Greenland

by Patti Wheeler

  Nuka and Wyatt walked outside. Again, I noticed the dogs. They were going berserk.

  “Nuka, do you ever get used to all this barking?” I asked.

  “Ilulissat is home to 4,500 people,” Nuka said, smiling. “And over 6,000 sled dogs. We have no choice but to get used to it.”

  A sled dog in Ilulissat

  Nuka pointed out the hospital where he was born, a small red building not a whole lot bigger than the average house, and told us all these amazing stories about growing up in the Arctic. For instance, how kids go outside and play year-round, even when it’s well below zero. He also talked about how in the summer, when the sun never sets and no one really sleeps much, kids can be found playing soccer at three in the morning on dirt and gravel fields because there’s no grass in Ilulissat. Oh, and here’s something he told me that’s almost hard to imagine: Each winter the people of Ilulissat spend about a month and a half in complete darkness! Basically, from late-November to mid-January the sun never comes up. After all those long, dark days, when the sun finally peeks its head over the horizon just enough to light the sky for a short time, everyone comes outside to sing and dance in celebration. Now that’s a party I’d like to see.

  After we talked for a while, Nuka and Erneq’s mother and father came racing up on a snowmobile and slid to a stop. They were bundled in furs from head to toe, and soft spoken with cheerful faces and a real mellow way about them. Nuka’s mother introduced herself as Kunik and nodded politely to us when we told her our names. Erneq said that Kunik means “kiss.” I wondered how in the world she came to have such a name, but wasn’t about to ask.

  “My name is Makaali,” the boys’ father said with a strong accent. “It is very nice to meet you. May your journey be a safe one.”

  Makaali then spoke Greenlandic to his sons, saying all this stuff I couldn’t understand.

  “Okay, then,” Nuka said to us, clapping his fur mittens together. “It’s time to go meet my uncle, Unaaq. He just radioed my father and said that the sleds are packed and the dogs are ready to run.”

  Makaali and Kunik drove us to the airport over icy roads in this giant Arctic-mobile with four big, studded tires on either side. Before they left, they gave us all tight hugs and bid us safe travels. Right now we’re enjoying the warmth inside while we wait for someone to gas up the helicopter that will take us to the ice sheet. The pilots are out there checking all the gauges and making sure the propeller is screwed on tight and all that good stuff. Of course, I’m all for them taking their time to make sure this old bird is in good shape, but I’m also really anxious to climb aboard because once that propeller starts spinning and we lift off, well, that’s when our journey becomes something more. It becomes an adventure!

  WYATT

  APRIL 1, 3:17 PM

  GREENLAND ICE SHEET, 69° 17′ N 49° 52’ W

  8° FAHRENHEIT, -13° CELSIUS

  SKIES CLEAR, LIGHT WIND

  The 1950s Russian-made Sikorsky helicopter shook violently as it tilted on its side and moved east over the Ilulissat glacier. I tightened my seat belt as we neared the mouth of the glacier, hoping this vintage flying machine wasn’t about to fall to pieces. The ice below us was turquoise blue with deep, jagged cracks caused by the glacier’s slow movement towards the open water. Finally, the pilot straightened our path and the helicopter steadied as we moved further inland.

  Flying over a massive iceberg

  Away from the coast, the cracks disappeared and the ice was solid. The pilots took us lower in a hurry, causing my stomach to jump into my throat. As we descended, I caught sight of the dogs below. They were harnessed to the sleds, jumping around and barking with excitement. The pilots hovered just above the surface, inspecting the landing area to make sure it was free of crevasses. Snow curled up off the ice cap as the helicopter descended. We touched down with a thud and almost immediately the door flew open. Standing before us was Nuka’s uncle, Unaaq.

  “Make sure to grab all of your gear!” he shouted over the propeller. “Once the helicopter leaves, we are on our own!”

  We did as Unaaq said, gathering our backpacks and camera equipment before jumping through the doors onto the ice. As soon as we were safely beyond the reach of the propeller, the helicopter rose off the ice, creating a tornado of snow that swirled around us. I shielded my eyes with my forearm and waved to the pilots. They each gave us a salute, tilted the nose of the helicopter forward, and flew off toward the coast.

