Occasionally, during some of my more challenging adventures I wake up and ask myself, “Whatever possessed you to do this? What were you thinking?! ” During my recent kayaking trip to Greenland, not only was this my waking thought every morning, but my last thought each evening as I collapsed into my sleeping bag.

This was my first “serious” kayaking trip, previously I had only kayaked around Krabi, Thailand and the kelp beds off Santa Cruz, California. This trip ranks as one of my most challenging adventures, not just the paddling but more importantly the packing and unpacking; shoehorning everything into a glove box sized compartment of the kayak.

We were paddling in Feathercraft Folding Kayaks from Canada. The K2 Expedition, as they are called, is a remarkable creation using lightweight aerospace technology. Their literature says, “Bow and stern hatches make it easy to stow and access your gear, and provide enough room to pack for a multi-week luxury camping trip.” I would not take issue with this. I’m sure that is true for luxury camping trips, but I was beyond luxury. By the way, the seating was incredibly comfortable; the K2 is the ultimate in kayaking comfort.

An early indication of the challenges before me and a demonstration of the unique skills of Olaf, my guide, was when I announced my compartment was full and nothing else could possibly fit. Defining the laws of physics, (no two objects can occupy the same space at the same time) Olaf crammed another bag into my already packed space. To add insult to injury, he then took my heavy duty hiking boots, folded them in half and rammed them into a space I couldn’t have forced a shoelace into. Whoever heard of “folding” hiking boots?

Olaf, a Dane by birth, tells me, in his best impersonation of Arnold Schwartzenegger, “So, now you can do it yourself, right?” “Yeah, right Olaf, why didn’t I think of that? Of course, just fold my hiking boots in half?”

I’m the first to admit I had no experience in kayak packing. It is an art form. Air is squeezed out of everything with the aid of compression bags. Then everything is packed in dry bags. Most of the group had no more than two dry bags each. Let’s just say, at the half way point, when our food supply was delivered, I sent back three large plastic bags and still had more dry bags then anyone else.

Part of my problem was I was overloaded with contraband – extra batteries, wet wipes, an electric toothbrush to name some. One evening after dinner, Olaf and the “A” Level kayakers were exchanging tips on how to reduce overall weight. Olaf knew of people who actually drilled holes into their toothbrush handle. By now, I had given up trying to qualify for the Level “A”, so I asked, “How can your toothbrush operate with holes in the batteries?” I didn’t like the look I got after that comment, I immediately went out and dragged my tent further from the group.

The tradeoff of long hours paddling was the spectacular scenery and the sense of adventure. It was worth every minute. In addition to my excessive equipment issue, I soon discovered a second issue; I had brought my regular body. This adventure would have been more enjoyable if I had my physically fit model or an earlier version. After kayak stuffing, I was usually ready for a nap when everybody else was set to start paddling.

Our guide was Olaf Malver, a modern-day Viking superhero with the personality of a benevolent drill sergeant. You can read a more unbiased assessment of Olaf (www.explorerscorner.com) and Tim Conlan (www.crossinglatitudes.com), the auxiliary guide on their respective web sites. Tim is a world-class kayak guide in his own right, he specializes in trips around the Scandinavian Peninsula. Tim played the counterpoint to Olaf - The Magnificent . In no way do I mean to malign Olaf. He is the best at what he does, it’s just I don’t normally play the same game as him. It would be like comparing my golf game to Tiger Woods’.

We traveled in tandem, or whatever vessels carrying two people stuffed with their possessions a la sausage. I was very fortunate to have been teamed up with David Lowell from Maine, whom I met in Iceland the day before we left for Greenland. If I ever had to pick one (male) person to be stranded on a deserted island with, my first choice would be David, supportive, ingenious, resourceful, and most importantly a great sense of humor. We were the Marx Brothers dancing with the Bolshoi.

As we began to set up our first campsite, I shared with Olaf that I have been known to snore a bit. I suggested he might want to place me on the perimeter of the camp, so as not to disturb the pod. I wouldn’t describe my tent placement as the edge of the camp. No, it was more like where health officials would locate a leper colony. There was only one one-man tent, which I was given and banished to sleep with the arctic fox and serve as polar bear bait. It was always Dave who hiked out to my site to check to see I had enough water before reentering the circled wagons for the night.
David had a lot of experience in one-man kayaks paddling around his neighborhood, but that didn’t qualify him for the “A” Level. He had never been in a tandem kayak and never carried all his possessions on-board either. My kayaking has all been warm water, no comparison to this expedition.

Everyone else in the group come on the trip with their paddling partner, so their paddling was well synchronized; in harmony. On the water everyone else looked like post graduates of the Arthur Murray Ballroom Dance class while Dave and I looked like a couple of tourist doing the hula at a Hawaiian luau.

I have Jon Olson, my business partner, to thank for this adventure. He had previously kayaked with Tim in Norway a couple of years ago. When he related that trip it sounded like it was an interesting adventure and something I must try. Jon’s credibility as a tour planner plummeted after this trip.

To back up a bit, the group met for the first time at the Reykjavik Airport with Tim. Olaf was making last minute preparations in Kulasak. We spent the first night in Tasiilaq (aka Angmagssalik) , a small village a couple of hours by motorboat from Kulasak on the east coast of Greenland.

On the first day we were given the options of a 12 mile hike across the peninsular or a motorboat ride around it to the kayak staging area. It was a beautiful sunny day and a hike through the countryside sounded appealing to all but a few. A couple of hours into the hike some of the group were sounding like kids in the backseat, “Are we there yet?”, “I thought this was a kayaking trip?” Olaf never heard these questions as he was well ahead of the group, who were struggling to keep up with him.

