Storyline: Hiking in Nunavut August 1-12, 1998
Aug. 11, Winding down
This is my last full day on Baffin. The morning rain is tapping out its melody on the tent fly. Tim is still soundly asleep beside me and I’ve been reading for the last hour.
Yesterday I dozed until everyone got back and started dinner. By then it had stopped drizzling and, although still overcast, was quite pleasant. We had chili for dinner (tasted like chili, surprisingly). Then Jim made a small but toasty campfire from discarded lumber scrounged from around the campsite and on the beach. He had finally got through to the Aeroplan office after an hour on hold, and was told to call back after the agent had had a chance to contact First Air. When he called back there was no answer. The office was closed for the day, so he has to go back into Pond Inlet this morning and call again.
So today will be a relaxing one. A day to prepare for the return trip and to think of the memories I am gathering. First there is the sheer size and rugged beauty of this place. What at first seems barren is actually teeming with hard-fought life. Then there’s the constant change in weather, in the play of light on the water and mountains. Every hour the view changes, and it always carries with it a new perspective; a new beauty. Life is harsh here, as evidenced by the myriad of bones, by the dog quietly dying on the beach on Bylot, by the narwhal and seal hunting that goes on seemingly 24 hours a day when those animals are sighted, and by the faces of the Inuit—tough, weathered and usually missing one or more teeth.
The companionship I’ve felt, particularly with Michael and Tim those first five days when we tackled Jane’s Creek and Mt. Herodier, and when they encouraged me on when I thought I was too tired to continue. The laughter at the little things that happen during the day, the size of the Aktineq Glacier—huge beyond my imagination and finally giving me a hint of perspective into the things I’ve read about the ice ages, with mile-thick icecaps covering the land. The joy of being with family.
It hasn’t approached Scott’s description of his trips to the arctic “the most miserable way to have the time of your life”. I only felt miserably wet and cold once; that on the first night on the way to Mt. Herodier. The rest of the time it’s been a blast!
Aug. 12, Almost home
The sun is sinking over the starboard wing of the FirstAir 737 as we approach Ottawa. This will be the last entry in my first ever journal. We are just beginning our approach and should be on the ground in 20 minutes or so.
I couldn’t sleep again last night. After vainly trying to drop off for three hours, I climbed the hill behind the campsite and took in the vista in the quiet of the overcast midnight twilight. To the northwest the sun shone through breaks in the cloud, throwing glittering patterns on the near-calm waters of Eclipse Sound. To the North and East, Bylot Island is clear and near. I still find it hard to believe that it’s 25 km across the water. To the east, Mt. Herodier’s conical profile stands black in front of higher, snow-capped peaks. And behind me to the south the land rises slowly to distant white-covered mountains and Baffin’s ice cap.
This is a wild, beautiful, wild, harsh, wild land that draws me to it with wonder, awe and, I suppose, the appropriate amount of fear. I want to return. To explore a little further into the interior around Pond Inlet and Bylot Island, and probably to visit other places in Nunavut.
Below me now, the Ottawa River meanders its way to the St. Lawrence and the sea. I can see the towers of Newbridge Networks and the subdivision where my travelling companions live: we’ll be there in less than an hour. I already miss the Arctic, but I feel more alive and refreshed than I’ve felt in years.
Now, twenty years later, what lasting effect did this adventure have on me?
I wrote in the introductory post to this storyline: “Looking back, I’d say I was a bit of a mess”. This was definitely true, as it was true that I was clinically depressed and was being treated with drugs…anti-depressants.
This time for me was cathartic. I’d say now that I started the long road back to health as a result of the trip. It gave me a refreshed view of life. But it was a long haul, and it was probably three years later that I truly felt that my life was again mine. In between there were ups and downs – more of the former, but still some bad times. Meeting Diana sealed the deal. I had someone else to focus my attention on, and her faith in me helped give me faith in myself.
Our lives are a journey, and embody a process of learning, of successes and failures. But each one of us has the ability and the natural right to find ourselves and our own inner peace. My wish all our readers is that they achieve theirs.
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