Greenland
Triumph
After four previous attempts, Julia and I finally made landfall on the frozen shores of Greenland. Below is the story of our journey to this distant and remote wonderland.
Oakland, California
We begin
Airport, oh airport you’re so filled with people
Wait! There’s a pizza, a pretzel, a bun, oh fun
When did we get here, no when will we leave?
Airport, oh airport hurry up and wait
Put down that pretzel and head to the gate!
Gatwick, England
Sleepless night
Crammed in
So tight
The flight it went all day
All night
Crammed in
So tight
We shared the same all day
All night
And so, we spent our sleepless night
Gatwick
Bags are ripped
Bags are torn
Air Norwegian cares no more
We must go forward
We can’t retreat
Even though Julia is so sweet
This message is approved by Julia Buss
To rest
At Sofitel we took a spell
We ate and drank and slept so well
The sheets were clean in our lovely bed
Not a vibrating chair so far over head
We’re rested now and ready to go
Much further north to the land of snow
Riverside Garden Park
Aircraft smoke and buses too
Will not restrict the blackberry stew
Nettles and oaks
Ducks and moats
Is what we found where we walked
Reykjavík, Iceland
Reykjavík
Reykjavík, oh Reykjavík
How far away you make of it
Your skies of rain
Your summers of pain
Instead of going we still remain
Reykjavík, oh Reykjavík
I didn’t think I’d see you again
And yet we are here
And you remain
Late at night
The sky is light
Late at night
And gray and rainy too
The people come from far away
All manner of humans too
They move about
All dripping wet
As summer fills this northern world
But the sky is light
Late at night
No matter what we do
Runner
She’s running here
She’s running there
In Reykjavík she’s running everywhere
She doesn’t care
Nor does she despair
As long as she can breathe the air
Blue Lagoon we’ll be there soon
Your waters warm and volcanic yet
We did get wet and salty too
But Blue Lagoon we’ll be back soon
Greenland
Constable Point
Is where our boat
Awaits us afloat
It’s to be our home
Protecting us from the foam
So that we might roam
The home of the Polar Bear
Where very white hares
And musk oxen too
Roam the snow and ice
Far from view
Tourism is starting in Eastern Greenland. It hardly seems like a possible future. It is incongruous to think of hordes of tourists, gift shops, and cruise ships in such a remote place. It could happen. It has happened in other places. Take Iceland, for example. Once, hardly anyone went there for a vacation. Now, it’s definitely on the destination map. I wonder, will Greenland end up on the destination map too? Is that what will happen here? I guess it is already happening in a small way - we are here, and we are tourists.
The airplane that brought us landed at an unpaved airstrip created in the 1980s to allow for oil exploration. About 20 tourists and perhaps 5,000 mosquitoes awaited our arrival. We were swapping places with these tourists: they were heading back to modern life; we were heading away, into the wilderness - icebergs, a 100-year-old wooden ship, and the wild.
We walked out to the ship, following a man with a gun to protect us from animal attack. We were warned that polar bears don’t kill their victims before eating them. The place was void, grey, remote, and quiet.
We stopped at the only village; the next town is 800km away. The place resembled a ghost town: there were a few children, some barking dogs, and a couple of men drove by on four-wheel dirt bikes. There was nothing to see, really nothing. On the ship that was to be our home for 8 days, we climbed into our bunks to sleep while the crew sailed us into Scoresby Sound.
Scoresby Sound
The Arctic Scoresby Sound
We made our way around
Basaltic pillars and sandstone too
Icebergs, some white
And some very, very blue
Not one but two polar bears we saw
One swimming and one on top of an iceberg tall
We couldn’t believe how beautiful this place could be
But the mosquitoes made us scratch and itch and flee
A voice called urgently: “Polar bear, polar bear, quick come and see!” We were roused from sleep to witness the wonderful sight of a bear swimming near a glacier. Apparently, these marine mammals frequently hunt near glaciers. This bear’s head was held high out of the water as he circled. He seemed concerned by our presence; our diesel engine and ship felt large and noisy in that silent wilderness. We sailed away and left the bear to its hunt.
We passed icebergs and smaller ice chunks; some crackled like popping plastic wrap as we went by. Then we heard another shout: “Polar bear!” This time, a large bear was pacing on an iceberg near the ship, awakened from sleep by our appearance. He looked at us and yawned, paced his berg, and seemed as interested in us as we were in him. White seabirds circled overhead around the ice-castle turrets like guards for a polar bear king.
