So it does not go on forever, what one passenger called “Matthew Swan’s floating circus.” There are grand finale events planned, of course—the final recap, the captain’s dinner, Aaju’s fur fashion show, the variety show. But the last day also had serendipitous moments…

Walrus public square, part one

Earlier in the trip, Franklyn Griffiths had given a talk on “Camels in the Arctic?” (The Walrus, November, 2007). He talked about his findings during a journey from east to west in the Arctic when he canvassed Inuit leaders and hunters about climate change. He concluded that there were significant regional differences (more awareness in the west) and three levels of understanding and concern: those concerned about climate change and committed to alerting the world about the loss of animals and a way of life; those more concerned about culture; and a majority who considered themselves “marvelous adapters” to the changes they identified, such as changes in the intensity of light and the taste of caribou, but who focused on the here and now in a very practical way, confident of their ability to adapt. (more…)

LYUBOV ORLOVA—The fish bought in Greenland by the ship and served subsequently several times for dinner was called simply “halibut” on the menu; and then someone would say, well, really, it is turbot. It did not taste like my idea of “halibut”—the glorious weighty fish caught in late spring off the shores of northern BC and Alaska; this was softer in texture and smaller. Nor did it taste like what I remembered as “turbot,” so what was it?

Hippoglossus hippoglossus is the scientific name for the Atlantic halibut;

Hippoglossus stenolepis is the scientific name for the Pacific halibut;

Psetta maxima is the scientific name for the European turbot.

Even the website of the Canadian Department of Agriculture flounders (heh, heh) on the subject of why this particular flatfish—which sometimes acts like a roundfish, meaning it can swim vertically—is given the name of two completely different species: “The physical aspects of this fish more closely resemble its relative, the Atlantic halibut, than the European turbot (Psetta maxima), but for reasons too numerous to explain, the species must be marketed in the United States as “Greenland turbot” (so as not to confuse it with Pacific halibut) and in Europe as “Greenland halibut” (so as not to confuse it with true turbot).” (more…)

The Arctic, to the new eye, looks like a barren place, an empty place. But in fact this apparently desolate landscape, and seascape, have rich stories to tell; you just have to know how and where to look. This means seeing a little clump of twigs with red leaves the size of oat flakes as a forest; this adjusts the scale of everything. Major archeological finds have been discovered because a pile of rocks suddenly looks more than random.

Yesterday in Hoare Bay on the Cumberland Peninsula on Baffin Island, there were three small icebergs, clearly settling in for the winter. Someone asked Chris (assistant expedition leader, an exuberant Brit in an Aussie hat with a passion for ice) where those icebergs might have come from. (Icebergs follow the currents once they are unleashed from the glaciers, which means they travel north up the coast of Greenland and then south along Baffin Island, and can take as long as two years to reach the coast of Newfoundland. Like the ships of the British explorers, icebergs too overwinter in bays like this.) So where did these icebergs come from? The only way to tell, says Chris, is to find a bit of rock or gravel, imbedded deep in the glacier, and analyse that. (more…)

She was born in a northern Greenland community and lived up and down the west coast, because her father was a teacher and preacher. In 1981 Aaju moved to Iqaluit, where she now resides. She reads and speaks many languages, is a graduate of Akitsiraq Law School, and designs stunning sealskin garments. She is a performer, translator, volunteer, and she collects traditional law from elders for the Department of Justice. And she has five children.

MBF: The Thule mummies that were discovered at Qilakitso—the women had tattoos; when did you first see these, and what were your thoughts?

AP: I first saw them in 1979, when I was working at the museum in Nuuk. I remember especially the young woman who was pregnant when she died and she looked as if she had been frozen in that state, as if she was in pain. Her tattoo was a single line on her forehead, with a dip in it.

MBF: Like a line drawing of a bird?

AP: Exactly that. I was too young to understand the significance. It was only when I visited the site several years later that I realized that these were real women, not museum objects. I could see their home, where they had lived, and I had a sense of their souls being present. (more…)

AASIAT, GREENLAND—We are going to play soccer against a group of elders in a thirty-five-seat stadium. This is all we know, except that this is an Adventure Canada tradition. But when the ship docks in the early morning, there is a group of elders on the pier, dressed in smart navy blue and white uniforms, and clearly ready to play.

