Kayak Summer Isles Goes to Greenland -

Kayak Summer Isles Goes to Greenland

The Journey there.

In early August our team: Tim, Jen and I (Will) flew from Scotland to Ilulissat. Reaching Greenland may be easier today than it was in the past with regular flights from around the world, yet it still felt a significant adventure to simply arrive. A night in Copenhagen saw us fly from Denmark to the small community of Kangerlussuaq. Our arrival there took us across the Greenland ice cap, then through the rocky mountains as we descended into a long fjord. Swapping our 747 to a small Dash 8 twin prop plane, we headed north to Ilulissat.

Smaller planes meant landing without radar. Fog at Ilulissat meant in turn we were delayed a day as we waited for it to clear. It gave us the chance to sporadically explore this little town, which had seemingly evolved around the airport; it is a central hub for most flights on the west coast of Greenland. It was unexpectedly hot in the summer sun so we wandered through the town in t-shirts. Visiting the local museum, a trove of aviation history, I decided to put the large map of ‘lost and crashed planes’ in the hallway to the back of my mind. I found it amusing that there was a community culture of trash cans made from JATO (Jet assisted take off) rockets, it reminded me of the quirky “Hebridean Post Boxes” made of recycled microwaves.

We met our first two guests Jim and Jan early the following morning, who Jen and I had last met in Patagonia some years ago. Similarly, their ongoing flight was delayed too. As we took off ahead of them we hoped to see them again the next day with our kayak prep well underway.

Late in the evening Tim, Jen and I were gazing out of the windows as we flew over the spectacular ice field of the Ilulissat Ice Fjord. We had arrived!

Come 2026 Ilulissat will change dramatically with the opening of a new international airport. Although the unpredictability of the internal flights brought some added stresses, I feel I’ll miss that process in lieu of the convenience of the modern upgrade. There was something that added character in that effort to simply arrive.

Ilulissat

Ilulissat is a community a little over four and a half thousand people and the third largest city in Greenland. It was originally founded as a trading post and today thrives through local fishing and hunting industries as well as a rising tourism trade. The village is perhaps most famous for the Ilulissat Ice Fjord which fringes the southern side of the city. At the head of the fjord the Sermeq Kujalleq glacier calves a whopping 35 square kilometres of ice annually, as it moves at up to 40m a day into the sea from the Greenlandic Ice cap. This makes it the most productive glacier in the northern hemisphere and accounts for 10% of all the glacial calved ice produced by the whole of Greenland. As these colossal ice blocks build on a subsea moraine dam, just beyond the town, the pressure of more ice builds until they are popped out like corks into Disko bay, bobbing past the town as they leave. For this and its wide cultural history, Ilulissat is a UNESCO world Heritage site and a popular tourism destination for locals and foreigners alike.

We had booked ourselves into a small apartment “WhaleTours Apartments” for a day to give time to organise and food shop for the trip. This turned out to be a huge blessing, as Claus and Karen the local owners went above and beyond to help us in all manner of ways. I couldn’t recommend them enough. It was a firm belief that as tourists we should support the local economy as best we can so we’d opted to buy all of our food and fuel provisions locally – an easy task given the well provisioned community. Our kayaks, which we’d rented from the Jersey Canoe Club, awaited us on the foreshore. Safely tied up on the ice polished rocky slabs. I took exceptional interest in the traditional Inuit kayaks racked up nearby.

Provisioning

Meeting our guests off the airport, and those who had already arrived ahead of us, we finally had all made it into town. We were Jen, Tim and I guiding and Jim, Jan and Sandi paddling. Our fourth guest Sally, who had arrived earliest of all, had unfortunately picked up an illness on the flight and sadly was too unwell to join us, however she did make the most of her time in town. It would be remise of us not to thank Claus and Karen for their incredible hospitality. They offered a whole host of fun activities for Sally to enjoy once she had recovered later in the week. They then met us by boat for dinner on our final night before returning to town.

