The Pervasive Aroma

"Russ, Russ, hurry up on deck!  Look behind you!" Eric called from the dingy.  I turned to see a polar bear swimming into the bay. Eric had gone to shore to fetch David's gear but cut his errand a bit short.

The bear, meanwhile, swam to shore and headed to town.  A local resident, however, "buzzed" it with a four-wheeler (called a "quad" here) chasing the polar bear in a flurry of flying feet, legs and a cloud of moisture escaping from the animal's fur, back into the water.

Back in the bay, the bear tested the atmosphere with its nose, held high like a snorkel, deciding from the interesting aroma, I suppose, that Fiona held little appeal. I tend to agree with the bear. At this point in the journey the old 'gal is getting a little stale. I imagine the bear wondered whether he ought to come over and eat or bury the boat's contents.  Deciding to give the vessel a pass, perhaps not wanting to risk damage from any toxic fumes, it swam about 100 yards past both Fiona and the German Perithia (where Kathrin snapped many photos).  The bear pulled itself onto an ice floe and napped until noon.

This afternoon we hiked to the top of Signal Hill north of the village. Passing through town, I finally identified the pervasive aroma. It's the smell of a mouse dying under the house. The whole village smells this way. There are dead things everywhere. Yesterday, riding to the airport in the back of a pickup, I sat next to a polar bear skull in an advanced state of rot. Bits and pieces of animals are all over town; hanging up drying, piled around all the chained huskies, dropped at random in the roads ... it's different from the land of dirt. There no soil with its associated enzymes, 'critters and molds to hasten decomposition. Here, because there's no soil to grow anything, and no season to grow it if there were, it's an animal-only food chain. With meat the only produce, dead mouse is the aroma du'jour.

There is not a whole lot to look at in the Canadian high arctic.  But the trip is turning into something of an olfactory odyssey. 

Fiona may leave Resolute tommorow. The ice to the south is thinning, our time is getting short (I have to fly back to the states no later than the 1st week of September) and we want to be in position to sail the Peel Sound and Franklin Straits at the first safe opportunity.

My sister, Deb Harper, identified as "DH" here on the blog, will continue to post messages based upon our datalink radio contacts and information she gleans from other sources.
~RR~

Fiona Reaches Resolute

Fiona arrived in the small Inuit hamlet of Resolute the morning of Tuesday, 4 Aug. In an email from Russ this evening he writes, "We're stuck in Resolute for a while. Eric was kind of thinking about heading south to 'wait it out,' 'it' being the ice melt. Last night's talk with the Enviro Canada pilots and ice experts convinced him otherwise. They said the lower Peel/Franklin won't begin to be passable by regular vessels for 'two to three weeks.' They have been up here long enough to have a grasp on these things. Unless something interesting develops this may be our turning point. We may be heading back from here in a week or two. We'll see." ~DH~

From Russ Roberts journal entry of 8/5/09:

Holed up in Resolute, we wait.  The ice situation 100 miles south in the Peel Sound and beyond prevents passage.  The Transport Canada people who fly the DHC-7 (or Dash 7, the same "Transport 922" from the Beechey overflight) on patrol, told us last night that we could expect 2 to 3 weeks before the ice opens.  This would put Fiona in a position of not getting beyond Alaska before it freezes up.

That dims prospects.  If we are to return to Greenland I would rather leave the boat and fly out of here.  My desire does not include turning around, backtracking where I have already been.  But I told Eric I am around until the beginning of September, so I have time to stick around and see what happens.

Yesterday I e-mailed everyone from the South Camp Inn here in Resolute.  Azzi, a Pakistani from Tanzania, moved to Resolute thirty one years ago.  It is his home name.  He married an Inuit and has children.  He is something of a kingpin in town.  When you want something done like getting diesel fuel, accessing the Internet, arranging heavy construction or having a meal, you see Azzi.  This seems to prove that in the middle of what seems like nowhere, a person can carve out financial success.  Azzi is, I am almost certain, the only man on Cornwallis Island who drives a Mercedes.  Even though it is a sensible 4 wheel drive "go in the snow" machine, it is a 'Benz.  Everyone else here seems to like Chevys.


Today we will pull Fiona close to shore.  Azzi has a 100 feet long fuel hose.  Since there is twenty feet of water to within a few feet of the beach, we can get close and put the diesel into the tanks without having to shuttle the fuel out in jerry cans.  Before that, though, Eric wants to "sound" the area using the inflatable dingy.  It looks like something of a "make-work" project to me.  However, it is certainly not a wrong thing to do.  More information is better than not enough.  Eric, though, seems the kind of man who always wants to be doing something.  An engineer, I do not think he is rewarded by the contemplative life.

Fiona Enters Lancaster Sound

Fiona sailed from Baffin Bay into Lancaster Sound at 10:30 am 1 August. The water has been calm with enough wind to sail at 5 knots. ETA to Resolute is Monday 3 August. ~DH~

Saving 14 Gallons

Fiona was sailing at 4:00AM.  By 6:00PM the winds died again so we start to motor once more.  But, we did get an ice chart for Resolute which is looking good ... and the sail did save us fourteen gallons of diesel.  That is fourteen hours more motoring range.

I am finding little, or perhaps "no" is more accurate, desire to write or read.  I think my whole focus is on "the mission;" successfully geting this boat through the Northwest Passage.  This reminds me of flying single engine airplanes across the Atlantic, or the attention one might devote to a new lover.  There are no brain cells left for anything else.