Storyline: Hiking in Nunavut August 1-12, 1998
Jim said earlier that when he got up for a pee at 5:30 p.m. there was frost on the tents. I woke at about 7:30 as a margarine container (dinner plate) hit the tent fly and took off towards the stream. The wind was blowing down from the hoodoos and cliffs above and was pushing hard against the tent, sending grains of sand to beat against the fly like a snare drum roll. “this is going to be interesting”, I thought. The stream coming down the cliff that we had been using for drinking water was now cloudy with stirred-up sand so Jim & I filled up at another, clearer trickle. The sun was out and fortunately the wind died down, giving us plenty of time to cook breakfast, strike camp and head back to the beach, where we were to attempt to cross the creek. To get to the beach we had to scale the same sand hill we had descended to the hoodoos in the first place. We’d had a little practice scaling the hill the day before, but that was without backpacks. Today would be just a little more of a challenge.
As I folded and stowed the spare tarp that we had used as a seat/tablecloth/sand protector Jim, Michael and Tim set off. Marian, Lindsay and I soon followed, and reached the base of the hill as Michael disappeared over the top. He was first down and took Marian’s pack. Lindsay wanted to try it fully laden, so Tim waited with her to coach her up. But the steepness of the slope and the instability of the sand proved too much and Lindsay wisely passed her pack to Tim. I started up behind Lindsay and passed her as she stopped to catch a breath. I’d done a poor job packing as the cookpots kept hitting my head as I leaned into the hill. About a third of the way up there was a sandstone wall that gave me the opportunity to stop and repack. Lindsay, then Marian and Michael passed me as I worked to move something soft to the top front of the pack. I followed them up, my jacket now acting as a cushion as the pack bounced against the back of my head. Another third of the way up, the harder sand I’d been climbing gave way to a softer surface and I was able to zigzag up the rest of the way. Tim came down again to cheer me on and I gasped my way to the top, legs feeling fine, but lungs laboring.
It was an easy walk to the mouth of the creek, where we soon decided that the combination of water volume and wave action made the crossing unwise, so we headed to our right along the beach towards the next sizeable stream ten kilometres northwest.
From there we would hike to the stream’s source glacier tomorrow. The hike was easy, but tiring as the sand gave a little with every step. There were, however, plenty of photo opportunities.
At the last creek before our target stream about a kilometre away, we found a good campsite in a coulee. Sheltered somewhat from the wind and providing a good water supply, it was a good spot for a two-day base camp. The big tent went on one side of the stream and Michael’s and mine went on the other. We used lots of rocks to hold down the stakes and to form a low windbreak at the base of the tent fly.
For dinner we had Spaghettini Italiano again. This time it wasn’t pouring on us, but it still tasted like chili. Marian did a better job of measuring and Timing than Michael, Tim and I had in the rain the previous Sunday, and dinner turned out much better. The addition of parmesan cheese also made a big difference to my overall enjoyment of the meal.
After dinner, all but Michael headed out to scout our options for the glacier approach. Michael’s heel was sore and he didn’t want to miss tomorrow’s hike. Along the beach we came upon a dog curled up in the sand. He (or she) seemed too tired to do much more than raise his head, then sit up as we passed. Tim tossed him a pita bread, but I think he was too far gone to care. Just to seaward of the dog was a dead seal that would have provided lots of food if the dog was well enough to eat.
Further on, we came across the upturned bow of an old wooden boat. It had been converted into a shelter at some time and bore evidence of food preparation. The bow end was inland and next to it was an almost complete caribou skeleton.
We continued inland up the great esker of the now remote glacier. At one point we saw a flock of snow geese (white dots) off in the distance. Other than the geese and a few smaller birds, we seemed to be alone, and probably represented close to half of the humans on this island that at 11,000km² is larger than Cape Breton Island in Nova Scotia.
Back at camp, Jim is preparing to make a bonfire of wood he is beachcombing. The wood, all lumber that’s been discarded by man, is bleached white and dried in the northern air. Michael is reading. He’s just finished “The Hobbit” and has taken Don Quixote from me as I’m finding it a tough read. Although it’s now only 7:45, I’ll be turning in soon – my face hot from today’s wind and yes, sun. My legs are stronger now than they were last Sunday, but are still tired from today’s hike.
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