Our plan was to take all the food and equipment we would need for a ten day return trip. We (Kayak Summer Isles) provided our guests with our Hilleberg Tents and mats from Scotland. Our food, gas and some other supplies we needed to arrange were sourced from town. We’d asked our guests to each concoct their own dinner menu for one night of the trip as a fun way to give a sense of team camaraderie. To give ourselves a ‘window’ we’d allowed our tenth days food ration to be replaced by a “night out” meal in the famous H8 restaurant in the small community of Oqaatsut a little further north.

Food shopping, albeit a little chaotic with all of us running about to order of instructions, was incredibly smooth and easy. Ilulissat had two large supermarkets adjacent to each other, if one didn’t have what we needed the other surely did. For ease, we simply wheeled our food from the market to the kayaks through the streets in the shopping trolleys, returning them back afterward. Gas for our stoves was purchased from a chandlery store in the harbour although this could have been done in a number of other tourism shops. The chandlery however did accept returns of unused full gas cans at the end of the trip, which was an unexpected bonus.

Heading off (Day 1: 14km)

By mid-afternoon we had shopped, prepped and shuttled our gear down to the foreshore next to the kayaks. Our next job was to fit it all in the boats. By this time it was already 6pm but in a land where the summer sun never sleeps we had no sense of urgency. Jim cooked his meal on the stove as we pushed and prodded our last items into the kayaks. We ate and then with a wave to the comforts of civilisation, slipped into the water and off we went. It was 9pm!

We ate and then with a wave to the comforts of civilisation, slipped into the water and off we went. It was 9pm!

The sun was blazing deep gold over the horizon, casting fiery reflections across an almost mirror like sea. It was ever so easy to be lulled into a false sense of safety around the silence of the bay and the solid looking ice. Don’t let the photos fool you, as lens compression brings subjects close to the ice, throughout our trip we took safe ice practice seriously. Giving a brief introduction to ice safety, we talked about the respectful distances we must keep from the tremendous icebergs and tools to use such as how to identify distance using an outstretched hand and your fingers as a guideline. On occasion the silence was broken by the crumbling or cracking of both far and near icebergs rolling. A distant blow of our first humpback also broke the air with a sunlit puff of spray on the horizon. For me personally, it felt wonderful to be guiding amongst ice again, which has become a true passion in my life.

There was no denying that all of us were tired. 9pm is an unusual time to start an expedition, yet we were spurred on by the delights of low light casting colour and shadows over the deep blues of the icebergs. Our aim was to make a short distance north and out of town, set camp and rest ready for the next day. We made good progress, some 14km across the bay, weaving through the icebergs as we went. The coast was easily land-able with polished rock slabs acting like jettys, however finding a site suitable for a tent, high enough from the risk of calve waves, took a little time. Ultimately we found a great spot overlooking the fjord and set our camp. We were in bed for 2am and so set an open and late start time to allow for well deserved lie in.

Oqaatsut north (Day 2: 13km)

We woke to thick fog, which thankfully due to the colder temperature dampened down the summer mosquito population as we de-camped. The view of the ice was shrouded but the sound of falling ice reminded us it was still out there. Fog was perhaps our biggest likely weather concern as in summer the winds are typically light. Visibility around large icebergs is essential, not only for navigation but for maintaining safe distancing. Thankfully, although our greater view was hidden, the sightline was several hundred metres and enough to safely paddle onward.

Hand-railing the coast we set our course to meet our first and last small community of Oqaatsut (Formerly Rodebay) for lunch.

