Out on the Land: A Sample

Alright, so embedding is not going to work. However, these files are available for you on Google Drive if you click the following links. For your viewing pleasure:

Inside of the ice cave.

Zooming around Beloeil in the back of the kamotik.

Tomorrow it'll be back to your regularly scheduled (and wordy and picture-heavy) posts.

For now, a screenshot from another video of Kuukuluk (that would be little stream in Inuktitut, our name for the person formerly known as Brooke) and yours truly, frosty-hatted, bundled up, and supremely contented as we headed back to Pond Inlet.

Being out on the land: thumbs up.

To The Ice Cave!

Nunavut is a place in which the best laid plans can be completely derailed in the blink of an eye. Case in point: Brooke and I were supposed to head out to the floe edge tomorrow for a seal hunt but we just heart that both of the school's guides have taken ill and so our trip is cancelled.

We were also supposed to go to Bylot Island today to see the sand sculptures, but, after some discussion with Brooke's cooperating teacher and our on-the-land driver Anne, we determined that it was too cold for a trip of that length, so that plan went out the window.

However, other plans were afoot and we headed out this afternoon, a party of four snowmobiles and one kamotik, to find a cave in Beloeil Island.

Brooke and I, under the excellent guidance of Pat and Dave, bundled up in many layers. We were instructed to go wait outside before putting on the final layers -- the parkas, scarves, balaclavas, and seal skin mitts. My pre-out-on-the-land outfit (for the day's -34C):

Thanks for the snazzy photo, Kuukuluk! Arctic fashion.

After our crew arrived, zooming up to the beach in their fleet of skidoos, we finished bundling up and headed out. Anne had a kamotik all set up for us, replete with a caribou skin and a musk ox skin (so shaggy!). I may have fallen in rather than gracefully plunking myself in the wooden box, but there you go. True to form.

s

Our crew. We had not one but two rifles in our party. I'm in the green parka with the backpack and Brooke is to the right in the red.

You can see one rifle in the picture and our party had a second as well. And it's a good thing. Although we didn't run into any problems, we did find out, upon our return, that there had been a polar bear at the edge of town the night previously. The teacher who called and let us know had wondered if we'd seen it while on our trip because that would have been the direction the bear was heading in.

It was a funny thing for me to look at those rifles and think, phew, thank heavens, now I feel safe. Guns matter here. So does fur. I was wearing a down-filled parka with a coyote ruff, a rabbit hat, and seal skin mitts (pauluk), and we used the musk ox hide to cover our legs on the way back. These are things that are necessary to survive in the environment. And I was recalling, adorned in all my fur and at least somewhat safeguarded by the guns in our little snowmobile fleet, the last protest I saw before leaving Halifax, a group of folk outside of the Public Gardens decrying Canada Goose as Canadian shame because they use down and real fur trim. And while I agree that fur-for-fashion can be problematic (although I don't believe it's always wrong; traditionally-harvested seal skin, for example, can be sustainable, ethical, and supports continued Inuit hunting practices and cultural knowledge), I would happily invite those who make a blanket statement about the use of animal products to come to the Arctic and see how well synthetic products fare (hint: they result in hypothermia).

Okay. Enough about fur! Here is a closer look at our lovely ride.

Remarkably comfy -- except in the super bumpy bits.

Zoom zoom! That's Brooke on the left and me on the right.

On our way to Beloeil, we decided to face forwards and be wary of our face masks/scarves (guarding against any stray breezes that could lead to frostbite). But the wind meant constant readjustment, even with the windbreak, and that meant constant frost on our glasses and goggles. I was worried that facing backwards would make my stomach very unhappy indeed, but, on the way back, I gave it a try and found the trip to be much more enjoyable that way. Although it was still fun facing forwards!

Our trip there -- what I could see of it -- was entrancing. The mountains rushed by as we zipped across frozen ice and cut through sun and shadow, dwarfed by mountains that loomed impossibly large above us. When we arrived, I got to look at those giants, so often featured in my posts here, up close, to stand at their feet and stare up and up and up, and then out and out and out across the ice and toward the seemingly endless horizon. The mountains stood guard on either side, drawing the eye forward toward the point where the world seemed to drop away.

