MOUNTAIN LIFE - Blue Mountains | Winter 2020

54 TRAVEL words & photos :: Colin Field On our final trip to the floe edge, it’s obviously cracking up; this landscape is constantly in flux and it’s deteriorating fast. We get as close as is reasonable and see the cracks as they rise and fall with the waves that roll in all the way from Greenland. There’s nothing between us and Greenland but Baffin Bay. We realize that today, the edge isn’t safe. We travel parallel to the floe edge and then head further “inland.” The inlet we’re on is about 20 kilometres wide and we’re literally in the middle of it. In other words, we’re at least 10km from shore on each side, less than 50 metres away from the edge of the ice as it cracks up for the summer. In six weeks all this ice will be gone. But here, a three-hour snowmobile ride from Pond Inlet in Nunavut, hanging out on the edge of the ice floe is tradition; the Inuit have been doing it for thousands of years and in fact, doing so ensures their survival in this harsh climate. There are three of us in the qamutik: myself and two other guests. The qamutik is an ingenious piece of Inuit culture; traditionally pulled by dogs, this massive sled is lashed together with ropes to withstand the harsh reality of ice travel: a bumpy, lumpy, crashy, wet and wild ride. Nowadays these sleds are pulled by snowmobile. Riding in one is a relaxing yet at times terrifying way to travel. Sitting in the back on the suspension-equipped seats (thank god), it’s easy to drift off to sleep in the cold wind. But when it comes to crossing cracks in the ice, things get nail-bitingly exciting. Crossing metre-wide cracks takes a skilled driver. Thankfully, our Black Feather guide Micheil Hill (who is driving our snowmobile) has been doing this for years. As we get closer to the edge, it’s obviously rotting and crumbling. Then we realize we’re on the Greenland side of some of the latest cracks. Between us and the land, cracks are rising and falling in the dynamic sea. We cross over the crack safely, then stop. Our Inuit guide Kaiya Qamaniq (who I trust implicitly even though he’s only 26-years- old) hops off his sled with his rebar harpoon. He stabs at the ice repeatedly, then states what we already know. “Thin ice,” he says casually. No shit, I think to myself. But then Micheil states the even more obvious. “It’s not safe.” LIVING ON THE FLOE EDGE Six ice-bound nights off the northeastern rim of Baffin Island