Approaching the town we hugged along a small series of cliffs. A small cave lured us closer and on arrival we found more interest underneath than above. A huge shoal of Arctic char swam beneath the boats. This became quite a common sight to see throughout our trip, the sea was clearly abundant here. Around the corner we emerged from the fog into the small town of Oqaatsut. The small fishing village was a collection of colourful houses perched on the rocks, old winches rusted on some slabs as if as a memorial to past years of whaling here. Oqaatsut today is perhaps most known for a small restaurant called H8, which does spectacularly cooked local food. As we paused for lunch we made our reservation for our final night, a promise of luxury before the end of our trip spurred some excitement. A small local kayak company gave some amusement as the guide there knew of who we were, the world of kayak instructors sure is small! We enjoyed lunch on the beach and wandered through the houses and dog kennels. I particularly enjoyed how both here and in Ilulissat the sound of Huskys howling filled the air almost in perpetuity.

The sunshine over the shallow waters gave view to exceptional clarity beneath us as we left town. We found ourselves peering down to the rocks below with interest at the hundreds of sea urchins, barnacles and even the odd jellyfish. Beyond us the coast rose into distant mountains which to the untrained eye could be mistaken for the hills of Harris. The landscape was barren with little vegetation beyond primary succession of mosses, lichens and tiny beech shrubs and yet intricately patched with fluffy drifts of cotton grass and summer flowers.

It was universally agreed between the team that we were all still quite tired from the previous days flights and then the late night paddle. A team decision was made to find a camp early and enjoy the afternoon relaxing in the sunshine and generally being present in the spectacular landscape we had brought ourselves into. In the planning stage, which often involves google earth, I’d found a little amusement to find the kayaks we were currently in and tents visible from the satellite imagery on a beach a little north of the town, as good a guarantee of a usable campsite as I think it is possible to find. We aimed for there, and to our delight the expectations were met with a beautiful beach and perfect tent site.

If I could say of anything that took me by surprise this trip, it would have been the number of small fishing huts we passed along our way. Almost invisible from satellite imagery they came as a surprise. In a way they gave a little comfort like a safety net from the sense wilderness and a connection to the outer world. Most of them were unoccupied and so we felt no problem camping within sight of them from time to time. Our evening was spent enjoying the view, watching ice drifting by on the tide and whale spotting from the hill behind camp.

Oqaatsut to Pakitsoq (Day 3: 23km)

A gentle start to the day, with some enjoying a morning yoga before a morning coffee, we decamped in blazing blue sunshine. The last lingering wisps of fog lifted through the hills. Conditions couldn’t have been more perfect. As we launched from the bay we almost immediately heard the ‘psshh’ of a whale followed by some slap sounds between the icebergs. Ahead on the horizon a lone humpback was performing pectoral fin slapping. We cautiously approached to a respectful distance and enjoyed the sight and sound for a number of minutes. Although it looked like the whale was waving at us this behaviour is more commonly attributed to communication between their own species, most commonly as a way of flirting from female whales.

Leaving the whale to find its friends, we continued northward toward a large inlet marked as Pakitsoq. I’d been reliably informed this was a place we would be inundated with whales as they feed in the deep waters here. The group mood and ambition was high.

At lunch we found a small bay with a large river flowing through the rocks. The slabs in the sun made for a pretty perch as we built our sandwiches. Out in the bay a city of icebergs bobbed, distant enough to leave good warning should they calve. As is necessary in such cold sea, we were all wearing drysuits, albeit layering lightly underneath. In the heat of the sun we were never too cold as we paddled. A welcome opportunity to soak in the river, cooling down our suits and souls was gladly taken by a few of us while we paused. As we left we spotted a group paddling ahead in the ice, we knew them! It was the SUP group from the one and only Jersey Canoe Club, who we’d rented our kayaks from. We had met in Ilulissat and on the planes already. Meeting in such an unlikely place by unlikely craft felt quite surreal and quite good fun.

