It's the 16th August, our first morning in Nanortalic in south Greenland. We get up late and then have to move the boat round to the other side of the Fish Dock because the landing craft - used for local works - is about to depart.
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| Bonny on the Fish Dock |
After breakfast we get out to explore the town, the ‘centre’ of which is on the other side of the harbour.
Before we leave I exchange WhatsApp messages with Brian and Helen of Halacious and with Steve and Sarah of SV Snow Bear, another OCC boat that has arrived in Nanortalic. That now means there are three OCC boats in port - quite a gathering in these parts and worthy of celebration. We arrange to meet up that evening at the Cafe/Bar.
We walk to the far end of town to what appears to be and indeed is, the original settlement, complete with Church and Whale Station and a significant number of related buildings containing both 19th Century Danish whaling artifacts and local Inuit ones.
The whole area and its buildings are in fact a museum, but it’s just closed for the day. It’s striking that these original buildings are just about the only stone built ones in the town. Given that stone is the only readily available natural resource, I find this rather strange at first, but I suppose it must be more cost-effective to import wood and other building materials and indeed pre-fabricated buildings, than to quarry the immensely hard indigenous rock.
We decide to come back another day when the museum is open.
On our way back I’m struck by the prolific and very bright yellow flowers that carpet much of the local landscape, which being,
Greenland is entirely treeless. It’s obvious why there are no trees on the icecap but I’m puzzled why there are none anywhere on the island. Perhaps it’s because originally the ice cap covered the whole of the island and despite its regression, no tree spores have made it to the island? Or perhaps it's down to the nature of the soil? Beyond the immediate area of the town, the landscape is quite simply, majestic. Craggy snow capped peaks are everywhere and the scouring effects of glaciers long gone, are everywhere. This surely must be the landscape that inspired the “Lord of the Rings” films!
The town itself is partly attractive, partly not so, with a mixture of old buildings constructed from wood and much more recent frame buildings clad in modern materials. We find two well stocked supermarkets - one is part of a state run chain obliged to serve isolated communities throughout Greenland. The other is a private enterprise. There’s also a fish market, a rather up-market clothing store and two gift shops and a cafe/bar that plays live music some evenings. Additionally, there’s a community centre and a school with a modern astro-turf football pitch next door (it must have the most spectacular backdrop of any football pitch in the world), a hotel, a police station, a fire station and various commercial and industrial buildings.
Like Newfoundland, there is no island wide road system connecting one place with another. Physical communications are by sea and for those that can afford it/need to travel quickly, by helicopter. The vast majority of the land mass is of course covered by the ice-cap anyway and therefore all settlements are located on the coast - most of which are on the less ice affected west coast where we are. A little bizarrely, in Nanortalic, the lack of a road network does not equate to an absence of cars. At a guess the local road network covers perhaps 3 square miles and there are probably 20-30 vehicles plying it. I even notice a taxi!
99% of the local population of just over 1000 (it’s the 11th largest town in Greenland), are Inuit. Sadly, the traditional hunting and fishing way of life of this once self-sufficient people, has now largely disappeared and it seems to us that many of the locals must now be dependent on social benefits. We spend an hour or so one evening in the hotel bar, waiting for our laundry to finish and notice that most of the other customers are locals in advanced stages of intoxication. Whilst I’ve never been to Australia, the plight of the Inuit here seems very reminiscent of the aboriginal population there. It’s a rather depressing interlude during our otherwise captivating, if all too brief journey through South Greenland.
Far more uplifting, was witnessing the arrival of numerous groups of youngsters from outlying settlements, for what must be a major event. Numerous small and not so small motor boats, often crammed with children, converge on Nanortalic and as each boat makes its way into the harbour, it’s greeted enthusiastically by the local children and others that have already arrived. Hilariously, the only life jacket we see on display, is fastened firmly to…. a dog! Mind you, despite this carefree attitude, the local coast with its rocks and icebergs is clearly a hazardous environment. When I checked in, the two Police Officers I spoke to were just on their way out to search for a local boat with two young men on board that had gone missing!
We don’t find out what the occasion is that’s attracting so many youngsters until later, when we hear lots of applause and shouting coming from behind the hill adjacent to the fish dock. Following the noise, we discover the football pitch in its amazing setting and a football tournament in full swing. Parents are out in force supporting their offspring just as enthusiastically as they do back home.
