Habeas Corpus Under Aurora Borealis

Coda

2009-10-04T07:27:00.000-07:00

September 2009 marked the end of an era for the justice system in Nunavut. Judge Beverly Browne, Nunavut's Senior Judge, has been called to the Queen's Bench in Alberta. So ends her time as the chief justice of the Nunavut Court of Justice. While she will no doubt return to preside as a deputy judge, she will no longer be a daily part of life in Iqaluit. Not just a jurist, Judge Browne was also involved in the community. Her energy drove more than one organization. Committed equally to the community and her profession, she encouraged new lawyers to get up out of their office chairs and get involved.

This month, it will also be two years since I came to Nunavut. I feel like the time has flown by, but at the same time I have trouble remembering a time I did not live here. My life in Toronto seems very far away now. I spend a lot more time experiencing than writing about experiences these days. Maybe the novelty has worn off. Or maybe as my long to-do lists get longer, I have less time for reflection. Or maybe I am no longer looking at this as an observer. Maybe I have decided to get out of that office chair and get involved.

For whatever reason, dear friends, this is the last post on Habeus Corpus under Aurora Borealis. I am still here, still working away, and still watching aurora borealis burn more brightly as the nights get longer.

I have so much more to learn and I am getting up out of my chair to do that now.

My Machine

2009-03-29T19:48:00.000-07:00

In Nunavut, when someone refers to her (or his) "machine", she is usually talking about her skidoo, aka snow machine. As machines, they are fairly simple, though it's not the easiest thing to take one across mountains. At least for me. If you spent your life mountainbiking, skateboarding or building the myriad of skills that teach balance, hand-eye coordination and confidence in your ability to interact wioth rugged terrain, you will likely master the skiddoo in minutes. Unfortunately for me, however, I never really got much of that out of "British India--a historical survey" or Common Law Property. Nor is it something they've really covered in Self magazine--though perhaps I could find a new niche....

Ever defiant of obstacles, I decided that living in the Arctic meant I had to overcome my inadequate education and get myself into the skidoo racket. So I saved my pennies, and before Christmas I bought a nice, heavy, long track 55o Polaris. Because who would want a smaller machine? Or a lighter machine? Or even a used machine? If I was going to be Arctic Girl, I needed the Arctic Machine. I would ride the machine to work, take it out into the mountains... I even named it: Black Beauty.

Well, Arctic Girl's Arctic Machine got driven home...by Gavin. In January, we took it out once, inspired by a visiting prosecutor to take a little spin. I trailed behind the pack of my colleagues as we headed out to the sea ice, like a kid who is riding her first bike without training wheels. Sled dogs could have beaten me across the Bay. It was so cold that I had to use my hand warmers to stop my fingers from going numb. After that, I vowed to ride the skidoo every weekend so that I would not feel so slow again.

Weeks passed and snow fell on my machine, much like David Guterson's cedars. Once in a while, I would brush the snow off hoping the neighbours would not notice how long it had been since I had taken it out. Also, I feared I may never be able to unlock it again when it was buried in all that snow. Friends would ask if I had put 10 miles on it yet. My boss kept asking me when I was going to drive it to work. I felt more like a kadlunat than the day I stepped off the plane.

This morning dawned as one calling for a girl to ride her skidoo. It was bright, sunny, warm (-21C) and calm. After briefly flirting with the idea of laying on my sofa basking in the sun and the Globe & Mail, we decided we would indeed go for a little spin. I donned all the gear I knew I would need to keep me warm: 2 pairs of long underwear, fleece, snow pants, two pairs of socks (wool), Canada Goose parka, gloves, windproof mitts, balaklava, wool hat, and last but not least goggles. All this so that I could ride down to the ice and take a trip to Tar Inlet, just across the hill from Apex. I think this daunting amount of clothing had held me back.

Gavin, good man, took the machine out to the ice for me and then let me drive it across the lovely, flat Bay. I managed to go a little faster than the usual safari. I stopped the machine in the middle of the inlet and we got off to walk around. I could hear the ocean moving, the pack ice moving around under my feet, and it was the eeriest feeling to know that beneath the 10 feet or so of ice was the ocean, cold and alive. Not letting me get away with just a lot of pansy sea ice safari, Gavin made me take the skidoo up to a lookout point, where I was rewarded with a view that really made me regret forgetting my camera--sorry folks.

I did, however, chicken out of driving home. As we sped along and I admired what I could see of the Arctic from under my hood and through my rose-coloured glasses, I wondered if I could in fact take it out every weekend...

we hae meat, and we can eat

2009-01-25T20:33:00.000-08:00

Yes, friends, the Bard of Scotland's reach knows no bounds. Even here in the almost-Ultima Thule of Canada the faithful Scots and wanna-be Scots gathered to celebrate Robbie Burns' birthday. It is his 250th. Robbie Burns, if you don't know, was a poet and a lyricist who travelled Scotland collecting and adapting traditional folk music and poems as well as well as his own. On his birthday, Scots celebrate with a Burns supper. The format of Burns suppers has not changed since Robert's death in 1796. The basic format starts with a general welcome and announcements followed with the Selkirk Grace (see the byline). After the grace comes the piping and cutting of the haggis, where Robert's famous Address to a Haggis read and the haggis is cut open. Don't know what haggis is? Please read about it here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Haggis. Memories of the last Burns supper I attended (12 years ago in Glasgow while an exchange student) are a bit hazy, so I was looking forward to this one as a more sober celebration. So to speak.

The main attraction besides haggis: David Francey, Juno-award winner and folk musician. He had the stage for most of the night, though there was lots of fiddling and pipes to go around. True kudos go to a local Iqaluit musician who fiddled at the show most of the night despite expecting her first baby on Monday. I think, however, that one of the best moments of the night was when an elderly Inuit woman, clad in modern leather kamiks and a tartan skirt, went up to the buffet to get the last share of the leftover haggis, turnip, and Scotch eggs. It makes me wonder what Chinese New Year tomorrow will bring.

Is There a Polar Bear?

2009-01-08T04:56:00.000-08:00

I love to run outside. I am not a running fiend. I have never run a marathon and generally I eschew running outside in the winter like the plague. It's cold. And dark. And, well, cold!

Last night, I got home at the unheard-of early hour of 6 p.m. The idea of walking an hour to get to the gym was more daunting than braving the outdoors. The outdoors also cooperated. The temperature was about -10 to -15 in the evening (unusually warm), there was little to no wind, and I happened to know that it was going to be a lot colder the rest of the week. So, I made an educated guess at how many layers I needed and set out, hoping I would not get too cold.

The biggest challenge was getting used to the cold air. My nose got pretty cold. My lungs got a little sore as I ran uphill. What I imagined to be the greatest challenge, however, the slippery ground, didn't turn out to be at all. Trail runners and careful footing kept me on track.

At one point, I needed to stop and do some jumping jacks. I just wanted to warm up a bit without breathing too hard. A woman walking home saw me and thought something very different. I noticed her staring at me, so I stopped.

She asked, "is there a polar bear?"

I imagined what she must have seen from her point of view: a woman running from a side street, crossing the road, running a little, then stopping, turning and jumping up and down while waving her arms. Oops.

"No, no," I assured her, "I'm just exercising."

"Oh," she seemed relieved and took her daughter by the hand and kept going. I ran on, hoping that in fact there was no stray bear roaming town looking for delicious human running snacks.

Political Inspiration

2008-11-16T22:10:00.000-08:00

Nunavut has its first woman premier, Eva Aariak, a newly-elected member of the Legislature whose riding is actually mine: Iqaluit East. The other candidates were Paul Okalik, the incumbent, and Tagak Curley, who was acclaimed to his riding in Rankin. As one of my friends noted, I guess if you are only going to elect one woman to the Legislature, ya might as well make her the premier!

Nunavut works on a consensus political system, so we have no political parties--at least at the Territorial level. The Legislative Assembly selects its premier and cabinet after the new ministers take office during a leadership forum. There are usually nineteen MLAs but because we're waiting for a by-election, eighteen were at the forum. It's all explained in Nunavut's Legislative Assembly and Executive Council Act (http://www.canlii.org/nu/laws/sta/l-5/20070904/whole.html), in case any of you want some light reading.

The news made us news papers from the Brockville Recorder to the Prince George Citizen to the Globe and Mail. It's understandable, as she is the only woman currently serving as a provincial or territorial premier in Canada, and only the fifth woman — after Rita Johnston (B.C. 1991-92), Nellie Cournoyea (NWT, 1991-1995), Catherine Callbeck (PEI, 1993-1996), and Pat Duncan (Yukon, 2000-2002) ever to hold a premiership. With a federal MP a woman too, it seems Nunavut has made the news more than once this year. Rightly so.

