Baffin. Paddle. Climb.
In summer 2019 Jacob, Thor, Zack and myself spent six weeks on Baffin Island, in the far northeast corner of Canada and about 200 miles across the Bay from Greenland. While out there we managed to climb some big mountain faces – some new lines and some old – and accessed these mountains by paddling the ocean fjord and glacier-fed river in packrafts. How do I sum up six weeks of adventure in one story? I’ve put together a series of moments — a diary of sorts.
July 3rd: The Ocean Paddle
It’s totally calm. The sea is like a pane of turquoise glass; the barren hills on either side are mirrored vividly in the water. I can’t believe our luck. I dip my paddle and it sends ripples across the glassy surface. I pause, marveling at our speed as we drift past boulders strewn along the shore. The tide is rising, and we are riding it up the fjord toward the mountains.
We’d been warned of the ruthless arctic winds that often blast through the Inuit community at the mouth of the fjord. Up to 100mph some days, the locals had told us. I’d been worried about ice too. We were early in the season, what if the sea-ice break up came late? The sun beams down on us, I can feel the warmth on my cheeks. I’m smiling. There’s no ice in sight. My eye catches a shiny black dot to our right. I turn my head as more of them pop up… two, three… eight seals! They swim alongside our packrafts for over an hour, playfully diving in and out of sight.
The four us – Jacob, Thor, Zack and myself – have been planning and preparing this trip for over a year. And now we are finally here, it’s really happening!
July 7th: The Slog
We hike in the cold, unrelenting rain. The pack on my back weighs more than I do. The winds are coming in strong from the north, bringing the miserable weather. Our feet are numb from the numerous icy stream crossings. We trudge on. Faces to the wind, we bend our heads and bury our noses into our jackets. The mountains grow taller as the valley closes in around us. Silently I count steps to my next resting spot.
July 9th: South Tower of Asgard
I love crack climbing – flowing move after move, jamming my hands and feet into the rock, feeling slight variations in the width of the crack and adjusting my technique fluidly to find jams that fit. This pitch is exactly that: 60m of perfect crack splitting the golden granite wall above us. Jacob and I are halfway up the South Tower of Mount Asgard, following our noses up a new line on the south face. We’d been planning this trip for nearly a year, obsessively studying photos of this mountain. The sky is blue bird, I can’t believe where I am right now!
We join into a corner system. A few pitches later Jacob arrives at a dripping, icy chimney… Instead of wedging his body into the vertical ice chasm, he quests onto the face, crimping his way up the sparsely protectable clean rock. The rope comes tight at 60m and I radio up for him to put me on belay. I pull over a bulge and look up. Double ropes are billowing above me, no gear in sight. “What the heck?” I radio, “Where do I go!?” After that we return to the corner and shimmy our way ever skyward.
At exactly midnight we pull over the final lip to stand on the flat summit of Asgard’s South Tower. Shivering slightly we both pull on our second puffy jackets. Despite the cold, there’s not a breath of wind. We stand still. It feels like we’ve landed on another planet. Nothing lives here. Only big flat boulders set off-kilter as if placed by a giant hand. We watch the sun dip below the mountainous horizon, covering us in a purple dusk for a few minutes. Then the fiery golden ball rises again, casting a new light on our little flat planet, while the icy world far below us remains in shadow.
Time to move, or else we’ll get cold. We eat our few remaining bars, and then set up for rappel. We’ve got a long way to go. As I rap over the lip, I hear whoops and shouts! I turn to see our friends, Zack and Thor, a pitch below the summit of the North Tower. We cheer and whoop back. For a moment everything feels a lot smaller, less scary. At that moment it’s all just fun and games, hanging out in the mountains with friends!
After 20 hours continuously on the move, Jacob and I stumble back to our little camp on the glacier. Thor and Zack arrive three hours later.
July 14th: The North Tower
I breathe heavily as we race up the rock. I throw my hands and feet down wherever they land – there’s no time to choose specific holds – and propel my body upwards, always chasing the tug of the rope, chasing Jacob who charges on above me. I know how Jacob is feeling. He’s ecstatic to be moving over rock; the comfortable familiarity of the granite masks all fears of the unpredictable melting landscape, as we leave it further and further below us.