We could see the wind whipping around out there. Did the bear lurk behind the snowy veil?
(Bonus: Some of the gorgeous seal skin mitt Pat let me borrow to the left of the shot!)

Shadow of giants.

The face of the mountain.

We arrived and made our way to a cave I could not have known was there. We had to shimmy up a little slope and duck through the small mouth into the roughly spherical cave, with an interior that reminded me in shape of an igluvigak. It even had a back wall that was made entirely of ice and a ceiling covered in shards of ice crystals.

The hidden cave. You can see that the snow to the right has been shifted as we crawled up and slid back down. We ducked in just beyond the snowbank.

The way out. The rope never saw use -- easier to crawl awkwardly. Grace is not easy in huge mech-like boots and stiff mitts!

Crystals formed perhaps by all the passerbys who came in with steaming thermoses of tea and coffee?

Structures like this lined the entire ceiling of the space. It was incredibly beautiful -- an crystal cave.

We couldn't stay forever, of course, and after some hot beverages and talk and the quiet of simply taking the magnitude of this place in -- a tiny cave inside a huge mountain lined with minute crystals while the impossibly huge sky stretched out forever beyond the mouth of the cave -- we headed out.

Shannon, Jaclyn, me, and Brooke, against the backdrop of the ice wall. Thanks, Scott, for taking this picture! (Scott is, incidentally, one of the MSVU grads who also did the Nunavut practicum placement and he now works along with his partner Jaclyn at Nasivvik). 

All in all, Brooke and I were fairly pleased with ourselves. The longer we were out, the more comfortable we felt -- our gear worked, we weren't dying, and we were both having fun.

Can't complain!

We went back in the kamotik and zipped around the island and headed back up the coast. And, dear reader, because you have been so patient about reading my blog and looking at all of my photos, I took my hands out of my mitts to shoot you a video and to give you a little sample of what it's like to ride between mountains while being pulled by a snowmobile across sea ice and blanketed in musk ox fur. I promise that I will try my best to upload it soon, but it's a challenge here in the Arctic, where upload speeds are sad indeed. A new challenge for tomorrow!

The whole excursion took about two and a half hours but it seemed like it all happened in a flash. Words absolutely fail to impress the sheer magnificence of this landscape, the exhilaration of flashing by and beneath mountains, the sun lighting up the sky that magnificent blue while we flash across the ice.

We both came back with stupid grins on our faces, and I felt a kind of warm contentment not unlike spending a lazy Sunday afternoon basking in the sun -- except that, instead of being snuggled up on a couch, I'd been out on the land, to an ice cave, and riding in the back of a kamotik, bundled head to toe. The thrill of it, certainly underscored by a healthy respect for the cold, for the land, for the animals that roam it, is heady. It's new. It's humbling.

And, to top it off, the sunset tonight was magnificent.

Even when plans fall through here -- and I think this may be one of those things that I'll be able to carry with me into other areas of my life, one of those things that just matters as a thing you know and understand in your gut -- other things can happen that turn out to be better than what you'd planned. And, while I don't believe in grand plans or in metaphysical machinations, learning to accept what has happened, what reality is, with a shrug and an ayurnamat and being open to what happens instead is, I think, a more profound and more meaningful understanding to carry forward.

So, nope, there's no seal hunt tomorrow and I'm sad to be missing out on that trip to the floe edge, but I had a beautiful experience today -- one that was exhilarating and bright and lovely and problem-free.

Also, now I don't need to worry about peeing in the open Arctic in front of a gaggle of teenage boys. That is an experience I am very much open to not having.

Silver lining, right?

Vernal Equinox

An update: The puppy, feared lost, has been spotted following its mother. Now my heart can rest more easily.

Today, the sun over the mountains was especially beautiful, and brings promises of even more spectacular sights as we head out on the land this weekend to sand sculptures (hoodoos). We'll head across to Bylot Island on Sunday before heading out on our truly big adventure on Monday, when we'll be going out with Inuit guides and a school group to hunt a seal. We're heading out to the floe edge on skidoos followed by kamotiks. Dear readers, I am excited, but also have a healthy respect for the cold we're going to experience. Thankfully, I am surrounded by supremely knowledgeable people who have a back room full of Arctic-ready supplies. Expect some spectacular -- and potentially very bloody -- photographs early next week.