The tradition is that the people on the ship play soccer and/or hockey when the ship stops at a community, and the ship has never won. Usually the staff, who are young and fit, especially the zodiac drivers, end up playing, but this time an exceptionally large number of passengers are keen to play. Bear in mind that the temperature hovers around zero Celsius and there is a bitter wind and the uniforms are pale blue T-shirts over thermal underwear. And that there are aging cheerleaders in red T-shirts (led by yours truly—kee bo, ky bo, sis boom bah). Our team is named, roughly, after the ship: the Lube Oil All Overs, which we shout in a Kiwi accent, in honour of our expedition leader, Aaron Russ (Loo Boil Awl Ovahs). We have a Canadian flag and a Greenland flag, duct-taped to hockey sticks. (more…)

THE LYUBOV ORLOVA—We are in Greenland, motoring through battalions of icebergs off the west coast. In the collision of light, rock, ice, water and sky, it is the most beautiful landscape I have ever seen. The small town of Ummannaq, for example, sits under what can only be described as a heart-shaped mountain, and when you first hear that description you think it must be nonsense—how can a mountain be heart-shaped—but it is true.  And that is what ummannaq means. A heart made of pink granite and beneath it, perched on its lower slopes, a Legotown, it seems, tall handsome wooden houses painted deep red and mustard and green and a rich blue, windows trimmed in white, perched on the rocks, many accessible only by sturdy wooden staircases.

The first thing you think when you see this bright, warm town in Greenland is how shameful it has been of the Canadian government, how thoughtless and oh, I don’t know, southern, in the 1950s and 60s and ever since, to have the ugliest, cheapest building materials and the greyest and brownest of paints possible sent north for the construction of indifferently designed, too strong a word, dwellings and public buildings. (more…)

The Walrus Arctic Dialogues: a series of conversations on board the Lyubov Orlova, crossing to Greenland

First Dialogue: John Huston, culturalist and filmmaker—son of Arctic curators the late James and Alma Houston, John was a child at Cape Dorset, Baffin Island. He has made numerous award-winning documentaries about Inuit culture and is fluent in Inuktitut.

MBF: What’s the best thing that has happened in the Arctic in the past twenty years? (more…)

THE LYUBOV ORLOVA—The word for walrus is aaivik. There is a delicacy called iguunaq that the Inuit make by killing, gutting and boning a walrus, then sewing up the flesh and skin, and finally burying it from early summer until winter, when it is dug up and eaten (still frozen). It smells like blue cheese and it is delicious, according to Jayson Kunuk, a young Inuk from Iglulik. He is the nephew of Zacharias Kunuk, and he records oral testimonies and builds interactive web sites. Jayson is also a hunter and when he reveals this during a formal introduction to all the passengers he says, “I am also a hunter, I am sorry.” I ask him why he is sorry—we are in his part of the world where to be a hunter is to be able to survive and provide in the traditional way. “Yes,” he says, speaking carefully, “but I am aware of the feelings of other people, like animal rights activists and vegetarians. I do not wish to offend them.” (more…)

Sunset off the stern, Devon Island ahead, a clear night, a calm sea. John Geiger’s documentary Frozen in Time introduces
On September 12, authors and journalists and contributors to The Walrus joined The Walrus Expedition for a fourteen-day voyage in the Canadian Arctic aboard the Russian icebreaker Lyubov Orlova. The expedition—in partnership with Adventure Canada—is a fundraising event for the charitable, non-profit Walrus Foundation and is a part of The Walrus Arctic Project. Also onboard is Franklyn Griffiths, author of the essay on Arctic climate change in the special Arctic issue of The Walrus, published in November 2007. The Walrus Expedition begins in Resolute—very close to the Magnetic North Pole and very near the graves of some of John Franklin’s men. As the ship continues down the coast of Baffin Island, stopping in Pond Inlet and other communities, and with a stop in Greenland, you can follow along with here at The Walrus Blogs until the expedition ends in Iqaluit on September 24.

THE LYUBOV ORLOVA—Sunset off the stern, Devon Island ahead, a clear night, a calm sea. John Geiger’s documentary Frozen in Time introduces us to the John Franklin story, as we motor across Lancaster Sound towards Beechey Island. The film recounts the excavation by Dr. Owen Beattie of the graves of three of Franklin’s sailors and the subsequent analysis of bones and the fragments of cloth in the coffins. To scientist John Geiger, it seemed there were exceptionally high residue of lead in the bones. Not far from the graves, there is a large dump, full of the rusted tin cans, and a close examination of the tins, still littered on the shore, shows that the lead lining had eroded and could well have contaminated the food. (The controversy about canned food seems to have begun with the invention of canned foods.) (more…)

Author Marian Botsford Fraser begins her 11-day voyage on The Walrus’s chartered expedition through the Canadian Arctic

