Greenland
by Ken McGoogan
None of us expected our voyage to make history, not when we boarded the Clipper Adventurer in Kugluktuk (Coppermine), near the west end of the Northwest Passage. True, our cruise was billed as an expeditionary adventure. But we numbered roughly one hundred and twenty, most of us were over sixty, and we were sailing in comfort if not luxury: white linen tablecloths in the dining room, a well-stocked bar in the forward lounge, and a staff of expert presenters that included scientists, Inuit culturalists, and authors Graeme Gibson and Margaret Atwood.
Hundreds of ships had plied these northern waters since the early 1800s, when the British Admiralty began to chart the Arctic archipelago while seeking a trade route across the top of North America. So nobody even dreamed of achieving a first of any kind. We forgot that climate change has made a difference. We did not anticipate that this year, the Arctic would have the second lowest extent of sea ice in recorded history. We did not expect that, according to the American National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA), the pack ice would reach its least extent just as we arrived in northwest Greenland.
But on September 10, one day after it did so, we sailed into Rensselaer Bay, where in the mid-1850s, explorer Elisha Kent Kane spent two terrible winters trapped in the ice. And three days after that, as on Day Thirteen of our voyage we approached the island town of Upernavik, I went to the bridge. As the staff historian, I needed to announce the surprising news.
By now, everybody on board knew that we had reached a latitude above 79 degrees. We had achieved a “farthest north” for Adventure Canada, which regularly runs voyages like this one into the Arctic. Everybody knew that, although a number of explorers had traveled by dogsled in this region, very few ships (if any) had entered Rensselaer Bay since 1853, when Kane got trapped there in the Advance. And everybody knew that in 1855 — decades before Ernest Shackleton made his name with a spectacular, small-boat voyage in the Antarctic — Kane led sixteen men in an extraordinary, 980-kilometre escape along the Greenland coast.
What drove me to the bridge was that our voyage had just become the first to trace Kane’s escape route from Rensselaer Bay to Upernavik, where Danish settlers welcomed the explorer, and now their posterity welcomed us.
Nobody would describe this as an epochal achievement. Nobody would call it Big History. Yet those of us on board found it thrilling, even though we had done the deed in a double-hulled, state-of-the-art ship that dwarfed Kane’s vessel: the Clipper Adventure is four times as long as the Advance (101 metres compared with 26) and thirty times as heavy (4,376 to 144 tons).
Our voyage had begun with a reversal. Originally, out of Kugluktuk, we had been slated to sail west and then north through Prince of Wales Strait to Winter Harbour on Melville Island. There, in 1818, explorer Edward Parry spent a signal winter, and in 1909 Joseph Bernier asserted Canadian sovereignty over the entire Arctic archipelago.
But satellite imagery showed Captain Kenth Grankvist that a small patch of heavy ice blocked Winter Harbour, and other stretches looked problematic. So we turned east from Kugluktuk and followed the southern or coastal route through the Passage: Coronation Gulf, Victoria Strait, Bellot Strait, Prince Regent Inlet, Lancaster Sound.
The change gave us extra time. We hoped now to sail north through Smith Sound into Kane Basin. Perhaps we could reach Etah on the west coast of Greenland, situated at a northern latitude of 78 degrees 18 minute 50 seconds. Etah was as far north as Adventure Canada had yet ventured along “the American route to the Pole.”
During our first attempt to enter the Sound, however, on Day Nine, we ran into heavy weather and retreated behind some Greenlandic islands to calmer waters. The storm passed, and on Day Ten, under clear blue skies, we sailed through Smith Sound . . . all the way to 79 degrees 3 minutes 45 seconds. We had set an Adventure Canada record.
More importantly, as I told anyone who would listen, we were now north of Rensselaer Bay (78 degrees 37 minutes), where Elisha Kent Kane survived his two-year ordeal by forging an alliance with the Inuit of Etah, 80 kilometres south. We sailed into that Bay — Kane named it after his ancestors — and dropped anchor.