The Year in Review

2008-11-11T20:25:00.001-08:00

October 29th marked the anniversary of my first year in Nunavut. The days are shorter now and the time passes quickly with work, gym and the usual routine of life. I broke out my snow pants and parka this week. They provide the best protection from the cold wind. I've also renewed my love of moisturizer. Last year, I forgot to bring any with me and spent weeks suffering dry skin while I waited for my cargo to arrive on First Air.

A year in Iqaluit still makes me an Arctic novice, but I am happy to look back on lots of exciting firsts: my first blizzard day, my first sighting of aurora borealis, my first taste of raw seal and raw caribou, learning 5 words of Inuktitut (ok, maybe 6), breaking open the band on my sealift container...not to mention coming to possess a seaworthy crate stamped with my name and address.... I continue to study the view from my window, marvelling at the haunting beauty of the place I call home. Moreover, I have been lucky to share all these moments with good friends whose generosity, spirit, and goodwill have made life here so much better.

So, the adventure continues.

There is Turkey in the Arctic

2008-10-15T19:30:00.000-07:00

This weekend was my first Thanksgiving. It was a propos, as almost ten of my friends answered the call for moving day on Saturday. We moved me in a couple of hours, an amazing blitz that made me feel like this Thanksgiving I had quite a bit to be thankful for. Certainly, the meals I ate this weekend made me feel no less. At one, we had an entire table full of dessert, at another, a twenty-nine pound turkey (yes, they sell turkey at Northmart). I have never seen such a big turkey. Happily, there was a lot of cranberry chutney, homemade stuffing, mashed potatoes, green beans, and molasses brown bread to back it up, not to mention pumpkin-sausage pasta, pies, and chocolate pudding. You see, food is an obsession for us here on Baffin island. The food may be physically removed from us, but it is never far from our minds. The holidays are just an excuse to celebrate food with each other.

Movin' on Up

2008-10-07T09:36:00.001-07:00

At the end of this month, it's my one-year anniversary of moving to Iqaluit. To celebrate, I've decided to repack all of my worldly goods and relocate to a nicer apartment in Iqaluit. My current apartment is a nice place, two floors, hotel-style, elevator-serviced...but it lacks a certain homey feeling. My new home, also furnished by Public Works, has a little more charm. More importantly, it has a view of Frobisher Bay, a view that's worth moving for, as you can see.

Fall Colours

2008-09-30T20:55:00.000-07:00

In Nunavut? How, when there are no trees?

Trees we may not have, but the tundra has lovely plants, the leaves of which turn bright colours in the fall as the weather cools. There is as much red, gold, and brown (admittedly, always a lot of brown) in Nunavut as anywhere else in Canada. You just have to look much more closely. When the afternoon sun hangs low in the sky and hits the tundra the right way, the patchwork of colours is pretty spectacular, especially in the Western Arctic. Above left is a photo of Kugluktuk's Kugluk/Bloodt Falls Territorial Park, near where the Coppermine River meets the Arctic Ocean. On the right is a photo of Mount Pelly in Ovayok (Mount Pelly) Territorial Park, just outside Cambridge Bay. Sunset there is worth the drive, you'll notice from the photos below.

If you are lucky, in late summer, you look and find not just leaves, but also berries shining purple, red, and almost black. The blueberries are the most prized. Small and sweet, an afternoon of patience and carefully combing the tundra will yield a large yogourt container worth of berries. I ate mine with cereal over the course of a week: along with what a got out of my organic plot in the greenhouse, it felt like I too could enjoy the idea of a late summer harvest.

Summer Tripping

2008-09-07T09:45:00.000-07:00

Summer is a time when we are all outside. The long, sunny days and warm weather make it hard to resist. This summer was one of the warmest. Parts of a Greenlandic glacier broke off and floated into Frobisher Bay, right up to the shore of Apex and Iqaluit. So for much of the summer, little icebergs floated on the water, white and blue ones. Blue ones connote multi-year ice, the ice that was part of a glacier for more than a year. Frobisher Bay has quite extreme high and low tides, so during the low tide the ice would sit on the mud in the bay. The shapes were amazing.

Summer is also a time for visiting. Alisse and Greg came for ten days in August and we took a trip to Pangnirtung and Auyuittuq National Park. They found that Nunavut is a place where things work a little differently, perhaps a place to move more slowly?...

Pangnirtung is an East Baffin Island community located at the mouth of the Pangnirtung Fjord, which drains into Cumberland Sound. From Pang then, you can look one way into the fjord and the mountains, home of Auyuittuq Park and the Akshayuk pass, and the other way out to Cumberland Sound. The water is so clear, it sparkles as blue as the Caribbean, though a tad colder. Our trip would have been worthwhile just for the flight, during which the plane comes so close to the mountains around Pang that it feels like you can reach out and touch them.

After a couple days rest and fortification with potato chips and Nutella, Greg, Alisse, and I joined forces with Mark and Meagan for a trek into Auyuittuq park, through Askshayuk Pass. Akshayuk Pass is the most popular hiking destination in Auyuittuq. The pass, which is 97 km long, connects Pangnirtung Fiord in Cumberland Sound (closest community is Pangnirtung), with North Pangnirtung Fiord off Davis Strait (closest community is Qikiqtarjuaq). It's a traditional Inuit travel corridor, where people would go to hunt caribou. It's a gelologically active place. This summer, it experienced severe erosion. One of the lakes, Summit Lake, around halfway up the corridor, breached and the water that flooded the basins toward Pang eroded the moraine that blocks another lake, Crater Lake, from spilling into the passand creating a flash flood. As a result, our chosed hiking destination, the southeast end of the pass, from the first emergency shelter at the mouth of the pass, Overlord, to Windy Lake, just south of Summit Lake, was closed to visitors. it reopened just before we set out on our hike.

A hike in Auyuittuq Park means a hike through rivers and up sand dunes. The river crossings require neoprene footgear and good cheer. You often have to travel up and downstream to find the best place to cross. It does, however, make for a great photo!

The rivers make for easy access to fresh water. Every day, I drank litres of delicious glaciar water. Here I am refilling our water store with the most excellent water pump that Mark and Meaghan own. Perhaps a funny photo, but it's a funny process.

Alianait!

2008-07-02T20:00:00.000-07:00

This month continues on an artistic theme.

A purple and yellow big top went up in Iqaluit a couple of weeks ago. Over the last ten days, Iqaluit hosted Alianait, an arts festival hosting performers from across Canada. I missed most of the festival, being in Kugluktuk and Yellowknife, but I did my best to catch up last weekend. I volunteered a bit and found myself helping out with the helium balloons on Canada Day. Let me tell you, tying a helium balloon in one of the windiest places on earth is a challenge. One sadly comic moment came when I tied a balloon to one little munchkin's wrist, and it flew off into the wind the moment she reached up for her mother's hand. Oops. I never was very good with the old slipknot.

Balloons aside, Alianait is really about music and culture. There are all sorts of workshops to attend. I managed to get to two, one for throat-singing and one for drum-dancing. The throat-singing was really unique, with Nathan Rogers doing some Mongolian throat-singing, and some beat to keep it interesting. It's amazing to see little girls throat sing. In case you have never seen throat-singing before, here's a little video demo:

You may have noticed I mentioned Nathan Rogers played at Alianait. He was among one of the many musicians who came to Iqaluit to take part in the festival. Others included Dave Badini (formerly of the Rheostatics), Pacific Curls, Little Miss Higgins, the Gjoa Band, and Bomba. They played in the big top and brought something lively to a pretty chilly Canada Day eve. Making music seems like such an easy way to bring warmth and energy to colder climes. It's worth remembering when the weather gets grim.

By The Pricking of My Thumbs, Something Wicked This Way Comes...

2008-06-12T20:44:00.001-07:00

Yes, dear friends, all the fresh Arctic air has gone to my head, and I am awash in theatrical pretentions. My staged frolic took the form of MacBeth, a Part-Time Players production in Iqaluit. For months, under the watchful eyes of directors Valmai Goggin and Iona Strachan, a band of Nunavummiut brothers and sisters have rehearshed faithfully to produce MacBeth in one Act. I played the witches--yes, all the witches. It was a fun part with much cauldron bubbling and trouble. Shakespeare may be turning over in his grave, but people seemed happy with the result. I posted some pics so you can judge for yourself.

Thanks to Ed Maruyama for the great photos.

Intrepid Arctic

2008-05-22T20:36:00.000-07:00

The snow is almost gone now. It is a little sad to see. The panorama has changed. There is a lot more brown and grey than there used to be. Even the sky has been grey, though it cleared today to reveal bright sunshine. The rivers are open too, and places where just three weeks ago there was ice and slush, there is now rushing water with the occasional blocks or slivers of ice. It makes for a whole new kind of Arctic adventure.