He climbs 60m, plugs a piece with a traction device to protect him if I should fall, and then charges on. Another 60m, another single piece with a traction. My calves are burning. I’m starting to sweat through my merino wool. I feel like I’m midway through a foot race, not midway up Mount Asgard! We’re on the Scott-Henneck Route (est. 1972), a full 1000m on the east face of Asgard’s North Tower. Finally Jacob stops to belay, I catch him and pause to gulp down some water, only to realize that I had forgotten to re-fill at the base. I lead the next simul-block up to the steepening headwall. We start pitched climbing here, it feels like a snail’s pace in comparison.
Jacob pulls onto a big ledge and stares up disheartened at yet another dripping chimney. I catch up and he’s already filled his water bottle, I fill mine too. Earlier in the day, I’d offered to lead the chimney pitch, the technical crux of the route. I look up in dismay at the water streaming down inside. Jacob offers to investigate a crack to our right, it turns out to be a sweet finger splitter! I follow, desperately stabbing between finger locks. I’m getting tired. I start inching my way up the next pitch, an offwidth. I’ve slowed to nearly a halt. I get stumped at a sopping short roof until my arms fail and I slump onto the rope. Exhausted, I aid through the move and then carry on to the top of the pitch.
At midnight we stand atop the North Tower. Again it’s totally calm, totally silent. And cold, colder than the other night. Again we watch the beautiful sunset/sunrise – we’re ready this time and capture the moment with our camera. After 18 hours, we stumble across the glacier into camp. We have Zack and Thor on the radio. We can see them, little orange specks on the summit of a previously unclimbed peak directly across from our tents. We’re discussing their descent.
I’ve known Zack and Thor my whole life. They are two of my closest friends. Coming on this trip, they didn’t have huge climbing resumes, but we knew they were incredibly hard-working and would embrace any challenge with unrelenting positive attitudes. Thor has been climbing for about five years and Zack for only three. I introduced both of them to climbing; I brought them on their first multi-pitches. I can’t help but feel a sense of pride seeing those guys put up a first ascent out here, it’s rad!
They decide to rap the face, retracing the way they came. Jacob and I look up nervously at the huge swathe of granite. But we trust them. They’ll be fine. We continue with our bi-hourly check-ins as they descend. After 27 hours they stumble wide-eyed into camp. Jacob gets out of our tent to greet them; I roll over and fall into a deep sleep. The midday sun shines brightly on our camp, the tent is warm and cozy.
July 16th: Much Needed Rest
The rain patters against our tent. Jacob and I lie cozily in our sleeping bags. Neither of us wants to get up, and that’s just fine. We lie there; half sleeping, half chatting.
So far our trip has been a whirlwind of non-stop intensity. Two weeks after landing on Baffin Island and we’ve already climbed both towers of Asgard! But I need a rest. My body aches and my mind is fatigued from endless risk assessment.
July 20th: The River
We charge downstream in our little red packraft. The water is churning, pumping! I’m in the stern; Jacob kneels in my bow. It’s tough to see the line as we race along, dodging rocks and waves. Focus. I keep track of where we are in the set, taking note as we zip past each landmark that I’d picked out from the shore. I feel good, we are nailing the line. We sneak to the left of the final obstacle – a big curling wave – and then beach ourselves on a gravel bar.
Where are they? Thor and Zack had been right behind us. I can’t see them. I start running up the shore. Then I see them rip around the last bend, “WOOOO!” I start to cheer. But they’re headed straight for the curling wave… and suddenly the boat is upside down… they’re swimming! I stop cheering and start running again. Before I get there, they’ve already scrambled onto the gravel bar. Thor is reeling in the boat, using the northern rescue system we’d pre-rigged. They’re safe and we aren’t about to lose half our gear, awesome.
But the water is frigid, they’ll be cold. I quickly help drain the boat and then we all ferry across to the main shore. The two of them change into dry clothes. Everyone is in surprisingly high spirits – of course, it is Thor and Zack after-all!
