Etah-mut. Misilitsinneq. (The Test).

Today, after 6 days of rains and storms, we are heading to Avannaa-mut (North) again. The rain stopped after midnight and we are anxious to slide into the narrow corridor of smooth seas before the nasty weather returns. On a clear day like ours the journey to Etah should not take any longer than 5-7 hours.  Or so we thought.

We descended to the shore quietly, and yet – as it always happens in Qaanaaq where everyone is watching everyone  – we received a warm welcome from a big crowd: our old and new friends despite the early hour came down to the shore to see us off.

Today is an emotional day for Avannaa. For the first time since Uummannaq our paths will split. Jaaku, Inuunnguaq and Else will stay in Qaanaaq while Ole Jorgen, Aalibarti, Bertrand and myself will be heading North. We don’t know what is awaiting us and neither do those who are staying on shore. 

Yesterday as we shared out last supper Aalibarti said a prayer asking Sila for protection and humility.  We talked about many things, but mainly about wisdom. Wisdom in the High Arctic is a special matter. Here a single nanometer separates life from death, and one often has to make a judgment based on a hunter’s gut feelings and inner instincts rather than on conventional logic.

On the shore Else bursts into tears. Its harder for her to part with Aalibarti than most may think. Yes, he has been a lucky man being able to have returned from the world the others could not.  But again, in the Arctic you can’t take god luck for granted. Two summers ago Else and Aalibarti have lost a son to the sea. It happened just 500 meters from the shore, on a good day, on an almost smooth surface. His body has never been recovered.

As we leave Qaanaaq, the sea shows all its summer colors.  Summer is here, summer is now and we hope that it won’t abandon us on the way to Etah.  In an hour and a half we pass Siorapaluk – the worlds’ northernmost permanently inhabited settlement. Some of our  dear friends live here. Like in Qaanaaq, they manage to keep the ancient ways of life alive, still using kayaks and harpoons to hunt the narwhal.  We are planning to visit them upon our return from the North.

A few minutes later Siorapraluk dissapears from our view; the boat runs fast, and we don’t know yet that just behind the corner another world is already waiting for us. In a blink of an eye the sea gets rocky and soon the boat is flying on the waves like a hopeless splinter. You have to be really fit to survive such a ride. There is nothing to hold on to; and you bounce around like a tennis ball in an empty shoe box.  

We are carrying around 600 liters of gasoline with us – the load that makes our task just that much harder. As the world around us darkens, the bright pink of gasoline stays the only colorful color in the midst of a quickly approaching grey mist.

Some 2 hours since our departure from Qaanaaq our progress slows down as the storm nears our boat.  Fierce waves quickly fill our boat with water; no matter how fast we are emptying it, it seems like we are taking a cold bath and a freezing shower simultaneously under a piercing Arctic wind. And there is no escape from this purely Greenlandic spa.

 The wind intensifies up to 25 knots; and we get closer to our breaking point.

Three and a half hours into the trip Aalibarti calls for a “conference”. We can hardly hear each other because of the roaring wind. But it’s not a good moment for speeches. We unanimously decide that we will try to land and wait for better weather onshore.  But is there a way to land?

We venture into a little harbor in Neqip Akia fjord to see if we can find a good spot.

We make several approaches, but nothing seems to work. The waves are far too large

What to do? Aalibarti bursts into laughter. Greenlanders always resort to such expressions instead of making a dramatic scene. We can’t really change anything, so it means that we are ready to adapt again. We turn our "failed” landing mission into a seal searching mission. We are cold, wet and hungry, and a nice seal – if found - would lift our spirits and help us stay afloat.

We spend an hour or so, scanning the ice, but to no avail. In such nasty weather even seals retreat

And then, in addition to the storm a heavy rain begins. Now we have another task:  to turn our completely open boat into a shelter where we can survive the storm.

Building the roof takes only 10 minutes. With some other small adjustments  we now have a brand new mobile home on the waves where we will be staying for hours and maybe even days to come. Immaqa.

Having the roof in the midst of the roaring sea seems to be a paradise. We are so lucky! We hope that despite intensifying gusts it will stay in place during the night time.

Now it’s story telling time. We will miss a seal blubber lamp, of course, but the night is still white for us. We have many stories to share, enough food to last, but almost no water. There are streams on the shore just some hundreds of meters away from us, but there is no way we can access it.

Thirsty in the middle of the roaring sea, I dream of a can of Coke I had recently on the flight from Kangerlussuaq. With this colorful and pleasant dream I fall asleep half submerged in the cold salty water. We will be having a long night ahead.