Endless sky.

Morning sun, still slowly working its way up the sky.

We've now gained about an hour of sunlight in the evenings, which means that, in our nearly two weeks here, we've gained approximately 2 hours of daylight. Incredible. And, while equinox now means that all places in the Northern hemisphere have more sunlight than darkness, the change here is noticeable -- in the demeanour of the community members, in the temperature of the sunlight, in the air, in the mornings and evenings, in the spectacular sunrises and sunsets that seem to go on forever. I never grow tired of looking at the landscape here, at the sky and light, the snow and shadow. It is truly a remarkable place.

And today marked the last day of my final full week of student teaching in my degree. We're out on the land on Monday, then I'm teaching Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, and then it's PD days and afternoon events for the children that Brooke and I are coordinating until we head home.

Halfway through and I can already feel the momentum building, driving this wonderful experience to its conclusion. There is still an incredible amount to learn, to experience, and to reflect on, and the thought of leaving makes my heart heavy. I know already that I will miss the crispness of the air, the startlingly beautiful landscape, the community of the school.

But change is the way of life here and elsewhere, whether in daylight, in shadow, or in the ending of incredible journeys.

(Don't make the mistake of thinking my thoughts are entirely turned to finishing up, though! There's still seal to eat, students to teach, sand sculptures to photograph, and an amauti belt that needs braiding!)

Glitter, Emory, and Frosted Glasses

Today was my first day at Nasivvik High School in Pond Inlet and I'm happy to report that the high school is lovely, as are my students, the student body in general, and my cooperating teacher Leslie. Our day begins at 8:10am and is divided into four 80 minute blocks, although one is split in half by lunch (which takes an hour). Interestingly, the schedule doesn't rotate: we always have Guidance first (helping students apply for bank cards, work towards graduation, and develop a plan for after high school), then our two English classes, and, finally, Esthetics (hair styling, manicures, nutrition, and examining beauty as a concept/construct). Leslie's classroom is warm and inviting and students work largely on independent work, especially in classes with intermittent attendance (which is many of them).

The Esthetic students today -- four girls in Grades 11 and 12 -- were capping off their unit on nail care and manicures by giving Grade 7 girls manicures. One student brought in, I kid you not, her entire collection of at least 60 bottles of nail polish of all colours and varieties; she quipped that walking to school had been a struggle with all those stashed in her purse! It was a wonderful class to observe: the interactions between the older and younger students were lovely, and the Esthetics students were professional both in demeanour and in execution of the manicures. Very cool, both for its real world applications and its multi-age community building!

Those are some fancy nails (paint spatter 'glitter,' crackle, other glitter, shiny top coat...)
... and some very pleased Grade 7 girls.

The students have been receptive to my arrival -- the younger students in junior high are incessantly curious and enthusiastic, the high school students, who are more accustomed to student teachers (Leslie has had a couple!), are also pleased, but in a much more subdued way. They are fairly impressed that I've managed to figure out their names so quickly, and I'm looking forward to getting to know them all as I'm here longer! It's always slightly daunting to enter a school in which you know no one -- none of the staff, none of the students -- and to try to build relationships from the ground up. It happens, but it does take time... but I must say that my welcome, both to Pond Inlet and to Nasivvik High, has been very warm so far.

The lobby at Nasivvik High.

These lovely ladies volunteered to model outside of Nasivvik at the end of the day.

After school ended, Brooke and I headed back to our Pond home, where we decided to trek out to the iceberg with Dave in a quest for more delicious iceberg water. We also wanted to test out our snow gear. Before we left, we took a few photos: the first is a shot of one of the dogs who wait on the ice (in the distance), plus a raven overhead (yes, a raven! in Pond Inlet! scruffier, but otherwise familiar); the next is to satisfy my brother Ken's challenge that I make the iceberg look small.

The sounds these dogs make are pretty incredible. I have a video of it to upload later.

Thanks, Brooke! Now I'm the master of the iceberg.

Afterwards, we headed out across the ice to visit the iceberg. It's about a 10-15 minute walk out and, although I was toasty and warm from toe to head, my cheeks and nose did get cold. Then again, that's what you get in -38C. Really and truly, it doesn't feel that cold, and pulling my balaclava over my face to give it a rest helped a great deal. The rest of me was very comfortable, even if my camera wasn't too impressed with what I was asking it to do!

