Justine’s Blog

We had to work a bit harder for our progress today. The steep boulder beach we landed easily on yesterday was being hounded by meter high waves this morning. Larry launched first. He pulled his kayak from the sloping rocks where he’d loaded it into the sea between partly submerged boulders. By the time he was in position, a big set was rearing up a few meters in front of him. He had to hold his kayak steady while white water sprayed up all around him. After three large waves passed, he jumped into the cockpit and pushed away from shore. Once on the water, a headwind turned yesterday’s mill pond into a dynamic mogul field. This part of the coastline is indented with many long fjords and we needed to paddle across several large openings of 5 km. Our kayaks bounced up and down on the chop, waves crashing over the bow. The forecast claimed it was 16°C today, but it doesn’t account for the wind over the icy sea which makes me shiver whenever I stop paddling. There aren’t many easy places to land without going several kilometers up inside a fjord. After 20 km we found a tiny strip of sandy beach for lunch, and immediately pulled on our storm cage and wooly hats. We still had energy in the tank, but stopped a couple of hours later at a beautiful, red sandy beach. because the coast ahead looked rocky and uninviting for as far as we could see. Its a gorgeous spot, a swathe of sand backed by an oval lake. Towered over by a jagged triangular peak with a giant cleft down the middle. The red color, apparently comes from garnet eroded from the rocks.

I was going to write that we didn’t see a polar bear today, but my blog writing was recently interrupted with one wandering close to camp. A lot of shouting and a flare gun sent him running. Everyone got up and we watched him wander far away. We think he was just passing through. On day twelve, the bear watch had paid off.

“Bear”, JF was pointing high up the mountain. I thought I must’ve misheard him, but I glanced up the steep slope, and there he was, striding limberly across the loose rocks on the ridge. He looked just like another snow patch until he moved. Seeing him there dashed my hopes that we wouldn’t see bears far from the sea. He must’ve been about a kilometer away and two or 300 m high. We stopped paddling and watched him gracefully lumber over treacherous terrain.
He weaved his way down the mountain, reaching a large Snow patch. He turned onto his belly and slid down like a kid. I couldn’t help giggling. Over 10 minutes he got gradually closer. We lost sight of him as he reached a flat low plain, until paddling around the corner, a small ice floe in the water caught our eye. It didn’t move. Only two gleaming black eyes and a shiny black nose gave it away. The bear saw the four kayaks and started swimming away. It was amazing to watch the powerful animal, so at home in the frigid water. We watched him head towards the valley we had camped in last night. He looked more and more like a tiny ice floe as he got further away. I paid a lot more attention to every speck of white on the water after that magical encounter.

We woke up yesterday to bands of fog lingering just above the horizon. The towering mountain peaks stood proudly above, but their bases were hidden from view. The fog thickened and shifted over breakfast and we wondered if we would lose all of our view. On the water, we took a slightly longer route close to shore, hoping to see some wildlife before the mist cloaked everything. JF spotted a herd of six or seven female caribou on a low grassy plain. We landed to watch them feeding until the chill started to run through our bodies. Warmth here is fleeting and fickle. The sun has the power to warm us to the core but a breath of North wind, or a large cloud instantly removes the comfort. The only consistency is change. I have just enough warm clothes, and I usually wear all of them when on bear watch. Last night we had enough driftwood for a fire, which provided more wonderful, fleeting warmth.

The only good thing about the low temperatures is the lack of bugs. A few hardy mosquitoes appear when the sun bathes us but a few swats is enough to keep them away. Tomorrow is meant to be 19°C which could turn the tables in their favor.

I’m writing this at 6 AM. It’s my turn to have the last bear watch. I’ll wake everyone at seven and before that I’ll make hot drinks and have the oatmeal ready to go. We’re having a relatively late start today because we landed on a beach with large boulders which are slippery at low tide. We’re having amazing weather with very little wind the last few days. Yesterdays fog dispersed by the afternoon revealing yet more stunning mountains, piercing the sea. Perhaps we should be making more distance, but we want to enjoy this beautiful place.

