Three Points of the Compass continues his trek through West Greenland on the Arctic Circle Trail, heading to the coast.

Day Five:

There had been almost no noise from the other campers spread around the large site and I slept well. It was the sound of small birds rustling through the low vegetation directly outside the tent that woke me. I was feeling good. Despite the often wet trail, my feet were in good condition, my body felt good, pack weight had dropped considerably as I ate the contents. I was enjoying the trail immensely. There was no wind, no rain and I sat with a mug of steaming tea, drunk alongside a butter flapjack, while I looked down to the wide tidal head of the Maligiaq fjord far below. Peregrines and Ravens were again calling from the rock faces somewhere behind me, out of sight. It was going to be another great day. While I hadn’t needed the nearby hut to sleep or eat in last night, I made use of the w/c before setting off. Which made for a change from digging a cathole later in the day.

The undulating arctic tundra of the trail is only exposed once the ice and snow retreats for the short summer months June to August. However the permafrost remains underground and digging catholes for my daily business didn’t require much depth before hitting the ice. I find it difficult to understand the mentality of those hikers who don’t bother digging at all, instead leaving faeces and used TP on the surface. It is baffling that people will head to a wilderness such as this, drawn by it’s beauty, and then decide to litter and contaminate it.

From Eqalugaarniarfik there is now a choice of routes. The original route is the northerly. More recently, in an attempt to give ACT hikers a route distanced from the new All Terrain Vehicle (ATV) track being bulldozed through the terrain, a southerly route has been mapped out, though not yet fully signed or even apparent on the ground. I had already read reports and chatted to hikers who had followed the northerly route and had decided to follow that. It is true that the ATV is occasionally seen, but it is not that obtrusive, until the final day on trail, and by that time the new southerly route has rejoined the northerly route.

After a few minutes chatting to Rike, José and another hiker, I set off a few hundred metres behind Robert, the grumpy Pole I had briefly met yesterday. I slowly caught up with him and he turned out to be an OK guy. It was simply that he wasn’t enjoying himself. He was struggling to eat and was very tired as a result. Exhausted might be a better description, though his oversized and heavy pack couldn’t have helped.

It was a steady climb up a track winding its way from the hut. With no wind the flies were out. While they weren’t biting they were annoying enough that the headnet went on, and stayed on for a good part of the day too. The bulldozed track was a bit of a mess to begin with but spotting an almost missed cairn took me away from it on a lovely contouring trail through the low vegetation. I suspect that those who don’t see the cairn stay with the track.

Sweet little lakes appeared and disappeared for much of the next few hours. There was a climb then a lovely ridge walk for a while before descending to a track that hugged the shoreline of a lake, surrounded by steep hills. It was here that I again met Finnish girl Maarit, who had left a couple of hours earlier, purposely giving herself time for multiple halts during the day, probably partly to also give herself respite from the mega-pack she carried. She had gear spread around and was cooking up a lunch. Slightly envious of her beautifully positioned rock above the water, I walked on, looking for a decent place to take a break. I stopped for a few minutes to filter a couple of litres of water from a trickle of water joining the lake. The suspended sediment in this water was proving a tad problematic and my Pure Clear filter was already slowing to a hard to squeeze trickle as a result. Soon after, I met a party of 14 Spaniards, the largest group (by far) that I would see on trail. I walked on, further than I really wanted, just for quiet isolation for my lunch. My noodles and Peperami were eaten with headnet on as it was quite boggy and winged nuisances were thick in the air.

Maarit caught up as I was shouldering my pack and we walked together for a while, following a contouring trail above the bog below, eventually we had to descend to the wetter walking, also catching up with Robert. He was tired and I felt he was close to making poor decisions. We moved on as a strung out party of three. It began to rain and I donned waterproof jacket and wide brim Tilley. We came to a wide boggy area that had to be crossed with little sign of any obvious trail. It sloped very gently to a long lake that had to be followed for some distance. The entire length was very wet, very boggy, and there were countless small rivulets to cross. It became more difficult to spot any cairns in the growing mist and we moved up and down the slope trying to find the best of routes, until Maarit spotted a low cairn below that led us to a tread that was just a little better. I stayed with the trail, flushing ptarmigan as I walked along it, but the ATV track had again come close and Maarit and Robert moved on to that for easier walking.