Heading north though small islands dotted with the occasional fishing hut, the coast became steeper at our side. The islands held the ice and for a time navigation was tricky but managable to thread a line between towering bergs at a safe and responsible distance. The iceberg alley took our attention and gave inspiration, a field of amazing shapes and patterns carved by the sea and the sun. It is a little like cloud watching, we could spot shapes and faces in each one. Tim found amongst the rocks an orange boat fender buoy which had “John Jorgenson”, presumably the name of the fisherman, adorned across it. I’d used and swore by boat fenders as a kayak roller on beaches during my round Scotland trip (2013) and as such ‘John the buoy’ would become part of the team for the remainder of the trip. It proved an invaluable tool throughout, working perfectly on the rock slabs for fast and smooth extraction. When not in use, John Jorgenson piggy backed a ride on the back deck of Tim’s kayak.

As we arrived into ‘whale bay’ a loud hiss blew from the water ahead. No more than a football field away a lone fin whale crested the surface with a spout of spray, its back glistening in the afternoon light. It was approaching. We corralled together in a raft, watching as it rose and dove toward us. To our delight the whale surfaced a few dozen metres to our side, so close it felt like we could have smelled its breath. Our collective gasps echoed its blow as it went. WOW! That was close! Perhaps a little intimidatingly close.

No more than a football field away a lone fin whale crested the surface with a spout of spray

We had certainly arrived to the fabled bay of the whales. Above us the coast turned away to the east, lined with steep cliffs and rocky mountains. There was comparatively little ice in the bay, perhaps pushed out by the tide or blocked by the headland. Two bays lay on the south side, the first was excellent landing with small shingle and some sand but the camp itself seemed steep or a scramble to ascend above the crag atop the bay. The second option was wider, smooth small rocks with a good rocky slab and excellent mossy pitching opportunities. Our camp overlooked most of the bay giving ample cetecean spotting opportunities.

One great benefit of 24 hour daylight is the removal of any sense of urgency to the day. Once the tents were up we were free to linger and enjoy simply being present in the area we had brought ourselves to see. Most of us chose to take a brief yet refreshing swim from the rocks, exhaling like the nearby whales as we passed the ‘vowel point’ as we entered – “Oos, Aaas, Eees’ with each cold step deeper.

With a handful of dry peat and driftwood we managed to light a small fire on the stones, the smell of peat smouldering the mosquitos into remission felt like home. Jen cooked with Jan as sous chef and we ate as the sun sank golden over the hills.

That evening we were graced with a particularly special experience as a pod of 5 or more humpback whales arrived to feed just offshore. The sun at this point was low, casting etherial colour through a sapphire iceberg near to us and a golden rainbow through the whale spouts. The sea was as still as could be, the air silent only to be broken by the surfacing blow of the whales. Excitedly, we wandered to the rocks to get a closer look as they rounded the headland. They remained in the bay all night with some blows sounding like the air bursting from a tyre and others a deep bassey grumble like honey poured on thunder. We would listen intently until we fell asleep. It all felt a little too fairytale perfect, a pristine Greenlandic experience.

Some blows sounded like the air bursting from a tyre, others a deep bassey grumble like honey poured on thunder.

Pakitsoq to Ujarai (Day 4: 28km)

We had now found our rhythm with an earlier start and earlier finish to each day, which was working well for the group. Our morning goal was to continue eastward into the bay to look upon a narrows between a deeper inland sea. I had been told it could reach up to 12 knots of tide and wanted to see it for myself. The tide was rising, so by logic should be flowing into the inner sound. As such we needed care to stop ourselves being sucked inside.

Around the corner from our camp we were surprised to find a tremendous kittiwake colony across a line of steep cliffs. The air was no longer so quiet with the squawks of a few thousand seabirds.

The inner channel was indeed tidal. Split around an island we poked our noses about half way into the calmer of the two flows, which was running around 3-5 knots. It reminded me a lot of the Serrano river, which Jen and I have worked for in many years in Chile, it was wide, turbulent and glacial. Ahead it seemed faster, fightable but undesirable so we turned around. That adventure, I shall return for another year I hope. Setting our course back west we aimed out of the bay to return to the distant icebergs.