I’m surprised by the almost complete absence of European faces. In fact we only meet four Danish people. A Danish woman - an ex-resident now living in Copenhagen, who is visiting her Inuit daughter who has remained in Nanortalic because of the mistreatment the Copenhagen Danes typically inflicted on the Inuit (her explanation not mine); the Curator/Historian of the museum and the two Police officers who checked us in and out of Greenland.
Next we do some shopping and return to the boat. We defer work on the engine in favour of an afternoon nap and then head to the Bar to meet the crews of Helacious and Snow Bear.
We enjoy a most convivial evening with Brian and Helen (Helacious) and Steve, Sarah and Danny (Snow Bear), all of whom we discover are experienced northern waters sailors. We are definitely novices amongst such company and pick up some useful tips for our all too brief passage through South Greenland. Chief amongst them is not to rely on the main weather models for forecasts of the local weather along the coast and in the maze of fiords criss-crossing the region. The Danish Met Office is much more reliable in that respect. The main models typically show light winds in the fiords even when gales are raging off-shore. In reality that is often not the case and indeed, the opposite often occurs - very strong winds funnelling down the fiords even when it’s calm offshore.
In addition to the excellent company we enjoy great live music performed by a solo artist who plays and sings superb covers of classic blues, rock and pop songs.
The following day Snow Bear and Helacious depart to explore some more of the area. [Helacious’ plan is then to head west to cross the Labrador Sea for St John’s and Snow Bear will probably transit Princ Christian Sund a day or so]. We though, have a pressing appointment with…….. the engine!
George is now convinced that the problem must be a blockage in the fuel pipe within the diesel tank. The pipe enters the tank through top and descends to an inch or so from the bottom. The tank is under the cabin sole and has a round inspection hatch on top. It’s secured with 8 nuts that fasten onto studs set into the top of the tank.
Our first job therefore is to remove the inspection hatch. I’m part way through doing that when suddenly a fountain of diesel erupts from around the nut I am loosening. There’s diesel everywhere - all over the top of the tank, the cabin sole and surrounding furniture! I quickly tighten the nut back up. We look at each other as we start cleaning up - “what on earth is going on”?
George answers the question pretty quickly. When we were using the jerry can as the emergency fuel supply, the engine appeared to consume lots of diesel. However, what must actually have happened was that in addition to supplying fuel to the engine, the fuel pump must have returned unused diesel from the jerry can to the already nearly full tank (we had filled it up in St John’s and had used hardly any since) and overfilled.
Sure enough, the tank’s breather pipe is full of diesel, but how do we get the excess fuel out of the tank so that we can open the inspection hatch without flooding the bilge with more diesel? We’re able to empty most of the fuel out of the breather pipe by lowering it below the top of the tank. However, the inspection hatch is not on the very highest part of the tank, and so there’s still significant pressure at the hatch. We decide to try and pump some fuel out through the breather hose by inserting a narrower pipe through it and attaching it to the spare electronic fuel pump. Unfortunately the breather pipe enters the top of the tank through a right angle connector which makes getting a thin pipe through it very difficult. Eventually we manage and are able to pump out a gallon or so of fuel.
Now we can open the inspection hatch. Then George tries to blow air through the fuel pipe into the tank. He can't which confirms the blocked fuel pipe diagnosis. Next he strips to the waist, lies down on the cabin sole and inserts his arm into the tank up to his armpit. He can just reach the bottom of the fuel pipe. He repeatedly inserts a length of seizing wire into the pipe and wiggles it around removing a crudy, putty like substance in the process.
Then he blows through the fuel line again and this time air bubbles up the tank in a healthy flow. This is beginning to look promising! We close and seal the inspection hatch and bleed the fuel lines from top to bottom once more using the electronic fuel pump independently of the engine starter. Next I pre-heat the engine and push the start button. The engine starts immediately. Job done! Then we commence the big clean up, followed by showers at the Hotel. Unfortunately, it's Chef's night off so we can't eat there.
The next morning we fill our water containers at the nearest public water point. There are a few dotted around the town. Each one is like a large dog kennel with a locked door and a tap protruding from one of its sides. Presumably, the ‘kennel’ must contain some sort of treatment plant. The nearest ‘kennel’ is about a 5 minute walk away. I have a small shopping trolley on board which we use in turns to transport the filled containers to the boat. George takes a long time to complete his second trip, and when he does eventually return, he announces he’s twisted his ankle. So now we’re both semi crippled! I’m now the more able bodied one and so complete the job by making another 3-4 trips round trips to the ‘kennel’ that are needed to fill Bonny’s water tank.
