It's an island from another world, that of the Far North, with its fjords dotted with icebergs, tangled ice sculptures bathed in the midnight sun in summer or illuminated by the Northern Lights in winter. A harsh and bewitching world, where "only time and ice rule". Embark on a fourteen-day cruise from Iceland to West Greenland, following in the footsteps of Erik the Red and his Viking companions.
Tikilluarit! Welcome! These first words in Greenlandic greet our arrival on the Grigoriy Mikheev. We found her in Iceland, in the small port of Keflavik where the passengers from Spitzbergen had just disembarked. As soon as we had settled into our cabins, we learned that 4 sailors were missing. Have they succumbed to the charms of the Icelandic women or tried their luck in the west? The tongues are wagging. And everyone adds their verse. The fact remains that we can?t leave Iceland with an understaffed crew. The safety rules for sailing in polar waters are strict and the port authorities are very fussy. We are therefore condemned to wait, with the boat alongside the quayside, for 4 other sailors, who must be Russians as all the sailing instructions are in Russian, to join the ship. An unforeseen event that immediately puts the voyage under the sign of adventure. To console us, Yan, the headwaiter, brought out his bottles. It was a challenging three days for our guides, who had to calm the impatience of some passengers and make the wait pleasant. It was a gamble that paid off, as the unexpected trip allowed us to discover the fabulous Icelandic sites of Geysir and Gulfoss and to bathe in the warm waters of the Blue Lagoon.
Gale warning
On the fourth day, with a full crew, Grigoriy Mikheev set sail for Cape Farewell at the southern tip of Greenland. The weather was a little grey and a small swell was already forecasting a sporty crossing in the Denmark Strait. Barely out of Keflavik harbour, fin whales are frolicking on the starboard side. A glass of champagne on deck and Andrew, the first mate, invites us to a compulsory, timed exercise to evacuate the ship. Safety on board is no joke. Nor with Andrew. But there are smiles on everyone's faces. Not for long, though, as the sea gets rougher and a strong gale is forecast. "Stow all your belongings in the cupboards and hang up the anti-roll nets on your bunks".
By dinner, six people were already missing from the table. Two days on the water, 625 nautical miles, and the slaughter continues. It gets much worse towards the southern tip, where the Labrador Sea meets the Greenland Sea, generating violent winds and strong currents. A quarter of the passengers were ill. The ship's doctor, who was barely able to cope herself, made the rounds of the cabins and invariably offered her Primperan suppositories or patches for seasickness. As for the more able-bodied passengers, they get to know each other in the bar, as the sea is too rough to hang around on the decks. More than half the passengers are travelling solo. One passenger said to me: "I'm surprised, there are a lot of old people this time! She herself must be approaching 75 ! Every year, she comes back with her widowed or single girlfriends; they have circumnavigated the globe and can talk endlessly about everything to do with the poles and the private lives of the crew. Another, who has come without her husband, warns: "My dream is to die in the ice and my husband's dream is to end up in the sun". Others are looking for a soul mate. Paul, in his slightly austere sixties, says seriously: "I'm looking for someone who doesn't spend money and who doesn't want to damage my wallet. Not an easy task! We meet a few young people too: Marie, whose grandfather gave her this cruise for her 20th birthday. Or France, who loves the Arctic regions. "It's my luxury, every year I need to see these landscapes. This is the fascination of the Far North spoken by those who have been lucky enough to spend time there. The need to return again and again. To soak up that special light, so soft and pure.
Port whale
On the afternoon of the sixth day, the east coast of Greenland finally comes into view. We glide through the night in the Prince Christian Sund fjord, cluttered with large icicles, arriving at dawn in a bay where a magnificent iceberg floats in evocative shapes. In this constantly shifting polar landscape, the ice takes on milky, bluish or translucent hues.
These majestic vessels of ice have broken away from the 3000 metre thick Greenland ice sheet. It feeds the glaciers that stretch out to sea like jagged tongues.
For our first anchorage, we were not disappointed. A humpback whale acts as a welcoming committee. To sound, the whale arches its back sharply, drawing a hump (hence its name) and raises its tail fin out of the water. It looks like it's playing hide and seek. 4 to 8 minutes underwater, barely that long at the surface, the cetacean puts on a superb show. On deck, the cameras are abuzz.
The zodiacs are then launched on slightly rough seas. And we disembark on the thick autumn-coloured tundra at the Viking site of Herjolfnes (Ikigait). The very spot where Herjolf, a companion of the dreaded Erik the Red, banished from Iceland for murder, settled over a thousand years ago and founded a colony. You can still see the ruins of a church and a number of Inuit graves from more recent times.
We then set off again towards Nanortalik, where we moor to visit this town of 1,800 inhabitants.
In the early afternoon, the ship set off again towards the north-west. The wind picked up to 22 m/s. The waves were very short and the boat plunged into waves of over 8 metres. The waves broke over the bow of the boat and swept the windows of the gangway. It wasn't long before we couldn't see anyone in the corridors. The mate, Andrew, who has 4 years experience on this boat, is at the helm. He says laconically: "I've seen worse" and jokes: "It's time to get out the Mikado! But the swell was so great that our skipper decided to change course and take refuge in a fjord. It was a 100-degree tack, which twice caused the boat to heel over impressively. Our route was certainly longer, but in the shelter, we were now making 12 knots instead of 6 in the storm. Heads are gradually reappearing in the passageways and in the bar.