After a brief pause at the headland on the north end of the bay for lunch, we turned north into a narrowing sound. Across the water by about 5km we had come level to Arve Princens Ejeland, the large island dominating the north of Disko bay. Beneath us the water shallowed, capping the larger icebergs from heading further. From here there was a chance the ice had arrived from the northern glaciers as well as the south. A distinct feeling of a new chapter had arrived with the narrower fjord and steeper mountains. It felt perhaps a little Norwegian.

Landings became less frequent as we headed northbound. The rocky foreshore now steeper in many places. Ahead in the distance we aimed for a shelving beach which I’d identified on the maps as a possible campsite. It looked superb and the closer we got the better it became. Our pace and excitement as a team felt at an all time high with the sense of journeying the day had brought, combined with a tiredness at an almost 30km day.

Jen quickly located a fantastic kitchen area, half way up the steep wind shuffled shingle. We spread our drysuits out to dry and set camp atop the hill with a superb view back south through the ice and mountains. It was my turn to cook tonight so I was thankful for the view behind the stoves. In the distance the whales had even followed us and could be seen from up high.

Ujarai – Ataa Sound (Day 5: 20km)

Our morning routine was interrupted by the arrival of a pair of Arctic Fox. They had little fear for humans and had no shame in nosing around our kayaks as we packed. A new team role of ‘fox guarding’ the loose gear as we packed was now implemented to save us losing an item to a wiley cub. As cute and cuddly as they are, Arctic fox also take some serious considerations too. In Greenland, a high proportion of the fox carry latent rabies and as such a contact encounter should be avoided. Never-the-less we enjoyed watching them wander the beach, hop and skip between the boats and generally be an adorable nuisance.

Well guarded, all our gear and food was soon returned to the kayaks for our departure north. Our aim was to position ourselves near to the top of the Ataa sound with hopes of a brief view into Eqi glacier before turning south to head for home. We were at our half way point of the trip, which I find always comes with a thought of home comforts arriving to the back of my mind. For now however, adventure awaited.

The steep sides gave us an enclosed feeling as we ventured along the shoreline. This was the first and only place of the trip where my scouting by satellite and maps mis-identified a land-able bay. The small beach amongst the rocks turned out to be a steep scree slope some 500m up into the cliffs, neither safe nor practical for lunch. The coast here had been on the whole quite un-landable for some time, although in such calm conditions the commitment felt low. We pressed on to find a better lunch spot. Arriving around midday to a near perfect campsite we had a group discussion about our options. The first was to continue north another 10km to our next land-able camp, or second was to linger and enjoy this particularly flat and scenic spot. As the scouting was quite unreliable, due to shadow and maps giving no further indications, I’d given a 50/50 odds to whether we could land at the further camp at all. Should we have been unable to land, I prepped the team that a further 5km might be needed to reach a guaranteed spot. This uncertainty, coupled with the distance required, meant we opted for the latter and stopped at our lunch spot to camp.

By good fortune we spent the afternoon enjoying the sunshine while a thin band of fog enveloped the fjord to the south of us. It remained clear of our camp all evening but provided an atmospheric view. The hot weather inspired each of us to venture into a small stream to enjoy a wash. We wandered, relaxed and cooked. It was an exceptionally relaxed afternoon, which after a few long days felt like a good reward to our paddling efforts. In the distance we could see for the first time the Greenlandic Ice cap across the northern horizon.

A view of Eqi (Day 6: 30km)

Today we would reach our most northerly point. We had now surpassed our half way point and would turn back south toward Ilulissat, which now felt a lifetime of paddling behind us. It is remarkable how an over abundance of new experiences can bend the passage of time, stretching it with blissful living. The sun had hidden itself beneath a blanket of high cloud, which pulled itself down across the peaks like wispy spiderwebs. North of us was an abundance of ice, smaller than that in Ilulissat but large enough to need thought as we passed. We hugged along the coastline which was steep slab and cliff. Our first aim point was a large waterfall, seemingly pouring from the cloud across the cliffs ahead. As now felt the norm, the sea was smooth.