The setting is spectacular with the open sea to the south dotted with small islands and icebergs and with snow topped mountains marching inland on each side of the fiord. We share the anchorage with a few bergy bits and growlers which we have to keep an eye on, but fortunately they leave us alone.
The next morning we explore the site more fully. The rocky mounds we discover scattered across the crest of a low hill are the remains of Herjolfsnes, which overlooks our anchorage, as well as the mountains to the north and the open sea to the south. It’s easy to imagine that the magnificent, ice and snow strewn, wild and desolate view we gaze upon today is the same as that wondered at by the viking, Herjolf Bardsson - founder of Herjolfsnes. He was a key member of Eric the Red’s Viking exodus from Iceland some 500 years ago. When Eric moved on to explore more of Greenland, Herjolf stayed put to secure and develop their gateway to this new worId.
I look back at the anchorage, where Bonny now lies quietly to her anchor at the mouth of the fiord, perfectly protected from the rigours of the open sea by a small peninsula enclosing the bay. I imagine those distant Norsemen who possessed no charts and little if any knowledge of what lay before them and were ‘armed’ only with their understanding of the heavenly constellations and a magnetic needle. I picture them, having survived storms, fog and icebergs; wading up the beach from their longboats, climbing the hill and gazing in wonder at the spectacle all around them. They would have looked on in awe as we do now, but their sense of discovery must have been immense. No Viking had seen what they now saw. They had found a new world - their promised land!
We return to the boat and head up the fiord, sometimes having to alter course to avoid icebergs, bergy bits and growlers. The scenery remains spectacular with razor edged peaks topping the vista and vertical cliffs interspersed with glacial valleys, tumbling down to the water on either shore. Occasional thin ribboned beaches cling to their feet. The heads of some of the valleys and some of the shaded crevices in the cliffs still contain the remnants of glaciers that once tore out the solid rock to form them.
We reach the head of the fiord around 3pm and anchor in 5 metres of water just upstream of an iceberg the size of a large house and taller than Bonny’s mast. We assume it’s aground and that we will in any case be quite safe in 5 metres of water. The water shallows noticeably over the eight hundred metres or so between Bonny and a narrow shingle beach. It lies at the base of the wide flood plain that must have been deposited by a huge glacier that carved out the head of the fiord.
We get in the dinghy, row ashore, haul the dinghy up the shingle beach and clamber up to higher ground to start exploring. Before doing so I look back down the fiord. That iceberg that we anchored quite close to, now looks even closer. We appreciate that our view of the berg is now from a different perspective and is foreshortened, but does that fully explain why the big berg now appears so much closer to Bonny than when we left? Surely a berg that rises 15 or so metres above sea level, can’t float in 5 metres of water - can it? Logic tells me it's impossible, but that dam berg now looks awfully close to Bonny. We’ve foolishly come ashore without either my YB tracker or George’s InReach communicator, or a handheld vhf radio.
If Bonny's sunk by that iceberg, quite apart from the loss of the boat our only means of rescue would be to row the 6 miles from the head of the fiord to the small settlement at Narsarmijit, opposite the Herjolfsnes anchorage where we spent last night. The prospect weighs too heavily on my mind to ignore and I row back towards Bonny to check things out. By the time I’m halfway there it’s clear that the berg hasn’t floated towards Bonny in a few metres of water. Feeling pretty stupid, but nevertheless very relieved, I row back to the beach and rejoin George.
I’m intrigued by the high part of a large waterfall that we can see in the cliffs about half a mile inland. I know from reports by other OCC members who were here last year that it’s possible to hike to the waterfall. The lower aspects of the fall are hidden by the sharp bend in the canyon that lies between us and the fall. I’d like to reach the fall or at least to get to a point where I can see it in full. George’s mobility is still significantly compromised by his sprained ankle and decides the hike would be too much for him and therefore decides not to join me.
My own right foot is still not fully recovered, but I reckon it should be OK provided I’m careful and so I head up the valley towards the waterfall. Initially the going is OK but the further I go the more challenging it becomes and I find myself having to clamber over steeper and steeper rocky impasses. If I was fully fit the hike wouldn’t pose too much of a challenge, but after an hour or so my right foot is starting to complain. I study the terrain ahead and realise that pressing on to the waterfall wouldn’t be wise. I settle for a less demanding objective - a ridge ahead which should take me half an hour to get to and which should give me a good view of the waterfall. It takes me a little longer than 30 minutes to get to the ridge and once there, I cannot quite see the full drop of the fall. Nevertheless it’s a spectacular view and I feel reasonably satisfied to have made it this far. My satisfaction is however tinged with regret. Regret that the combination of not being fully fit and of being pressed for time means that we can’t explore this wild beautiful place more fully.
