ESCAPING THE ICE
Will Barnes experiences the icy clutches of Greenland
When Will Barnes and crew got stuck in Greenland’s icefields, it took ingenuity and a drone to get clear
It was calm. Water lapped at the maze of I icebergs that stretched down the fjord before me. If this was a film, or a classic book, I might be contemplating my purpose in life. I was, however, slightly more fixated on what I would do should a polar bear sidle its way into my landscape. Just the day before, only 20 miles south, ‘an ice bear’, as the locals call them, had attacked a fishing village similar to the one I was now trapped on the edge of. The reality of life for the people who lived in such a remote and harsh environment was beginning to sink in.
A loud crack echoed round the mountains followed swiftly by churning water as an iceberg split and rolled over not too far from the shore. It was evening now and the pink was ebbing away behind the mountain tops. We’d arrived in Nanortalik, southern Greenland, from Canada just a few days earlier after taking shelter from a storm. We were lucky to have avoided the worst of it, but now woke to a mass of ice, trapping us within the confines of this tiny harbour. Hundreds of small icebergs, grounded by the tide, were marooned, and with the current wind direction they weren’t going anywhere. Neither were we.
AN ALTERNATE ROUTE HOME
Three weeks earlier I had been in Norris Point, Newfoundland, where I joined Ohoi, a Beneteau Oceanis 46. I had met Erik and Helle two years ago during the ARC. They had left Ohoi in the Caribbean for a season before deciding to return home to Norway via the less conventional Arctic passage.
We were joined by Daniel, and spent a few days working on the boat, helped by a retired school teacher, Zach, who kept us amused with stories of his past as well as providing us with generous quantities of preserved moose meat in jars for the voyage.
As we sailed up the Labrador coast, towns became more remote. Every few miles we saw icebergs as big as a house which had been blown on shore. Navigating in the frequent fog was particularly unnerving as we attempted to avoid a Titanic moment. The worst job was to sit on the foredeck in the freezing wet fog. It was an unpleasant, but critical job to increase our vision and to notify the helm of
We woke to a mass of ice, trapping us within the confines of this tiny harbour
any icebergs or ‘growlers’ — small pieces of ice which float under the surface. They are big enough to cause damage and are very difficult to spot.
Many of the small communities that dotted the coast had no running water and consisted of a school, a church and a handful of houses. With the devastation of the cod population and resulting demise of fishing 15 years ago, many have moved away. The small towns are held together by the strength of the community, with people working two or three different jobs to survive. We met a lovely lady in Black Tickle on the Island of Ponds who let us use the local school’s internet to check the weather for the Labrador Sea, before she headed off to open the local post office.
With the weather forecast indicating a lull in the wind strength for a few days, we cast off at dawn from Black Tickle to get through the belt of icebergs that can lie up to 100 miles from the coast. Waiting for the best timing had proved a worthwhile plan and the weather was kind to us on the crossing. We waited for the dawn light before entering the potential ice belt surrounding Greenland and after a couple of hours, sighted the magnificent, snowy, rocky peaks of Greenland’s south-west shore.
After a few days sailing down the coastline, weaving in and out of small islands, we arrived at the small town of Qaqortoq. Smelling less than fragrant, we decided to search for a launderette. We hiked up through town, loaded with bags of clothes and almost no idea where we were actually going. Locals didn’t know the English for ‘Where is the launderette?’ but after an hour we located the illusive washing machines, only to find the launderette closed. Knowing it would be closed the next day and that we really needed to head on down the coast, we trudged back to the boat and Helle and I began hand washing
clothes on deck. Eric and Daniel, on the other hand, took a different approach, and within 10 minutes they had convinced the Danish Navy crew, who were moored down the dock, to lend us the use of their washing machines.
We thanked them with one of the many bottles of rum stowed in our bilges, which I believe Eric had traded in the Caribbean for an old ipod.
We headed south down the coast and had been in Nanortalik a couple of days when we woke to find ourselves trapped behind the ice. We counted ourselves lucky that we were against land and hoped that a hungry ‘ice bear’ didn’t fancy dropping in for lunch. We didn’t, however, struggle to stay entertained. Almost immediately there was a dinghy mission to harvest cubes of iceberg for our drinks. It certainly wasn’t warm enough to warrant ice in drinks, but the novelty didn’t wear off. We hiked up the nearby hill and were rewarded with a spectacular 360° view. Back at the boat, it wasn’t long before we realised we could wakeboard and kite surf around the bay, swerving between or jumping over icebergs in the process.
PRINS CHRISTIANS SUND
It was almost a week before the wind and tides aligned, freeing us to head south to the Prins Christians Sund. The Sund is a fjord walled with mountains over 1,000m high that rise straight out of the water on the southern tip of Greenland. It is, without doubt, one of the most breathtaking places on the planet. The sun was shining and it seemed like nothing would stop us now, except for the several miles of ice pack that still blocked our route out to the east. We ventured into the icy labyrinth and spent hours weaving our way through. Back in Nanortalik three other Norwegian sailing yachts joined us and Njorde, with her aluminium hull, generally led the
We twisted and turned through the ice, fending off ’bergs with boathooks
party through. We used my drone to search a route up to 4km down the fjord, but still the ice moved, blocking our passage.
BEER AND SAUSAGES
In the early afternoon we saw a German cruise liner cutting its way through the ice towards us. It had become clear by this point that a way through the end of the fjord would be almost impossible, and we decided to take this opportunity to retrace our route back through the ice.
Like ducks, we followed closely behind the cruise liner, sliding around in the wake, bunched up to ensure we all got through before the ice closed behind us. To pass the time, Daniel flew his drone videoing the cruise liner before the captain radioed us, asking us to come aboard and share the footage.
Once in a clear patch of water, we dropped the tender and motored over to climb the rope ladder hanging out of a hatch about 15ft above the water. While Daniel transferred the video file to one of the crew, Helle and I were given a very quick tour, chatting to the friendly captain on the bridge.
On returning to our dinghy we found that, in exchange for the video we had been given a very German gift of two giant sausages and a crate of beer!
It’s safe to say we were very pleased, although we couldn’t rest on our laurels quite yet as we still had to find a way out though the belt of ice.
OPEN SEA AT LAST
The next morning, at first light, having headed further south, we decided to attempt a route that ‘even the locals choose not to sail’ — the only option left. Conditions were good as the fog cleared and the sun began to rise. The wind was fair and we only passed the occasional iceberg in the first few hours. Our fortune, however, was short-lived as the fog drew in and we arrived at yet another ice field.
For hours, we twisted and turned, pushing our way through gaps in the ice and fending off ‘bergs’ with boathooks; the fog making it tricky to navigate a clear route. After many hours, all we had succeeded in doing was to draw a tangle of spaghetti on our GPS plotter. Finally, after several more hours, we were rewarded for our efforts.
The ice thinned out and at last the fog began to burn off, and soon we were free. The breeze was building and we hoisted the sails. Out before us stretched the open ocean and beyond that our next port of call, Iceland.