The enormous icebergs pile up here, until they are pushed over a 200 meter shallow rise in the fjord. From there, they drift towards Disko Bay and the North Atlantic.
Text and photos: Markus Ziebell
The enormous icebergs pile up here, until they are pushed over a 200 meter shallow rise in the fjord. From there, they drift towards Disko Bay and the North Atlantic.
Our arrival in Kangerlussuaq, around midday, is greeted by brilliant sunshine. Nevertheless, our connecting flight to Ilulissat is delayed by nearly two hours because of fog. The Greenland Air "Dash 7" has already aborted two attempts to land in Ilulissat this morning, due to dense fog there. So by the time we finally leave, the machine is packed. We're lucky, and when we're about 50 meters from the ground, the fog allows us a glimpse of the runway, and we are able to land. Ilullisat, which is situated on Greenland's west coast, is known for its nearly 12-kilometer long ice fjord. But due to the huge ice masses that drift right before this coast, dense fog constantly forms, and may shroud Disko Bay for days or even weeks at a time.
The Danish building style dominates in Uummannaq, as anywhere else in Greenland, and due to the lack of soil, its colourful wooden houses all have concrete bases that are built directly onto the rocks.
We're lucky with the weather, and we use the following two sunny days to prepare both our continuing journey by ship, and our planned kayak tour. The regular service ship routinely sails up the west coast to Upernavik. In the summer months, it is an alternative to the helicopter, which is commonly used in Greenland. After our ship has departed, we sit in the evening sun for a long time, and let Disko Island and countless icebergs glide past us. In the morning, the weather changes again, the temperature has dropped to 6 degrees Celsius, and it is drizzling as we approach our final destination. Also on bord are the members of the Uummannaq football team, who have reached second place at the Greenland championships, and are now being feted enthusiastically by the population as we enter the port.
Most of the hill slopes are utterly without vegetation. The sparse plant life can only survive in the few sheltered bays. But even here, the grasses and shrubs seldom grow higher than ankle-deep.
Uummannaq's official camping site can be found just outside town, close to a small lake. Unfortunately, there are no sanitary facilities, and there is no room among the naked rocks for more than a two-man tent. On this island, there are very few spaces between the rocks where enough soil can accumulate to allow a few sparse grasses to grow. All the houses have concrete foundations that are built directly onto the rocks.
The next day, it is dryer, and gradually, in the course of the day, the fog lifts. We go to the harbourmaster early, and wonder whether our folding kayak has survived the long journey by ship from Aarlborg. Without any problems or bureaucracy, we retrieve our boat, and are even able to leave our wooden crate that we need for the return journey with the harbourmaster for the duration of our paddling tour. While I start putting together the boat, Steffi raids the well-stocked local supermarket and gathers our supplies. Suddenly, three long boats emerge from the fog. They are kayaks, although not linen-covered Inuit kayaks, but two fibreglass boats and one Feathercraft folding kayak. After a short conversation in English, it turns out that Doris and Matthias are from Schleswig in Germany, and their companion is from Herne. This is a good opportunity to pick up some relevant information that might come in handy for planning our trip. The weather seems to be more changeable than usual this year. The three of them have been stuck in a storm for several days. In the afternoon, when the fog has almost gone, we say good-bye, climb into our heavily loaded Klepper, and paddle south towards Nussuaq Peninsula. There, we find one of the rare camp sites in high grass next to a small stream.
At a length of up to 25 meters, the fin whale is one of the largest whales, after the blue whale. Because fin whales belong to the baleen whales, which only eat plankton, they don't look upon us kayakers as prey. Still, a sudden movement by the whale could get our little boat into serious trouble.
The fishermen's refuges are fixed to the rocks by steel cables, and show that the calm can be deceptive here. But luck is on our side, and as early as the next day, we are treated to one of the most impressive spectacles that nature has to offer. Already from far away, we can hear the repetitive gushers and mists of an enormous ocean mammal.
It is rare for this area to be so free of ice as to make it possible to ride all the way to the two glaciers by boat.