While most voyagers went ashore in zodiacs to explore beaches and ridges, five of us — an archaeologist, a geologist, an artist-photographer, an outdoorsman, and an author-historian (yours truly) — spent three hours searching small rocky islands for relics of Kane’s expedition. We found what I believe to be the remains of his magnetic observatory. And from the zodiac, prevented from scrambling onto slippery rocks by a receding tide, we spotted what I believe to be the site on “Butler Island” where Kane buried the bodies of two of his men.
Probably, those bodies are still there in the rocks, preserved by the permafrost. Nobody is known to have disturbed them. Certainly, Inuit hunters have roamed this area, and in the early 1900s several explorers — among them Robert Peary, Frederick Cook, and Knud Rasmussen — led dog-sled expeditions in this region. But all these had their own objectives.
Ice conditions here have always been difficult and unpredictable. And in recent decades, recorded visits have been few. A 1984 article in Arctic magazine describes a study undertaken by scientists who helicoptered in from the American airbase at Thule to investigate the long-term decline in the caribou population. And an exhaustive archaeological study of northwest Greenland by John Darwent and others, detailed in Arctic Anthropology in 2007, turned up 1,376 features, including winter houses, tent rinks and burials — but sought and discovered no bodies in Rensselaer Bay.
But at this location in 1855, Kane abandoned the Advance (we found no trace of the ship). He and his men spent one month (May 17 to June 16) transporting supplies and hauling three small boats 80 kilometres south across ice to Etah. On the Clipper Adventurer, sailing through open water and occasional icebergs, we covered that distance in a single night. Next morning, after an eight-kilometre zodiac ride into the spectacular Foulke Fiord, we went ashore at Etah.
In Kane’s time, Etah was a permanent Inuit settlement, home to several extended families. Today, it serves as a temporary hunting camp. We stayed six hours and hiked to Brother John Glacier, a natural wonder that Kane, oblivious to Inuit nomenclature, named after his dead sibling.
Here at Etah, having reached open water, Kane said a fond farewell to his Inuit allies. With sixteen men (one had perished along the way), he piled into tiny boats and began a 900-kilometre voyage to Upernavik. He and his men spent seven weeks in those open boats (June 19 to August 6), battling blizzards, icebergs, and near starvation.
On the Clipper Adventurer, dining variously on Greenland halibut, veal marsala, and braised leg of New Zealand lamb, we retraced Kane’s perilous voyage in two days. We called in at Cape York, where the explorer overcame a last great barrier of protruding shore ice, and from there gazed out over open water.
On arriving in Upernavik, today a bustling town of 1,100, we explored the buildings, now a museum, where Kane and his men stayed for a month before leaving on a Danish supply ship. We had lost nobody to scurvy or frost bite. We had suffered no amputations. But many of us found ourselves marveling anew at the great escape of Elisha Kent Kane. And we savored the knowledge that, as the lucky first voyagers to retrace his escape route from start to finish, we had in a modest way become part of exploration history.
If You Go:
Travel companies are already booking Arctic voyages for 2012.
Adventure Canada: www.adventurecanada.com. Ontario-based company offers a changing itinerary of Arctic expeditions. In 2012, highlights include two voyages in the Northwest Passage that can be combined or taken separately, starting from $7000.
Quark Expeditions: www.quarkexpeditions.com. Connecticut-based outfit offers an array of polar voyages, including Iceland, Greenland & Spitsbergen starting at $6390.
Cruise North Expeditions: www.cruisenorthexpeditions.com. Inuit-operated company offers Arctic Safari and Greenland voyages starting from $3850.
About the author:
Ken McGoogan is the author of ten books, including Race to the Polar Sea: The Heroic Adventures of Elisha Kent Kane. He teaches nonfiction writing online through University of Toronto and the New York Times Knowledge Network. Learn more at www.kenmcgoogan.com or www.nytimesknownow.com/index.php/ken-mcgoogan.
