Storyline: Hiking in Nunavut August 1-12, 1998
I’ve been too busy or tired to write. It’s exhilarating! Michael and Tim are excellent companions. Capable, fit, encouraging and with complementary strengths. Michael is like his father, a self-contained, focused leader. Tim, as always, is a free spirit, with a healthy dose of caring and willing to do anything—especially if it looks dangerous. After a breakfast of pancakes and syrup on Sunday—took over an hour to cook—we struck camp and headed along the beach into the village to talk to Dave Reid about the Bylot trip. Tim gave me my first stream crossing lesson, as we had to cross our water supply to get back into Pond Inlet proper. I felt awkward, ungainly and off-balance, but I made it. Tim just bounded over like a gazelle. We walked along the beach, enjoying the morning that had become overcast but still warm. Lots of bones were scattered around; memories of meals and clothing and sewing twine past.
Closer to the village, the sled dogs were sleeping on their line. As we approached, they rose. First one, then several, and all turned to watch us. Looking more like wolves than dogs. I love dogs but was certainly happy here to take Dave Reid’s advice: “don’t pet the sled dogs”.
The group of kayakers was just leaving as we arrived. They were being transported about 100 km up island, and would paddle back over the next 12-15 days. We may meet up with them when we come back from Bylot Island. At the hotel, we waited while Scott and Chris finished their paperwork. They left for Bylot just before 1 p.m. while Dave gave us the required paperwork and permits and we talked some more about cost, finally settling on a single boat instead of the two we had originally expected. Then we were off to hike to Mt. Herodier.
Southeast along the shore from Pond Inlet, it looked like a cone. I had asked Dave if there was anything we needed to know about the hike. He pointed to a line on the map and said “at Jane’s Creek it’s either high and deep or low and wide. Your choice.”. With that helpful and encouraging information, we set off. At the edge of the hamlet, we crossed onto the tundra.
We soon noticed caribou antlers just uphill from us. The ground was soft and quite comfortable, but it wasn’t long before I wished for something firmer: the springiness that at first felt good was quickly tiring out my leg muscles. After a while, and still fiddling with my pack, we came across a steep field of large boulders. Michael decided to go higher, while Tim & I stayed lower. Tim, probably because it looked more challenging, and I because it meant that I didn’t have to climb with my ungainly pack swinging around in my back. It had been comfortable on my training hikes, but while I had carried the same weight, it hadn’t been as full. I just couldn’t get it to feel snug and part of me. Oh well. Part way across the boulder field, I stepped onto a rock a little off-balance. All of a sudden, I was over on my side with my left leg between two boulders and my arms fighting to keep from being twisted to the point that the pressure on my leg caused it to break. Tim was back in a flash to help me up, and I had no more than a scrape just below the knee. This only an hour into the hike Boy am I in trouble!
A while later, we came across Jane’s Creek. By this time I was hiking higher up the slope, with Michael. We descended to the creek valley as the noise of the torrent rose to greet us (the photo doesn’t do it justice). Michael scouted upstream, I took a rest, and Tim bounded up to meet us. After a brief discussion and an energy-providing snack, Michael decided we should cross three abreast where we were. I was to be the upstream man (being the biggest I was to take the brunt of the current), with Michael in the middle and Tim downstream. This was where the Nordic ski poles we had brought with us were to come in handy. We took off our hiking boots and put on running shoes or surf slippers, and we were off.
The water was frigid having recently run off its mother glacier, but I didn’t notice at first as I fought for my footing. The ski pole was being dragged downstream and wasn’t really helping. When the water level reached the bottom of my shorts, I started to wonder what we were doing. Michael called us together to link arms & we continued. It got deeper, and I was gasping for breath as the water came up over my waist…. The ski pole continued to hamper me, and I stabbed Michael in the foot at least once. Suddenly, I stepped into a hole. My backpack, which was loose at the waist, swung away in the current and lifted me off my feet. Michael and Tim pulled me into shore and we scrambled up the slope, gasping, laughing, and just a little short of breath. I dumped the contents of my backpack & found there had been little seepage. Then I stripped off my soaked sweatshirt, T-shirt and shorts and put on warm clothes. Michael pitched his tent, and we made hot chocolate and mashed potatoes then slept for a couple of hours.
At about 9 p.m. we set off again. It was agony. I felt lethargic and Tim’s back was sore. To top it off, we were crossing a boggy marsh. With every step our boots sank 4-5” (10-12cm) into the soft footing. After an hour, I said it was time to pack it in, but first we needed to find a dry enough place to camp near a source of good water. We staggered on. At every rise Tim, with a gleam in his eyes, said “I can feel it. Just over the next rise will be great”. Michael was keeping his eye on low clouds that were approaching from behind us. When the leading edge of cloud hit, with cool drops of rain, I put on my jacket and slogged on. Michael went ahead to find a campsite. A few minutes later, I turned inland to avoid a very wet-looking marsh. The cloud (fog) was around us limiting visibility, and I couldn’t see where Michael had gone. But I could hear him respond to calls. Then I saw his white tarp being waved just a few hundred yards away. By the time Tim & I were there, Michael’s tent was just about up. Tim helped me with my tent, as the rain intensified. I was getting cold as I hadn’t put on rain pants. We made dinner – Spaghettini Italiano (tasted like last night’s chili). I gulped down a cup and headed for my sleeping bag at about 11:30 tired, cold and starting to wonder again what I was doing here. I fell asleep an hour or so later as my feet and nose slowly returned to operating temperature.
Looks beautiful , but doesn’t sound like much fun.
Oh… like Skye you mean… Alex says he’d do it again in a heartbeat…