Aurora borealis! Last night we were woken by Boris on the PA system announcing that the northern lights were dancing outside if we cared to come out on deck. I had laid out my clothes just in case but nevertheless I fumbled and stumbled trying to get my socks, pants, sweaters, coats, hats and boots on in the right order. We raced out onto the deck, into a howling gale, and crouched behind a lifeboat to watch the sky light up. Great shivering sheets of iridescent green cascaded across the horizon. A broad glowing ribbon rose into the dome of the night then twisted and spun its way back down. Serpentine waves formed across the sea, like some giant dance of the veils. And then it was gone. Ten minutes of sensational pyrotechnics, and suddenly darkness.
We are now so far south that there are 6 hours of night, and the sky darkens to an inky blue at midnight. For the first time in the voyage, stars are visible, although not so many, and no view of the Milky Way yet. Our orientation is curious though - the Big Dipper is high in the northern sky, pointing to Polaris which is almost directly overhead. We are still very far north!
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| Sunset is stunning, and easier to capture than the aurora. |
This morning just as we arrive on the bridge we cross the Arctic Circle, 66*33, heading south just at the easternmost tip of Baffin Island. Today the sea is grey and ruffled, the wind fierce, and the sky overcast. We are heading into Sunneshine Inlet without the sun. This southeastern coastline was mapped by Martin Frobisher in 1576 and John Davis a few years later, and they left many place names that we still use. Although Frobisher Bay is now Iqaluit, it was where he reported the entrance to what he naively assumed was the fabled NW Passage. It only took another 300 years to find the real one.
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| Even is grey weather the tundra glows with colour |
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| Baird sandpipers in the shallows |
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| Blueberries in abundance |
The fiord is placid and lined with rolling hills and rocky promontories. The tundra is decked out in splendid fall colours and even in the mist the reds and yellows of arctic beech and willow glow amongst the rocks. We zip over to the shore in the zodiacs and hike for a couple hours, exploring the beach, the rocky headland, and the richly patterned tundra above the shore. Wild blueberries, as tiny as peppercorns, dot the deep red bushes that lie flat to the ground, and we gorge ourselves on their exquisite taste. Lichens of all colours and
shapes cover every surface. These sustain the caribou and muskox where so little vegetation thrives and their abundance bodes well for survival this winter. Far from being barren, the tundra is alive with growth and beautiful in fine detail.
The weather remains grey as we steam out of the fiord into Davis Strait. To our east is Greenland, then Iceland, and Northern Europe. Southward, the chain of Baffin mountains line the coast, linking the Arctic Cordillera of Ellesmere Island to the Adirondacks. We cruise down the coast in a rugged sea, the ship rolling noticeably. My afternoon hot tub on the top deck is challenging - the wind is howling, the stairs slippery, and the water sloshing side to side - but it's fun to enjoy the luscious warmth in such adverse conditions. Franklin never had such luxury.
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| Watching the world go by |
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