Aug 20, 21

Each day brings something new. On Aug 20 we made a fair amount of distance, deciding to just sail by Seaplane Cove (from which Alexander Forbes, a wealthy Bostonian with a taste for adventure, spent several summers charting the Torngat Mountains using a seaplane) and on to an uncharted cove a bit farther along. The bottom sloped gently upward terminating in a gravelly river. The shape was classically glacial — a broad parabolic base with sharp mountain faces that had been split away on each side. The scale is astonishing and deceptive, like out west or in the desert. Heights and distances are much greater than they seem. On one side was Razorback Mountain, an aptly named sawtooth 3500 feet high (remember, we’re at sea level a mile or two away); on the other side, an all-white mountain that looked like marble (metamorphosed limestone) but was probably just quartzite (metamorphosed quartz). No google here to learn more.

We were really worried about polar bears, for good reason as it turned out. Each man had a flare gun and we kept close, but we really didn’t know how much security that would provide. We went ashore in the zodiac and Ken stayed behind, fishing from the sailboat, but as we neared shore whole schools of arctic char took off in every direction. It was like minnows in shallow water. So Tim and I walked around a bit (very cautiously) and Finley fetched Ken, who promptly caught our dinner. Char are beautiful fish, closely related to salmon and trout, with a strictly arctic range. They spawn in freshwater gravel beds and lakes like Pacific salmon but don’t die on spawning. Their flesh is deeper orange than any salmon, and they are absolutely delicious.

I waited until the next morning to catch tonight’s dinner, but when Ken and I went out the char were gone. We motored along shore — nothing. As we reached another stream there were a few birds in the water and a seal. Watching the birds splash around (scoters?) I noticed that one of them was larger and whiter than the others. Too big to be a bird. A seal? Too white. Suddenly I registered on the two black eyes and the ears. “Turn around, Ken, it’s a polar bear!” We hastily reversed direction and headed away. But then it stopped swimming in our direction and headed for shore, where it came out and ambled down the shoreline away from us. All was well. Ken was thrilled — his first sighting, in the water, maybe 75 yards away, in a very vulnerable rubber raft.

To round things out, we spotted another bear as we left the cove — this one quite large. We could swing close enough to get some good photos as it ambled along the rocky shoreline. Everyone remarks on the same things: they are so big, so curious, so mysterious, so majestic; their effortless muscular gait is something to behold. Not cute in this their home setting.

We covered another 35 miles to a new fjord with an abandoned Moravian settlement (Ramah). The valley was broad, gently sloping, and very green, with  actual low shrubs (arctic willow and aspen) and many entering steams. The water temperature reached 50° F at the inner end; it was 42 at sea. “No polar bears here, too warm!”, so then of course we spotted another one. Luckily it was on the far side from where the settlement had been, so we felt somewhat safe going ashore and finding the remnants — turf cellar holes, stone foundations, and yellow bricks — in a flat area right along the shore. The beach was sandy, the rock was soft and shaley, the site faced south, the sun was shining. It felt almost tropical! But this was a nice day in August. Finley and Tim took showers in a 15-foot waterfall; I declined. Instead I went fishing, this time successfully: four char for tomorrow’s dinner. As I cast from the zodiac along the shore, I heard heavy breathing every minute or so as a minke whale cruised by. The others saw her baby as well. Pretty fun!