On the high plains of Somerset Island, not far from the Northwest Passage, lies an ancient sight: the remains of a whale. Grass weaves through bones that are 8,000 years old, creating a small oasis in the desolate tundra. These bones, once a source of nutrients for the bowhead whale, now serve as a resting place for various creatures. Lemmings burrow beneath, wolves find shelter, and snow owls perch upon the bones. As a cold wind blows, I am captivated by this small world.
The high Arctic demands attentive observation. In most landscapes, there is an overwhelming amount of activity. However, here, I find myself fascinated by the intricacies of the small things: the lichen, the ice, and the small bones found in an owl pellet.
Surrounding this small oasis is a vast landscape of stone and mud, shaped by glaciers. In a hollow sits a lake, and in a patch of snow rests an aging muskox, a creature resembling a prehistoric shagpile carpet, seeking relief from the 24-hour sun. This is Arctic Watch, a camp located 800km north of the Arctic Circle, on the edge of a bay that opens onto the notorious Northwest Passage.
Arctic Watch was established by Pete Jess in 1992, as beluga whales frequent the bay during the summer months. In 1999, Jess sold the camp to Josée and Richard Weber, who arrived with their two young boys, Tessum and Nansen. The Webers are an extraordinary family, with Richard being one of only two people to have completed a journey to the North Pole and back, without any outside assistance. Having spent summers with an Inuit family on Baffin Island, Josée knew the importance of planning for the future, which led them to purchase Arctic Watch.
The camp can accommodate up to 25 guests, offering beds adorned with fleece and blankets in sturdy tents made of aluminum and canvas. The guests themselves come from diverse backgrounds, including a surgeon who pioneered stent technology, a Tokyo-based dealer in Ukiyo-e Japanese art, and a retired murder detective from London’s Metropolitan Police. Despite their differences, we quickly become friends.
Our adventure begins as we embark on a convoy of all-terrain vehicles, driving towards the Northwest Passage. With the bay still frozen, the beluga whales have yet to arrive. The passage, a treacherous route that has claimed the lives of many, seems to exhale frozen air. We gaze out across the pressure ridges, cracks, and seals dotting the landscape, searching for patches of yellow on the ice. One such dot, haze shimmering around it, turns out to be a polar bear and its cub. We watch in awe as they move closer, sometimes swimming in the open water. Their fur glistens in the sunlight, a sight visible to the naked eye.
While at Arctic Watch, Tessum enlightens me about the history of the Arctic. He explains that it unravels like layers, and we sit in the camp’s “great room”, surrounded by narwhal tusks, bone displays, and a bar stocked with Okanagan Valley wine. The Thule people arrived in the Arctic around 700AD, becoming masters of the region with their kayak technology and unique dwellings made of whalebone ribs and animal hides. A cold snap in the 1300s forced them to change their hunting practices, shifting their focus from whales to muskoxen and caribou. They eventually became the Inuit.
Throughout history, waves of Europeans, including Vikings and whalers, made their way to the Arctic. Many were unsuccessful in their endeavors, leaving behind remnants of their presence. The fragile environment of the region preserved these artifacts, from the wrecked HMS Fury to abandoned Hudson’s Bay Company stores and ancient Thule sites. Franklin’s lost ships, the Erebus and the Terror, were only discovered in recent years.
As I wake up at 7am to enjoy a hot shower, I come across Eleanor Dickinson, a research scientist from the University of Calgary, studying the local muskoxen population. She shows me a parasite squirming in their feces under a microscope. As I return from the shower, Leah approaches and offers her own sample for study. We laugh, and then join the group for a pre-breakfast meeting to choose our activities for the day. Remembering the muskoxen’s gut, I decide to sign up for the muskoxen excursion.
Led by Tessum, our small party embarks on a 19km hike through an Arctic willow forest. These centuries-old shrubs remain close to the ground, making navigation through the forest effortless. In the distance, we spot black dots on a slope and circle downwind. Eleanor tells me that muskoxen are scientifically known as Ovibos, meaning “sheep-cow”, even though they are not closely related to either animal. Their closest relatives are the takin and the goral, two ungulates found in the Himalayas.
After a well-deserved break for soup and sandwiches made with freshly baked bread and Quebec cheeses, we make our final approach to the muskoxen. A herd of 24 individuals, ranging from large old bulls to four baby muskoxen, awaits us. We approach within 100 meters, collecting shed qiviut, an incredibly warm wool that seems to radiate heat when held in the hand. Unlike in other regions, these muskoxen are unbothered by our presence. Here, they are protected, allowing us to observe them up close.
Arctic Watch is a place where history, nature, and adventure converge. It is a testament to the resilience of both the human spirit and the Arctic ecosystem. As our time at this remote camp comes to an end, we depart with memories of breathtaking landscapes, remarkable wildlife, and the warmth of newfound friendships.
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