As we draw near, whe recognize two fin whales swimming up and down in front of the bay, hoovering up krill, which the water is teeming with here, and filtering it through a set of thin plates in their mouths, known as baleen. They aren't bothered by our presence, and so the two animals swim past us only a few meters away, close enough for us to catch a whiff of their fishy breath.
We continue our journey east, and the ice fields increase. We pass by numerous 30- to 40-meter-high white giants. As their centre of gravity is forever in danger of changing due to thawing ice, these behemoths may seek to find a more stable position in the water at any time, or even break up altogether, and we keep a safe distance. Again and again, we can hear ice breaking, but thankfully, always far away from us. At the east end of Uummannaq Fjord, there are two glacial tongues: Store Glacier and Lille Glacier.
South from there, we find a fantastic camp site with views across both glaciers. Due to the south wind that's been blowing for the past two days, this side of the coast is nearly free of ice. Many fishermen make use of this golden opportunity and fish for halibut and other fish in these nutrient-rich waters. They cast long lines from their little motorboats between the ice floes.
The Greenlanders are very hospitable, and this fisherman immediately offered us a taste of his catch. Normally, I'm not a fan of raw fish. But who can say "No" when it's as fresh as that.
We have the rare opportunity to advance as far as the end of the fjord, and to reach the ice sheet from there. Unfortunately, the wind shifts north during the night, however, and so we're glad to still find sufficient open water to escape the constantly growing drift ice. We head towards Ikerasak, where, two days later, we come upon Jorgen. Jorgen is Danish and has been living in Greenland for 25 years. He is trying to preserve the traditions and the wisdom of the Inuit, and to pass them on to the younger generations. His partner is an Inuit, and she still has a lot of feeling for nature and the original habitat of her people. Jorgen spends a lot of time looking after his sled dogs, which are a natural part of every household north of the polar circle, in the same way that cars or bicycles are normal to us. In the summer, he and his partner live in a traditional turf house at the edge of the small settlement.
The turf houses are small wooden houses that are insulated against the Arctic temperatures by a thick layer of turf on the outside.
Jorgen also keeps his little white Greenland-kayak here, which he, like some of the other villagers, still uses to hunt for seals. I would have loved to have tried out this kayak, but I fear I would have had to break my legs before I could have fitted into the tiny cockpit.
Its construction is similar to that of our folding boat. A cloth is stretched over a wooden frame and made waterproof with a protective varnish. It's a very small sea kayak that is mostly used to noiselessly hunt for seals.
During our brief tour of the island, Jorgen stuffs herbs and flowers into his mouth at every occasion, and explains to us which plants help with different diseases. Two days later, when we say good-bye to him, he presents each of us with a hand-made lucky glass-bead necklace and a ptarmigan claw, which, according to him, is a lucky charm: "If we carry this ptarmigan claw with us at all times, we will never get cold feet again". In our experience, it doesn't always work - but neither does it do any harm.
Our way leads north for a while, where we enjoy the calm in a sheltered, rocky bay. From the surrounding high rocks, you are afforded a spectacular view westwards across the rock faces of Storoen Island, all the way to the distant Uummannaq Island. We sit in the sun for hours here, and keep an eye open for gushers and surfacing whales. We often pick up the sounds of gushers, but because they are so far away, the whales have long dived by the time the sounds reach us.
Not even gnats are disturbing our peace this year. So I am able to sit for hours on the high rocks in shorts, and enjoy the perfect quiet and the infinite view into the distance.
Nevertheless, we still manage to observe the animals a few times through our binoculars as they make their way through the icebergs. For the next few days, we travel along the southern coastline of Storoen Island towards Uummannaq. Countless bird species are nesting in the steep rock faces,
which rise as high as 1200 meters right by the water. We still have to keep our distance due to the chunks of rock that keep crashing down. The weather has become changeable again, and so we pitch one last camp just 8 kilometers from Uummannaq. We prefer to wait until the next day, hoping for better conditions for our final crossing. The wind increases during the night, however, and turns into a storm. The normally motionless icebergs now reach speeds of several kilometers per hour, driven by the cold wind that blows across the ice sheet. The surf washes over them and the rocks on the shore.