Here is what it was like back in the snowy March days--what I saw of them anyway. We had to get up at dawn and hike up hills with our skis to get to work...the snow was slippery, the weather -40!!

OK, maybe not. But you get the idea.

On May 10th, Sylvia Grinnell Park still had the touches of winter The river was not safe to cross, but there was plenty of slushy snow to sink into while walking up the path to picnic. Well, it was a BBQ more than a picnic, one that made me realize it was a long time since we BBQed a steak anywhere other than someone's house. Silverware, for example, is not readily found on the tundra. Perhaps that will change once the campers set up their tents in the summer...

Now, in mid-June, the rivers are entirely open, the tundra brown-green, and the Arctic flowers blossoming. The weather alternates between cold rain and bright sun. Two days ago, I did my first run--in trail runners no less. It's all part of the new outdoor adventure, one that promises to get even better over the summer.

Arctic Ethnic

2008-05-16T18:53:00.000-07:00

About a month ago, I discovered that there are Armenians in the North. I was in Yellowknife buying a bottle of wine at the liquor store. At the checkout, I thought I heard someone speak Armenian, though I imagined it was more likely Turkish or Arabic and I had just misheard. The women at the checkout were pale, with dark hair. I'm not sure if it was the accent, the dark eyeliner, or the red lipstick. I asked where she was from. "Armenia", she responded, not even pausing to look up from the cash register. "Hayren khosoom ek?" I asked. Both she and the woman at the neighbouring cash were completely amazed. Never, they told me, had they encountered another Armenian at work, though there are apparently many Armenians in Yellowknife. These women were wives of diamond-polishers who worked in Yellowknife. One of them gave me her phone number and insisted I call her the next time I was in town. They want to have me to their homes for dinner. When I called my sister to tell her what happened, she said "canum, I have been waiting for the day you called me from the Arctic to tell me that Hayastansis invited you for dinner." She's good that way.

While Nunavut's Inuit traditions provide a unique cultural backdrop for life here, visible minorities and ethnic experiences are not as abundant as they were in Toronto. According to the 2006 Census, there are 420 persons of visible minority living in Nunavut, almost half of which are in Iqaluit. Contrast that with the 1,162,630 individuals in Toronto, and you can understand how it's a bit of an adjustment. At the same time, the Arctic is a place for "missionaries, mercenaries, and misfits"; I guess opportunity does not discriminate amongst those who chose to take it.

There are ethnic experiences I would not have had unless I lived here. It can also be very personal. I doubt I would have attended a passover seder in Toronto, or a traditional Hindu dance performance, or muddled through the traditional lahmacun recipe I have so I could share it with my friends at Easter (see below). People take the time to explain why a tradition exists and how it's developed, whereas at home it might be taken for granted. We also look forward to "theme" dinners and lunches at the Francophone Centre in a way that we never would in Toronto.

I return to Yellowknife next month and plan to give my new Armenian friends a call. I wonder if we'll spend time talking about the differences between Eastern and Western Armenia, Nunavut and NWT or if we'll just be amazed to speak Armenian in a place so far from anywhere any of us expected to hear it.

A River Runs Through All Of It

2008-05-04T20:47:00.000-07:00

Spring has arrived in the Arctic--or at least my part of the Arctic. With spring has come the melting. Everything is melting: the snow, the ice, the rivers... Little creeks and ponds have sprung up everywhere. That includes the main road through the middle of town. Almost overnight, it seems that snow banks became slush banks, ice became mud, and mud became muck. It is a drastic change from the -20C weather that was the norm only a couple of weeks ago.

The new weather brings some interesting changes to my wardrobe. Some changes are long-awaited and totally welcome, i.e. ditching long underwear as everyday wear. Other changes are not so expected but kind of cool: rubber boots. I am not talking any kind of rubber boot. I mean a fully insulated, industrial (at least that's what the label says), Kamik-brand bottle-green rubber boot. Imagine something you would wear in your fishing boat while on the way to gather seaweed for the local marine biology centre. I am wearing something similar in the picture below, but those are loaners [NOTE: Photo still to follow].

The story of how I came to borrow these boots illustrates Iqaluit's new muddy reality. Friday night, I was walking to a friend's house in downtown Iqaluit (distinguished from the rest of Iqaluit by the fact that it is in "town", i.e. less than 10 minutes from the Bay). Walking there, I came across a large puddle that required negotiating. On the one side of the puddle was the road, relatively dry. On the other side, a fairly big snowbank. I chose the snow bank. I chose unwisely. Almost as soon as I had stepped onto it, my right foot sank into the snow bank and, as I soon realized, the source of said puddle. I swore as I stood knee deep in slush with water rapidly soaked my EMS pants, MEC longjohns, Wigwam sock and Merrell hiking boot--which together probably cost me more than my court robes and which were now completely useless in keeping me warm or dry. My cursing turned to slight panic as I discovered the muck underneath the snowbank had taken hold of my boot like a little suction cup. As I struggled to get my right foot out, my left foot sank into another slushy pocket, not as deep but just as uncomfortable. A very nice gentleman witnessed my distress and walked over to see if he could assist. Happily, I made a not very graceful exit before he needed to intervene. Footwear intact and dignity slightly bruised, I arrived at my friends' door where they provided me with food, wine, warm socks, pants, and even a pair of boots to walk home in. Thank god for friends.

All weekend, I heard similar stories from folks in town; people had gone in up to their ankles, knees, thighs. You name it. It made me feel better. It also made me wonder if these stories get a life of their own, with everyone sinking a little deeper into the puddle every time.

But I swear to you, I was in up to my knee. .. :)

Kugluktuk Frolics

2008-04-14T19:23:00.000-07:00

This week's court circuit in Kuglutuk had to take on a blizzard. As things stand today, Blizzard: 2, Court: 0. That's more due to chance than anything else. the storm cleared, but not until late in the day--too late for flights and too late for court.

Nonetheless, the fearless crew soldiered on, taking some time to enjoy the the fine Frolics in Kugultuk. The Frolics are a spring festival, much like Toonik Tyme in Iqaluit. While I myself saw no actual frolicking, I did get to meet some of the entertainers who had flown in from Calgary. Most notably, we had some of the fine musicians from Quicksilver lead us in an impromptu sing-a-long at the Coppermine Inn. Well, perhaps it's fairer to say that they indulged us with a few songs... :)

Indulgence was definitely in the air. The Coppermine is a family-owned hotel with a fine kitchen. Irene, part-saint, part-chef, part-den mother, prepares really good meals with dangerously decadent desserts. My favorite was the white chocolate-cranberry-oatmeal cookie. I generally doubt white chocolate, but these cookies made me a believer--so much so that Irene gave me the recipe and even agreed to let me share it. Remember how I told you she is part saint?

Quicksilver can be found at: www.quicksilverband.com

Irene's Oatmeal Cookies

Cream:

1 cup margarine
¾ cup brown sugar
¾ cup white sugar
1 tsp vanilla
2 eggs

Add:

2 cups flour ( 1 cup whole, 1 cup white)
2 cups oatmeal
½ cup pecans
½ cup sunflower seeds
1 cup dried cranberries (can also use raisins)
1 cup white, butterscotch or dark chocolate chips
1 tsp baking soda

Bake at 350F, 8-10 minutes

Flying Solo in the Flatlands

2008-03-30T10:55:00.000-07:00

I am in Arviat, a hamlet on the western shore of Hudson Bay, population: almost 2000. That makes it Nunavut's third-largest community. It's my first cicuit on my own, which also means it's my first weekend on my own in a community. Being on my own, I have relied (much like Blanche Dubois) on the kindness of strangers, though with better results.

I was here once before, for a circuit at the end of January that was plagued by a blizzard. The Community Hall where we held court got so cold that I sat in my parka, snow pants and hat taking notes during trial. A wind chill warning one day kept many at home for fear they would get frostbite in the -60C weather. This weekend has been warmer: a high of -22C today, -32C with the wind chill. I am still wearing snow pants, but at least I can walk around. That's a good thing, because Arviat has some cool spots. The Kiluk Sewing Centre, an arts and craft centre, is right across the road from my hotel. There, women design sealskin clothing, luggage, and wallhangings. There's also some local sculpture, though what gets most of my attention is the sealskin outerwear. The woman working at the Centre takes me on a little tour and explains that much of the new collection is on tour. The cute leather jacket I admire apparently comes in red and burgundy: pretty cool. I mean, what girl would not want to own a burgundy red leather jacket with silver fox fur at the waist, collar, and wrists?