  Sikorsky helicopter

  Unaaq approached and gave us each a strong hug.

  “My mushers in training!” he said with a smile. “Are you ready to begin our incredible Arctic expedition?”

  “We sure are,” Gannon said. “It’s going to be epic!”

  It should be noted, Unaaq did not become our guide by chance. Before Gannon and I were born, my parents traveled to Greenland and enjoyed a weekend of ice fishing near Ilulissat. Unaaq was their guide. He spoke excellent English and taught my parents how to run a sled. They camped over the ice, catching halibut and red fish that they cooked for dinner. My parents were impressed by his knowledge and enjoyed his company so much they insisted he be our guide.

  But reaching people in Greenland isn’t always easy. They didn’t have his address or email and he wasn’t listed in any phone directory (we later learned he doesn’t even have a phone), so my parents did the only thing they could think of and sent a letter to his hometown, addressed simply:

  Unaaq (Sled Guide)

  Ilulissat, Greenland

  Since Ilulissat is a small town, we thought, “What the heck, the postman might just happen to know Unaaq the Sled Guide.” Sure enough, the letter found him and, shortly after, he wrote back. Lucky for us, he was interested in our proposed expedition and gave us a date and time to call him at his brother’s store. Next thing you know, here we are!

  On this expedition we will be using traditional wooden sleds. There are two smaller sleds for Gannon and me, and a much larger sled that will carry Nuka, Unaaq, and most of our supplies. Gannon and I considered sharing a sled, but since it’s not everyday we get to sled across the Arctic, we just couldn’t resist the urge to each drive our own. And there are obvious advantages to spreading the weight across more sleds and traveling lighter. Especially when we encounter areas where the ice is broken and hard to navigate.

  Harnessed by ropes to each of the smaller sleds are six Greenlandic sled dogs. The larger sled is being pulled by twelve dogs. Greenlandic sled dogs are born to run, have incredible endurance, and can function in temperatures as cold as -70°F. For these reasons, they are the best choice for high Arctic sledding.

  We also have a traditional seal skin tent and fur blankets to keep us warm at night. Five days of food provisions were flown in yesterday and loaded onto the sleds by Unaaq. Approximately 225 miles north of here is a polar hut Unaaq stocked with additional food and supplies that we’ll pick up when we get there. Then, a little more than halfway through our journey, we’ll restock again when we spend a couple nights in an Arctic village near the coast. This strategy was designed to minimize what we have to carry with us during each leg of the journey, so that we are not overloading our sleds and putting unnecessary strain on the dogs.

  Before we packed our gear onto the sleds, Unaaq gathered us all together and asked for our attention.

  “I have something I must tell you before we begin our journey,” he said, his face becoming serious. “In the high Arctic is a village called Siorapaluk. The northern most people in the world live there, the Inughuit. They are the true Polar Eskimos. Few in number, they live much like their ancestors, fishing and hunting caribou. Rarely do they have contact with outsiders.”

  “Are we going to meet them?” Gannon asked.

  “I hope so,” Unaaq said. “Just before you arrived I received word that several families of Inughuit are in trouble. They traveled far inland to hunt and their dogs became very ill.”

  “All of the dogs?” Gannon asked.

 
“It seems strange, but I was told that every one of their dogs is sick. They cannot pull the sleds any further, so the Inughuit are stranded. The weather up north is not good and it is expected to get worse. No one can reach them. They know how to survive on the ice better than anyone, but their hunt so far has been unsuccessful. If the dogs do not improve enough to bring them back to the Siorapaluk, they will soon run out of food.”

  “Oh, jeez!” Gannon shouted. “We have to do something! We can’t just leave them out there to starve!”

  “No, we cannot,” Unaaq said. “This is your first sled journey and I do not want to put additional pressure on you, but we must do our best to get to them as quickly as possible. I have worked with dogs my whole life and may be able to help them.”

  “Well, what are we waiting for?” Gannon shouted as he slung a pack onto his sled and started to tie it down. “Let’s get going!”

