A Whale of a Day
The ship was equipped with a giant, 101 person life raft which can inflate in seconds. Passengers glide down a sort of rubber chute; at no time does anyone come into contact with the water. Just to make absolutely sure, they don’t just wear life jackets, they don ‘full immersion survival suits’—think membrane drysuit with fluorescent strips and a whistle.
This is Geenland, land of extremes.
The life raft’s relatively limited capacity may be the reason for the relatively low number of tickets available for the Sarpik Ittuk which would take me from Kangerlussuaq to Ilussiat, the town of the icebergs. Apart from one Inuit family, the salon was empty. Nobody else seemed to be travelling deck class.
The salon was comfortable, and there would be plenty of room to sleep. This was a good thing, because I would have to resist the temptation to stay awake, despite the bright light and spectacular views outside. Kangerlussuaq means ‘long fjord’, and the Søndre Strømfjord is 170 km long. It would not be before the following morning that we would reach it’s mouth, when we were due to land at Sisimiut at 6 am. We would be in promising whale watching waters all day, until our arrival in Ilussiat at 10:30 pm.
It would be one whale of a day!
In preparation, and to contain my excitement, I went out on deck to have a few smokes and a look at the spectacular fjord. Despite the nearby shore on both sides, a chilly wind blew. I rubbed my arms and shrugged at the old guy I shared the deck with. He nearly doubled over laughing.
15th August 2006
I woke up at a quarter to five to a grey morning: grey sea and grey clouds surrounding land masses in darker shades of grey.
The sea state was 3, but calmed to 2 just ½h later, so I remained optimistic, although there might not be sufficient light for photographs. With the sun shining from an arctic blue sky, the light here is amazing; but to be honest, in my experience, grey skies are far more realistic. It’s just a shame that the folks back home don’t think so.
We were not out of the fjord yet, but I couldn’t resist the temptation to take my coffee out on deck, where I promptly sat down in a puddle. It didn’t feel particularly cold in my Highland wool sweater (also known as the ‘Highland Tunic’—the woolen mill’s description, not mine. Ironically, it depicts a highland cow in rubber wellies being rained upon from it’s own little cloud.).
Standing at the railing strangely reminded me of Indonesia; not just because of the rain, but also the many islets we were passing.
At 8:50, just as we turned towards Sisimuit, I saw my first seal sticking its head above water. Gulls were circling above. There was no doubt that we were entering rich waters. My heart beat in anticipation.
At 9:15 the sky darkened. It got even greyer, if that was possible, and in this light, the first we would know about any icebergs would be if we ran into one. The same was true for any whales.
By now, this felt more like a channel crossing than a Greenland journey.
I retreated into the salon and tried to concentrate on my book, but a couple of annoying women had started to play Yahtze at the other end of the room and, after a night with little sleep, each rattling of the dice felt like a woodpecker getting to work on my skull.
I put down my book and looked furiously out of the window, trying to resist the temptation to walk over there and strangle them. Just then, something stirred at starboard, right under my nose. A spotted seal which got hurredly out of the way; gone as soon as I saw it. I grabbed the camera and hobbled on deck, but conditions were so bad that I quickly went back inside. If the seal had been this close, in these conditions, what else could be out there hiding in the mist?
10:30 and conditions calmed down again. The sea state was now a tolerable 2, but the surface was pin-pricked with rain. There were few birds around, so I was not holding my breath. We practically skimmed the coastline, yet it was barely visible. However, they had just shown a film about DiskoBay, so the thing about the icebergs must be true; although I had difficulties imagining it.
My thoughts turned to lunch—I just could not resist the temptation of at least one hot, home-cooked meal and had decided against eating the last strips of cold, charcoal-flavoured bacon and ships’ bisquits. However, conditions continued to calm further, and just as the restaurant was due to open, the sea was so calm that I could make out bits of driftwood bobbing on the surface.
I just knew that the moment I went below deck, we would be passing our first whales. I chalked up my third seal sighting and hesitated a little while longer. Then I went below deck.
Seal number four stuck its cheeky head out of the water while I watched from the window, consuming a starter of delicious pickled fish. The main course was meatballs with red cabbage and a floury turnip sauce with masses of black pepper, which snapped me straight back to boarding school. The cheese and chewy rye bread that followed reminded me of my childhood in Germany—complete with paprika flakes in the ceam cheese and carraway seeds in the sliced cheese. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.
And I hadn’t missedmuch, apart from the occasional seal, the sixth of which I chalked up almost as soon as I was back on deck. It had stopped raining, but new cloud banks were already drifting towards us.
“Any whales?”
A collective shaking of heads.
I was in danger of nodding off so I went inside to mix an Extra Joss, basically Red Bull in powder form. This stuff isn’t actually legal in Denmark any more.
The yahtze dice were rattling again. The day had taken on a dreamlike quality…
“Deeer!”
I jumped in the chair, startled out of my doze. But it wasn’t a whale. Just an ice floe in the distance.
An ice floe? There is no sea ice at this time of year.
The first iceberg floated past, looking for all the world like a dollop of whipped cream:
I pulled on my jacket and fumbled on my mittens while rushing to join a small crowd of people standing on deck, all in shirts and T-shirts.
Suddenly, we were among icebergs. And we were minutes away from Aasiaat, town of the whales.
I stared intendly at the sea while the artic wind crept under my clothes, chilled my blood and drove tears into my eyes. The T-shirt brigade did not stay on deck for long. Aside from the seals, which I had stopped counting, a few whirling gulls and the occasional small boat, there was no sign of life.
When we finally docked at the harbour, I was shaking nearly uncontrollably. Even a cup-a-soup couldn’t fix it and with the light still deteriorating, I decided that it wasn’t worth it. If there were any of the supposedly resident (at this time of year) humpback whales in the area, I would have seen them by now.
So I decided to stay in the salon and let myself be lured back to sleep by the rattling dice which were slowly turn my brain to mush.
Five minutes out of the harbour, there came a cry from deck: “Hvaler!!”
I rushed out, zapped myself on the railing and immediately saw a tail disappear into the water. “Over here!” I shouted, but nobody reacted. At the same time, the people standing on the other side, looking out to starboard, saw two other humpbacks surfacing.
“Se de sprøjter!”
Damn these guys, they have the eye. I always wanted to be the one who shouts: “There she blows!”
One after the other, they surfaced. There was no telling how many whales were gathered here, right at the entrance of the bay, but there had to be at least four and probably over half a dozen.
From this distance, they may look like porpoises, even when seen through a tele-lens, but they were humpbacks.
Then we left the whales behind and headed on towards Disko Bay and the town of the icebergs, although the fine mist of their blow remained occasionally visible.
Tags: Greenland, Whale watching, Tag Index
Denni