“Bear”, Larry pointed to the small low island just a few hundred meters away from where we had spent the past two nights. We had just got on the water to leave and I was looking ahead to the steep craggy mountains we’d soon be paddling past. I instantly turned my attention to Almaty Island, where I’d read that Nigel and Kristan Foster had camped when they paddled this route 20 years ago.

“Where?”, I said urgently. I didn’t see it and didn’t want to miss it.
“On the hill”, JF added. Finally when I lowered my gaze from the summit, I saw movement, the lumbering long white limbs of a specialized predator moving powerfully right to left along the slope. I was struck with how majestic and big he looked. Frank was boldly paddling in his direction, keen to get a closer look. I followed, a bit behind, not sure if that was a good idea but drawn to observe the bear in his element. The wind was blowing our scent away and the bear was striding purposefully over the rock, oblivious to us. What long fur he has on his legs, I thought, like hairy flares. About 100 metres away we stopped paddling. Finally the bear saw us and walked a few steps towards us, his nose held high and his tongue out to try to taste us on the air. He was so big! I was glad we were on the sea in our kayaks and he was on land. We watched each other for a few seconds and I hoped he would not come closer to investigate. He looked like he was deciding what to do before lumbering away over the low hill.

Wow, we all said. What a magnificent creature.
“It’s a male, probably four or five years old”, Frank shared. He got his phone out and entered the details on a bear tracking app that he’s contributing to.

The rest of us were feeling the chill from the SW wind that was ruffling the sea into small choppy waves. We paddled a few strokes away to warm up before waiting for Frank.

“Walrus”, JF pointed dead ahead about 60 meters away. A low grey back was just visible on the surface, like a tiny submarine, and as I watched two nostrils and a glimpse of two white tusks emerged in front of it. I’d read that walruses travel as far south as the northern tip of Labrador so we were lucky to see one at the edge of their range. The male came up to breathe again, and again, barely lifting his head, before disappearing from view.

The four of us started paddling south past black domes of ancient rock. The horizon was hazy, perhaps from smoke from distant fires but the closer peaks were striking, rising precipitously from the ocean. I craned my neck up at near vertical gullies, with fans of sharp boulders extending down to the sea. Some debris channels had become gently sloped enough to support plant communities, others had been stable long enough to be black with lichen. More recent landslides were marked with lighter colored rock.

The breeze blew consistently and as we came to a headland we bounced through steeper waves, enough that our bows crashed down into them and slowed our progress. The extra roughness showed we were in a favorable current that opposed the wind. We are learning the rules of a new coastline and noted that the falling tide seems to create a south going current. We aimed for a Long skinny island about 2km off shore, hoping to see some wildlife as we paddled by the green lower slopes.

“Caribou”, JF called out excitedly. I followed his paddle signal and saw two gigantic curved sets of antlers trotting away over a hill. What a day for wildlife!

The antlers reappeared several times as we paddled south, sometimes with a third smaller caribou, and always in the distance. At the southern tip they were closer, ambling over a grassy area with their noses down, occasionally stopping to take a mouthful. We watched silently as one by one they strode deftly over the rocks towards the sea. Their fur was white and brown and their antlers almost black and velvety. The leader had four large dark lobes at the front. After a few minutes he walked down to the sea and walked straight into the water 60 meters away. The other two followed right behind and the tight knit group started swimming, noses, backs and racks above the water. We stayed still, excited and confused, not sure what to do. After a few strokes in our direction, the leader made a quick u-turn and headed back for shore. The others followed and they lumbered out of the water. A big shake sent water droplets flying.

What a day for wildlife! We also saw a ringed seal hurled out on a rock, heard the melodic call of the loon and saw our first groups of pretty harlequin ducks. The winds eased and we slid under the imposing cliffs of our first big cape, close enough to touch the few boulder beaches. We’re camped at a wide open valley on a flat patch of grass above a gravel and stone beach. Life is pretty damn good!

Larry is tracking our route on his Inreach every 10 minutes for anyone wanting to follow our progress. See my last Facebook post for details

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.