And the sights were worth the chilly face.

Brooke and Dave survey the dark side of the iceberg (i.e., the side facing Pond).

Edging toward the distant side -- you can see that it's really been harvested (read: chipped away at) by residents.

Iceberg adventurers!

And, for scale, here are a few photos that Pat snapped from the house whilst we adventured.

On our way (I'm in the red parka in the middle, Brooke is on the left, and Dave is on the right).

Those tiny black dots? Us.

On the walk back, my sunglasses really started to fog up as I spent more time with my face mask pulled up, huffing warm air into my hair and up my face. It kept my cheeks cozy, but presented other challenges -- like frost. Not fog. Frost.

Kind of makes the whole seeing thing a challenge.

Lesson learned. Next time, wear contacts.

We moved on to other adventures afterwards (a hip-hop club/group at Nasivvik, where I met a group of incredibly enthusiastic and incredibly cool kids, who were very patient with teaching me dance moves and who managed to keep their laughter to a bare minimum during that process), but I'll save those for tomorrow's blog entry.

For now, I'm going to enjoy drinking a little more of that iceberg we harvested, and then it's off to bed and on to the next day and the new experiences it will bring.

To Ottawa

We've arrived safely in Ottawa, where the NU 5 are hunkering down for the night before we all head to Iqaluit and then go our separate ways. It's so wonderful to see everyone again -- to catch up and readjust ourselves for our trip north. What a treat to share in this experience with such lovely women! I would encourage all of you, faithful readers, to visit their blogs (available handily under "The NU 5" in the sidebar).

This morning, I was treated to a lovely breakfast of steak and eggs and then said goodbye to Kerstin and headed to the airport with my brother. And, because I promised, here is a photo of the ensemble that I wore to the airport, and continued wearing as I tromped around between gates. Fashion.

Please note: Everything I need is packed in those three bags.
Packing Achievement: UNLOCKED.

Let me tell you, I was toasty all day. I did think to pack little flats inside of my carry-on luggage, and so was able to slip these monster boots off when I needed to be a little more nimble-footed.

We met Nick at the Halifax International Airport for a farewell lunch and then had a pain-free flight all the way over Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, and Quebec and into Ontario, where we found our way to the hotel and then on to food. Tomorrow, we're catching the airport shuttle at 7am (conveniently, Daylight Savings Time -- which starts at 2am this morning -- cancels out any time difference between Atlantic Standard and Eastern and so we will happily continue on in our 'own' time zone) and then Brooke and I will be spending most of the day en route to Pond Inlet.

As for now? Well, the hotel we're staying at happens to have a pool that is looking awfully tempting -- and, naturally, swimsuits were packed for our journey (and by naturally, I mean after researching our hotel and finding out it has a pool/hot tub, not because of a latent desire to take an arctic dip). So it's hot tub, tea, and getting a good night's sleep before continuing on!

The NU 5 -- Terin, Kris, Brooke, and Jenny (and yours truly behind the camera)
(Yes, all of that luggage is ours... Five trolleys in total!)

Long Lists and Airport Outfits

Today has been a day of list-making and list-finishing. After a lovely cuddle with Jensen in bed, cup of coffee provided by Kerstin (Best Wife in World, 6 years running), I made my Big List of the Day, which I've been working to cross off since I actually convinced myself to climb out of bed and into the real world. Between figuring out the restrictions on luggage for my trip up and back to sorting out all of those final details -- photocopying insurance papers, charging electronics, making sure my Kobo's library is bulked up (The 5th Wave, recommended enthusiastically by one of my students, is at the top of my list, as are the first five Percy Jackson books and other choice picks) -- it's been a busy day.

We did manage to carve out some time to go on a walk with Jensen up to a local park; it's such a beautiful day here -- light jacket weather, sunny, clean and crisp air -- and I figured I might as well enjoy wearing my Southern clothes while I can. Although, to be fair, my Canada Goose parka is currently hanging up by the front door, its pockets stuffed full of other winter accoutrements, and I feel a little puff of excitement each time I look at it. There aren't many opportunities to wear such a coat in Halifax, and I've missed feeling like an explorer who's hopped the Wall and is off into wildling territory (that's a Game of Thrones reference, in case you aren't enamoured with the show and/or novels).

