Snack time after some tough skinnin'.
This past weekend Ken and I were lucky enough to be invited by some friends from Aapakaaq (the local climbing club) on a weekend boat trip into the fjord aboard the good ship Kisaq. It was a great trip, complete with skiing, hunting, and beautiful (albeit cold) weather.
Our hosts were a Danish-Greenlandic couple, Anders and Ellen, who have lived aboard the Kisaq for decades. They sail up and down the west coast of Greenland, with the occasional jaunt down the Eastern Seaboard into the Carribean. Anders is a tall, quiet, and resolute Danish man, who seemed most talkative at breakfast . His silence and proclivity to morning instilled confidence in me—these seem to be fitting traits for a maritime man. Ellen, on the other hand, was a bit more lively, a dry Greenlandic woman, a mother and a grandmother, a wonderful cook, and the obvious master of the ship’s domain. Throughout the weekend we enjoyed her delicious homemade bread, cream-based seafood soups, and perfect pot roasts, all complimented with healthy doses of boiled potatoes . I asked her the first night who the worst guest was that the Kisaq had ever hosted and she immediately told me it was a group of heli skiers who brought along their own “master chef” for the trip. It was obvious that being relegated to sous-chef in her own kitchen would be Ellen’s worst nightmare. I liked Ellen, though—she seemed to be a woman who has her priorities straight. When we sent a chair clattering down a stairwell during a rousing game of spoons one night around midnight, she barely batted an eyelash; on the other hand, when I tracked about a tablespoon's worth of snow into the main living area, she gave me a thorough reprimand. I guess when you live on a boat, you care about the things that really matter—like dry socks.
Our hosts were a Danish-Greenlandic couple, Anders and Ellen, who have lived aboard the Kisaq for decades. They sail up and down the west coast of Greenland, with the occasional jaunt down the Eastern Seaboard into the Carribean. Anders is a tall, quiet, and resolute Danish man, who seemed most talkative at breakfast . His silence and proclivity to morning instilled confidence in me—these seem to be fitting traits for a maritime man. Ellen, on the other hand, was a bit more lively, a dry Greenlandic woman, a mother and a grandmother, a wonderful cook, and the obvious master of the ship’s domain. Throughout the weekend we enjoyed her delicious homemade bread, cream-based seafood soups, and perfect pot roasts, all complimented with healthy doses of boiled potatoes . I asked her the first night who the worst guest was that the Kisaq had ever hosted and she immediately told me it was a group of heli skiers who brought along their own “master chef” for the trip. It was obvious that being relegated to sous-chef in her own kitchen would be Ellen’s worst nightmare. I liked Ellen, though—she seemed to be a woman who has her priorities straight. When we sent a chair clattering down a stairwell during a rousing game of spoons one night around midnight, she barely batted an eyelash; on the other hand, when I tracked about a tablespoon's worth of snow into the main living area, she gave me a thorough reprimand. I guess when you live on a boat, you care about the things that really matter—like dry socks.
The good ship Kisaq.
The Kisaq sleeps 10, in five tiny 2 person cabins. Upon entering our 1 meter by 3 meter cabin, full of clever cubbyholes and space-saving features, Ken, ever the minimalist, remarked, “Architects could learn a lot from boats! They’re so space efficient. We could live in this cabin forever and never need more space.” As I searched in vain for an open surface on which to set my backpack, I chose to ignore his comment. But he does have a slightly valid point.
Tracks!
On Saturday, we had a great day of skiing/touring. Shortly after leaving the boat, we saw about 5 reindeer running through the valley below us—my first large land mammal sighting in Greenland! We skinned up about 2500 ft (~760 m) to a great little peak with a beautiful panoramic view of the surrounding peaks and fjord system, then skied back down to shore on some decent (although variable) snow. I enjoyed the lower angle runs as we got closer to the boat—better snow, and easier on my old telemark setup (on which I am incapable of making anything but parallel turns). Ken, Aili, and I then did an additional lap up to a 1500 ft (~455 m) saddle to get in a few more turns and one more view. The snow was great on the ski back down and it was a beautiful run to end the day. We had bluebird skies and cold, but bearable, weather—about 0 deg F (-18 deg C).
Cracks in the snowpack.
On Sunday, most of the party went hunting for ptarmigan and arctic hare, but lacking rifles and know-how, Ken and I opted to ski. The weather was a bit more unpredictable, and Anders (the captain) warned us at breakfast that white-out conditions could be upon us by midday. With this in mind we took careful GPS waypoints on a short hike (about 1500 ft/455 m) up the backside of a peak with a mellow slide path on the front side that we were thinking of skiing. When we got to the saddle we were thinking of skiing down from, Ken became more cautious and I stood by while he ventured toward the slope to assess the snowpack. About 2 meters out he heard a “whoomph” as the snow on the face settled, and cracks went shooting up, down, and out from the protected place were Ken stood. He quickly scurried back to me and we debated for a while whether we should set off the slide, but decided not to and skied back to the boat down the backside, following our skin track. Pretty exciting/sobering for me, but also nice to have exercised a bit of caution and see it pay off. The ski back down was uneventful save for a small touch of white frostbite that appeared on my nose-- spotted by Ken, as usual. Thank goodness for balaclavas!
After returning to the boat we met up with the hunters, who had a good haul for the day—about 35 ptarmigan and one beautiful arctic hare. A Belgian Ph.D. student on the trip, Lorenz, regaled us with the tale of how he, rifle-less, had come upon a wounded ptarmigan and finished it off by ripping off its head. Greenland really has a way of bringing out the wild side in people.
Kasper celebrates his 14 ptarmigans with a cigarette back on board.
Cost for this trip, with all meals included, was about 300 USD per person, and well worth it. Ken and I have a similar trip coming up tomorrow through Sunday aboard another boat, the Minna Martek, and we’re excited to see how it compares to the Kisaq. Stay tuned for a full report and in the meantime, check out more pics from our trip below (mostly taken by Ken).
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