  As we raced to pack up, Nuka explained that his uncle Unaaq is one of the best veterinarians in Greenland. He is also one of the only veterinarians in Greenland, but that doesn’t change the fact that he is great at what he does. Throughout the country, he is well respected for his knowledge of sled dogs. Nuka is confident that if we can get to them in time, his uncle will be able to determine the cause of their illness and find a remedy.

  Our mission to research climate change and Greenlandic culture during the expedition will remain, but these tasks are no longer priority. What’s most important is that we get to the Inughuit people and help them before it is too late.

  That’s all for now.

  The race is on.

  Time to mush!

  Ready to run!

  A LONG JOURNEY OVER ICE

  GANNON

  AFTERNOON

  Aquick crack of the whip and a call of “huughuaq” and we were off! Ahead of us was a great white kingdom under cloudless, blue skies.

  I have to admit, starting out I literally couldn’t take my mind off the sick dogs and what might happen to the families if they ran out of food, but the truth is that we’re still many days away by sled, and there’s really nothing we can do until we get there. In the meantime, Unaaq suggested that we concentrate on running the sleds efficiently and covering as much distance as possible each day.

  His advice helped me focus on the task at hand, and soon after we started running the dogs my head cleared and a sense of calm came over me. Watching Unaaq steer his sled across the ice, I felt like I’d been magically transported back in time a hundred years. Seriously, this guy’s the real deal—a traditional musher, through and through. He’s got all this wispy white hair, sticking straight up from atop his head, like it’s never been combed, and a patchy white beard on a plump bronze face. Of course, all of his clothes are of the Eskimo vintage, with a worn out, old caribou parka and these big bushy white pants and boots. Oh, and here’s the coolest part, dangling from a leather chain around his neck is an impressive collection of polar bear claws.

  “A necklace like that would make an awesome souvenir,” I said when we stopped for a break, “but I’m guessing you didn’t buy it at a gift shop.”

  “Oh, no,” Unaaq said, laughing. “Some of these claws I just happened across. Others I took after fierce battles.”

  Excuse me? Did he say he took them after fierce battles? With polar bears? Okay, if that’s what it takes to bring home a necklace of polar bear claws, I can definitely do without.

  Anyhow, it pretty much goes without saying, but Unaaq’s dogs ran perfectly. I studied his technique hoping to pick up a few tricks from the master. One thing I learned is how to free the dogs when the lines get twisted up or tangled on their legs. This happens from time to time, even to Unaaq’s dogs, but it never slowed him down. He’d just grab the rope and sweep it underneath their legs with a flick of the wrist, almost like a jump rope, and the dogs would be free of the snag.

  As my dogs ran, divots of snow popped into the air like exploding kernels of popcorn. Nuka watched us and shouted advice as Unaaq ran their sled. Pretty quickly I felt like I had things under control. My ropes remained tight against the sled, without any real slack building up, which kept the ride nice and smooth. Have to admit, I was really surprised how well it was going for me right out of the gate. I mean, when I was training in Colorado I’d been dumped off my sled so many times I lost count, but so far I’m looking like an old pro out here. Not to give myself credit or anything. It was the dogs, not me. They obviously know how to run well together.

  As the dogs picked up speed, the hiss of the sled runners slicing through the snow was like music to my ears and I soon found myself totally relaxed. The warm sun lessened the sting of the cold wind against my face and kept me comfortable as we ran. I have to say, the whole experience was about as close to perfect as you can get. Would have been totally perfect, in fact, if I hadn’t suddenly caught whiff of that rancid smell, a smell I know all too well. When it hits your nose there’s really no mistaking it—dog farts!

  I turned my head away, took a deep breath, and almost laughed out loud when I remembered a joke my dad had told during our training in Colorado, “Unless you’re the lead dog, the view really stinks!” Couldn’t have said it better myself. For whatever reason, the smell is always the worst at the beginning of the run. I don’t think that it goes away, exactly. I mean, these dogs fart like it’s their job. I think it’s just that you get used to it after a while.

  Here are some important commands that I learned from Nuka:

  “Harru,” for “go right.”

  “Atsuk,” for “go left.”

  “Huughuaq” means “get going” or “hurry, faster!”

  “Kángisârut” means “stop” or “obstacle.”