Photo credits:
Contemporary photos are by Sheena Fraser McGoogan. The map is courtesy of Bill Bialkowski. Historical photos come from the personal archive of Ken McGoogan
After a few days of checking out the architecture in the bustling capital Bucharest, we board a train for Transylvania – one of the largest and most picturesque regions in the centre of Romania known for its historical mix of flavours of the old Austro-Hungarian Empire, Saxons and brief Ottoman rule.
The Black Church (Biserica Neagra) towers in its dusky beauty in Council Square. Called St. Mary’s from the time the first stone was laid in 1385, until it was renamed in 1689 after its walls were blackened by the “Great Fire” that levelled most of the town. Five richly decorated portals grace the outside. On the inside over 100 Persian rugs are hung from the walls (given to the church by Saxon merchants returning from shopping-sprees to Ottoman lands). In 1839 a 4000-pipe organ was installed. It is a thrill to hear it being played; its thunderous chords setting off tremors in the air waves.
Vlad III was the ruling prince of the Romanian state of Walachia from 1456-62, and from 1476-77, who offered a strong resistance to the westward expansion by the Ottoman Turks. His moniker Dracula was inherited; it means “son of the dragon” after his father Vlad II Dracul, who was a knight in the Order of the Dragon established to protect Christianity in the land. The symbol of this medieval order was a dragon, or “dracul” which at the time had a positive import, but after the 5th century became a symbol for the Devil. Vlad III’s infamy and his acquired moniker “Tepes” or Impaler, arose from his inhumane method of dealing with his enemies; foreign invaders and also rebellious countrymen, including noblemen (along with their families) who he felt were traitors and conspirators in the death of his father and brother. It is said dozens at one time were skewered on a wooden stakes in such a manner that instead of instant death, the victims suffered excruciating pain for up to 48 hours before their earthly farewell. It is believed that Vlad Tepes never set foot in Bran Castle….but there is a historic mention of his troops passing through Bran in 1459, and if going along on military manoeuvres was the Count’s modus operandi…who knows?
Built in 1377 it was mainly a fortress over the centuries to protect Romanian borders. In the early 20th century the town of Brasov gave the castle to Queen Marie of Romania. She absolutely loved each of its 57 rooms and she made it a summer retreat for her family of six children and King Ferdinand, when he wasn’t called away with kingly duties. She hired Czech architect, Karel Liman who imparted the castle with its romantic appeal and added to the comfort with heating stoves of Saxon tile, running water, electricity, three telephones and an elevator.
We make our way up creaky wooden staircases, through narrow passage carved into the rock, and in and out of the high-ceilinged rooms, several of which overlook the courtyard dotted with potted red geraniums to enliven the castle’s sombre tones. Queen Marie’s bedroom and study are restored with ornate hand-carved furnishings, but not in the least opulent. The combined music room and library converted from an old attic is the largest room, and is as cozy as this stone edifice can be with a fireplace, a bear-hide rug and padded furniture.
It is then on to Rasov, well at least to the bottom of the hill where it is perched, as the fortress was closed to renovations. Leaving the town of Rasov, Maxim points and says, “Gypsies”. We pass a rickety canvas-covered wagon pulled by two hefty steeds. A swarthy young man in a wide-brimmed hat jiggles the reins from the driver’s seat. His dark good looks are matched in the gypsy woman we later encounter. Alas, the romanticised lore of the Roma being free-spirited nomads is far from true – strong-spirited would be more fitting.
Today, there are more than 8,000 nuraghes still standing from what is estimated to have numbered more than 30,000. They were most prevalent in the northwest and south-central areas of the island and are usually located in a panoramic spot – strategically located on hilltops to control important passages.
They all are incredibly accessible and available to explore. When you enter a nuraghe, stand in the middle of the cone and stare up at the opening above you, the presence of it’s former inhabitants is almost palpable. The stone stairs to the various interior levels wind-up the sides of the structure leading to antechambers and strange rooms. There is a strong sense of design and intention.