One of the most magical moments in my Arctic experience happened on this circuit. This weekend just happens to be the 5th annual "Hudsons Bay Dog Sled Quest", during which dog-sled teams race from Churchill, Manitoba to Arviat. The teams started yesterday, Saturday March 29th in Churchill. Tonight, the community got word that the first team would be crossing the finish line. The staff at the Coop hotel told me I could go with them to watch the racers. I was in a meeting with defence counsel but headed straight over when we finished--circuit bag and all. It was 7:30 p.m. and the sun was an enormous red ball just dipping below the horizon over Hudson's Bay. At the edge of town, where the baseball diamond is in the summer, was a bright, fire-engine red banner saying "Finish". A crowd gathered as people came from all over town in cars, on skidoos, and by foot. We stood watching the southern horizon waiting from the first team. I got cold and decided to take a quick walk back to the hotel to drop off my bag (after all, it is -30C outside). I had only gone a few steps when a woman pulled up next to me on a skidoo. It was only a 5-10 minute walk, but I could not resist the temptation to ride a skidoo. I loaded the cicuit bag on the back and hopped on. It was a much better experience than the first time, probably because I was wearing warmer clothes and only went around the corner. When I got inside, I dropped by bag and, after a moment to warm up ran back outside, where I could see that almost half the town was now gathered to see the first team arrive. The By-Law truck sounded its siren to call people to the finish line. I could see the team too, a distant kamotik doing its best to stay on course for the finish line. I entered my own race with a couple of local kids, all of us running to get to the finish line in time to see the team cross. I got there when it was only a hundred or so metres away. People cheered and clapped their sealskin-mittened hands. When the team crossed the finish line, the crowd rushed in to hug the musher, David Oolooyak. I rushed back to my room for a hot cup of tea and a bedtime snack.

If I wasn't already in love with Nunavut, I would be head over heels now.

Links and Info:

You can read all about the Hudsons Bay Dog Sled Quest at their official website: http://www.wapuskdogsled.com/
The Kiluk Sewing Centre in Arviat retails at Queen's Quay and the airport store in Toronto. You can also check them out next weekend at Iqaluit's mining sympsoium.

Easter Blizzard Bunny

2008-03-24T20:36:00.000-07:00

Spring has come to the Arctic, and with it snow. I returned from circuit on Friday night to find Iqaluit a storm brewing. Saturday morning, most of the view from my window was obscured by snow. I could hear the wind howling a little and the ravens looked like they had trouble taking off.

Fortunately, I spend most of the day right after a circuit lying around my apartment eating food. In good weather, I feel vaguely guilty about this. This weekend, however, I felt like it was not just an indulgence but also a necessity. It`s true that the large snow drifts did not close Northmart or Arctic Ventures, the grocery stores. Cabs still made it out, not as regularly as they might but regularly enough to get me to some serious eating festivals. At one of them, all the guests got little Lindt chocolate bunnies. This is a great thing for two reasons: 1) eating and chocolate are a very important part of Easter in my family and 2) a foil wrapped chocolate bunny makes an excellent Arctic window sill ornament--as you can see.

Prosecutor of the North

2008-03-08T09:36:00.000-08:00

I have refrained from writing about work for a lot of reasons. My blog is not a forum for venting work frustrations. Most of what I do is very private and personal. The stories of victims and accused are not mine to tell. In fact, it's part of my job NOT to tell them.

So, before I start getting into the meat of this post, let me just say: nothing herein is attributable to the Public Prosecution Service of Canada, the Attorney General of Canada, the Department of Justice and reflect only the views of one individual. Etc. etc.

One thing about being a prosecutor in a small, Arctic town is that what you do surrounds you, not just intellectually but also physically and sometimes emotionally. You cannot separate yourself from what you do. There is no suburban enclave far from those you prosecute into which to retreat. At times, this has a humorous quality--like the time I saw one of the couples I dealt with in a bail hearing at the Northmart checkout. The accused waived to me cheerfully from behind his cart of groceries. I cheerfully waived back. Why not? They looked happy.

Then, there's name recognition. You see a name in the paper and you think, "Hey, I know that person...why do I know that person?...Oh, yeah....Ha." I can tell you, this was not such a common occurrence back when I worked in Toronto. For one thing, I am not sure I ever saw any of the accused I dealt of whose appeals I had carriage. They usually had a very nice lawyer I got to talk to. A very nice lawyer who I might not even recognize because we were always robed and everyone looks different without the robes--especially judges. A fact I discovered when I was out for a run one March afternoon in Toronto in the courtyard behind Osgoode Hall, home of the Court of Appeal, and sped past a group of men walking jumped a chain link barrier and then thought, "those guys look really familiar...oh...uh-oh..."

Here, judges, counsel and court staff are a wee bit less formal. We often stay in the same hotel on circuit, which means we see each other not just in regular clothes, but also sometimes in pajamas--and always in sock-feet. You feel pretty different having a resolution meeting sitting on a carpeted floor in your fleece, jeans, and socks than suited in a boardroom. The challenge, of course, is to guard against this informality creeping into your courtroom demeanour or your approach to the law. But I never put much stock in wearing shoes in the office, as many of you know.

At the end of the day, I think I enjoy the humanity that comes with this kind of work. You are so close to the frailties of the human condition that are so interesting to me. It's fascinating, so fascinating that at times you need to remind yourself to break away from it and do something else. Otherwise, I think you risk losing your own humanity or becoming jaded, neither of which is really a palatable option.

Machines

2008-02-24T06:47:00.000-08:00

I rode my first snowmobile this weekend. It was only for 5 minutes, but it confirmed to me what I had believed before: snowmobiles are just as fun as motos and jet skis. With just the push of a lever, you and the engine fly accross the snow in an incredibly satisfying way. Even riding on the back is pretty fun, as you and the machine can climb up a hill quite efficiently.

The thing they do NOT have in common with motos and jet skis, however, is cold. You may have noticed from some of my posts that it's a little bit colder up here than it is in Toronto. Currently, on this sunny Sunday morning, it's -32C--without the windchill. I have just about worked out how to dress for that weather in town, but as Mark said on Friday, snowmobiling is a "whole new level of cold".

For one thing, you really should not wear jeans under your snow pants if you are riding a snowmobile for the first time. You should probably also not leave your hood undone so that the frosty wind (did I mention we have ice crystals?) sweeps down your back and all the way to the waistband of your snow pants. Personally, my core did not require cooling to that point. Not this time of year in any case. I also don't recommend being hungry. Not the first time. But live and learn is how it all goes and I certainly have enough warm clothes to try again.

36 (or more) Hours in Our Nation's Capital

2008-02-12T20:07:00.000-08:00

Living in Iqaluit, Ottawa is a big city getaway destination. I used to scoff at Ottawa's charms. I chose instead to visit bigger cities, warmer climes. Now, our nation's capital offersthe lure of stores, sidewalks, restaurants and, ironically, warmer weather--all a magical 3 hour flight away. Last weekend, I took the magical plane ride to spend time with friends. I say magical because life here is such a contrast. Most things are made, not bought. What we buy depends on the availability at a few stores, most of which are varying sizes of the traditional general store. If you come from a large southern city, like I do, you are used to finding ingredients when you want them. Consider herbs. Basil, cilantro, mint: you can find them at almost any grocery store in Toronto. Maybe not every day, but often enough that you could set out to the store with the idea of buying them. Here, fresh herbs arrive on Tuesdays and Thursdays at Northmart. They are unpacked and quickly snatched up by eager shoppers. Unless there is a blizzard, which means flights may be cancelled. Once, Northmart was out of bananas. Never did I imagine I would find an occasion that called for singing, "we have no bananas today", but I did. I don't mean for this to sound negative. The impredictability makes every trip to the grocery store an adventure. People seek out a lot more "country food" (local Arctic fare) for fresh meat and fish, which is nice. It just makes me realize how fantastic the wealth of living in a big Canadian city is. I decided to bask a little in this on vacation.

On the first morning, I had time to myself in the By-Town. I woke up and decided to take a luxurious day doing whatever I wanted. I don't know Ottawa very well, but I wandered to Wellington Village. There, I spent an hour at Bridgehead, Ottawa's answer to a fair trade Starbuck's, eating, drinking fancy coffee and reading the newspaper. When I had walked in, I was totally overwhelmed by the choice of items on the menu. I couldn't even begin to think about what to eat. I wanted to eat everything...so I did: chili, cookies, gingerbread latte. And I kept eating. I walked toward Westboro and in between stopping to shop at outdoor stores I ate a "cheese bagel" (more a danish than a bagel really), another latte, and a mocha chip cookie. The cookie, a product of the 3 tarts bakery, was so good. Indeed, everything there looked good, so good that we returned there the next day to buy a box of assorted chocolate treats.