  I haven’t had a whole lot of time to get to know my dogs yet, but I do know their names. So, let’s see, there’s Kajoq (brown one), Najaaraq (a brother’s little sister, the only female on my team), Anori (meaning wind, for his speed), Turtle (for his slow and steady pace), Olie (meaning just that, Olie), and finally, Kamik (white boots, because he’s all black with white fur on his feet). Kamik is the alpha male of the pack. He looks more like a wolf than a dog, with narrow eyes and this brow that’s all scowled like he woke up on the wrong side of the sled. And never in my life have I seen a set of choppers like the ones on this guy. No joke, they’re like vampire fangs or something. Let’s just say, he’s the kind of dog I wouldn’t want to get into a scrap with. Might come away missing a hand.

  With the exception of Kamik, who is mostly black, all my dogs are white, some with dark streaks on their backs and tails. All of them are built with great, broad chests and strong shoulders. Bottom line, each one is a good, capable snow dog and I’m privileged to have them on my team.

  Dog flatulence aside, I now know what Mr. Rasmussen meant when he wrote, “Give me snow, give me dogs; you can keep the rest.” Out here, that’s exactly how I feel.

  The alpha male, Kamik

  WYATT

  APRIL 1, 9:48 PM

  GREENLAND ICE SHEET, 69° 22′ N 49° 49′ W

  16° FAHRENHEIT, -9° CELSIUS

  SKIES CLEAR, LIGHT WIND

  Chaotic is how I’d describe my sledding today. Inefficient, embarrassing, amateur, pathetic even. Yeah, those words describe it pretty accurately, too.

  I’m extremely disappointed in myself. All that time training in Colorado and today I looked like I had never run a sled in my life. For some reason, my dogs refused to run together in any sort of uniform fashion. It was like each dog had its own destination in mind. They continued to leap over one another, tangling themselves in a mess of ropes that looked like, as Gannon put it, “the web of a blind spider.” When the ropes got too twisted up to continue, I would have to stop and try to sort them out while they snarled and snapped at me.

  Making matters worse, Gannon ran his sled about as well as a native Greenlander. Nuka and Unaaq even complimented how good he was at controlling his dogs. “He’s a natural,” they said. We’re only one day into the journey an
d Gannon’s dogs already seem to love him. It’s like he’s been their master since they were pups. My dogs on the other hand, they’d just as soon leave me behind.

  I can tell that my lead dog, Tooguyuk, isn’t very happy about me being in charge. Maybe it’s that he’s used to Unaaq and Nuka giving orders. Whatever it is, he’s giving me some serious attitude. The alpha dog sets the tone, so the rest of the dogs are just as agitated with me as he is. Before we started running the sleds, Unaaq made sure we knew the names of each dog by memory. The rest of my team is made up of Suluk, Jake, Qanic, Ralphy, and Big Foot. They are all males, and I still get some of them mixed up, which could be part of the problem. No one appreciates being called the wrong name, not even sled dogs.

  Hopefully, I’ll do better tomorrow. If I can’t gain control of my dogs, we’ll never make it to the Inughuit people in time. Even though I’m slowing us all down, Unaaq and Nuka have been very patient with me, and I am determined to get it right. I have to get it right. There is no other option. Many lives depend on it.

  Nuka shows us how to run a sled

  GANNON

  END OF DAY #1 ON THE ICE

  Okay, we just finished setting up our accommodations for the night and I have to say, they’re totally awesome! Basically, we’ve built a replica of an ancient Arctic tent camp. Surprisingly, it wasn’t all that hard to do.

  What we did first was dig out a square in the snow a couple feet deep and probably ten feet long on each side to give us some protection from the wind. Then we packed the snow hard, set up a tent frame carved out of whalebones, and draped a few sealskins over the top. Nuka’s mom stitched the skins to fit the frame perfectly. Last thing we did was throw down a few musk ox furs as flooring and open a narrow shaft in the top so that some fresh air can flow through. The ventilation allows us to burn these small dishes Unaaq packed with seal blubber, which basically burns just like a candle and provides good light. To keep us warm while we sleep, we each have our own thick fur blanket.