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| The mystical twilight over a forzen lake |
I have been waiting for this, the sunless winter period, ever since landing here in Cambridge Bay and it finally arrived on December first. We have been losing about 30 minutes of daylight everyday, but it was surreal to experience the complete twilight for the first time. I remember going out on both days, the last day of so called daylight and the first day without a sunrise, to see what was the difference. Of course it wasn't that big of a difference in terms of the amount of light one would experience. But it was nice to see that here, at latitude 69, we get enough period of twilight to get out and do things. I am sure this period of twilight would be much shorter as one moves up further north.
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| Sun at high noon, towards the end of November |
So another one of my naive misconceptions has been shattered, but this time for the better. I really was dreading spending the entire 6 weeks of so called dark period in the town, and not venturing out. But as it turned out, I have at least a window of about three hours, roughly between 11am-2pm, of twilight to spend it out on the tundra.
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| Dogs tied on the tundra; real tough life for such tough animals! |
In early November things were still pretty bright and relatively warm. I remember taking my newly bought/fixed ice chisel to a nearby lake for a tryout. I walked for two hours, carrying a backpack, shotgun, and the chisel to get to the lake. It was about -35 with the windchill. So the walk was a welcome relief from the cold.
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| My attempt at fishing, in mid November |
I started chipping at the ice, and to my astonishment, managed to punch a hole about 8 inches in diameter in about 15-20 minutes time. The lake ice was about 18-20 inches thick. I now know what difference a sharp new chisel can make. I remember well, trying for an hour to punch a hole in a lake ice with a dull chisel in Whale Cove last spring and getting nowhere.
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| 15 minutes of fishing, and not surprisingly nothing to show for |
It felt good accomplishing the second stage of the day's chore so quickly. Now it was the third and toughest of the whole thing, actually catching a fish. I soon realized how cold the day really was. As I started to prepare the hook and the line, my hands were almost numb with the wind. It makes such a huge difference, the wind. I only managed to fish for 15 minutes before giving up. I wonder what would have I done, had my life depended on actually catching a fish. Perhaps one day I'll find out. But until then, I'll take warmth over food any day. So I started to pack my stuff and head back to the town.
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| Mid November when the sun was still around, all be it very low in the sky |
On my way back I was startled by large flock of ptarmigans taking off a few feet from me just up the river bank. I always carry my shotgun for occasions just like this. But that day my hands were still freezing from the futile fishing attempt. I followed the birds and got within 40-50 meteres of them. I wasn't sure whether to shoot them with the camera or the gun. I managed neither. I was carrying the 9-foot long chisel and had the backpack, shot gun and the camera around my neck. It is easier said than done, but by the time I managed to take the gun, backpack, and the camera off my shoulder respectively, the birds were up in the air again. Perhaps I could have just focused on hunting rather than snapping photos first, then hunting.
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| A ptarmigan I actually managed to catch. |
I was also greedy, thinking I could round them up and get as many as possible with a single shot. But of course greed doesn't pay, and ended up regretting my decision. They flew just about 300 metres away on the opposite direction to which I was going, as if to tease me further. It was getting dark, and once again I wasn't prepared to sacrifice warmth for food.
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| Trying to catch as many shots of the bright shinny ball before it disappeared for the year. |
The twilight and in general tundra with its complete white background plays trick with one's vision. There were countless times when I thought I had seen things, like caribous or muskox, only to realize they were just inuksuks or rocks that appeared to be moving. On the tundra you think you can see for miles, but in reality you only get the illusion of seeing. You only get rough shadows or silhouettes of objects.
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| An inuksuk in the distance under the twilight |
The inuksuks are marvelous landmarks, as you can notice them for miles and miles. If you knew from before where roughly they are in relation with other inuksuks, you'll never get lost. That is if you are a local person or if you have lived here for a while. But they also play tricks with your senses. Many times I could have sworn that I had seen people or other living things walking towards me or parallel to my path, but only to stop, wait, and see them motionless as well.