The following day, we will also be sailing through a network of very narrow fjords to escape the raging seas! We travel twice as far, but nobody gets sick!
Back to the open sea. Luckily it's much calmer and we head for Nuuk.
Breaking the ice
The local police came to welcome us without asking for our passports. They just make sure we have everything we need and leave. We spend the evening at anchor in the old port, enjoying the sunset.
Large barbecue on deck. On the menu: grilled lamb and caribou. "Mamak": it's good! The atmosphere is warm and festive, thanks to the sangria-vodka concocted by our Argentinian chef Marcelo and the dance demonstrations by Natacha and Andrew, who excels at the twist (he's a member of the Elvis Presley club in Saint Petersburg!) The evening ends late into the night under a shower of northern lights.
We haven't yet recovered from the previous day's feasting, and Evigedhesfjord, the 'eternity' fjord, is in sight.
The tongue of the glacier cracks with a thud. The Inuit say it "sings". A few seracs break off, triggering a treacherous wave that sometimes turns into a mini tsunami and can capsize a fishing boat.
We retrace our steps, heading for Disko Bay, 300 km beyond the Arctic Circle. The weather is still fine, the temperature around 5°C and the sun is making the icebergs that we pass regularly along the coast sparkle. Huge bluish or milky blocks, sometimes streaked with blackish streaks torn from their native moraines. These packs continue southwards towards the coast of Canada, travelling around 3,000 km before melting into the waters of Labrador. Some icebergs are particularly dangerous, their tapering bows not always visible in the swell. They drag in their wake growlers, large ice cubes the size of a car. On the foredeck flies the Greenland flag, a red and white circle symbolising the rising sun on the pack ice.
In the late evening, we approach the eroded cliffs of Qeqertarsuak, which drop sheer into the sea. These basalt columns, shrouded in a veil of mist, form a dark mass that contrasts with the thin green border of the shoreline.
Port Victor, base for French polar expeditions
On the penultimate day, we set sail in the Bay of Qervain (position: 69°47′ N and 50°15′ W). Clear skies and a sea of oil. As we approached the Eqi glacier, 80 km north of Ilulissat in Ata Sund Bay, a few needle-shaped ice crystals covered the surface of the bay. This is the "frazil". The further you go, the thicker and denser the sea becomes. This first layer of thin, supple ice, the "nilas", can be up to 5 cm thick and foreshadows the emerging pack ice. Loaded with fresh meltwater, the sea water freezes more quickly near the glacier. This is when we enter the "brash". The boat glides along with the dry crackle of broken glass, between large patches of ice broken up by the wind and currents. These glittering "water lilies" will soon compact and fuse together to form the pack ice.
As the temperature slowly rises during the day, the large Eqi glacier begins to calve its ice with a thud. We disembark to visit the hut built on the mountainside by Paul-Emile Victor's team in 1947, the start of French polar expeditions to the Arctic. Inside, on the walls covered in yellowed paper, you can read these handwritten inscriptions: "What did we come here for? We'd be better off at home...". We end the stopover with a hike to a ridge from where we can see the Eqip Sermia glacier front. What a view! The only downside is that the front of the glacier is retreating a little further every year, a clear sign that global warming is accelerating.
Final destination: Ilulissat
Ilulissat is home to Knud Rasmussen, who spent his entire childhood there. A wide, jagged ice flow several kilometres long stretches to the horizon. In the distance, an impressive white wall looms up: the front of the Isfjord glacier, one of the wonders of the world, declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 2004. Nowhere in Greenland is the melting ice sheet more dramatic than in the Ilulissat fjord. This 40km-long seaway is continually filled with ice and icebergs of varying sizes. In summer, these blocks break off from the tongue of the Sermeq Kujalleq glacier, one of the main producers of icebergs in the northern hemisphere. Around 12 km wide, the glacier calves its giants, which advance at a speed of around 35 metres a day, or some 13 km a year. The largest can drift as far as the coast of Newfoundland and descend beyond the 42nd parallel, a region where the Titanic in 1912 did not expect to encounter them.
The town has the third largest population in the country (4,500). Pretty wooden houses cling to the hillsides. All are built on stilts to prevent them sinking into the permafrost. There are many detached dwellings, but also a few low-rent housing blocks, the result of a policy adopted by the Danish authorities in the 1960s. For reasons of economy, and given the difficulties of moving around for most of the year, they forced the Inuit to group together in conurbations. A culture shock for many of them.
The fact remains that, with the gradual melting of thousands of years of ice, such a voyage could, in a few decades' time, be no more than a reminder of a bygone era.
Text and photos: Brigitte Postel
Getting there
Grand Nord Grand Large is a specialist in the polar regions. The offer varies from hiking and kayaking to cruises and tailor-made trips. Sailing routes and boats may change from year to year.
Heading for South Greenland
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Greenland cruise - Old rigs, icebergs & Viking relics
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