Our morning goal was to round the corner at the top of Ataa sound and catch a glimpse eastward toward Eqi glacier. We would have lunch at the point then turn west to cross Ataa sound and venture down Arve Princens Edjeland to the abandoned community to which the sound gains its name: Ataa. It would be our longest day of the trip so far combined with another long day the following morning. The reward of our effort was seeing the glacier.

At the headland we were pleased to find the fabelled landing was possible at the 10km mark and for future reference we were not the first to have found it. Atop the rock slabs, where we paused to have lunch, were the unmistakable signs of an old settlement which without much doubt was Inuit. I later wandered to a viewpoint to discover a large flat cairn, which to my intrigue seemed hollow. Much to my surprise, as I peered carefully through the cracks, I could spot a human skull. Clearly the Inuit valued this point highly, and with a 360 degree panorama of ice and mountains overlooking the divide of the fjords, I could see why. And to rest here forever, what a view it was! To our west were the mountains of Arve Island. South of us rose the steep sides of the fjords contrasted by the north and east which was a wide expanse toward the second largest terrestrial ice cap on earth. Several glaciers poured themselves into the sea, crumbling into bergs to melt and refresh a thousands year old water-cycle. 10km from here Eqi glacier rumbled impressively. As if we weren’t spoiled enough, as Jim and Jan opened the lunch rations, Sandy pointed out with excitement as three humpback whales cruised right past us on the coast. They were no more than 20m from us at shore.

We were privileged to enjoy this to ourselves at first but before long a steady stream of small tour boats passed us by, waving guests eagerly interested at us on the rocks. It felt somewhat strange that for us this point was hard earned through five and a half days of effort, energy and ambition whilst for them they had enjoyed breakfast in the comfort of Ilulissat that very same morning. Both they and we were here for the same reason none-the-less, to enjoy the majesty of this place.

Our first significant open crossing followed after lunch. A 6km passage across the Ataa sound took us over to Arve Princens Ejland. The crossing was jovial as we chatted as a group, enjoying the satisfaction of having reached significantly further than I’d expected we might. I enjoyed talking with Sandi at length about her books and philosophies of life as we went. The icebergs make an excellent way to break up an open sea. The reddish rock on the island led us south until we turned into the abandoned settlement. Abandoned in the 1960’s the small collection of houses are largely crumbling through the erosion of time and elements. A few remained whole and one seemingly was used as a hunters bothy. At the end of long days it was always tempting to linger and wander before lifting the boats, however a series of very large icebergs close in the bay meant a fast lift and exit was necessary. Case to point one broke with a boom as we’d lifted the last boat up the beach. The wave was re-assuringly low down the beach but it served as a reminder as to why we exited purposefully and swiftly.

Upon first arrival, it was a little unsettling to find quite a lot of trash left open to the air in a large oil drum and a pile of half rotten fish heads. After a few days away from people, it felt a little affronting to find. We soon however found a nicer spot between the buildings to camp and forgot about it. It was quite fun to wander through the buildings. I took great enjoyment in finding an old shed full of beautiful 1970’s wooden Kober kayak paddles and the rotting frames of a number of skin-on-frame Klepper kayaks, although I did feel a little sad to see them left to abandonment. I enjoyed watching Jim and Jan reminisce about the Kober paddles which they had both used in their younger paddling careers. The houses had characteristic large numbers painted on their rooftops, a legacy from the great wars where the US air force painted many houses to aid in aerial navigation. At the top of the town was a shallow graveyard adorned with weathered crosses.

Ataa to Qitermiunnquit (Day 7: 32km)

Arve Princens Ejland’s eastern coast was steep and craggy. The cliffs rose straight from sea level to around 600m. We craned our necks upward to watch the many seabirds which had made them their home. Fulmar, Cormorants, Kittiwake and Glaucous gulls. I enjoyed hanging back from the group at times, using my telephoto lens to compress the ice toward the group ahead, making the satisfying illusion of being far closer than we really ever were, a great camera trick that helps to emphasise the scale without putting paddlers into the danger zone.