Speaking of. So, my brother and his fiance are giving me a lift to the airport tomorrow morning (thanks, Ken and Ayla!) and, while thinking about packing and luggage restrictions and the clunky nature of many things I will need to have on my person when I step off the plane in Iqaluit on Sunday, well -- I realized (and by I realized, I mean Kerstin pointed out, thus breaking my absent-minded reverie) that I am going to need to wear a) my parka (Nick recommended this last semester, but it hadn't really 'clicked' for me), and b) my huge Sorel boots built for -70C.

In other words, stylish and streamlined all of the way.

But that's the price one must pay when living in a world with Air Canada's baggage restrictions and when heading to a place that requires bulky outerwear to fend off the cold.

Expect a photograph of my airport outfit ensemble soon.

For now, here is a photo of someone who, of his own free will and entirely of his own doing, snuggled up in my sweatshirt while we were out of the room. He has figured out that something is Going On.

How he managed to get pull it over him will forever remain a mystery.

(This has been an exercise in trying to get used to blogging daily)

(Daily dog photos will be stopping soon, but I may need to sort out a weekly feature -- Jensen Tuesdays or Greyhound Saturdays or preferably something that uses alliteration -- in order to keep that traffic up)

Blizzards & Cold Air Masses

We are in the middle of a blizzard. When I got up this morning and peered out the window, I could make out, through the haze of airborne snow and ice particles, fine and dusty snow, piled up like sand dunes across the back yard. These drifts had very helpfully piled away from my front door, so I was not trapped inside with my very patient dog who very much needed to go out. But there you are: blizzard, snow, and absolutely freezing temperatures (wind chill of -25 to -33!).

Yesterday, when there was the cold air mass minus the blizzard-proper, I dug out my Canada Goose coat and headed out to run errands so that I could spend today staying inside, drinking coffee, and writing lesson plans. It was my first time truly wearing my coat, and I figured that I might as well take the (chilly) opportunity to test-drive it, so that I could learn its ins and outs (the interior pocket; the zippered side pockets; the soft patch of fabric inside of the front zipper when it's done all the way up; the particularities of operating a very fuzzy hood) before stepping off the plane in Nunavut. Walking before running, and all of that.

And here is is what I learned about my coat: it is awesome. And so very warm. Unbelievably warm. I had on a t-shirt and a thin sweater; I didn't put on the extra layer I would normally use in my everyday-southern-cold jacket (still a very respectable Timberland with extremely unflattering saddlebag-style side pockets). But, even with my meagre under-parka clothes, I made it only about half a block before I had to take off my scarf and earmuffs because I was overheating. And, as I walked to and fro, here and there, I kept adjusting the height of my zipper to let in more air and keep my temperature reasonable. Even with the crazy wind chill, my coat is so warm that, even on this climate's chilliest days, it borders on sometimes too warm -- only until I figured out the zipper as climate-control, mind you. The fur ruff is incredible: with my hood up, it seems like the wind just can't penetrate. I could feel the warm air inside of the hood, trapped by the ruff, recirculating, refusing to be snatched away by the gusty cold air.

I am so pleased with my coat. I'm also just beginning to realize that I honestly and truly have no frame of reference for the cold I am going to experience in March when I head up, because yesterday was so cold, and I was able to walk around, very lightly dressed underneath my coat and still a little warmer than I expected. When I'm in Pond Inlet, it'll be my base layers, plus that sweatshirt, plus a light jacket, all underneath my insanely toasty parka. I understand that, but I don't get it, not in my bones.

It's a rather thrilling venture, to know you're going to be doing something that you can't yet grasp, to know you're headed to a place totally beyond your usual frame of reference. For now, it's back to planning for my southern practicum (which starts up again on Monday), watching the blizzard rage on outside of my window, and occasionally throwing on my lovely coat to go out with a rather unimpressed dog, who is equal parts fascinated with and intimidated by the coat I put on that turns me, he half-believes, into a were-coyote.

Shopping: Achievement Unlocked!