The food fest did not stop there. That night, we had dinner at Sweetgrass, a restaurant that cooks with an aboriginal theme and that must be one of the most welcoming places ever. The wait staff attended patiently to all my questions (I always have lots of questions), and I had the yummiest tomato-chorizo soup, a chipotle-spiced seafood plate and a chocolate tart. The next night, we had a much different but no less friendly dinner at the Manx, a pub that made me very happy with its pulled-pork naan pizza. You gotta love fusion. Saturday night it was Thai basil, a thai resto off the beaten path but worth the drive. We ordered som tam and then dared each other to eat it because it was so spicy! Sunday, it was brunch at Stoneface Dolly's, where the eggs benedict comes on homemade bread that is apparently never soggy. In fact, if you were to have one meal in Ottawa, you could manage to hit many birds with one stone there, as they have Bridgehead coffee AND 3 tarts desserts. We ended our weekend of excess with antipasto and homemade lentil soup by the fireplace. Oh, and chocolate.

Just in case you think that ALL I did was eat in Ottawa (though that's pretty close), I'll add that I went cross-country skiing in Gatineau Park. Coached patiently by my friend's husband, I managed 2 hours of skiing in the bright sunshine and tree-lined trails. It felt good to be outdoors at temperatures under -20C, and to find massive snowfalls entertaining rather than frustrating. Perhaps the Arctic will inure me to winter chills forever. Even Arctic winter chills...wouldn't that be nice?

Frozen Pipes Can Impact Your Pipes

2008-01-22T18:18:00.000-08:00

Today, I trekked out to the gym (which you'll recall is across the road from the airport) and found it closed. I sign posted in pink highlighter said "Closed Due to Frozen Pipes." My thought was, dude, it's chilly out here. If you wanted, I could show you some frozen pipes. Chilly it is: it's regularly in the low -30Cs without the wind chill. It freezes up cars, planes, snow machines and, well, pipes.

Home Sweet Home

2008-01-17T05:52:00.000-08:00

There are some ways in which I am very bad at being a girl. For example, I forget to clean. I also hate blowdrying my hair. It's true that the forgetting is somewhat deliberate, since I also dislike cleaning but I usually need to remind myself to pick things up off the floor. Or I become frustrated always having to search for the matching sock in the clean laundry hamper and end up putting the laundry away. But I digress.

One other way that I am not a proper girl is home decorating. I mean, I like nicely decorated homes but I find that I have no idea how to make mine one of them. In particular, I have no idea how to make my newfound house into a home. I am starting with a lot fewer variables than most people because my unit has set furniture, lighting and window covers. That is the way of federal housing in Iqaluit--perhaps I should explain what I mean by that.

If you have read Canadian news lately, you might know that housing is an issue for those who live in the North. Statscan's recent update can tell you a lot more (http://www12.statcan.ca: eg. 22.7% of total occupied private dwellings in Nunavut have more than one person per room; 4.2% is the Canadian average for aboriginal populations), or the news (like: http://www.cbc.ca/canada/north/story/2007/11/23/kug-housing.html). In Iqaluit, I believe most of this available housing is owned by property corporations or some level of government. The federal government, my employer, owns/leases a number of units in buildings across Iqaluit. These, in turn are leased to me at a subsidized federal housing rate. The rate is determined through a calculation of some sort that may or may not include utilities, that may or may not be furnished, and apparently works out to approximately the market rate for Ottawa. Is your head spinning yet?...I'll refrain from getting into Territorial employees's housing, then, because that will probably result in a headache from which you may not recover. I do not, however, complain about my particular headache. I have a very good deal...a very, very good deal, actually.

Why is all this important to the Trading Spaces edition of this blog? Well, I have a furnished federal unit. This means that I have a set of furniture, lighting, window covers, and wall-to-wall carpeting that belongs to my unit. Due to my particular situation, these items are permanent and in some cases, like the headboard and mirrors, nailed to the wall. I came to this realization when, after my first week here, I thought it might be nice to move my bed to the opposite end of the room so that I could wake to a view of the Bay. Sounded lovely until I realized that I could not move the mirror, which would leave it hanging conspicuously above the bed...maybe not. I also found myself fantasizing about having a blue yoga room with gold stars, like Liz Gilbert did in "Eat Pray Love".

So, the decorating project was abandoned until a few days ago. That's when a couple of friends came over to pick up a CD and one of them exclaimed on how I still had the plastic wrap on my lampshades. I was embarassed that night into cutting them off. I also cut the plastic off the other three lampshades...and unpacked the last boxes of books, which she did not see. That was easy. The more difficult question involved spicing up the stark white walls that towered over my living room. My apartment has two floors and the top floor is a loft-type space, which means there's something like 20 feet of ceiling I need to fill. My painting collection, once so integral to my decor, remains in Toronto, so it could not help me. I did have, however, a number of fun wall-hangings from South East Asia. With some nails and hangers, I think I may have added colour, but the key question remains....what exactly will Ikea deliver to the Arctic?

Stay tuned for more, as I now expect a visit to Loomis and Ikea are in my future...

Roads

2008-01-13T11:28:00.000-08:00

I bet you are wondering why there is a post about roads coming from a woman who lives where there aren't really any roads at all--in the literal sense.

It all started with the Ice Road. There are many ice roads, but the one that I am referring to is the onfrom Yellowknife to Dettah. I was on it because I am in Yellowknife for the weekend on my way back to Iqaluit and my friend Karen (whose comments you may have seen on this site) was nice enough to take me on a little drive. In the summertime, you need to drive 27 km around Great Slave Lake to Dettah. In the winter, a quick 6.5 km drive across the frozen lake (well, across Yellowknife Bay, really) gets you there in 1/4 the time. We even got out of the car to have a look at the ice. It is apparently 8 feet thick. And full of cracks. Lots of cracks. Had I not already walked across a cracking almost-frozen river I may have been more perturbed. As it was, I kept pointing at the SUVs and trucks saying "how cool is that?!" every time one drove across. If you are fascinated by the idea, check out the History Channel series "Ice Road Truckers". I would, except that I don't have TV.

Also in the realm of roads: taxis. Yellowknife must have the chattiest taxi drivers in North America. Witness the two conversations I had in 24 hours:

Conversation #1--midnight on Saturday

Me: Chateau Nova, please.
Driver: So, you don't live here?
Me: No, I'm here for work.
Driver: Where are you from?
Me: Iqaluit.
Driver: Originally?
Me: Oh. No, I'm from Toronto.
Driver: No, I mean, like, where are you from? Your family is not Canadian, right?
Me: Oh, yeah, uh, no. My parents are immigrants. We're Armenian.
Driver: Yeah, because you look, like, Italian or Greek or something different.
Me: I guess that's true.

Hmmm...odd, but nothing to write home about until...

Conversation #2--7 pm Sunday

Me: [Private Address], please.
Driver: Sure. (Pause) You live around here?
Me: No, I'm from Iqaluit.
Driver: 'Cause you look like this lady who used to live around here, I used to call her the S[indecipherable] lady.
Me: Pardon? The what lady? The Steak lady?
Driver: No, no, the SNAKE lady?
Me: Snake lady?
Driver: Yeah, she got into my cab one day and asked if I minded pets. I said no, and she told me she had a pet snake. Can you imagine that?
Me: Well, I guess some people have unusual pets.
Driver: I mean, can you imagine going on a date with that woman? You wake up and there's a snake in the house?
Me: Yeah, I guess that comes as a bit of a surprise.
Driver: Though I've had bigger surprises. I once got drunk and woke up next to a woman who only had one arm.

Then we pulled up to the house. I think my response was fairly unremarkable, I mean, what do you say to that?!

But that was my weekend of roads and experiences on the road, which is really pretty good if you think about it.

There and Back Again

2008-01-04T20:53:00.000-08:00

The travel whirlwind continues, this time mainly of my own doing. As the sun set in Iqaluit on Decmber 21st, I took off in a First Air jet for Ottawa: my first trip south since moving here two months ago. The first night, I was overwhelmed when trying to decide where to eat dinner and mesmerized by the number of Christmas lights on all the houses. I even went to BMV books just to absorb the atmosphere.

I did a lot of absorbing, mainly of calories: Xmas cookies, Xmas nachos, Xmas coffee, Xmas chocolate... And, let's face it, there's nothing like shedding long johns to make you feel justified in having dessert. I also can't deny it felt good to head home to see my friends and family. I came bearing Nunavummiut gifts, in particular char of all kinds for dinner parties. I think I may have started a trend for smoked, dried char on New Year's Eve.