Icebergs, icebergs all about
Icebergs, icebergs there is no doubt
When it comes to splendor
Beyond our dreams
There is no other
That lifts our hearts
Icebergs, icebergs white and blue
Icebergs, icebergs we feel renewed
Our minds are lost within your hues
Icebergs, icebergs we belong to you
We sailed on and later went ashore, always accompanied by our guide with her rifle for protection. On land, the rocks contained garnets and flashy pyrite. On the beach, quartz chunks as large as bricks were scattered among the pebbles. We found a hunting hut where humans had left behind broken glass and other trash. It was a strange place, equipped with a modern stove, a dining room, beds, and bottles of booze on the shelves, but nobody was there, and there was no lock on the door. The place felt desolate and quiet. I saw two bird feathers on the rocky ground; perhaps birds had nested there before leaving for warmer climes. Tiny pink and white alpine flowers bloomed. White animal bones were scattered about, and we saw scat from an Arctic fox. And then came the mosquitoes – black and hungry, both on land and on the ship anchored nearby. There was no escape from the biters.
Covered with jewels
Sailing fjords, from east to west
Snow-capped mountains, they are the best
Granite islands, all covered with jewels
Abandoned buildings of people long left
These are things, of much renown
These are things of the Scoresby Sound
Sounds of the Donna Wood
Rumbling engine, and creaking wood
These are the sounds of the Donna Wood
Until its hull, meets the ice
Then crashing and banging it’s not so nice
Scraping and scratching
And thumping too
Swaying and wobbling
With much ado
Until the ice
We’ve broke through
These are the sounds of the Donna Wood too
Breaking ice
Breaking ice, breaking ice
Pushing through glacial and sea ice too
Cracking and crunching
Scratching and scraping
Bumping and knocking
All morning long
Blues and whites
So very bright
We’re a wooden boat
And very small
The bergs are vast and very tall
Breaking ice, breaking ice
How could this have been so very nice
Thankfully, we sailed away from the hungry mosquitoes and further into the sound. We floated along, our lives supported by the vessel, Donna Wood, and her crew, far from human civilization. We saw only one or two seabirds and no other life besides ourselves all day. The waterway narrowed, and we sailed on calm, clear waters, the cliffs reflected perfectly like mountainous inkblots. Mesmerized by the beauty, we approached a place called Iceberg City, where bergs get caught in shallow water. We headed towards Red Island on Zodiacs, navigating a maze of giant bergs. We heard booms as pieces cracked and fell from towering cliffs of swirling white and blue ice, each fashioned by water and wind into unique shapes. We spotted familiar objects among them, floating like a frozen Thanksgiving Day parade. Suddenly, one of the giants began to roll as its top half grew heavier; in seconds, it spun over - a behemoth the size of a bus.
We landed and climbed Red Island, which is a northern counterpart to Uluru in Australia. We looked down at the bay filled with ghostly, jewel-like bergs. Before our eyes, a berg cracked, then crumbled into pieces as it exploded, sending waves to jostle the giants all around. On the spongy land, we found goose eggshells and a few feathers; all the birds were gone. Our ship lay in the millpond of the sound below us. Tomorrow, we aim to continue through the ice, although excessive broken ice might force us to turn back.
Isolation
Isolation from sounds and strife
Isolation from normal life
No cars, no noise
There’s not a sound
No smoke no haze
We’re in a maze
Of fjords and life, of fjords and ice
Isolation we’re at world’s end
Isolation, we’re not alone
Our ship, our mates
Our crew are here
They keep us sane
They keep us safe
Isolation it’s truly good
It makes yourself
More understood
Early in the morning, the crew decided to proceed and find a way through the ice field ahead. It seemed an impossible endeavor to us land-lubbers. But our captain had a lifetime’s experience, and our Icelandic first mate climbed to the crow’s nest to guide us. We progressed very slowly through the ice as it scraped down the sides of our wooden ship, popping and crackling around us. Donna Wood has a layer of copper on her hull - mainly to stop barnacles from growing - not specifically to protect against sea ice and bergs. Bergs rolled suddenly, deciding to flip over. We watched from the deck as we zigzagged to the other side of Iceberg City. Once again, after hours of inching forward, clear water lay ahead.
We needed water on board, so the crew beached the Donna Wood onto a stony shore to pump spring water. We spotted musk ox. Continuing to the edge of a large glacier, we saw more ox at the glacier’s edge. The glacier creaked and groaned. A berg the size of a house churned and spun over. The frozen flow ground forward as seabirds flew along the white cliffs. The magnificent power of the place is indescribable; mesmerizing and immense. I felt calm, yet strangely lonely and disconnected. We floated before the glacier like a matchbox filled with tiny ants. Hypnotized, we watched defiantly at the frozen grandeur and indifference.