I spotted one of the huts situated at the end of this section. It was Innajuattoq I Hut, and sits near the top of a small hill. It is lashed down by cables to prevent it being blown away and the trail doesn’t go directly to it and I continued to the right of the hill, to the larger Innajuattoq II lakeside hut 300 metres below it. It was still raining so having briefly explored the hut, empty of hikers. I quickly threw the Duplex up on a flattish bit of ground nearby, filtered water from the lake and clambered inside the tent. It was cold from the wind blowing up off the lake and I battened down the hatches, lay the emptied pack on its side to shield me from the worst of the wind finding its way under the vestibule and moved quickly so as to get warm as soon as I could. Striped off, I scraped the mud and grime from my legs and feet, then the most cursory of body wipes, Sudocrem the pits and footbalm the feet, prior to changing into dry socks and sleep clothes. Then fleece and puffy jacket on, and sit on an inflated mattress with quilt over my legs and enjoy a very welcome hot drink while I recalled my day. It had been challenging, but good. There had been a few climbs and some difficult terrain, but the lakes had been beautiful, especially with the surrounding cloud wreathed hills, snow in the most shaded of gullies.

I checked the Cicerone guidebook for the next day, likewise checked the maps, marking my progress on the Arctic Sun Map I was also carrying, wrote up my notes and charged phone and Garmin, An hour later, while enjoying a second brew, I boiled water for my evening meal. While that was rehydrating I noticed Robert arrive and went over for a short chat. Maarit had decided to stay at Hut I for the night and Robert would have Hut II to himself as no-one else showed up tonight. I could see that he likewise wanted to get a move on with getting a meal and hot drink inside, so I soon returned to my tent to eat my meal. then settled for the night as it was warmest wrapped in a quilt.

Day Six:

The strong wind kept up for a few hours, the flapping of the tent in the gusts disturbing my sleep. not helped by the cold from the ground making itself felt as my slowly leaking Thermarest moved me closer to the permafrost. Perhaps I should have slept in the hut! Truth be told, it had never been a consideration as I have everything to hand in the tent, can get cosy warm in my quilt and don’t have to put up with the snoring and movement of others typically found in the huts. I rolled to one side, reinflated the mat and soon after, the wind died down and I slept soundly. I woke at six thirty but stayed put for another hour. Despite a still cold breeze I had opened the tent door, and lay there, watching the sun creep down the mountain on the far side of the lake. After a brew I visited the hut to chat to Robert. He had slept well and was forcing down a main meal as a breakfast. Hopefully that might raise his spirits as he has been struggling and not enjoying the trail at all.

I packed and set off, just a couple of minutes after Robert. There was a wide river flowing in to the lake that had to be immediately crossed, but it was shallow and with a bit of boulder hopping, I manged to keep my feet dry. Today would be a gentle ascent, with almost constant views of the Taseeqqap Saqqaa range of hills. It was cold today, there was a distinct change in the weather.

The trail swung round again and I followed the shore of the lake before climbing to a rise, where I caught up with Robert. We chatted for a while, taking each other’s photos. Today is one of the shorter and easier sections and he was in far better spirits. Good sleep and managing to eat had made all the difference. I think he enjoyed today’s walking almost as much as I did. There were few boggier sections and mostly easy to follow firm tread through scrub and prostrate willow.

Despite being four degrees, normally a comfortable walking temperature, the cold wind persisted and and windchill must have kept it around zero. I put my yak wool beenie and fingerless gloves on, sufficient to retain feeling in my fingers. If it got any worse, I would don my spare walking socks as mittens. The ATV could be followed if wished but the ACT trail makes for the better walking, contouring well and drier.

The trail descended into a lovely wide valley, the slopes of Nerumaq to my left. Water tumbled down its slopes. After easy walking up down and across firm glacial mounds of grit and consolidated mud, the distinct path abruptly swung right and after just a couple of hundred metres, comes to Nerumaq Hut. It sits on a level valley floor, flanked by mountains, pointing the way for tomorrow. Despite only being a few minutes after two in the afternoon, I was stopping here for the night, but a late lunch first. There is a river nearby and I slipped and slid my way down its tall bank to filter a couple of litres for my overnighter.

I quartered the ground outside the hut, looking for the flattest spot. There is a lot of choice. Just as well as sadly there was also a lot of rubbish scattered around the hut, including used TP. Why oh why can’t people pack out their waste. I picked up some of that nearest my tent and packed it into a large ziplock to carry out tomorrow, but across the whole area there was far more than I could have carried. The rubbish extended to inside the hut too. Empty gas canisters and open bags of food, that no-one was ever going to touch.

