Arctic Journey: Hvalsey and Norse Ruins

On the morning of July 24th we anchored off Hvalsey, the most extensive and best-preserved Norse ruins in Greenland. There was some ice to admire on the way up the fjord.

The sun was shining into the bridge.

The morning fog/clouds were burning off as we arrived.

Here is our first look at the ruins, from the ship.

The farmstead was established by Eric the Red's uncle, Þorkell (Thorkel) Farserkur, in the late 10th Century. It is also the site of the last documented Norse presence in Greenland, a wedding that occurred in 1408. While there are many theories about the disappearance of the Norse settlements, consider that the Norse managed to live here for over 400 years.

The land is now part of a sheep ranch; in fact, click on the above photo to enlarge and you can just make out three sheep in the shadow of the old church (the largest building).  An eagle and a fox were spotted working on a sheep carcass at the shoreline.

Assisting our landing was a small wooden dock; we wouldn't need to get our boots wet.

There was a weather-beaten sign that included this map of the site (click to enlarge). The legend is repeated in Greenlandic, English, Danish, and German.

It was a short walk up to the area of the ruins.

If you had the oomph to walk around and on top of a small bluff, there was a good overview of the farmstead. The church is to the left and the main dwelling complex is to the right.

This is the footprint of the barn, further to the right than the above photo.

Here we have what is left of the Great Hall.

Approaching the church.

Almost everybody investigated the interior of the church ruins.

On the sunny slopes wildflowers of the low-growing arctic or alpine sort were blooming in profusion, including this alpine or snow gentian.

Which explains what expedition staff member Steve Maclean is doing.

Some took time to admire the view.

Merewyn decided to cool off (?!) with a swim. She's from Canada, but still ...

Then it was all aboard for lunch while the Explorer sailed to Qaqortok.

Arctic Journey: Prins Christian Sund and Nanortalik

Prins Christian Sund (Prince Christian Sound) is a long, narrow channel that cuts off the southern tip of Greenland, much as the Strait of Magellan saves a vessel from sailing around Cape Horn. We awakened on July 23rd to find the Explorer navigating the sound in a light drizzle.

In places glaciers are still tumbling into the sea.

In this photo the glacial outwash is full of mud, and sharply divided from the seawater.

There are a number of twists and turns to navigate in the sound.

There is one small settlement along the route, Aappilattoq.

There was, of course, ice to admire. Later we would learn that only the week before several yachts had been trapped in the sound for five days.

For those of us who needed an occasional break from helping guide the Explorer there were two morning talks.

We arrived in Nanortalik, the southernmost settlement in Greenland, after lunch. There are about 1500 people in the town and 600-700 in nearby settlements.
 

 A light to moderate drizzle was falling as I took this photo from the shelter of the sun deck. We were told that the Explorer was the first cruise ship to reach Nanortalik this season because of the ice.

Several activities were scheduled for the afternoon from which we could pick and choose. Joan and I definitely wanted to attend the church choir and the schoolkids dancing, but we had a few minutes to visit the open air museum first. The fellow in charge was enthusiastic and animated, and we would have stayed longer (the museum consists of several different buildings), but the church singing was about to start. The only picture I took was of old and older ice skates.

We backtracked a couple of blocks in the light drizzle to the sole church in Nanortalik, Lutheran, of course, because Greenland came under Danish control in the early 18th Century. At this point Greenland has self-rule except in matters of foreign affairs, defense, finance, and the justice system. The country would prefer full independence but still receives a subsidy from Denmark that amounts to about half the government's budget, we were told.

The interior of the wooden church, built in 1916, was warm and friendly.

Let me offer you a one-minute video of one of the songs.

Two of the elders were dressed in the native Inuit costume. The woman certainly has the colorful advantage here.

After the choir finished it was time to walk up to the school for Kaffe-mik (coffee party, with tea or coffee and Greenlandic cake) while the schoolchildren performed folk dances for us. The dances seemed familiar, because they are derived from dances learned in centuries past from Dutch and Scottish whalers. Square dancers may recognize some steps. In this video, one girl is dressed in Inuit costume, but it's too big for her and she must continually pull it back up.

When the dances had finished Joan and I put our rain jackets back on (intermittent drizzle) and returned to the open air museum. Unfortunately, it was closed and locked, even though our program said it would be open until 7:00. After peering into windows of the museum buildings -- not much to see -- Joan and I began a walk through town.

We browsed in a grocery store to see what we might discover, and our main impression was that the prices were high. Most foodstuffs come from Denmark, and are delivered to Nanortalik by ship; this means that you have Scandinavian prices with a hefty transportation surcharge. We also visited the gift shop, and as a natural consequence of a high cost of living, it was on the expensive side as well. Items made from marine mammals (seals, whales, walrus, polar bears) aren't allowed into the US unless they have proper certification that the pieces are quite old, such as fossil ivory, and even then it's such a hassle that we were advised to refrain from such purchases.

