Glowacz's close-up

Expedition Baffin Island, April 27: Stefan Glowacz’s blog on his adventurous journey to a wall to which nobody has ever been.

Sunday, April 27

We’re having problems with the snowmobiles again. The bumps and ruts and above all the heavy sleds are relentless on the machines. We’re surrounded by the bizarre ice formations of the ‘rough ice’. As soon as the water freezes and a thin layer of ice develops, it breaks in the exposed places and sheets of ice are pushed around on top of each other by the wind. Bit by bit a sheer, seemingly unending landscape of sculptures are developing. But their days are numbered, and the torpid and silent witnesses of the ice age are going to become a treacherous trap when they melt. That means right when we’re on our way 380 kilometer march back to civilization. Today’s leg was short: 41 kilometers. Our position: 72 degrees north, 10 minutes, 34.5 seconds – 75 degrees west, 00 minutes, 22.5 seconds.

Saturday, April 26

Time plays no role. It’s light 24 hours a day. At lunch time we start off from the huts. One of our skidoos always keeps going on strike on the slow path through bizarre ice formations. It’s an unreal environment. Vast, snow-covered hills pass us on the right. Blue-grey fog indicates open water on the left. With our native drivers, all experienced hunters, we still feel safe. But these days are almost over.

It’s 2 a.m. We’ve just set up our camp between two small icebergs. Our coordinates are now 72 degrees north, 27 minutes, 59.5 seconds – 75 degrees west,10 minutes, 22.3 seconds. We’ve gotten 59 kilometers closer to our goal. After a few minutes of writing these lines my fingers get numb. It’s hard to hit the right keys. Each move, every type of work is a hassle under these conditions. We’re all very curious about how this is supposed to work on the wall and are hoping for an Arctic spring.

Friday, April 25

We’re now on our way to Querbitter Fjord. The loads that the snowmobiles can pull is amazing. While the equipment is transported in a harnessed team, we huddle in the other one on huge sleds behind a small wind screen. With each bump we’re crushed together. The thermometer still shows minus 15 degrees Celsius, and we roll ourselves together like the sled dogs and try not to offer the wind any contact surface.

After 54 kilometers we reach two small hunting cabins. Our coordinates: 72 degrees north, 39 minutes, 16.9 seconds – 76 degrees west, 39 minutes, 52.7 seconds. Today is our last night sleeping under a fixed roof and without fear of polar bears. At least it’s a few degrees warmer.

Friday, April 25

However the much bigger problem, which we can’t get out of heads, is the polar bears. They like to hunt in the fjords around this time of year – where seal mothers bear their cubs. Also at Querbitter Fjord. In the last few days, Robert has been feverishly working on a polar bear fence that’s fitted with rocket flairs. A masterpiece, yet by no means a solution that provides all-round relief. When we ask the hunters, we get all kinds of possible advice, but they all ask one question: “What caliber are your rifles?”

We’re all nervous but also unbelievably curious and excited about what’s awaiting us out there over the next few days and weeks. But today one thing is clear: we’re going to get impressions that we’ll never forget.

Wednesday, April 23

It should actually be much warmer. But according to the native hunters it’s a cold year. With every breath drawn the ice-cold air bites the lungs; our mucus membranes are inflamed and bleeding.

Today we’re finally starting. In the early afternoon we’re going to head towards Querbitter Fjord. The last few days we have been spent packing. We’ve constantly been playing each individual stage of our expedition through our heads in order not to forget anything. Once we’re out there we’re all alone. We’ve been talking a lot with the native hunters. Their experiences and advice are hugely important.

According to our ‘by fair means’ philosophy, we were initially hoping to carry out the journey to the wall with dog sleds. But this romantically-transfigured error of judgment was quickly retracted. Dog sleds are only now used for polar bear hunts and only because the law allows it. We don’t have any other choice but to carry out the first leg on snowmobiles.

Tuesday, April 22

Dazzling sunshine at minus 20 degrees. We pack our gear, get ourselves rifles and build warning fences for the polar bears. In two days we’ll be leaving Pond Inlet. Each of us has a queasy feeling. What’s really awaiting us in this gaudy, iridescent, white desert? For a whole year we’ve tried to prepare ourselves mentally for this moment. But right now we’re extremely impressed and humble. The cold is not an antagonist; we won’t be able to fight it.

We can only plan our further steps with utmost care and with the experience of the valuable advice from the natives. Because we’ll only be able to live in harmony with this grandiose nature in the next six weeks. The only visible adversaries are the polar bears, and we also don’t think we have much chance of winning against them. We’re going to try to organize dog sleds to transport the equipment as far as the wall, for dogs are the best protection against a polar bear attack.

Monday, April 21

Following our arrival in Pond Inlet our good mood abruptly changed, because as the door of the turboprop machine opened, the cold hit us with full vehemence. At minus 20 degrees the Inuits were celebrating the first warm days of Spring. Kids were playing on the streets and the Inuit grandmother was taking her grandson, without a hat, for a ride on her Skidoo, while we crawled into our down jackets up to our noses. Welcome to the end of the world. Welcome to reality.

It takes some time to get used to this exposure and above all to the extreme cold, which feels very different to when we were planning the trip in our living rooms. Two hunters have just returned from a hunt at Querbitter Fjord and told us with good cheer about the many polar bears that they met – at least eleven. Two of them they were able to shoot. So that left only nine polar bears to harass us in our nightmares last night.

Sunday, April 20

Lucky stars were shining down on us at our departure – or we could also call it Mrs. Fichtlscherer from the German airline Lufthansa. Looking at our 35 haul bags, ski sacks, sleds and rucksacks she didn’t have a nervous breakdown, as we had feared. In fact, she tried to make our lives as comfortable as possible in the light of a horrendous bill for extra-baggage. This good mood stayed with us until we reached Ottawa and even also throughout our first warm evening at plus 23 degrees Celsius.