I make my way back towards the small beach via a lower route and cross the low lying plateau through which the run off from the waterfall meanders down to the fiord. I find George resting on the spongy grass and we make our way back to the beach and then to Bonny in the dinghy. We spend the night at anchor at the head of the fiord under the mountains and stars. Despite the remoteness of the location I switch on the anchor light and wonder whether any human eyes will see it.
The next morning after breakfast, we weigh anchor and head back down the fiord. An hour and a half later we pass Ikigait to our north west and gradually turn eastwards around the peninsula separating the Narsap Saqqaa fiord from the extreme western arm of Princ Christian Sund, the long fiord that cuts right across the southern tip of Greenland and through which we plan to pass before commencing our passage back to the UK. The Sund has two major attractions from a passage making perspective; it provides a significant west-east short cut across the island to its most iconic departure/landfall point, the Weather Station at the Sund’s eastern end and it avoids having to round notorious Cape Farewell (Farvel), renown for its stormy weather. Just as importantly from our perspective is its reputation for grandeur and beauty and home to iceberg spawning glaciers.
As we enter the western arm of the Sund we encounter an increasingly strong headwind and perhaps some adverse current too. There’s very little fetch and so no waves to speak of, but under power Bonny’s speed is reduced to 3 knots despite maintaining her usual 2,200 rpm which would otherwise maintain a speed of 5 knots. We’re heading for the small natural harbour of Aappilattoq situated about halfway between Nanortalik and the Weather Station. It’s been recommended to me as being “completely protected" by my friend Jan who transited the Sund last year and stopped off there. However, I’ve also received a WhatsApp message from another OCC boat - SV Mantra - who’s there now, saying they found it very difficult to get their anchor set in strong winds yesterday and that with two yachts there already, there was very little room left in the small harbour!
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| Aappilattoq |
As we approach Aappilattoq the wind increases further and we notice that the entrance is very narrow - perhaps only two boat lengths wide. The harbour itself appears to be well sheltered from the wind, but it’s very small and I’m nervous about manoeuvring Bonny in such a confined, unknown space. I decide to try and raise Mantra on the VHF to get the latest on the situation there. I get an answer immediately. I discover later that it’s Sherri. She confirms that space inside is very restricted but tells me that the skipper, Peter, who’s ashore will be back shortly and suggests we stand by and await his assessment. Soon Sherri is back on the VHF. Peter reckons there’s enough space for us to Raft alongside Mantra’s port side. The other boat there, SV ‘X-Trip’ is rafted on Mantra’s starboard side.
We motor slowly through the narrow necked entrance and almost immediately the wind drops to a light breeze and I feel much happier about mooring up. As we approach Mantra I see she has a stern anchor out holding her off the quay and also a line ashore to the quay from her bow. The light breeze is blowing her off the quay and so her crew are able to slacken off the stern anchor to give us more room to manoeuvre. I manage to put Bonny alongside Mantra without too much trouble and then with the help of her crew we set about getting a line ashore and setting our own stern anchor.
Once everything is secure, George and I and Michael - the single handed skipper of X-Trip - are invited on board Mantra for refreshments and we all spend a most enjoyable couple of hours swapping yarns and experiences. Once again George and I find ourselves in the company of experienced high latitude sailors. Peter gives us useful information on where to obtain accurate local weather forecasts - the Danish Met Office - and when he hears about the problem we’re having with the Hydrovane’s remote control system - it’s seizing up - both diagnoses the problem - shrinkage of the hard plastic bushes because of the low temperatures - and gives me a few drops of his precious and very expensive lubricant. It works a treat. It turns out that he has had the same issue with the bushes in his rudder bearings which are made of a similar hard plastic material!
It turns out that Michael, who's based in Iceland, is the most experienced Greenland sailor amongst us. He’s had numerous encounters with Polar Bears including one where a bear clambered onto his boat! He sensibly stayed locked in down below until the bear got bored and wandered off. His YouTube Channel - XTrip Sailing includes videos of some of his encounters.