It was notably colder today than the previous days had been. Lunch involved pulling the drysuits down and donning the down jackets to keep warm. Beach wanders and walks stretched our legs and kept us warm.

By mid-afternoon we had reached the southern corner of the island. One forecast via Inreach suggested a chance of fog and as we were returning to the realm of the ‘mega bergs’ we opted to cross back toward the mainland that evening, rather than camp on Arve a second night. This decision, albeit adding a few kilometres to an already long day, was well rewarded with more unexpectedly close encounters with humpbacks to end our day.

Rolling the kayaks up the beach, with the help of ‘John Jorgenson,’ we settled into a particularly nice camp. Being out on a peninsula awarded less mosquito nuisance and good views. Once again, the Inuit had beaten us to it, the remains of a settlement could be found nearby as well as a number of burial cairns. At the end of the wide shingle bay on a promontory we found more series of old cairns, which seemed to be lined up between the sunrise and the burial ground. I was intrigued to find a particularly odd lump of conglomerated pumice beside one of these cairns, which had no business being here given the geology. The nearest volcano being a considerable distance away. Perhaps a token of sentimentality to one of the cairn builders, I left it in place.

Qitermiunnquit to Anoritooq (Day 8: 21km)

After several long days the group stamina was definitely feeling the effort. Thankfully we had earned ourselves a final few shorter days on our approach back to town. We’d identified a perfect looking campsite close to our lunch spot on day three and set a goal to reach there that night. For the first time, we had some wind, a moderate following sea pushed us down the coast with relative ease and a little biting cold in the air. After so long on still water it felt a little bit of a shock to the system at first, but the push was well welcomed.

This was the first part of our return journey where we were truly repeating our ground. The familiar landscape gave some sense of comfort and yet interest was kept high by the re-shuffled deck of icebergs to spot faces in.

It did not take us long to return to our planned campsite that morning, arriving by lunchtime as the weather had just started to improve. The sun was re-appearing from the cloud. The beach was a lovely sandy landing but a shallow bay with some of the largest icebergs we’d seen close to camp. Thankfully a high promontory took our pitch well above any potential wave risk and doubled with a great view. The bay was littered with a number of old broken wooden pallets in the tideline, which gave the rare opportunity to strike a small fire. The sandy ground around camp gave the luxury of a fire close to our kitchen and would be easy to remove all trace on our departure. It was quite clear we had not been the first to think this too, the camp was fairly scattered with nails from previous fires. It made a good game to collect them all through the evening, which we removed out to Ilulissat, along with our pallet nails the following day.

The sun slowly sunk lower into the horizon giving a superb sunset to enjoy. The sounds of a nearby kittiwake colony and the occasional crack of a rolling iceberg broke the silence from time to time. This evening we cooked the meal prepared by Sally, who had been unable to join us, which was a delicious mushroom cous cous, our thoughts were with her and how she was getting on in Ilulissat in our absence. We hoped we would meet her at H8 restaurant the next night to share our stories between us.

Anoritooq to Oqaatsut (Day 9: 14km)

Strong winds forecast in the afternoon. Overnight a brief punch of wind had reminded us that strong weather exists. I’d got out of bed early and checked we’d anchored everything down, just in case the forecast had arrived earlier. Thankfully it passed over for now. A calm start gave us the chance to paddle down to Oqaatsut by early afternoon, hopefully before the weather arrived. A comparatively short day, we were quite happy with the meandering paddle through the ice, pausing to admire jellyfish and the larger whales feeding on them. The rocky coastline soon started to harbour the familiar fishing huts that came within proximity to town and soon enough in the distance huskies could be heard howling from their kennels.

