Home Bay, Baffin Island
Rarely a second goes by without the stark realization of what I am doing on board this ship so far away from anything that I know. Whatever monotony I may have felt in my previous life has long since disappeared and now I measure life in discovering one unknown after the next.
Looking at the map of Baffin Island, I trace the line of pin points to our morning landing at Cape Hooper and the abandoned DEW-line (Distant Early Warning) station. Out the window, I see some of the most remote and vast places on the planet. The topography has changed slightly since yesterday and now we see many examples of the extreme force of glaciers - low rounded hills and fewer jutting peaks. Eventually, we spot the spheres of the station and a gravel road. We unload on a sandy beach.
Of course, this routine is old hat to us all now. We are exploring in the truest sense of the word. And we are experts! Finding ourselves in an unfamiliar place in unusual surroundings, we fan out searching for clues to help us better understand the story of this place. Late in the afternoon, we land at Kivitoo just southwest of Kangeeak Point. An abandoned and weathered Hudson Bay Company post, scattered animal remains, artifacts and Inuit graves leave us with more questions than answers. Who lived here and why? What did they eat? How did they survive? How did they die? One grave site clearly holds an infant’s tiny body.
But in such a harsh environment these questions transcend any idea that we might have about human survival to the plants and animals that live here. Or at least we think they live here. At times, this place seems so devoid of life. Yet, everywhere we look we see more evidence: tracks, scat, bones and hair all tell the same story. This is no place to linger. Follow the seasons, follow the resources, follow the food. To establish a permanency is to invite disaster.
Because we could keep count, five polar bears today. A lone male in the evening twilight silhouetted against the sunset. Another perched comfortably on the only grassy ledge in miles of steep cliffs and pounding surf. A mom bear and two cubs managed to scuttle our morning hiking groups toward an early Zodiac departure.
I have heard an Inuit legend that polar bears can turn themselves into ice. Stevie, our local Inuit guide says it’s true. As someone who has spent his entire life in this region, he is humble about his knowledge and experience, but when I pressed for further clarification he sighed and said, “maybe it’s a joke.”
The crew on the bridge watched the bear with her cubs walk up a gully in between the last hiking group and the shore. Observing from a safe distance, we expected to see them emerge at any moment but didn’t. Someone radioed that the bears had stopped briefly near a snow patch and now were out of sight. It appeared safe to continue. We gave an extra wide berth on an uneventful hike down and saw no bears or evidence of their presence.
Rarely a second goes by without the stark realization of what I am doing on board this ship so far away from anything that I know. Whatever monotony I may have felt in my previous life has long since disappeared and now I measure life in discovering one unknown after the next.
Looking at the map of Baffin Island, I trace the line of pin points to our morning landing at Cape Hooper and the abandoned DEW-line (Distant Early Warning) station. Out the window, I see some of the most remote and vast places on the planet. The topography has changed slightly since yesterday and now we see many examples of the extreme force of glaciers - low rounded hills and fewer jutting peaks. Eventually, we spot the spheres of the station and a gravel road. We unload on a sandy beach.
Of course, this routine is old hat to us all now. We are exploring in the truest sense of the word. And we are experts! Finding ourselves in an unfamiliar place in unusual surroundings, we fan out searching for clues to help us better understand the story of this place. Late in the afternoon, we land at Kivitoo just southwest of Kangeeak Point. An abandoned and weathered Hudson Bay Company post, scattered animal remains, artifacts and Inuit graves leave us with more questions than answers. Who lived here and why? What did they eat? How did they survive? How did they die? One grave site clearly holds an infant’s tiny body.
But in such a harsh environment these questions transcend any idea that we might have about human survival to the plants and animals that live here. Or at least we think they live here. At times, this place seems so devoid of life. Yet, everywhere we look we see more evidence: tracks, scat, bones and hair all tell the same story. This is no place to linger. Follow the seasons, follow the resources, follow the food. To establish a permanency is to invite disaster.
Because we could keep count, five polar bears today. A lone male in the evening twilight silhouetted against the sunset. Another perched comfortably on the only grassy ledge in miles of steep cliffs and pounding surf. A mom bear and two cubs managed to scuttle our morning hiking groups toward an early Zodiac departure.
I have heard an Inuit legend that polar bears can turn themselves into ice. Stevie, our local Inuit guide says it’s true. As someone who has spent his entire life in this region, he is humble about his knowledge and experience, but when I pressed for further clarification he sighed and said, “maybe it’s a joke.”
The crew on the bridge watched the bear with her cubs walk up a gully in between the last hiking group and the shore. Observing from a safe distance, we expected to see them emerge at any moment but didn’t. Someone radioed that the bears had stopped briefly near a snow patch and now were out of sight. It appeared safe to continue. We gave an extra wide berth on an uneventful hike down and saw no bears or evidence of their presence.