We discuss our plans for the near future. Michael’s going to spend some more time in the area before returning to Iceland. Mantra plans to head for Iceland as soon as there’s a decent break in the weather (and will subsequently head for Scotland) and Peter has decided to wait out the next few days in Greenland until ex-Hurricane Erin has moved further on.
George’s work commitment on 15th September means we need to move on as soon as possible and having studied the forecast, have decided that we’ll ‘hitch a ride’ on the back of ex-Hurricane Erin. According to the forecast, over the next 48 hours or so, the centre of the depression will move north eastwards from its current position about 100 miles to the south west of southern Greenland until it lies a similar distance to the north east of southern Greenland and will then continue roughly eastwards until it dissipates between Iceland and Scotland in a few days time. Our plan therefore is to transit Princ Christian Sund tomorrow and then depart from the weather station the following morning. We should have light winds for the first six hours or so until the depression’s trailing north western edge catches us up. Then the wind will increase to gale force or near gale force, but providing we keep it on our port quarter we should avoid the full force of the storm nearer to the centre of the depression. That will lie further north and therefore affect the area between Greenland and Iceland more severely, which is why Peter has decided to delay Mantra’s passage to Iceland.
It’s likely that these tactics will push us well south of the direct route to south west England and will therefore increase the total distance we’ll end up travelling, but we should still arrive in good time for George’s work commitment.
That evening George takes a great photo of the three boats rafted up together.
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| X-Trip, Mantra & Bonny at AAppilattoq |
The next morning XTrip leaves early before we are up and then a couple of hours later Mantra departs.
Before we leave, we top up with fuel. We empty three jerry cans containing 60 litres of diesel into the fuel tank and then take the jerry cans to the nearby self service fuel depot just 5 minutes away from the dock. We finish refueling around midday, cast off the mooring line, weigh anchor and continue on our way up the Sund.
After a six mile dog leg around the northern end of a mountainous inshore island, we enter the main part of Prince Christian Sund - a 30 mile long, narrow (0.1 to 0.5 miles wide) almost dead straight fiord. In line with the local weather forecast the wind is light and the water is therefore flat and so we make good progress under power at cruising revs.
There are quite a lot of growlers and bergy bits in the Sund and at times we have to make frequent course alterations to avoid them. We pass a large seal hauled out on one of the bergy bits enjoying a snooze in the afternoon sun. He stares quizzically at us as we pass his temporary lodging about 20 metres away.
As we progress further eastwards into the Sund we see glaciers gouging great furrows down mountains on the northern side of the fiord. In some of them I see dark streaks and patches - the rocky detritus they have torn from the mountain side and are now carrying on their relentless slow march towards the sea. Intellectually,
I know how glaciers work, but to see them in ‘action’ first hand is an experience on a completely different level.
The first ones we notice terminate on the slopes well above sea level, but the vast channels they once cut through the rock - perhaps some within living memory - remain and are clear to see. The further along the fiord we go, the lower the glaciers descend, until, after a few more miles they reach the waters edge.
The views are truly majestic. I first learnt of the Sund and its glaciers from reading the pilot book “Northern and Arctic Waters” a few years ago. That book together with Tillman’s accounts of his various Greenlandic adventures, planted the seed for this voyage, but I can scarcely believe that some five years later I really am here, in the land of ice and mountains - surely the coolest place on earth!
At about 1700, we reach our anchorage for the night at Puiattup Nuula, a notch at the mouth of a short fiord cut into the northern side of the Sund, about halfway along its almost straight eastern arm.
As we enter the anchorage we look up the fiord which only penetrates some 3 miles northwards and can just make out the bottom of a large glacier entering the water. A short(ish) detour in the morning, to get up close to the glacier and hopefully get some drone footage, feels like an attractive proposition.
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| The view from Puiattup Nuula when the 'Thunder' hit |
Around dusk that evening dinner is suddenly disturbed by very loud thunder. The sound carries on for ten minutes or so. We look at each other nervously. Are we about to be hit by some sort of Greenlandic weather phenomenon? We can’t see any storm clouds, there’s no lightning to be seen either. But wait, perhaps it isn’t thunder. After all, there's a dirty big glacier just round the corner! Perhaps we can hear it carving? Or perhaps Trump had started his invasion of Greenland! We linger a few more minutes in the cockpit, checking our surroundings and then retreat below to the warmth of the cabin. Not for the first time on our Greenlandic adventure, we are very grateful for the diesel stove.
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