I made use of the empty Nerumaq Hut to prepare my noodles and salami, followed by a Snickers, hot OXO and a pint of tea. I had already decided to pitch the tent outside rather than kip inside. Just as well as three German lads showed up later and much as I might have enjoyed their company, many hours living cheek-by-jowl with others in what is little more than a little shed held little appeal.

Robert turned up a few minutes after I had pitched and put his tent up not too far away from mine. With an early finish to my day I had time for a nap after tent washing and changing into my sleep clothes. I wasn’t going to wander around outside as the wind had died right down and mosquitoes were out in force. So I watched a film on the phone prior to an evening meal of Tikka Masala, followed by mint chocolate and inevitable large mug of tea. I now unsuccessfully attempted to repair a cable connector that had broken today. I was carrying a solar panel and trickle charging a power bank during the day. The cheapo cable that had come with the panel was broken. Another lesson learnt and since replaced by something of far better quality. I had plenty of power for the remainder of the trail though. Checking map and writing up my journal, I could see there were only a couple more days on trail, the coast was drawing ever closer.

Day Seven:

With no wind rattling the tent, I slept well, if perhaps a little too warm at times. But put an arm or leg outside the quilt and it was too cold! With a brew in hand I clambered out of the tent for a stretch and look around. There were another two tents nearby and a further three across the other side of the stream, but there was no noise from anyone. I wandered over to the hut. The Germans were up, preparing impressive meals (scrambled egg!) and we chatted for a while. I had first run into them days ago, and they were three of the happiest friendliest guys you could meet and were enjoying their time on trail together immensely.

Talking far too much, it was around ten when I was finally away, and I think I was the second to leave camp as Robert had left some before. Maarit was setting off at the same time and after we had both managed to cross the little stream without getting wet feet, I suggested she walked on first. I knew I would be halting a little way down the valley for consuetudo matutina, or morning habit.

A crash! I turned in time to see a huge rock tumbling out of the mist obscuring the top half of the rock face to my left. It looked as large as my car, could have been the size of my house for all I know. It fragmented as it hit, throwing huge chunks far out into the scrub. Any of them would have killed a man and I was thankful it was some distance from me. The sound echoed oddly through the mist and across the valley floor, reverberating against the unseen rock face opposite.

It was cold, very cold. The snow melt water was even colder. This was the one day where I wished I had bought my 1mm neoprene oversocks. After a couple of river crossings, I removed shoes and squeezed socks and insoles as dry as I could, then massaged some feeling back into my toes. This made all the difference and I was fine for the remainder of the day, even with the water crossings that followed. My waterproof jacket remained on all day, the only day that it did. The mist hung around for most of the day, swirling around the crags and gullies, obscuring helpful cairns. It added a mysterious air to the trail that I enjoyed but I am sure it might have proved unsettling to some as it could have felt very isolated and lonely. I caught up with Maarit after a couple of miles as progress slowed considerably with head high willow to force through. She had badly ripped her trousers but no bodily harm, such things can be repaired. Annoying nonetheless I am sure. After that, today was, as my journal records- “bog, bog, bog!“

We walked together for some miles but with my ‘wet feet’ walking method, I waded across one river and left my companion behind, looking for a preferable crossing. I felt a bit guilty, but we were each solo hikers and not beholden. Further on, a new skill had to be learned. Following the recent rain, the ancient and now compacted mud flows occasionally encountered had become slippery. The light grey stuff was slick and treacherous, best avoided, the darker stuff was grittier and made for slightly less hazardous crossing.

The track went down to the edge of a lake and I sometimes had to move a hundred metres or more away from it in order to cross the little streams running into it. I often saw little Arctic Char in the pools and feeder streams. At the end of the lake there was a small hut standing prominent on a hill, but the ACT twisted away from the lake and climbed the hill to the left of it. It would be very easy to have missed this change in direction and simply walked up to the hut. Some do, it is one of a number of fishermen’s huts dotted around the Kangerluarsuk Tulleq fjord, but it wasn’t where I was headed. On another short day, I was going to camp near the Kangerluarsuk Tulleq – Syd Hut. Perched on a mass of rocks, it is a mile nearer to Sisimiut.

The ‘trail’, if it can be called that, up to the hut, is a mess, requiring black bogs to be crossed or avoided. I had earlier waded into a cold clear stream and washed myself clean(ish) of mud and grime. Needlessly, as I was again mud-bedaubed.

