Glowacz's close-up

Expedition Baffin Island, May 25: Stefan Glowacz’s blog on his adventurous journey to a wall to which nobody has ever been.

Sunday, May 25

70 degrees North, 59 minutes, 11.4 seconds – 070 degrees West, 13 minutes, 14.0 seconds. Distance: 33.4 kilometers.

Early in the morning the tent walls flap wildly in the wind. The snow flakes crackle on the tent’s exterior. The clouds are hanging low, and a sharp wind is blowing the snow horizontally over from the North. Normally you crawl deeper into the sleeping bag in these conditions. But wind means kiting and no trekking, draging or pulling. The wind is getting stronger. We decide to use the small chutes, which turns out to be a good decision. After a few hundred meters we’re stuck in the midst of rough ice and have to be extremely cautious in maneuvering through the uplifted ice floes. The pulkas keep tipping over, get caught in the leashes of the ice floes, which rise up left and right like over-dimensional splinters of glass.

There’s a strange atmosphere. The clouds melt in with the contours of the ice. The rough ice seems never ending. The pile of splinters stretch to the horizon. And in between, small, colorful kites that shoot nervously back and forth like kids’ kites. Eight hours later we exhaustedly set up camp. We’ve managed to make it to the middle of Sam Ford Fjord. This is an excellent starting point for the next few days.

Saturday, May 24

71 degrees North, 08 minutes, 07.9 seconds – 070 degrees West, 93 minutes, 23.8 seconds. Distance: 20.1 kilometers.

Wind at midnight. Robert, who unfortunately has to leave the tent at this time, raises the kite alarm. With the convincing power of an experienced mountain guide he tries to force us to leave. But he only gets snoring and murmurs out of each sleeping bag. After ten minutes he resigns his quest. The wind subsides half an hour later so we can all keep sleeping in peace.

In the morning again there’s wind directly from the North. Not ideal, but enough for kiting. With the wind behind us we try hard to steer towards the already mentioned striking peak of Scott Island. It’s hard work. In circle-of-eights we continue to hold the kites in the path of the wind. But with the heavy pulkas we only move ahead slowly and arduously – but still faster than on foot. Shortly before Scott Island we give up. A soon as we take off our skies to pack up the kites we sink thigh-deep into watery ice, which has formed just a few centimeters under the surface of the snow. We’ve only managed 12 kilometers; we travel another 8 kilometers today. As we round the cape of Scott Island, thick snow flakes begin to fall. The rocks rise up like an over-dimensional ship’s bough up to 500 meters steep and hang directly over the ocean. As far as we know, American Mike Libecki was the first and up to now the only person to climb this massif alone a few years ago. Last year a French group climbed a new route in the back passages and jumped from the cliff using BASE chutes.

We set up camp on an iceberg directly at the entrance to Gibbs Fjord. In the meantime we’ve come up with a practiced routine when setting up camp. Above all, we’re calmed by how conscientiously Robert erects the polar bear fence every evening. Unfortunately this feeling of security doesn’t stay with us the whole night. Holger and I, at least, still don’t trust the peace, or don’t want to sleep through the lighting of the flares.

Friday, May 23

71 degrees North, 19 minutes, 14.9 seconds – 071 degrees West, 17 minutes, 50.2 seconds. Distance: 17 kilometers.

Oh, I forgot an important characteristic about gum. It can stretch on endlessly. Just like this day. It’s one of the worst because we’re expecting the end of the valley; the end of the monotony, something new. But after each knoll the next one shows up, regularly, like waves in the ocean. And then, finally, very slowly and carefully, a jagged rock face shows through the fog, which borders Scott Island on the ocean side. It’s about 15 kilometers from the coast. For us it’s the symbol of the next stage. We’re at the sea again and will stay here until the end of our expedition at Clyde River.

Thursday, May 22

71 degrees North, 13 minutes, 22.1 seconds – 071 degrees West, 40 minutes, 08.0 seconds. Distance: 22 kilometers.

Two colors dominate the day: the glittering whiteness of the snow and the orange tent walls in the evening. No sprouting trees, no blossoming bush to indicate the first signs of spring. The only hints are treacherous melting holes in the ice and the first rain. It’s a surreal area. The worst thing is that we already know in the evening what the next day will bring. A monotonous trek for hours and hours. We all talk ourselves into being calm and composed; try desperately to give ourselves over to fate in order to be able to fight against it again. Hour after hour, minute after minute. During each break, Mariusz becomes ecstatic about how great and meditative he finds the trekking. The way he goes on about it makes none of us believe him.

Wednesday, May 21

71 degrees North, 16 minutes, 19.2 seconds – 072 degrees West, 09 minutes, 45.0 seconds. Distance: 19.7 kilometers

The valley is getting tougher, is noticeably losing its taste, and Mariusz’ blisters have already popped. To relieve his wretched heels, he’s walking like a Geisha. Robert tries the impossible, and desperately crosses against the wind with his kite. We’re much faster on foot. Clouds are looming up; encompass the few rock faces, our only sight worth seeing in a white mass. The light is becoming milky, the contours on the ground, swimming in mist, become an opaque soup. "White out".

Tuesday, May 20

71 degrees North, 12 minutes, 49.5 seconds – 072 degrees West, 36 minutes, 40.6 seconds. Distance: 16.7 kilometers.

The valley lying in front of us has no name. Let’s just call it Chewing Gum Valley. This piece of gum is 60 kilometers long, and, as most gums are, it tastes good at the beginning, you can blow great bubbles with it and then after a short time it turns into a horrible, hard lump in your mouth. Our valley tastes good at the beginning, too. The sun is shining down warmer than ever and, in light, hardly noticeable upswings, we’re quickly and slowly making way in altitude. The blisters are also quite visible. Mariusz’ feet are puffy and swollen with blisters.

Monday, May 19

71 degrees North, 13 minutes, 59.8 seconds – 072 degrees West, 57 minutes, 32.9 seconds. Distance covered: 49 kilometers.
A wind alarm at 7 a.m. Wind, finally! We’re as excited as little kids when we raise the kites an hour later. This time, in a more disciplined way. We enjoy every meter that we don’t have to walk, and the meters covered turn into kilometers. The wind continues to get stronger and at times we downright shoot over the vast snow plains. Effortlessly we sail deeper and deeper into the fjord with the pulkas on a tow rope. Already after two hours we’ve covered 20 kilometers. A few polar bears flee in wild panic. As long as we move together, we feel strong and secure. We just have to make sure we don’t have an accident and fall back. Alone this thought brings on crazy fantasies, where we imagine polar bears approaching like hyenas from all angles of the fjord to exact terrible revenge.

What a gift. Three day’s worth of distance covered within one day and an amazing campsite on top of that. For the first time in weeks we erect the tents on hard ground again. It’s 10 p.m. and the sun is shining into the tents. Since starting out from the base camp, for the first time we’re not depressed at the end of the day. This is how it should continue. It is still a long way home.