In this weather, there are no more fishing boats on the water.
The waves now reach heights of several meters. We secure our belongings on the lee side of the rocks, and wonder how we are to make our return flight from Uummannaq in two days' time. We try to make radio contact with fishermen and Uummannaq. But without success, since there are no fishermen around in this weather. Eventually, a radio station 200 kilometers away answers our calls. The Hotel Uummannaq is contacted by telephone, and they in turn try to organize a pick-up for the next day. We start to prepare for an immediate departure: we take the folding kayak apart and bag everything else as best we can. The storm rages on across the towering waves, and only once do we catch a glimpse of a freighter rolling in the waves far away. At the appointed time, we make radio contact with Uummannaq again. But to our dismay, we only receive the short answer: >A pick-up isn't possible at the moment, as it would be too dangerous in the rough seas.< We sit on our bags in the pouring rain as our return flight, as well as the connecting flight to Copenhagen, move beyond our reach. We seek shelter in a small hut that was left behind by fishermen, and ask ourselves how to handle this new situation.
In the old days, the Inuit went hunting or fishing with teams of dogs and tents. Nowadays, they put huts on runners and hitch them to their snowmobiles.
Suddenly, the call of a fog-horn can be heard loud and clear. The big freighter we saw hours ago in the distance is now manoeuvring 100 meters away from the rocks. Two seamen are steering a little dinghy towards us through the meter-high waves. While we rush to carry our gear into the narrow bay, the little boat is thrown hard onto the rocks by the waves. Instantly we, our bags and the folding kayak are in the boat, and not even two minutes of rocking later, we are on the lee side of the reighter, and relatively safe. After having stowed our belongings on the afterdeck, we squeeze into the control room, which only measures 2 meters by 2 meters, with the captain and the two seamen. The rough seas don't seem to faze the seamen, and the captain calmly steers us through the mountainous waves with just two fingers on the joystick. The crossing seems endless because, due to the many breakers that keep hitting the ship, and the heavy rain, we only catch sight of
Uummannaq's harbour at the last minute. The proprietor of the Hotel Uumannaq is already waiting for us at the harbour, and he offers us a room and any assistance we may need with our final preparations for our return journey. We gratefully accept, and just half an hour later, we sit in the hotel's restaurant, freshly showered and in clean clothes, and enjoy the specialities of the house and a glass of red wine, while a piano is being played discreetly in the background. The contrast couldn't have been greater. By the following morning, the storm has died down. It is completely still, and the first snow has fallen overnight on the island's striking rock formations.
The freighter that brought us back to civilization is lying at anchor in front of the Hotel Uummannaq.
The mountain tops are coloured a soft pink by the rising sun, and there is no sign of the storm. It's Sunday, but the hotel's boss arranges for the harbour office to be opened specially for us, so we can check in our folding kayak for the return journey. We stroll around the town for a while, and around noon, we get someone to take us to the heliport which is situated outside the town. It seems that several flights have been cancelled because of the storm during the past few days, and our flight is overbooked. But since there are flights every hour, we spend the time we have gained in the sun, among the sled dogs. From the air, we once again savour the view across the little islands' snow-covered peaks, the many icebergs, and the distant ice sheet. Then, we disappear into the clouds above the peaks of Nussuaq Peninsula.
One last look at the bare slopes, the mountains and icebergs below, which have been our home for 3 weeks.
In Ilulissat, we spend one last evening beside the Isfjord, where the breathtaking beauty of the Greenland Arctic is brought home to us as the biggest icebergs in the Northern Hemisphere glow red in the setting sun.
The time of the midnight sun is already over, and so the icebergs glow in the constantly changing light of the setting sun. It's not for nothing that he Isfjord is on the World Heritage List.
Even before our flight home, back to Germany's hectic working world, we are certain: We're coming back!