I opened the door to the hut and found Roger and Austrian Claudia inside. She had stayed there two nights as she didn’t like this type of weather in the mountains and preferred to stay put until conditions improved. In the cold wet conditions I hadn’t wanted to halt for any length of time and was hungry as a result. So after pitching my tent, I returned to the hut to sit inside with the two of them and eat a very late lunch (16.30) of two packs of noodles and a hot Oxo.

The three Germans showed up, it was going to be a squeeze inside the hut for the five of them. Making space, I left the hut for another walk across the boggy ground to the nearby stream, created from snow melt and very cold, to collect a couple of litres of water. I returned to the tent for the best body wash I could manage with a couple of towelette pucks, drops of liquid soap and water. Sitting naked in a sub-zero shelter meant that this was a swift affair! The feet got a very careful and thorough rub, massaging balm in. They had been wet for the entire day but this practice, followed by clean, dry, warm socks and many hours inside a quilt would mean that tomorrow morning would see their puckered presence returned to shiny pink newness.

Robin and Jon turned up and pitched nearby. I didn’t go out to them as I was now changed and warm. So settled into my quilt to again study map and guidebook, writing up notes, before a final evening meal on trail. This was Pulled Pork with Rice followed by two Jonuts and a pint of tea. Then settle down to watch a film on the phone while it charged. Despite the penultimate day having proved to be a little more challenging it had yet again been really enjoyable. It was a shame that I would be finishing the ACT tomorrow.

Day Eight:

While I slept pretty good, I was frustrated by having to reinflate the leaking pad three times during the night. Really must get this sorted on my return to the UK (now done). I was woken early hours by Robin and Jon loudly talking while they packed. The concept of camp etiquette was obviously alien to them. While there had been no wind, it had rained overnight and this was frozen to the fly. On my final day on trail I had no need to linger so packed while breakfasting on a butter flapjack and mug of tea. I followed my camp companions out of camp but they needed to collect water so I ended up in front.

It was an easy ford of the snow-melt stream and my feet remained dry. First more scrub bashing, then a climb, crossing a few small ravines, a traverse above the fjord, then a slow climb into a high mountain valley. Climbing one short hill at my usual slow ‘old man’ pace, I was caught up by the Germans, younger and stronger legs propelling them quickly past me and out of sight.

I climbed into the clouds, now crossing the high valley at Qerrortusup Majoriaa where the boggier sections could sometimes be avoided by good drier paths on the rocks, but not always. Patches of snow dotted the rock each side of me but none on my trail. A clanking noise drifted through the mist, getting louder. It was a familiar sound but very alien to these mist covered rock and bog tops. It was a plant vehicle ‘improving’ the ATV track. I originally thought that the operator ignored my wave but he probably never even saw me. I passed his little parked 4×4 ATV a little further on.

I could now see the dramatic saw tooth ridge of Nasaasaaq ahead, the clouds on its jagged tops slowly clearing. Leaving the misty mountains behind, I then had a gentle decent, the weather improving as I dropped. It was so gentle a drop and so easy under foot that I trotted easily down the path. This was quite simply, a lovely lovely section of trail but sadly never lasted long enough. The trail dropped down into one final valley where a shallow stony river had to be crossed, followed by a steeper descent to another stony river. It was very obvious that the high mountains were being left behind, I now had wild flowers and grass underfoot. But, typically, for the ACT, there was another climb. This trail does like to slip in a few more ups and downs when it can. I was now climbing up the side slopes of Alanngorsuaq, heading for what looks like a saddle, but isn’t. Sadly leaving a narrow path behind and joining the wider track of the ATV for the last miles.

The track became a road and ahead I could see Robin and Jon. I am not sure where they passed me, presumably somewhere in the mists on the tops, but I slowly caught up with them and we walked to the outskirts of town together before I left them, getting the impression that they wanted to walk into Sisimiut together rather than as a group.

I could tell I was on the outskirts of Sisimiut (‘the fox holes‘) when I heard the qimmiq, the Canadian Inuit Dogs. ‘Dog Town’ is purposely sited outside the coastal town and almost all of the sled dogs live here. When one starts barking, it sets all the rest off. Local ordnance is strict as to which dogs are allowed inside town limits. The youngsters roam free but the older dogs are chained up. With good reason. I heard the following day of an eight year old local girl who had been mauled to death a few years previous. These are working dogs. They may look cute and friendly, may even be cute and friendly, but have to be treated with respect. I took my photos from a distance and walked down the main road into the harbour town.