Joan and I reboarded the Explorer, which pulled away from the dock about 7 o'clock. Here is a photo taken as we eased out of the harbor. Note the colorful buildings.

Originally the colors were practical, indicating the function of the building: commercial houses were red, hospitals were yellow, police stations were black, the telephone company was green, and fish factories were blue. Now the colors don't necessarily signify anything, but are a pleasing architectural tradition that enlivens a muted landscape.

There were fabulous pieces of ice in the fjord. Also the sky was slowly clearing.

After dinner there was a stunning sunset to observe.

Zooming in on the distance icebergs with binoculars created a view as if from another planet.

Tomorrow we would travel a thousand years into the past and visit the site of one of the early Norse settlements in Greenland.

Arctic Journey: Skjoldungen Island, Greenland

The morning of July 22nd found us off the eastern coast of Greenland near Skjoldungen Island. We were well rested, for we had turned the clock back an hour twice in our voyage from Iceland, and now the Explorer was only two hours ahead of Eastern time.

As you can see from Google Maps, the Greenlandic coast is riven by deep fjords headed by glaciers. In this image, you can see that Skjoldungen is not an island off the coast, but a section of the coast transformed into an island by multiple fjords.

As we drew closer the ice grew denser. The East Greenland Current is a major route for transporting ice into the Atlantic, and the fjords hold a mixture of sea ice and glacial ice. It was good to know that the Explorer is an ice-class vessel with a "DNV Ice-1A Super" rating on the forward hull.

The glacial ice is dirtier.

We gently eased through the ice, cautiously approaching a hooded seal, a species limited to the central and western areas of the North Atlantic. The Lindblad philosophy is to get as close to wildlife as possible without disturbing their natural behavior. Always keep your binoculars handy!

The views were impressive as we eased up the channel. But would we find a place to land??

The ice itself was fascinating to watch as we cruised.

I've got millions -- well, hundreds -- of ice pictures, but just one more for now.

There is an abandoned settlement here.

Captain Oliver Kreuss and Expedition Leader Lisa Kelley found the cove they were looking for.

After expedition staff scouted out the landing, the guests began to come ashore by zodiac. Several staff members were armed with rifles, in case a polar bear showed up. The first shot is a blank, to scare the bear away. If the bear will not be dissuaded, however, lethal measures can be taken.

Joan and I joined one of the "long hike" groups, and we set off up the sun-drenched slope.

Climbing uphill in the brilliant July sun, the group quickly decided to remove some layers.

As we worked our way up the slope the kayakers paddled into their adventures.

The hikers continued past a crest and discovered a snowfield, behind which lay a frozen pond or tarn and, ultimately, a pass.

Time and energy didn't allow for a dash to the pass, but we explored the melted portion of the tarn.

The waters were nearly transparent and astonishingly reflective (click on the photo to enlarge).

Here staff member Eric Guth is answering a question from the group.

The tarn empties from one corner and flows inevitably to the sea.

Then it was time to work our way back to the beach, downhill. Both Joan and I were a bit too casual about the cross-country effort; she tweaked one knee and I twinged an ankle. Fortunately, these incidents were more reminders to be careful than they were injuries.

This dwarf willow was unusually tall due to a sheltered and sunny location.

There was a lot of photography happening on the way down.

Then it was time to sail back out to the Atlantic and continue south towards the tip of Greenland. On leaving the Skjoldungen Fjord we discovered that the cold Atlantic air had created a low fog bank.

Everyone knew when the Explorer shoved aside a chunk of ice.

Peering into the distance we could detect icebergs worthy of the Titanic.

We passed a snoozing hooded seal, very probably the same one we had observed hours before.

A bit later a pebbled sky, backlit clouds, mountains, and reflections combined to create a scene that made me blink and rub my eyes to make sure that the vista before me was real, and not just spots before my eyes.

An hour later we encountered a pod of humpback whales. Every time we would see a whale flip its tail on diving, called "fluking," a collective "Ahhh!" would fill the ship. Here is a sequence of four photos from one such event.

The patterns on the underside of the tail are unique, similar to human fingerprints. They're used to identify individual whales and track their locations and activities. Here's a closer look at the fluking of a different humpback than the one above.

One whale swam close to the ship for a while. In this picture his or her blowhole is clearly visible.

In these clear waters the lighter-colored body parts can been seen when the whale is underwater. Sometimes you can even track them as they swim submerged, waiting for one to resurface. In this photo, the left front flipper is visible.

Joan and I also saw a humpback demonstrate a remarkable sinuosity, not just whole-body movements.

Then it was time for us to move on, enjoying the sunshine that had succeeded the fog.

It had been a busy day. We wound down from the outdoors excitement with a talk on Plants of the Arctic and dinner.