Well, I now own a Canada Goose parka and some serious snow boots. Thank you, internet, for making that a painless process (painless in that I found everything I needed and it was shipped to me! painful in that I spent, well, a lot of money getting outfitted -- but investment pieces, blah blah blah, and, seriously, the quality of these items? through the roof).

As they say, winter is coming.

And because this is precisely the sort of thing I wished I could find when I set out to looking at gear for the serious cold, here is what I am wearing in the above picture:

Women's Expedition Parka (by Canada Goose), Medium

I ordered this from Altitude Sports in Montreal, after going to a store in the city to make sure a medium is the right size. If you buy a lifetime membership with Altitude Sports ($25), you save 5% on all purchases... which means that it was $40 dollars under the list price ($795 before tax), so I saved about $15. This may not sound like much, but I get that 5% for the rest of my life, and there's free shipping in Canada, and free returns for new members. SO. DEAL! Also, for sizing purposes, I would usually wear a small jacket -- I'm about a S/M shirt (the average M shirt is usually a bit baggy on me) and a size 6-8 pant. The medium is plenty big on me. I can comfortably layer underneath -- by which I mean a bulky sweatshirt and a medium-weight jacket with room to spare. Any bigger and I'd be swimming.

Men's Glacier Boots (by Sorel), Size 8

I ordered these guys straight from Sorel. They're rated for -70C! I usually wear a woman's 9, so the men's 8 is plenty big -- but not too big. They're clunky boots with great tread and rumour has it they last for about 20 years. Considering that a pair of winter boots usually costs, at minimum, $100 and will last for maybe two seasons, and these were $140, I can't complain.

I have one week left of coursework in my B.Ed., which is both thrilling and somewhat terrifying. I just filled out the paperwork for teacher certification today (and paid the province for printing me off that fancy card); I've been picking away on updating my online professional presence; I've attended a workshop on resume-building. This past week I went to see my students perform a play (spectacular!) and realized that, in a week's time, I'll be back to teaching. And the processes are in motion that mean that I will, in very short order, be certified to teach -- for real. It is, as I said, thrilling to know that I'll finally be doing what I want to do, but it's scary to be leaving the familiarity of the post-secondary schooling world. This is my seventh straight year in post-secondary studies. I am very much ready to move on, but it's always a bit of a challenge to leave what's familiar behind.

This is a theme, of course, you can expect to come up again, as I will definitely be leaving the familiar behind come March. At least now we know I won't die the moment I step off of the plane! Nakurmiik, cold weather gear!

Shopping lists (in the rain)

The skies have opened up today, pelting the ground with a cold, hard rain, while I stay snug and dry inside, my dog next to me and happily asleep.

That this is my reality at the moment -- cold autumn rain, soggy autumn leaves sticking to the sidewalk, weather chilly enough that I need to wear (wait for it) a light jacket and maybe some fingerless gloves -- makes my impending big purchases seem even more surreal.

This week, my wife and I are going to trundle down to the local outdoor outfitters shop so that I can try on a variety of sizes and styles of extreme cold parkas (I'm looking at you, Canada Goose!). After spending at least $700 on one of those babies, I'll be searching for some serious boots and snow pants, and other pieces necessary to very cold weather living: hat, gloves, layering pieces, snow goggles.

I'm searching for all of these items, clothing that will actually make it possible for me to step outside the front door in Pond Inlet, while we're barely dipping into autumn here in Nova Scotia. And I know that March will come quickly, but now, in the middle of my courses, it's hard to believe. The gap between where I am now and where I'll be in March seems impossibly wide.

And I can't wait for it to close. I am absolutely desperate to wrap up what I'm doing now and to move to the next phase of my education -- and my life.

Not that I begrudge the time when I consider things practically: I need to buy things! And study hard! And learn a few more words of Inuktitut (I have been practicing saying Inuit Qaujimajatuqangit all weekend -- admittedly not the best starting place, but it sure makes me feel like a winner)! And finish all of my courses! And teach my junior high classes! And somehow squeeze in the time to get my gun license!

So, yes, there is a whole list of things to do between now and then and I am eager to race through it. And although buying a coat designed to keep me toasty and, well, alive in arctic temperatures seems like an odd thing to be doing on a rainy October day, that helps bring me one step closer to taking those flights in March.