Day 9 is our first day off from paddling. After a late finish yesterday, we didn’t feel like getting up early and pushing on. We are ahead of where we need to be and we’re making the most of the last cabin for a while to rest, repair things, eat food that takes longer to prepare, sleep, read and take in the beauty around us. Our little red shed is on the tip of Cape Labrador. I even love the name Labrador. To me, it evokes images of stark raw beauty, miles from people, a vast untamed wilderness. The type of place that excites me to the core. And now I’m here in the middle of that landscape, putting real memories to my imaginings. I’m sat now on the small deck of the cabin, about the size of a single mattress. Franks solar panel hangs from a nail board that’s over one of the small windows. It’s basically a plywood sheet with a grid of rusty nails hammered through from behind and protruding three inches. It’s designed to deter a curious, or hungry, polar bear. The kayaks sit in a star pattern on a grassy patch in front of me, half a paddle sticking upwards from each stern, ready to have our bear fence attached around them when we go to bed. The invisible fishing line makes a piercing wailing sound if any of us walk through it carelessly. No one has done yet, largely because we’ve agreed that the culprit does the washing up. If a bear comes to investigate the kayaks the sudden loud noise may deter it, or it will at least wake us up so we can scare it away.

A few feet behind the kayaks is a low cliff and beyond that the gently ruffled ocean and the stark bold Torngats mountains. A giant lump of grey mountain dominates the horizon, rising steeply to an undulating ridge line, a few stubborn snow patches filling deep gullies. It size makes it look close but my map tells me it’s 4km away and 1600 metres high. Impressive as it is, it’s not named which suggests to me that other peaks, like those marked Cape Kakkiviak or Hutton peninsula are considered more spectacular. We will see tomorrow when we hope to paddle past them.

A loose procession of ice bergs has drifted into the bay in front of us, cut loose from the thick pack we can see a few kilometers offshore. It looks like tomorrows passage is largely free from ice.

It’s cold, bitterly so when the sun disappears behind clouds and the winds blows from the ice pack. I have three layers on plus a wily hat and neck warmer. The plus side is there are few bugs, not yet here to seek out every exposed millimètre of flesh.

The day has gone fast. It’s nearly bed time. This is a great adventure in a stark and beautiful land.