I enjoyed every minute of my vacation, but I found that I was not only ready to come home, but also looking forward to it. As I eagerly watched for the bright yellow airport from the plane, I thought to myself that it was good to be home.

Ikki

2007-12-16T10:19:00.000-08:00

"Ikki" is the Inuktitut word for cold. Said with the right inflection, it means "really damn cold". That's an apt description for the last couple days: -26C, -40 some with the wind-chill factor. Getting dressed to buy eggs takes longer than it took to write this sentence! I have not yet resorted to the snow goggles, but the day is coming. There's no other way to keep my nose warm. Even the balaclava does not totally cut it. I am starting to look forward to a Christmas of -8C in TO. In the meantime, it's cookies and hot chocolate to keep the cold away.

The Inuit watch and remember by Noah Richler New Statesman December 17, 2007

2007-12-13T09:29:00.001-08:00

A winter's day as Igloolik knows it. The cold is crisp, the sky dark andclear. Outside, it is 40°, a temperature at which it does not matter ifthe scale reads Celsius or Fahrenheit. It is December in the southerncalendar, but the beginning of Tauvikjuaq in the Inuit one. This smallNunavut community in northern Canada, established in the 1950s - when theInuit were encouraged, and sometimes coerced, into moving off the land andinto permanent settlements - sits at the north-eastern side of theMelville Peninsula and across the water from Baffin Island, just inside69° latitude. The snow-encrusted land around it, bluish and untrammelled,stretches out flatly in all directions like an upside-down plate. Thehorizon, its distant rim, is an incandescent, silvery white. Before the arrival of Qallunaat - the white man - Tauvikjuaq was the timewhen the Inuit were likely to be assembled in camps, the weather inclementand their supplies often running out. The sun, which fell below thehorizon at the end of November, would not be seen again for several weeks.In the old days it was a time of storytelling, when Elders would amuse thechildren with games, and long hours passed in the handing down from onegeneration to the next of Inuit lore, history and folk knowledge. AfterTauvikjuaq, the Inuit nervously awaited the return of the sun, which meanta return of the light and that the year was starting afresh. Today, science trumps Inuit lore and the old ways are renderedincreasingly useless, not just by the trappings of modern living, but byclimate change and the soaring value of the territory's resources. Now thenarrow strait that separates Igloolik from Baffin Island freezes later, sothat the caribou herds roaming there cannot reliably be hunted untilJanuary, and GPS systems have replaced stories that were used to navigatethe land and speak of its properties, guiding not just hunters, but shipsand prospectors through. When the Inuit do hunt, this is what they find: the work ofdiamond-mining, uranium, hydroelectric, oil and gas pipeline companiesaltering the migration of the caribou herds from Mackenzie to Labrador,affecting the organisation of the land as dramatically as whalers did acentury ago. Now, as then, there is a competition of governments eager forresources: the Russians claim the seabed, the Danes plant flags, andChinese vessels visit. Canada's north is no longer open. Now it is"territory", and the country's prime minister, Stephen Harper, has setabout defending it - planning a deepwater port where frigates can stop atIqaluit and sending in military patrols. >From the settlements, the Inuit watch. Zacha rias Kunuk is the director ofthe remarkable film Atanarjuat: the Fast Runner. When I met him in hisIgloolik office, he spent most of the time staring out the window acrossthe frozen water, to Baffin, where his father was hunting. "Is our storylost?" he asked. "I look around and it's still the same world, still thesame animals, still winter every year, but now there's all this talk ofglobal warming and PCBs [persistent industrial pollutants], there'smercury in our fish - why, why?" Igloolik is a "dry" community: its temperance has contributed to itshealthy social ties and cultural flourishing. But still it must contendwith change - and the forgetting. "Today, in Igloolik, there's TV andradio, there's hockey and there's light," said John MacDonald, a residentof the Arctic since 1959. "There are more distractions - a different tempoand different obligations. The very nature of the community is changing." "All the hunters take radios with them when they go," said anotherneighbour, Louis Tapardjuk, "so everybody is constantly informed. There'sno good stories coming back from the land any more." Tapardjuk sighed."Memory is so different now." When I visited Igloolik, a nurse's van parked outside one Elder's houseindicated another death and more of the old knowledge irretrievably lost.A plume of smoke rose from the chimney of the late woman's home, andwended its way through wires tying her house to a world thousands of milesaway - but disconnecting her from her community. [Noah Richler's "This Is My Country, What's Yours? A Literary Atlas ofCanada" ( McClelland & Stewart) won the 2007 British Columbia Award forCanadian Non-Fiction and is available through Amazon.ca

Yellow, Gjo, and Talo...Oh My

2007-12-09T14:45:00.000-08:00

My second circuit proved even more eventful than the first. It all started out fairly inauspisciously with a flight to Yellowknife through Rankin Inlet. Us Baffin Island/Eastern Arctic dwellers have to fly to Yellowknife to hit the Western Arctic. Strange but true. We had one moment of foreshadowing of what was to come: my colleague did lose his "action packer" rubbermaid filled with his personal luggage en route (an omen of things that followed).

In Yellowknife, Karen Lajoie took me out for a night on the town. It started with dinner at Bullock's Bistro, a well-known spot famous mainly for its fish dishes. I bucked the trend (ha ha) and decided to try the muskox. It was a muskox kebab with some yummy teriyaki marinade. It was delicious and came with lovely white bread, french fries, and greek salad. Also, I drank honey brown lager. Out of a bottle no less. Then, we went to Le Frolic for dessert where I discovered that strawberry-rhubarb can be really, really good. The next day was an explore Yellowknife, drink coffee, check out the NWT Xmas dinner-dance kind of day.

Much restored after all this weekend of urban adventure, we headed to Gjoa Haven--first stop on a two part circuit that would also take us to Taloyoak. Both Gjoa Haven, population approximately 1 000, and Taloyoak, population 870ish, are in the "Kitikmeot", a.k.a the Western Arctic. It's a lot colder in those climes, around -31C or so this time of year. I spent most of my time changing into and put of expedition-weight winter gear. And hiding in my parka.

Gjoa Haven actually has its own legal aid office where a lone lawyer toils bravely to represent, well, everyone. Otherwise, lawyers fly in from Yellowknife to do duty counsel work. All was well in Gjo on Day 1 of court. Matters were spoken to, sentences submissions were heard, the Justice Committee consulted. The next morning, however, a wee storm blew in causing disruption so that there was no water at our hotel and court broke a couple of times due to a blackouts. Citizens of Gjoa Haven were apparently worse off than us, however, because on the evening of Day 2, they filled the Community Hall where we held court so that the next morning the only place to hold court was the hotel boardroom. So, we did. I ran my first trial with unshaded hotel lamps to light my submissions. I think the lighting added somewhat to the drama during then voluntariness voir dire when I looked up and asked the police officer, "Did you at any time have recourse to, or gesture at your sidearm, constable?" Response: "No, I did not." It was something. But not as much something as riding with the entire court party, my co-counsel, the pilots, and defence counsel (and all our luggage, including Xmas baking supplies) out to the airport in a white cube truck. As we all stood and hung on the wooden rails nailed on the side while the truck rounded corners. As we entered the airport, the court reporter turned and said, "You do realize, this is how people smuggle themselves into our country?"

We waited a long time for our smuggler's boat, however. The visibility on the runway was variable and the pilots would not head out until it reached at least 3/4 of a mile. A 1/2 mile is what you need for take-off. The airport had issues keeping the power up and, for a while, we thought we would be stranded there because we could not get out and the town of Gjoa Haven was officially in a state of emergency. Half the town had no power and those citizens were being evacuated so they would not freeze to death. Finally, we got our 3/4 mile and after a long taxi (to account for the momentary blackout of the runway lights), we took off. Twenty minutes later, we were in Taloyoak.

After our Gjoa Haven adventure, Taloyoak was all charm, hot cocoa, and homemade cookies--literally. The chef there makes these awesome shortbread balls and hot, fried bannock that broke down all my resolve to eat healthy. After a hot shower, I reveled in delicious refined carbs, though it was a frenetic day of court and some poor accused were remanded back into custody without the court ever getting to their matters. My nerves worn after a long day and mindful of the cookie and big slab of bannock I'd had at lunch, I hauled the circuit bag back to the hotel on the icy road. Two kids pulling a toboggan came alongside me and asked, "what's your name?". I'm friendly, so in our chat my new little friend, Samantha, says "What are you doing? Don't you have a car?" To which I replied, "What's the matter, haven't you ever seem a kudlunah pull a bag in the snow before?" At their turnoff, Samantha and her friend left me, pausing to look back as I trudged up a hill. I waved. Then, I heard, "lookout, Jeanette, there's a car!" Bless them. Little did they know one of those cars, a big old van, in fact, would stop to give me a ride up to the hotel. Mike, if you are out there, you are my hero.