Having stated that, it remains a complete mystery as to who were the Nuragic people. Some clues can be found at The National Archeological Museum in Cagliari. It holds most of the materials discovered in the Nuraghes. They did produce art in the form of beautiful small bronze statues; typically representing Gods, the chief of the village, soldiers, animals and women. There are also stone carvings or statues representing female divinities.
The sacred well of Santa Cristina has a hole in the vault. Every 18 and a half years, when the moon reaches is lowest point in orbit, the moonlight strikes the hole and is reflected on the surface of the water. Sunlight is also reflected during the autumn and spring equinoxes. Through these processes we know they possessed a great knowledge of celestial cycles.
But that is where the certainties end. Scholars are not even sure of the correct name for the civilization, or even the real meaning of nuraghe. The name itself derives from the meaning of mound and cavity, and the nuraghes are built by laying big stones of similar size on top of each other, leaving a cavity in the middle which is then covered by a stone domed roof. For lack of a more informed identification, scientists accordingly have called them the Nuragic peoples.
The 14th century Cathay Gothic cathedral in the Plaza de Pio XII, and its surrounding area, miraculously escaped destruction in 1558 when Barbarossa, the pirate Red Beard, attacked and destroyed the town with his Turkish mercenaries. The cathedral’s ornate Baroque style Chapel of the Souls was added in the 17th century, when much of the town was finally rebuilt. Then in the 19th century, it was finished with a neo-classical front facade. It still also contains a small minaret from the mosque that occupied its space before it was turned into a cathedral on the orders of King Alfonso III of Aragón, who took the island from its ruling Moors in 1287.
The square is edged with grand palaces on the cathedral side opposite the imposing Town Hall and theatre. Next to the theatre is a magnificent viewpoint looking out over the harbour. A couple of pavement cafes sit beyond this next to the corner that leads to the steps down to the harbour, which is lined on this side with popular restaurants.
The natural advantages of the waters of Mahon meant that the British based themselves there and declared it the new capital of the island. But the clerics of the time refused to move, so Ciutadella retains its cathedral and its religious superiority.
Unlike Ciutadella, Mahon town occupies only the southern side of the port. The opposite side houses the naval base. It is also where new resorts are being developed alongside some wonderful villas that include one where Admiral Nelson and Emma Hamilton are said to have had some romantic trysts.
Back on the harbour side of Mahon, if it’s time for a tipple, you can head for the centuries old Xoriguer Gin Distillery, famous for supplying unique Menorcan gin to Admiral Nelson’s British sailors. Or there are plenty of good bars and restaurants on the landward side of the harbour road, or up in the town above.
At the weekend, I decided I would see two of the three highlights recommended in my Lonely Planet Guide, saving the third till the following weekend. I wandered up to the Citadel, the oldest part of the city, the walls of which date back to the 7th century. The narrow winding streets were packed with carpet stalls and little restaurants. Women chatted by the side of the road, crocheting handbags. A family, gathered on a few steps outside a crumbling house, invited me to join them for chai. Seeing their shoes all lined up neatly to one side, I took off mine, and we smiled and giggled at each other and sipped tea for a while.
The second weekend, I visited the Citadel and the Museum of Anatolian Civilisations again: this time the only guide I could find that I would be able to understand spoke a mixture of Italian and Spanish.
It just had to be a genuine ancient hammam. The Lonely Planet recommended Sengül Merkez Hamami. At the entrance to a quiet alleyway, below the hammam sign, two women sat on the ground sipping tea. A child played nearby.
After that, I was ready to be pampered. I understood that the even larger lady whose job it was to scrub me was the sister of the epilasion one. I lay on the marble slab. And very quietly, she began to sing, the volume gradually increasing, until her haunting, deep, sad song filled the steamy air and brought tears to my eyes – no, not tears – floods. I look up at her closed eyes, her furrowed brow, her look of concentration as she drew the cheap, hand-crocheted, garish flannel up and down my arms, her blubbery stomach filling the space between us. ‘Benli benli, benli benli,’ she sang, as I imagined a story of lost love, war, pain, death, disaster… Then a young woman beside me – yes, someone spoke a few words of English here – said ‘Hello!’