July 24th: Beach Day after Thor Peak with Thor!
Thor lounges on a sandy spit by the river, wearing his Hawaiian shirt and a straw sunhat with a fuzzy flamingo decor set above the brim. He sips whiskey from a blue mug with a pink cocktail umbrella. A flower lei drapes haphazardly around his neck. He looks up and laughs, his eyes sparkle from behind pink star-shaped spectacles.
Today is a day to celebrate, and especially for Thor! Yesterday all four of us had climbed his namesake mountain, and now he is basking in the glory! 1500m up and down (mostly scrambling with about 300m of simul-climbing up the exposed upper ridge) we had succeeded in our major trip goal to climb Mount Thor with Thor!!! After some tense moments navigating several rappels in a complete whiteout of thick fog in the early hours of the morning, we’d returned to camp after 21 hours on the go.
Standing on the beach, I pull my paddling jacket over my head and tuck it into my dry pants. life-jacket on next, I clip my quick-release tether to the bird, I don’t want to lose it if I flip! I grab my paddle and push off into the current, riding the inflatable flamingo like a kayak. I aim for the waves in the centre! This is the type of low commitment fun activity I craved.
July 28th: Not Worth It
“Rock!!!!” I scream. I watch in horror as I accidentally dislodge a huge flake and it comes crashing down the corner toward Zack and Thor. The flake hits the rock just above them and explodes into a million pieces, showering them in dust.
This is messed up. We’re three pitches up Mount Tirokwa. We’d set off as a team of four, to attempt the 700m face big wall style over three days. The rock had been bad from the start, but this pitch was the worst. Holds were crumbling in my fingertips. “I’m not going any further until you guys get off that anchor and jug the ropes to get above me!” I shout. We need to get off this mountain. We’d already core shot our haul-line and dropped a pair of shoes and a camera. And now this? The pair catch up to me, I’m apologizing like crazy. Jacob is out of sight at an anchor above. We decide to climb up to him and then probably bail. This isn’t worth it.
We bail.
August 1st/2nd: The Splitter
I crouch on the ledge. This “ledge” is about the width of a picnic table bench at its widest, and gently sloping outward towards the abyss. My left hand grips the edge of our pot, my right stabilizes our little stove. The water rolls to a boil and I quickly cut the fuel before any splashes onto my hands. Jacob helps as I pour the water into pouches of rice. There’s no space for Jacob on the ledge, instead, he kneels on a Grade 7 Pod (inflatable portaledge). We look at the watch, it’s 1 am; dinner in ten, and then we’ll try to get some sleep.
I wake up around 7 am. Jacob is already awake, lying in his sleeping bag unable to sleep. We take a few photos – we aren’t really in the mood, but we can’t deny that this is one of the wildest places we’ve ever spent a night! Our free-hanging camp is halfway up a 400m unnamed tower on Baffin Island! Above us, a headwall stretches upwards, totally blank, immaculate, but for one striking splitter crack that rises above our camp and disappears into the sky. Yesterday morning we’d spied the splitter from the glacier below. An unclimbed beauty.
I focus on belaying. Above me, Jacob has reached the start of the splitter, but he looks sketchy like he could pop off any second. “What’s going on?” I shout. “It’s not a finger crack!” He manages to shout back, “it’s a tips crack, the seam is almost closed!” He finishes the pitch and puts me on belay. “Climbing!” I set out cautiously along some flakes, pull a roof and then I’m desperately crimping up the splitter seam. I arrive at the anchor totally worked, what a warm up! Above us the seam continues and the wall steepens slightly, it’s going to get harder before it gets easier. Jacob sets off again, now he’s really using some crazy granite mastery. He plugs in our smallest totem cam and pulls up the rope to clip… then woosh, his feet pop and he comes sailing down next to me. Next go he falls just one move higher, sagging onto the cam. He looks down at me, “do you have the brush?”