I am happy to report that that was the final adventure of the trip. We flew home in our little charter, tired but successful. I crawled into the bath and then into bed, where I enjoyed dreams of calorie-free bannock.

Igloolik, or How I Made My First Submissions Under a Disco Ball

2007-11-23T12:40:00.000-08:00

I just got back from my first circuit a couple of days ago. Susan and I were slated to go to Igloolik and Hall Beach, communities that are next door to each other just off the Northwestern tip of Hudson's Bay. We were scheduled to leave on Saturday but got weathered in both Saturday and Sunday. When we finally made it out on Monday, I was ready to cheer as the plane took off, though I thought better of it given I was sitting next to Igloolik's mayor and only 3 feet away from the judge. We got to Igloolik in the afternoon. The judge cancelled court so that we could meet with witnesses and police and the defence counsel could meet with their clients. After waiting several hours for the police, who were out on calls, we ended up meeting with defence counsel and sharing a dinner of fried eggs, fried potatos and chicken fingers while we discussed possible resolutions. We got to the police station at 7, to discover that they had rounded up a grand total of 2 witnesses. At 9, we met with the local Justice Committee at our hotel.

Our hotel was the Tujormivik Hotel, which is more like a hostel than a hotel really. It reminded me of the places I stayed travelling in Southeast Asia and Sout America--only it was a lot more expensive. The cost for full room and board is $250 per night per person, shared room and common washrooms notwithstanding. The meals are pretty simple (think first-year undergraduate residence) though the staff are kind and the living room really homey. I brought my own veggies and my own breakfast food. I even brought soups and tofu for meals, but I hesitate to make them because I don't want to offend our hosts. After all, a little fried chicken never killed anyone.

Tuesday was our big day in court. Susan and I are the last to arrive. Court is being held in the local community hall. The tables are those big, metal tables we used to write exams with. As we walk in, they tape one up with duct tape just for us. The judge, clerk, interpreter, translator, and defence counsel already have their tables. When we sit down, I take the chance to look around and notice that a disco ball hangs from the ceiling and that there are giant woofer speaker in the corner. The judge wears a sealskin vest and kammiks. I wear hiking boots. It strikes me that this is a far cry from Finch or the West Mall.

As things progress, however, they are a lot like Finch or the West Mall. We deal with the easy matters first: adjournments and speak-tos. As accused and witnesses appear, counsel take breaks to talk to them. After lunch, we start the pleas and I realize--suddenly on my feet--that I am making my first submissions. I launch right into them until the judge gently reminds me that I need to start with the facts. Flustered, I forget to enter the criminal record. I sheepishly do so after defence counsel makes his submissions, as the judge gives me an impatient stare. Still, nothing dire happens and I am ready for the next time, when I make sure the criminal record is entered and I have the facts ready to go. It's all a lot of fun, actually, as well as a little frenetic.

Sadly, that was my one day to make submissions. When we get to the airport ti fly to Hall Beach on Tuesday night, we find out defence counsel has been bumped off the flight. They ask if I mind staying behind since I have so few matters on the go. So, I spent the night in Igloolik, reading a book and chilling out at the Tujormivik. The next day, I fly back to Iqaluit.

I plan to do it all over again next Friday, when I head to Taloyoak and Gjoa Haven, via Yellowknife. It'll be the farthest west I've ever been in Canada. And this time I may even get to run a trial...

On Frozen Pond

2007-11-12T15:02:00.000-08:00

On Monday, I had my first outdoor Arctic adventure. I went for a hike with Mark and Sophie--or rather Mark and Sophie took me for a walk on the tundra. We just did a little circle near town that took us out into the hills and back for a couple of hours. It was nice to get out and see a bit of the land, even if it is a stone's throw from home. I found some caribou antlers and took one for my office. Everyone laughed at me--silly kudlunah--but it's made for good decor!

The coolest part of the day was walking across frozen ponds. I surprised myself in that (a) I did it and (b) I did not fall down. The ponds have all these wild frozen bubbles in them caused by the separation of oxygen and hydrogen on freezing. It's pretty trippy and I will eventually get some photos so you can see. You can even see to the bottom of the pond!

I also crossed a frozen river. I do not recommend standing still when you do that and hear a little bit of cracking. It's counterintuitive, but you have to keep moving! (as Mark and Sophie put it). No worries. The river was really a creek. And I am still here. :)

Long Day's Journey Into Night

2007-11-10T07:44:00.000-08:00

The days are getting shorter now, and when we turned the clocks back last week, it was stunning the difference it made. The sun sets at 3-3:30. The sun rises at around 8, which means I am already getting up and getting ready for work in the dark. I know the change affected me because my body reacted to it, both when I arrived and when the time changed. I would wake at 5 in the morning and be ready for bed at 9. I imagine those of you with small children are wondering what the big deal is! But if you know me well, you know that night is the time I can have the most energy, though I am usually up by 7 or 8 in the morning.

Still, as Lily Tomlin says, it's going to get a lot worse before it gets better. We lose six minutes of daylight every day. That's about 45 minutes a week. Grise Fjord, far north on Ellesmere Island, changes 45 minutes a DAY. Soon, they and the other communities north of the Arctic Circle will see the sun set for four months. I'll actually see it next week because I will be in Hall Beach on November 22nd, which is north of the Arctic Circle.

Coping with the dark is one of the biggest challenges of living here. The cold, eh, the cold is something you can dress for. But the dark is another thing entirely. There are too many unhealthy ways to try to forget it. I have attempted to plan for it. I get as much Vitamin D as I can. I own a SAD lamp, because why wait to get SAD? Sitting in front of it is easy enough. I also sit or walk in direct sunlight, when we have it, for at least an hour a day. I go home for lunch, and when the sun is warm in my window, I bask in it while I eat--usually listening to Neko Case. I exercise every day. The endorphins are awesome. I am also lucky enough to have a job that lets me go home for the holidays. I will be in Toronto on the longest night of the year. After that, I can look forward to the days getting longer sooner.

So, we shall see over the next six weeks how I manage with the long journey into the winter solstice.

Sighting

2007-11-05T18:29:00.000-08:00

So, I saw it. Tonight. For the first time in my life: the Northern Lights, Aurora Borealis, the magical phenomenon created by sunspots and atmosphere. They flicker across the sky, sometimes slim tubes of light, other times a wider beam. Sometimes they look like an eerie watercolour wash against the dark night sky. People tell me that in NWT, they ar more colourful. Maybe if I get to go to Yellowknife, I will see them like that...if I get outside the city!

I am awed. Too awed to wax on about it much. I think it would diminish the grandeur.

Baffin Canners

2007-11-03T12:49:00.001-07:00

I had my first houseguests this weekend. Mark and Sophie came over for brunch. I made home fries for the first time. They turned out well, but the combination of roasting them and frying breakfast sausage set off both smoke detectors, which went off for almost minutes! Mark finally climbed up to the top of the second level of my place to wave a towel under the one upstairs. That and the combination of open windows seemed to work. A price to pay for sausage and potatoes.

We walked over to Baffin Canners after that. It's a small warehouse with plain shelves full of veggies, cheese, canned stuff and groceries and big freezer cases full of frozen meat, seafood and fruit. I got big bags of raspberries and blueberries for about $7.00 each. Cheaper than home! It was kind of exciting. I have been missing berries in my cereal this week. It isn't a place for lingering, though. I took up so much room in my purple parka that it was hard for people to get around me with a cart. My problem is that I can't help being fascinated by everything because it is so new. Also, I have always loved grocery stores. In every place I visit, I go to the market or the grocery store. It's my obsession with all things culinary.

As most of you will know, my culinary obsession goes hand-in-hand with my gym obsession. Yesterday, I officially joined the gym here. It's called the Atii Fitness Centre and it's located right across from the airport. And I mean right across. Most people would probably mistake it for a cargo hanger. Of course, you could mistake almost any building here for a cargo hanger... In any case, it's a nice little gym with a few treadmills, a couple ellipticals and bikes and the requisite weight equipment, i.e. squat rack, bench press and free weights. There is also a decent sized studio where they offer step, pilates, and circuit classes--no spinning, though. And no change rooms or showers. You change in the washroom. Since a lot of people drive to the gym, most change at home. I walk there and have accepted the fact that I will change in the washroom. But many people rely on swimming in the small pool and the many team sports for fitness. I am hesitating joining because I fear my lack of athletic skill will drive people away rather than make me friends! I trip and fall on the way home from the grocery store. On the way home from Baffin Canners, I had quite an impressive fall, complete with a 2 foot skid along the snow. If only I could channel that into something like baseball to steal bases...

