Getting to Greenland has always seemed a challenge, although I have to admit that I enjoy the night in Copenhagen both on the way out and the way back. There is an alternative route using Icelandair via Keflavik and then a flight straight into Ilulissat. In theory it’s possible to get to Ilulissat in a day from Jersey. I always check availability, there never is any, which is a relief as I have never really fancied a 3 hour flight in a Dash 8, the aircraft used on the Iceland Greenland section.
This year I had arranged to paddle with some Maltese friends, I told them about the Air Greenland flight from Copenhagen but their travel agent managed to secure flights on Icelandair, so they left Malta after breakfast and should have been in Ilulissat for a beer that evening.
Who could have predicted the traffic chaos that was going to descend on Amsterdam Airport, in the early summer of 2022? Not the Maltese travel agent, that’s for sure. A 3 hour delay in Amsterdam resulted in a 3 day delay in getting to Greenland. I am sure Reykjavik is nice for a long weekend but not when you are meant to be kayaking in Disko Bay.
For them it was frustration and disappointment, for me it was the small matter of watching the credit card in meltdown. Greenland is expensive but 2 or 3 nights of the good life is normally offset with several weeks out camping. I decided to make the best of a bad job and head out for a few days paddling on my own.
I suppose solo paddling in Greenland isn’t for the faint hearted or inexperienced. The thing that made the solo paddle possible was that I had a new Typhoon dry suit with a front entry zip, meaning that I was able to dress myself! If I had any of my other dry suits, which I have owned in the last 40 years I wouldn’t have been able to go.
The kayak was packed on the slabs, in front of the hospital in Ilulissat, the launch spot which has been used for years near the church, is now out of bounds. Although I think if you had a traditional Greenland kayak you may get away with it. Plenty of small pieces of ice had appeared overnight so it was a bit of a bumpy departure until I was north of the harbour. Ahead lay clear water, apart from a few isolated bergs.
I settled into a steady rhythm, monitoring the other boat traffic, but mainly staring in awe at some of the bergs, which dominated my view. Over the years I have seen numerous photos of kayakers paddling close to bergs, and each time my heart misses a bit. There is no doubt in my mind that the larger bergs pose a serious hazard to the unwary kayaker. As if to remind me of my situation, the largest berg I saw during the day decided to shed some of its outer skin. The noise from the falling ice always comes a shock, rather, as I imagine, the guns sounded during the First World War. If you were in the firing line of the falling ice, the outcome would not be good. Treat the bergs with respect.
There was plenty of bird life to keep me company as I headed north. Fulmars and Kittiwakes were the most numerous but there was a nice selection of other seabirds. Red Throated Divers and Glaucous Gulls are always good to see from a kayak.
I covered the 14 miles in just under 4 hours, the Rainbow Laser, isn’t viewed as the fastest sea kayak on the market but it does have a reasonable turn of speed and more importantly bounces off ice without getting damaged.
Landing on the slabs at Anoritoq is always interesting, a steep and slippy exit, which I managed to accomplish without any dignity. That’s the nice thing about solo paddling, who is there to see your failures. In this case a Greenland family, who stood staring at me as I crawled up the rocks, it didn’t help my pride as the children pointed at me, like monster emerging from the deep
I carried on as if nothing had happened and successfully removed my dry suit. A late lunch, tent up, move the kayak away from the water, fetch the water, prepare the evening meal, do the washing up, put everything away, the chores for the solo paddler are never ending.
As I sat on the slabs with a warm drink in my hand and a couple of biscuits, the clouds started to disperse from the south, the promise of a good day tomorrow. A promise which was fulfilled. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky all day, although at times slightly more wind than was necessary, I suppose it did keep the mosquitoes away though.
I headed north to Pakitsoq, gaining shelter under the cliffs, a route which was virtually ice free. The north easterly wind was blowing the majority of the ice further out into Disko Bay. I was looking for possible campsites for later in the week, without much success. What I did discover was possibly one of the most dramatic locations for Sunday lunch, it even had snow on the beach. Whichever way I looked the views were exceptional.
Whenever I am solo paddling I plan ahead to manage the risks, most of which can be predicted and therefore avoided. Busy shipping lanes, calving icebergs etc but no amount of planning prepares you for the shock of a whale surfacing immediately behind you. It is one of those heart stopping moments. Is the whale aware of your presence, where will it surface again etc. All of these thoughts were going through my head as I headed towards the shallow water closer to the shore. My theory was big whales can’t swim in shallow water, it seemed to make sense and helped me calm down.
I think Pakitsoq acts as a whale magnet, this was the 12th time I have paddled in its waters and every time I have seen whales although rarely as close this day. Thankfully the rest of my journey back to the slabs at Anoritoq passed without incident. I even managed to land gracefully, sadly nobody was there to see my triumph, in contrast to my incompetence the day before.
I took an evening walk towards the valley behind the camp, I was surprised by how much snow was covered the braided stream as it rushed towards its final destination, the inlet at Anoritoq. As you leave the shore a classic glacial landscape is revealed. Eskers, lateral moraines, erratics, striations all combining to bring Geography text books to life. I kicked up snow banks, just because I could in July and searched for the slightest evidence of man’s impact on the landscape. Away from the coast none was discernible.
I sat for nearly a couple of hours, mesmerised by what stretched out before me but at the same time cognisant that nobody had any idea where I was. I could just disappear. Adventurous I am, foolhardy I am not. In my pocket I carried a PLB, if I was to slip out here a break a leg I had the technology to ensure that somebody might come a look for me.
After a couple of days with very few mosquitoes the following day was a complete contrast. Warm porridge, not a hope. It was all I could do to force down a tin of Fruit Cocktail and jump into the kayak to escape the relentless pursuit of these winged demons. I realise that they occupy an important position in the food chain but I struggle to find any redeeming characteristics. They can make life intolerable in the Arctic, at times.
The return journey to Ilulissat was delightful, blue skies, flat seas and just enough bergs to make life interesting. The icing on the cake was a couple of whales surfacing to the west, their breath rising in vertical columns above the mirror like waters of Disko Bay.
As on the way out the 14 miles took 4 hours of steady paddling and my arrival on the slabs at Ilulissat was achieved smoothly and with a certain degree of smugness. After a few years away I was slowly getting the hang, once again, of launching and landing kayaks in Greenland.
I was away for just over 50 hours and in that time l didn’t speak with another human, solitude isn’t for everyone but there is something satisfying to know that you are able to paddle, live comfortably and manage risk, whilst nearly 200 miles north of the Arctic circle. Start small, start local and who knows where the journey might take you.