On the outer side of Qeqertaq island we paused to float in a tideline and enjoy a pod of humpback as they swam by us. The sea was unusually full of jellyfish and salp here, no doubt why the whales had come. It seemed a lifetime behind us that we had watched the humpback pectoral slapping no more than a few kilometres from where we now drifted.

We arrived into the familiar colourful town of Oqaatsut just as the wind arrived. Our dinner was booked at the restaurant for 7pm giving us several hours to explore. The wind had now risen to 25 knots or so, the first ‘proper’ wind we had seen all trip. It caught the dripping meltwater from the icebergs south of town and took them into the wind like glitter in the sunshine.

As the evening closed in, we were delighted to be met by Sally, escorted by Karen our host from our rental apartment in town. She had recovered well and kept high spirits and been occupied in our absence with all manner of adventures to and from town. We shared a lot of stories over dinner. Claus and Karen had taken her fishing, on a boat tour to Eqi glacier (we must have passed each other!) and had arranged an evening kayaking later that week, truly above and beyond the call ofduty as hosts which neither Sally nor we could sing their praises high enough for.

H8 Restaurant itself was fabulous. We shared a starter of locally cured fish, then musk-ox steak and potatoes. As the power went out before desert, returning us to our familiar natural light, the chef presented us with some cookies, which were fantastic too. To wine and dine straight from the kayak made a wonderful not-quite-there-yet debrief of our journey.

After dinner we bid Sally and Karen farewell again as they departed by boat to Ilulissat. We re-donned our drysuits to paddle back across the bay to camp. Thankfully the wind had slightly abated giving a smooth, albeit plump, paddle. Soon we had our tents set for our final night in the wild. Our final day awaited with a forecast of winds to contend with.

Oqaatsut to Ilulissat (Day 10: 20km)

A strong westerly wind blew offshore as we packed to leave camp. The winds woke the sea up, sometimes gusting considerably. After nine days of almost flat calm it was a good test of boat control as we wound a safe passage home between the ice. Ferry gliding across bays and sitting distant to but in the leeward side of bergs helped ease our journey. At times crossing the wind we moved in close formation, side by side as a well oiled machine. Downwind sections went smooth and fast. Slowly the distant silhouette of Ilulissat grew closer.

As we rounded the last headland we paused in a sheltered tuck away, before what promised to be quite a fight upwind to finish. Corralling together to take a few moments we sat for a deliberate silent minute to give ourselves some time to reflect. This is something i’ve always done on any personal trip, often while paddling the final few miles. I find once the bow touches the beach it is all to easy to continue momentum with the excitement at returning and the bustle of unpacking leaving reflection forgotten until it is less fresh in the mind.

Had I known what was around the corner, I might have perhaps suggested an extra few moments. Keeping distance from a particularly massive iceberg we nosed out with hard effort against a strong wind toward the final crossing into town. As we were about to cross however the huge container ship which re-supplies the village, pulled off the dock upwind. Spotting the timings would be close, there was no other wise choice but to retreat back and hold our ground behind the icebergs, wishing we could be closer to it to dodge more wind. The ship slowly passed us by after 20 minutes or so and we were good to go.

The final kilometre was quite the fight. The wind had got really quite strong. As we reached the slabs we were all pleased to have a rest as much as we were to have succeeded in our adventure. A group picture taken by Sally, who had come down to meet us on the rocks, and for me a bucket list tick of performing a Greenland roll were the celebrations of choice. We had made it! Three cheers and beers!

By good fortune the logistics of returning the kayaks to their home beneath a locals basement and the general de-pack went remarkably smoothly and fast, aided by the help of Ilulissat Adventures kayak trailer, Claus and Karen. We bid farewell to Jim and Jan while Sandi went to unpack and rest. Jen, Tim and I joined Sally back at Whaletours appartments to help her cook a phenomenal quantity of cod that she had caught on her tours with our hosts earlier that week. Our final day we took for us as tourists, exploring the ice fjord centre and some short walks around town.

Greenland is a unique and fabulous place and all of us can’t wait to be back one day.