Farewell, but not Goodbye – Greenland 2026…

When you drag your kit out of the respective sheds, lofts and garages, it’s not best that you find it falling apart.  As I packed for a sea kayaking trip to Greenland, I noticed the collar on my dry suit had perished.  Disappointment ran through me as I’d only had it changed a couple of seasons ago, but this was no time to reflect.  There was not time for a repair, and my engineering brain had some quick thinking to do.  It was patched with amalgamating tape and held together with prayers as I rammed it in my burgeoning kit bag.

Due to changes in Greenlandic law, this could be the last kayaking trip with my Norwegian friends Laila and Christian, and nothing was going to stop my enjoyment, even a knackered dry suit.  I had packed an excellent SMWS whisky as a parting gift to the ice, and along with UK and Norwegian friends, I headed into the fjords.

I travelled with my good friend Paul and his two sons George and Ryan.  All strapping men, against my rather battered and scarred frame.  Paul and I worked together for many years in the electricity industry and are now both retired and thoroughly enjoying life.

We flew from the UK to Greenland via Denmark, and after a swift boat transfer we landed in the town of Narsaq.  I’d been there twice before and the place felt homely.  I was soon reunited with Laila and Christian, and the full crew of 16 people planned, ate and laughed the night away.

We visited the excellent Narsaq Museum the next morning and discussed local issues and traditions.  The Inuit are hunters, and they always have been.  They still hunt Seals, Whales and Polar Bears, using everything from them.  Many western views are repulsed by this, but I wonder if we have the right to try and change a traditional and sustainable society…?  We’re doing our best as a ‘civilised’ world to destroy the very things we profess to protect.  The Inuit are attuned to their surroundings and nature, whilst we seem distanced, yet willing to complain about the demise of our natural world. I feel we have a lot to learn from the Inuit.

We loaded the kayaks and headed out of town in beautiful weather, paddling east, hugging the shore.  Within minutes a Humpback Whale was playing around us and came down so close that one of the kayaks was almost rolled.  It was a joy to see such peaceful beauty up close, and it was soon followed by seals and a lone eagle.  Greenland is such a remote place where nature rules, not us.

After crossing a 3km wide fjord, we made camp for our first night.  Inuit graves dominated the hillsides, and we’ve always camped well away from them as a mark of respect.  I’ve seen other kayakers care little about them over the years, and it appals me.

Heavy rain fell in the night, and the wind stiffened.  By morning the waves were roaring up the beach, and getting into the fjord looked entertaining at best.  Thankfully it eased, and as we paddled deeper, the water settled and masses of icebergs loomed in the distance.  I’ve paddled in some spectacular ice, but nothing like this. Walls of white surrounded us, casting fantastic shadows across the water as we silently slid by.  Our pace dropped, as did everyone’s jaws, as huge bangs echoed down the fjord and bergs broke, rolled and settled.  Words can barely describe the scene.  We didn’t want to leave the water, but eventually we built camp on broken and rocky ground, stringing tarps to keep off the rain.

It poured through the night, and we woke to thick cloud and a deafening patter on our tents.  It was not a day to paddle safely.  The ice was too thick to negotiate, so a walk up the hills would stretch our legs.

There were many small Inuit settlements dotted along the hills.  A house here and a grave there.  A farm still exists further up the fjord, which we had hoped to visit, but we heard their motorboat struggle and turn back due to the ice.  The air was still, the water mirror-like and the fjord packed.  A great deal of small ice was filling in the gaps between the huge blocks and navigation seemed impossible.  What a place this is.  To our north we could see endless mountains disappearing into the horizon, with stark rocks and hanging glaciers everywhere.  Not a sign of human interference as far as we could see.  

We spent a beautiful night telling stories as the light refused to fade.  This truly is the land of the midnight sun.

As a child, I was fascinated with the works of Dr Carl Sagan.  His television series ‘Cosmos : A Personal Voyage’ transfixed me and was a great inspiration in my younger years.  On many trips we bring stories, songs and poetry to share and after recounting my Alaskan exploits, I read Sagan’s ‘Pale Blue Dot’.  If you ever want to try and understand how truly irrelevant, we are in the universe, how tiny we are on this world and consider your perspective upon life, I’d highly recommend it.  Being in a true wilderness, surrounded by nothing but empty hills, clear seas and mountains of ice certainly puts our lives into perspective.

We headed back down the fjord the next day and found ice conditions worsening.  We forced a path through but were repeatedly bashed by blocks.  It was slow progress, but progress it was, before we camped on an island.  Seagulls filled the air, and Auks ran across the sea, as icebergs breached and smashed.  It was a magical sight.  We ascended to highest part of the island and marvelled at the view.  Glaciers, more icebergs than you could shake a stick at, azure blue waters and not another person as far as the eye could see.

Rain greeted us the next morning.  It had been threatening for a while, and when it came, it poured.  Working outdoors under tarps is never easy, but you get used to it.  Dry bags help keep your kit in some kind of shape and being organised makes life so much easier.  Organised is what I do.  Whilst other people were faffing, I was packed, loaded and ready to go.  We hadn’t time to mess about as we needed to use the best weather conditions and cover the day’s distance.

A stiff morning breeze greeted our first crossing, after which we visited the abandoned village of Niaqornaq. Apparently over 100 people lived here once, and the village was complete with a church and store.  A canning factory was constructed in Narsaq, and workers needed, so the company closed the store and destroyed the community.  So much for the benefits of industrialisation and colonialism.

After a fog laden final crossing we made our last camp, before returning Narsaq the next morning.  Cloud hugged the shores and mountains, bringing a cold and eerie feel to the scene.  If a Viking longship had appeared from the mist, it would not have looked out of place.  Matterhorn shaped bergs sat silently in the sea, reminding us of the ice’s strength, but also warning that any approach would be foolish.  If a berg breaks or rolls, a kayak is simply a toy boat in a bath.

And so, the trip was over.  Possibly my last time in Narsaq was spent with nerve pain racking my right leg so strong that I could barely walk.  A hobble to a well needed bed was about as much as I could manage, before the long journey for home began.  Phantom nerve pain is becoming more of an issue, but it’s not going away, in the same vein that my amputations are never growing back.  

Such is the life of an amputee, but one who faces the mountains, seas and deserts of the world, armed with the open eyes of a little boy, stuck in the body of a 57-year-old man.

My thanks to Terra Nova Equipment for the use of a new Southern Cross 2 tent and for their years of continued support.