It was very obviously chucking out time at school. Youngsters were headed home, some in pairs, others with parents. There is a large percentage of Inuit in Sisimiut and their faces revealed their faint amusement at this obvious outsider walking into their midst. Though it is a sight they must see often enough to not be too much of a surprise as a good couple of hundred people fly into Greenland each summer to hike the Arctic Circle Trail.

After days in the country, it was a little bit of a shock to suddenly re-enter urban civilisation. Street lights and snow mobiles. Quad bikes and supermarkets. Brightly painted buildings added gaiety to the town though the custom of painting buildings has older roots. Many years previous the colour of a building denoted a purpose. Those sailing in to port could immediately see where the church or hospital were located. Or possibly of more importance to sailors- where the pub was, or where the brothel could be found. Building colour revealed which were government buildings and which provided accommodation. The colour scheme isn’t so strictly adhered to today and people will paint their house in just about any colour they wish, but most stuck to blue for homes. Even the modern apartment blocks were brightly painted, each with murals on their ends.

In addition to a small fleet of fishing boats, it is mostly cruise ships that visit Sisimiut harbour these days. The brothels are long gone and throngs of red or blue puffy coat wearing tourists (colour depending which ship they had come from), from the large vessels moored offshore, wander the streets looking for something more acceptable to spend their money on. Businesses have sprung up to meet the demand. Local craft goods and souvenir shops abound. Well run cafes and restaurants serve locals, tourists and hikers alike. Tourism is of increasing importance to the economy here, steadily replacing fishing and hunting. There is a surprising number of well-stocked supermarkets. In these, pallets are stacked tall with beer, wine and spirits, pointing at the age old problem of isolated communities. They are heavy drinkers round here.

There is a wide variety of accommodation options in Sisimiut, unsurprising as it is the second largest town in Greenland. From Hostels to Hotels, Airbnb to expensive basic camping. At high season they can all get booked out and I had been careful to reserve a private room at the far cheaper youth hostel well in advance, but had arrived a day early. I didn’t know if I was going to be able to extend my stay. I could feel an imminent change in the weather and I didn’t fancy camping tonight. I wanted, nay, needed, a hot shower, closely followed by a decent meal and a comfy bed. As it was, the friendly owners of the hostel also run a nearby B&B and Kemi offered a room to me. Their teenage son accompanied me down to the blue painted building, chatting on the way, curious as to where I came from, what work I did. Bernard’s conversational style was akin to that heard on many an American TV show and with just one more year at school, his own aspirations lay far beyond local town limits. Technically, Greenland is both the largest and most northernmost island in the world but his plans lay far beyond simply following in his parent’s footsteps.

Before leaving the hostel I had arranged to meet up with the three German lads for celebratory drinks later. Having showered, changed into fresher smelling ‘town’ clothes, then chatted to ‘Mission Control’ back in the UK, I walked back to the hostel and the four of us descended on a large but surprisingly quiet pub.

It was the lull before the storm as it were, and the pub gradually filled with locals. By midnight the joint was packed. Everyone was in fine spirits- drinking, singing and dancing. Either that, or chewing on lumps of air dried meat, as one arriving elder Inuit dropped strips of frozen reindeer in the centre of his parties table, blood staining the wood as the meat thawed. We enquired as to what it was, and without reply, a good portion of it was then shared with us, which made for a change from the usual bar snacks!

Day nine, and beyond…

I had a couple of days before my flight home, so spent my time washing clothes, meeting up with Benjamin for lunch, exploring the town and soaking in the culture before an early morning walk a few kilometres out to the airport, west of Sisimiut, for my flight back to Kangerlussuaq. However, due to adverse winds, flights were cancelled. Then the snow blew in, the airport closed down and I spent a further three days in Sisimiut waiting for a rescheduled flight out. Accommodation rapidly filled due to stranded travellers and yet more hikers coming in off trail. Some were carrying injuries due to the worsening conditions on the ACT. A small group left in the morning to begin the ACT in the opposite direction, returning to town in the afternoon having found conditions on trail impossible.

Eventually, after too long in a small town, with weather much improved, I boarded the little De Havilland Dash-8 and finally left the ground, during my flight gazing at the now snow covered route of the ACT below, occasionally identifying lakes and huts that I had passed during the previous couple of weeks. It had been a truly wonderful walk, probably amongst the finest in the world. I settled back in my seat and felt privileged.

• Arctic Circle Trail: Kangerlussuaq to Eqalugaarniarfik
• Arctic Circle Trail: Hunter cairns