I have a funny moment where I feel I am outside my body, looking down at the two of us, watching Jacob as he scrubs the rock. It feels almost comical to be in such a wild place faffing with the minutiae of hard free climbing. He swings about, tests some moves and puts little marks in chalk as he works out a quick sequence. I lower him to the anchor. “I give myself a 20% chance of sending this right now,” he shrugs, takes a deep breath and pulls on. Jacob and I started dating 7 years ago. Since then we’ve climbed a tonne together, and I know that this is Jacob’s perfect state: when he thinks he will probably fail but there’s just enough of a chance for success that he’s going to give it everything he’s got. I’m consistently amazed.
I watch as he dances up the wall, looking desperate but somehow in control too. I encourage him, though I’m not sure he can hear me through his flow state focus. And then he’s into the fingerlocks. Fingerlocks turn to ringlocks and eventually to thin hands. He’s whooping now as he carries on up the perfect hand crack, cruising jam after jam. He arrives at a stance in a shallow cave and builds an anchor. “Nice work Jacob!” I cheer.
Breathe. Its a slab, I tell myself. A very steep slab. I have to trust my feet, give them the weight that my fingers cannot hold. A delicate balancing act. I make about five moves until I’m spat off. I pull on from there and fall almost instantly. I decide to pull on a few cams to get past the crux. With performance focus gone I swing about between the pieces, what a wild place to be right now! The exposure is unreal. I take the next lead and climb a long and beautiful hand crack pitch, as we continue up this never-ending splitter. I hear a shout in the distance and look across the cirque to see two miniature silhouettes on the summit of Mount Ulu, our neighbour mountain. It’s Thor and Zack! They’ve been on the go since yesterday morning, same as us.
Soon Jacob and I stand on the summit of our tower, our last summit of the trip. We are lost in thought and nearly forget to take a summit photo. We always take a summit photo. We scramble back up and take a few snaps, then turn our attention to the long technical descent. Our minds can’t relax until we are safely back on the ground.
August 4th: The Return
At 6pm we inflate the boats. We choose the evening tide, when the wind is calmest. The final current from the Weasel zips us out to sea and then we are riding the falling tide. The past five weeks have been incredible and I will cherish the memories forever. I’m sad to be leaving, but I’m ready too. My mind and body are longing for the comforts and safety of home. We push through our exhaustion, keeping to a steady rhythm with our paddle strokes. A deep dusk settles over us, we can see the moon and even a few faint stars overhead. The season is changing. We turn the corner and the lights of Pangnirtung come into view – the finish line – but it’s still far away. We press on: “Pang or Bust!” Light starts creeping back across the sky, but the sea is still dead calm. We glide silently though the water, each stroke bringing us closer to those distant lights.
At 3am our boats slide up against the dock in the Pang Harbour. It’s broad daylight, but the town still sleeps, well… most of the town… a gang of kids are running down the dock. They’re curious and wired with energy! We let them play in the boats. It’s a gong-show! They rip around paddling in circles, shouting in Inuktitut and laughing. We stand on the dock, exhausted, dumbfounded, but entertained by their joy. When we can’t keep our eyes open any longer, we tell them we need to pack up. Without hesitation, they paddle over to us and help deflate the boats. Thanks kids, what a welcome back!
August 8th: Rock Climbing with the Qallunaat
Thor spent the summer of 2012 living in Pang as part of a university program and still felt a strong connection to the community. As part of our trip, we wanted to do something with the locals, to interact in a more meaningful way than simply transport and logistics. We put up posters around town. They read:
Rock Climbing with the Qallunaat
August 8th. All Ages. Meet at noon at the Northern Store.
Our posters were tongue in cheek; Qallunaat means “stupid white people” in the native tongue. The next day 20 kids followed us excitedly to some nearby cliffs. We set up top ropes and they spent the afternoon climbing! They especially loved wearing Thor’s helmet with the big horns. At the end of the day, several kids asked if it would happen again. Sadly we had to tell them we were flying south, but with a bit of information sharing we hope to get the word out and maybe future climbers to the area will take them out again! The afternoon was one of the highlights of our trip.