Fresh water
Water surrounds us
It’s everywhere
An yet we have so little to spare
The kind we need contains no salt
And soon we run out of it on our boat
So, we stop by a river that flows to the sea
And we fill our tanks
We’re happy you see
To have fresh water to help us survive
To wash us
To bathe us
To keep us alive
Later, we sailed to a small bay where we landed and walked about with our guide and her rifle. We saw skulls and bleached bones, including a freshly gnawed one that made us think of wolves. Later, the ship’s cook, Andy, prepared a BBQ for us on the beach, where rocks sparkled in the evening sun and cold waves lapped lifeless rock pools.
The cold
The cold is not fast
It’s very, very slow
It’s in the air that flows over the snow
It’s in the air that flows over the water
It enters your feet your hands your toes
It starts slowly at first
Then creeps and grows
Until finally everything’s frozen
The entire day passed as we sailed down an enormous glacial valley, peaks and sheer cliffs towering on either side. Our only company on the water were enormous bergs. Glaciers calved into the water, cracking, sparkling, popping, and growling. Near a vast glacier, a small family of eider ducks swam by; the mother, so tiny, seemed to know exactly where she was leading her chicks in this wild place.
On land again, plagued once more by starving mosquitoes, we scrambled over rocks and alpine vegetation covering Bear Island. Rocks and boulders glinted with quartz. A loon called out as an iceberg collapsed in on itself, sending shards, chunks, and waves into the water. Mountain peaks like turrets and fairy-tale castles surrounded us. Bergs resembling imaginings from the mind of Salvador Dalí floated in the inky ocean.
We ate an early breakfast on board and headed to another part of Bear Island, walking across rocks and scrub. Our group stayed contained; we had to remain near our leader with her gun and keep each other in sight. There is no path here, just wild terrain requiring us to scramble and stagger over low brush and rocks. We felt guilty damaging the low, slow-growing Arctic plants under our heavy hiking boots. Again, we found bones. We learned the Arctic is polluted with persistent organic compounds that accumulate in animal fat, disrupting hormones and causing health problems for animals, including humans. The Inuit are advised to eat less of their traditional diet to reduce exposure. But what is their alternative? Likely processed, sugary foods.
Loons on Bear Island
Loons on Bear Island they make quite the din
It’s not really singing it’s more like a ring
They skirt the blue waters with their ring a ding, ding
Loons on Bear Island they don’t really sing
Back on the ship we sail past giant bergs like medieval towers in the blue. We see the snow-covered mainland and our faces burn in the sun. We head for home.
David had been woken in the night to see the green flashes of the Northern Lights; I slept, oblivious to the marvel. We stopped at an abandoned village where bears might be seen, but we didn’t spot any. We waited for them, our engine rumbling.
Northern lights
About the sky on Arctic nights
Sometimes you’ll see
The Northern lights
Their green and eerie shimmering glow
Will dance and prance
About the sky
Until they vanish from whence they glow
For a second time, we wandered the desolate streets of Ittoqqortoormiit (pronounced “eat a quart o’ meat”). Litter, a drunk man, broken glass. I felt sad, already looking forward to cities and Mediterranean sun. The ship refuels; the staff prepare for the next group of tourists. Our journey is almost over.
That night, our last, we played games, drank vodka, and laughed. I saw the green curtains of light in the dark sky: gentle swaths of glowing color softly crossing the blackness. It meant everything and nothing - wonder and charged particles, a magnetic Earth and her light show shared with new friends.
Goodbye to the remote Arctic, where people live in immense isolation from global politics and celebrity gossip, yet where the oceans are polluted by distant economies, industries, and consumers. Goodbye to Ittoqqortoormiit, with her scant beauty scattered with beer cans, broken glass, plastic, and bones. Dogs howl as we travel towards our future, carrying the same human nature we have possessed for centuries: messy and chaotic, violent, and sometimes sweet.
These northern skies
I’m afraid it’s goodbye to these northern skies
These bright granite peaks
So far, so wide
These glacial rivers from hill to sea
These gargantuan icebergs from water to ice
These mountain horns Carved from rock by ice
To all these things we say adieu
I’m afraid it’s goodbye to all these guys too
Our shipmates
Our crew
All now our friends
May we all return home
Safe and sound
And remember our time in the Scoresby Sound
Reykjavík, Iceland
At the airport, we hugged our shipmates goodbye and wished them well.