This was no walk-in-the-park, team building exercise or a get-to-know the group kinda hike. This was a, dislocate your hip, mega-blister producing endurance march. When we weren’t scrambling over wet slippery rocks or trying to find the trail, we were fording flowing liquid ice.

There were three mountain streams of melting glaciers, which we had to ford in bare feet. No Teva’s allowed. You might asked, “Why did you have to ford in bare feet?” Because, Olaf said so.

By the end of the first day, I was bewildered and wandering around the campsite asking, “What ever happened to the kayaks?” At the conclusion of dinner, I immediately retreated into my tent to tend to blisters and reread the itinerary to see if there were any other non-kayaking adventures in store. It was at this moment as I collapsed into my sleeping bag, I first asked, “Whatever possessed you to do this? What were you thinking?”

The paddling took some getting used to. All the other pairs had kayaked together. They had rhythm, kayak soul. Later in the trip, Dave and I learned at first we were referred to as the flailing windmill kayak. For safety reasons everyone was advised to stay clear of us.

On the third day Olaf and Tim split Dave and I up for some paddle training. I had to paddle with Olaf and Dave with Tim. Actually, we learned a lot in one day. That night we tended to each other’s shoulder lashes and head wounds. From that day forward, we were a force to recon with; at least we thought so.

For a random assembly of kayakers we had a great group or a pod as kayakers refer to themselves. There were rock climbers, surfers, marathon runners, Harley riders, “A” Level and “B” Level kayakers and then there were the two Marx Brothers.

A typical day started with a hearty breakfast around seven. After breakfast, we then had to take down our tents and pack everything into the tiny little storage compartment of the kayak. It was like pushing toothpaste back in the tube every morning. It usually took an hour or so to break camp get everyone packed and ready.

Lunch was usually tins of fish, salami sandwiches with cheese and/or PB&J’s. Afternoons were the same routine. Paddling, a break, then more paddling. Olaf and Tim took turns preparing dinner. The meals were excellent with a surprisingly wide varying cuisine. There was one exception, calling franks in coconut milk, Thai cuisine, was a stretch.

The views were spectacular. We paddled along the fjords with jagged mountains on either side, weaving our way through an obstacle course of icebergs and ice floes. Glaciers would creep out between ridge tops and the valleys were littered with the debris of the receding glaciers. We usually covered 10 miles a day. We saw little wildlife – only birds and a family of arctic fox.

There were two acoustical discoveries. The first was the sound made by the melting ice floe. This ice looks like ice cubes in a glass. As we paddled passed them, they emitted a constant popping and crackling sound. The sound was created by the freed air trapped when the ice was formed during the last ice age being released. The second was the sound of caving icebergs separating from the glacier. The sound produced, ranged from thunder to cannon fire.

We did have a couple of opportunities to mix it up with the locals. In general, their plight is depressing. They are virtual refugees in their own home, prisoners on an island. The villages had the feeling of standing on the edge of colliding eras. It’s like standing in front of a diorama at the Natural History Museum, sadly, these are real people.

The local people are warm hearted, proud and very welcoming. We were invited into one home, served coffee and told of an upcoming wedding. They had the children put on what they would be wearing to the wedding.

They maintain many of their customs and costumes while adjusting to the 21st century. For example, hunting from motorboats rather than kayaks. They live in comfortable homes full of appliances, while outside there are fish drying on racks and large vats of bubbling seal blubber near by.

I wonder why the Danish Government doesn’t create an incentive program for the locals to relocate to the mainland then turn Greenland into a World Preserve or something similar to Antarctica. Those wanting to stay could become game wardens, guides or caretakers.

The last two nights we camped at the foot of Rasmussen Glacier; one of the largest glaciers in Greenland. Olaf led us on a hike to a vantage point on the top of a lateral moraine for a panoramic view of the glacier. From here, we got a sense of how far the glacier has melted in recent times. Anyone saying there is no proof of global warming only needs to come here.

There is a sense of wonder standing there overlooking the glacier. This “moment” was interrupted by Olaf introducing us to a new sport, boulder rolling. He showed us how to start huge boulders rolling down the side of the moraine. A sport Dave Barry would have sanctioned. This is one of the few places in the world, where you can roll huge boulders down a hillside with little risk of killing someone. No, it never occurred to me to try to roll Olaf, mainly besides we were not finished kayaking.

I recently read, “This is not the end of the world but you can see it from here” which came to mind as I stood looking over Rasmussen Glacier. It has to be the most inhospitable place on the planet. People were not meant to live here. The irony of this trip was, here were all these North Americans and Europeans paddling around the fjords while the inventors of the kayak are riding around in motorized boats.

Any future kayaking trips for me will be limited to the region between the Tropic of Capricorn and Cancer. It wasn’t that it was cold; it was the dry suit we wore as a safety precaution. If they were colored green rather than orange, we would have all looked like the Gumby family on holiday.

I think there are better ways to experience Greenland. It is well worth the visit but I would recommend a shorter stay and faster transportation. Am I glad I went on this trip? “Absolutely!” Would I do it again? “Not in another three lifetimes.”
I’ve posted additional iceberg photos at www.mjmorrissey.com in the Slideshow section under Events.

© Copyright Michael Morrissey, All Rights Reserved.

Article by Michael Morrissey is considered one of the new generation of adventure and travel photographers. Based in Bangkok, Thailand with a passion for travel, Michael got hooked on photography while driving a bus from Istanbul to Katmandu in the 70’s; an obsession briefly interrupted with a twenty year career in business. You can view his photography at: www.mjmorrissey.com

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