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| More of the low flying sun during late November |
Another factor is of course the low light of the twilight and its combination with both frozen crystals in the air as well as frost on the eyelashes. Combine the three, and you'll really have a hard time of actually seeing anything. Rocks appear to be moving, and snow covered rock appears like stealthy arctic hare, a bare large rock may seem like a cabin,... I did bring a fine pair of binoculars with me, but I rarely take it out on the tundra with me. First I don't want to carry any more weight than I am already carrying, secondly on most days I find it too cold to have my hands out of the warm mitts for too long. Snapping photos are already long enough on most days. So I do get to miss lots when out there. The frost on the eyelashes can be easily removed by using your fingers to slowly melt, and slide them off.
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| A nice walk in late December. That day was actually comfortable, no wind! |
Hearing is another sense that is of little reliability when out on the tundra. As you walk on the snow, the crunching sound is so loud that you miss out most other sounds. I sometime have to stop in order to hear things, or to listen for a sound. Foxes can be very vocal, but everytime I thought I heard them and stopped to look for them, they would stop calling. And of course I could never tell whether the white shadow I see from the direction of the sound is a fox or another snow covered rock! As loud as the walk on the tundra is, walking on the frozen lakes are almost dead silent. I sometimes take longer routes, walking on lakes, just to get a break from the sound of the crunching snow. The newly bought -100 degrees celsius boots have soles like crampons which make walking on ice a pleasure.
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| Lake ice with lots of trapped snow bubbles! |
Another thing I sometime take for granted and pay for it dearly is properly judging how much and what to wear when heading out. There were times when I wore my heavy duty winter parka along with down pants, winter boots, and natural skin mitts, and be comfortable for the entire day, only to forget how cold it really was. Then the next day or week, I wear the slightly less winter proof gear and live to regret it for the entire time out. How I know this? Well if I am thinking about the beauty of the surrounding, or of fish, or wild games, then I am warm and comfortable. But I forget that all of those sweet thoughts were the result of being warm, which was due to the heavy duty winter gear. When not warm, all I can think of is keeping my toes, fingers, and face from freezing, so out goes any other thoughts in my head, except for one: And that is how those poor, arrogant, and ignorant early European explorers must have suffered!
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| A dead raven |
I am reading a book on early arctic explorers, The Arctic Grail, and am astonished how they suffered. How generations of European explorers failed to learn from the Inuits. I can't even begin to imagine how cold and miserable it must have felt wearing 19th. century european cloths, gloves and boots, while trapped for months and years in the arctic. While walking on the tundra I often wonder what it felt like knowing you needed to walk for days, weeks and months on the ice carrying huge sleds, and not even knowing whether you were going to get where you wanted to go. Or in most cases not even knowing where to go. The simple thought of getting up one day, hungry, cold, tired, and yet embarking on a few hundred miles journey into the unknown. Wow!
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| Tallest plants around, in fact the only place I have seen plants this tall, about 2 feet. |
I am finding it a good read, but this is not the best book I have read about the arctic. That one has to be the Arctic Dreams, which a good friend of mine gifted to me to read over a year ago. Whereas The Arctic Grail chronicles the struggle to discover the northwest passage and the race to the north pole, focusing on the motives, means and struggles of the explorers and the people behind them, Arctic Dreams portrays the entire phenomon of the Arctic. It does a great job of exploring the holistic experience of the arctic; ice, light, cold, exploration, animals, plants, and most importantly its people. I think of myself very new to this whole arctic experience, and am keen to learn about more books, and more importantly learn from the true masters of this landscape, my Inuit friends.
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| My Christmas turkey! |
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| My attempt at catching the northern light right in the town and without the use of a tripod. You can see the light just above the houses |
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| A nice and comfortable walk under the twilight. |
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| Another shot of the twilight. |
P.S. I feel about the twilight here in Cambridge Bay the same way I did about the floe edge in Whale Cove!
