After friendly visiting we finally ended the day around 2AM with plans to deal with the dogs, etc., tomorrow.

This post is long enough, the next two days will be descibed another time.