This weekend I also discovered the movie theatre. It's at the Frobisher Inn, which, as Mark pointed out, is more of a mall than an Inn really, what with the pharmacy, the bar, the restaurant and the pool all being located there. I walked over with Mark and Sophie to see Into the Wild--perhaps a poor choice given my new surroundings. Or maybe the best thing you could see? It makes you realize how fragile life is in surroundings as harsh as ours. Indeed, our surroundings are harsher than those depicted. There are no trees here, and you would be fortunate to find any kind of berry or plant, even if it is poisonous, in the early spring. It gives you a healthy respect for the outdoors and makes you realize that nature is still a force to be reckoned with.

Right, speaking of nature, the sun is out and the day is bright, so I need to go make the most of it. Scary or not.

Welcome to Iqaluit

2007-11-02T15:58:00.000-07:00

Before I got here, I would never have imagine that the Arctic would be overstimulating. I mean, Times Square is my idea of overstimulating. But my brain had trouble absorbing the first couple of days in Iqaluit. It doesn't just look and feel different. It smells different. It sounds different. And the sky is so different from home that I cannot believe it is the same sky. Every time I look at the mountains and the ocean, I feel happy. It could be just a glimpse as I turn a corner on the way to work, or I could be staring out the window while I eat breakfast. The snow diminishes the beauty not one bit. In fact, I would say it improves it. The contrast of bright white against blue on a sunny day is something to see. I have not yet seen the Northern Lights, namesake to my blog title, but there's no lack of opportunities over the next few months.

When Elayne (my heroic officer manager who you may recall from the previous post) and my deputy director, John, picked me up at the airport, I experienced in full force the reality of life here. Duffle bags, hockey bags, and large rubber maid containers are the luggage of choice. People clamor around the small baggage conveyor to grab them. One woman had actually carried her 24 package of toilet paper onto the flight. Toilet paper is very expensive here. It takes up so much room in the plane.

Elayne, John, and a fellow member of the force, Constantin, whisked my 3 bags and I into Elayne's jeep and off to my new place: Capital Suites. I am lucky. The job I have qualifies for subsidized housing. I have a large 2-bedroom, 1.5-bath split level suite in a hotel/apartment complex in central Iqaluit. For those unfamiliar with the housing shortage in the North, I can advise you that this is riches beyond imagination--and quite controversial. I'll leave the controversy for another day, however. This is the happy part of our story. And until I get my goods in air cargo, I'll be rattling around the place like the last peanut in a can of Planter's.

Elayne took me to dinner at the Storehouse (a bar/resto) and then to buy groceries. I had no pillows or comforters (all in the truck with my worldly goods), so she took me to raid the "staff house". The staff house is a 3 bedroom apartment Justice Canada maintains here in Iqaluit so that visitors of all stripes can have a place to stay when they are here. I stayed there when I interviewed here. There is a TV, phone, and (now) internet access. There is also a large kitchen where the archives of meals and dishes past go to wait for the next guest. My personal contribution in August was a jar of spaghetti and a bag of oatmeal. In return, I ate all the leftover BBQ potato chips.

In the odd little way that is Iqaluit, my dinner at the Storehouse grew from 2 to 6 thanks to the addition of Elayne's husband, my friends Mark and Sophie, and Telesat Tony. Yes, his name is really Telesat Tony. He works for Telesat and happens to have a house right next to my apartment building. Mark and Sophie are from Toronto, and I met them because Deb Krick has a friend who knows Mark. Despite my having persuaded them to drink far more than they wanted the first time I met them just 5 or 6 weeks ago, they have befriended me. Already, they have invited me to dinner and offered to take me to a grocery store called Baffin Canners. Sophie makes homemade bread. There is no fresh bread in Iqaluit unless you bake it yourself. Sophie is a good person to know.

Here, it is also good that people show you grocery stores. Most streets have no names (oh yes, Bono, you wish you filmed that video here), and there aren't really street numbers so much as building numbers. Almost every building in Nunavut is a strange, pre-fab, shed-like structure. At home, you can see something like it near the water on the Leslie Street spit. The exteriors are nothing to speak of. Inside, however, is another story. On Hallowe'en, I got lost looking for the Atii fitness centre, the gym. In my cold meandering, I wandered into Baffin Flowers. From the outside, Baffin Flowers looks like a flower shed. Inside, it could be the Christmas Store on Front Street. Every square inch is packed with nick-nacks, gift items, candy, coffee, cards...you name it. If Carleton Cards or Hallmark has ever carried it, they have it. They also own Fantasy Palace, the coffee shop around the corner: also nothing to look at, also a surprise inside--faux vines and all. I guess when you spend so much time inside, you make the most of the space.

Apartments are no different. Some of the residents of my building have transformed their places. I glimpsed into one apartment and saw a collection of Inuit sculpture that made me eager to barge in and poke around the pieces. I guess I am my father's daughter. I live on what one person called the "government floor" of my building. There's me, the INAC (Indian and Northern Affairs Canada) people, the Parks (Parks Canada) people, the Geological Survey people, and the RCMP. I'll offer a prize to anyone who can think of the most interesting set of facts on which all of us would be involved in an offence--and I don't mean personally! But all of Iqaluit is like this.

It is easy to meet people doing interesting work. They sit next to you during the buffet at the Francophone Society. They are in line with you at the grocery store. They buy coffee where you buy coffee. And me, being the shy, retiring individual that I am, talk to them as much as I can. Today, I stopped a woman wearing a pink amautiit with embriodered roses so I could ask her who made it (her mother) and have a look at her baby in the hood. She laughed and told me her mother was one of the best seamstresses in town. Another good woman to know. I wondered if her mother had also made the baby's little, thick, woolen hat. I was wearing one that was pretty similar. It was a gift from my dad's friend in Cape Dorset. It doesn't match my purple Snow Goose parka, but it's damn warm. And warm is all that matters here. That's another thing I learned my first week.

I'll let you know what the first weekend is like soon. :)

Lift Off...

2007-10-22T21:37:00.001-07:00

D-day, the starting line, whatever you want to call it. D-day is probably the best descriptor. It is called D-Day because it was the fourth choice for the Allied invasion.

The official day was last Sunday, October 28th. Just five days before, Canadian government-contracted moving men had loaded most of my worldly goods onto a moving van headed for their warehouse. The final destination? Iqaluit, Nunavut. The somewhat-surly packers (I have a lot of worldly goods) handed me a 40-page booklet detailing the rules governing the move of every Canadian Public Service and armed forces employee. It was a strange feeling imagining how the guys who packed my boxes marked "Iqaluit" might also have packed folks headed to CFB Kandahar. I am pretty sure those guys did not get to take as many books.

Absent from my 1980 lb. weight limit in the truck were one duffle bag, one large suitcase, and a large cardboard box that contained things I would need in the first couple weeks in Iqaluit until my weighty worldy goods arrived. I had carefully picked out my favorite kitchen knife, pot, and coffee mug. I packed all my warm clothes and winter gear. I made sure to pack the stovetop espresso maker and the latte whipper as well as some of my favorite cereals; however, I forgot to pack the coffee itself. It just goes to show that even the best-laid plans could use some extra planning.

So, Sunday morning, after kissing my mom and dad goodbye and paying my excess baggage fees, I boarded a 7:10 a.m. flight for Ottawa. As the cabin lights dimmed and the flight attendants prepared for lift off, I sat back and took a deep breath, preparing myself for what would be the first plane ride of many over the next few years. As I did so, the captain announced a jet fuel leak and asked everyone to exit the plane--quickly. As our wait stretched to an hour (making it almost certain I would miss my connection to Iqaluit in Ottawa), I scanned the room for the tall, red-headed woman in hiking boots I suspected was going my way. I had watched her check in a large rubbermaid container marked "Cape Dorset" at check-in: a good clue. Gita told me that we would likely have to stay in Ottawa until Monday to catch the next flight. I chalked it all up to the Far North experience. No doubt, this would be the first of many missed flights I would have over the next few years too.

Fortunately, the Far North is ready for these moments. I made a quick call to my miracle-worker office manager, Elayne, and I was booked into the Southway Inn in Ottawa. I also started to look forward to a day in Ottawa. My friends Jen Kay and James were just as efficient as Elayne. About 5 minutes after I had arrived at the Southway, they showed up to whisk me away to downtown Ottawa for a day of shopping, socializing, and eating. It was a perfect day, marred slightly by my bedtime discovery that my laptop monitor had decided, after three years and three countries of faithful service, to quit on me. Thank goodness for external hard drive back up (and David).

All things considered, it was a successful start to the journey.