On September 12, authors and journalists and contributors to The Walrus joined The Walrus Expedition for a fourteen-day voyage in the Canadian Arctic aboard the Russian icebreaker Lyubov Orlova. The expedition—in partnership with Adventure Canada—is a fundraising event for the charitable, non-profit Walrus Foundation and is a part of The Walrus Arctic Project. Also onboard is Franklyn Griffiths, author of the essay on Arctic climate change in the special Arctic issue of The Walrus, published in November 2007. The Walrus Expedition begins in Resolute—very close to the Magnetic North Pole and very near the graves of some of Franklin’s men. As the ship continues down the coast of Baffin Island, stopping in Pond Inlet and other communities, and with a stop in Greenland, you can follow along with here at The Walrus Blogs until the expedition ends in Iqaluit on September 24.

THE LYUBOV ORLOVA, BAFFIN ISLAND COAST—Flying boats: Remember good airline food? When certain major airlines (maybe not since Wardair in the early 90s) prided themselves on serving stuff that was edible, even delicious. Then it was that the northern run of a certain national airline had the worst food imaginable, but now even that standard is no longer met in the south. In the north First Air rules, even in an aging 737 almost overfull (it feel as if there are more passengers than seats and aging weary crew who are obsessed with Transport Canada rules and a good thing too. Did you know that you must never ever speak to a flight attendant during take-off and landing, because they are mentally reviewing their duties? Did you know that if the pilot or co-pilot comes out to use the loo that the purser must stand guard in front of the cockpit. .…

Back to food: smoked salmon or maybe arctic char, with pumpernickel, sour cream, capers, lemon and a sprig of dill. An omelette apparently made from real eggs, with asparagus, potatoes, sausage, steak and tomato; fruit and yoghurt and croissants and more than 100 suddenly alarmingly full people and two bathrooms. Even on the little ATR that a dozen of us must take from Iqaluit to Resolute, to lighten the payload on the big plane by about 2000 pounds so it (are planes shes?) can land on the short gravel runway at Resolute, three kinds of beer and cold rare steak.

This 737 is the last jet that can land on gravel and in the Arctic there are several key airports, Resolute especially, that are gravel. It has a little ski, right under the nose that sends the gravel flying outwards during landing instead of sucking it up into the engines. It has long narrow engines instead of the new, fat round ones and I am not sure why this matters. But what matters is that this rather old plane is no longer made. When it dies, what large plane flies to Resolute? Or will Resolute, now that the Canadian government sniffs political meat in the old-fashioned notion of arctic sovereignty, finally be paved?

* * *

Zodiac rules: Suddenly, in Resolute, it feels like winter. The wind is cold, the sky a shiny grey. The bay at Resolute is littered with debris and the decomposing carcasses of a narwal and a beluga. The zodiacs are impatient as we are the last to board the ship.

How do you approach a zodiac? In a skinny little life jacket that looks like a tightly rolled scarf that happens to have a buckle that snaps right on your chest. If these ever hit the water they instantly blow up in to recognizable flotation devices, we are assured. Then with your bottom, swinging both legs up and over and you’re in, hanging on to a very casually slung rope, and one another.

The zodiacs look like fat black down pillows with 60 horse power motors. Inscrutable young men in wraparound shades and smooth rubbery helmets and bright yellow and red parkas stand straight and perfectly balanced at the tiller. They are aiming for the gangway, a wobbly set of stairs crawling up the side of the ship. It is Day One. People step gingerly.

The Lyubov Orlova is a ship built in Yugoslavia in 1975, registered in Malta, about three hundred feet long, 100 or so passengers, 70 or so crew. The crew is Russian—broad, silent men and fair-haired women who smoke a lot. It is their ship and they can smoke on the bridge, even in their cabins, so to go up on the bridge is to enter a 70s Russian movie. The air is literally blue.

* * *

This is a plain boat with old-fashioned upholstery and fringed brocade curtains in the bar. No black tie captain’s dinners and ballroom dancing and casinos on this ship. No shopping for diamonds, but possibly shopping for furs. A Russian ship seems appropriate in the Arctic.

Lyubov Orlova was a famous actress, the “national actress of the U.S.S.R. Her photographs decorate the bar; she has the aura of a cross between Mata Hari and Greta Garbo; sometimes moody, austere and blond, then coquettish and comic, and then in sequins and feathers and long black gloves. She shares the wall in the bar with the photograph of a polar bear drinking from a stream, and from a table, a small carved seal, with a human face, looks at them both with alarm.