Fall Colours

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

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!

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...

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

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

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

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. .. :)