I thought it wise to take a group selfie at 0130 hrs before we embarked across Baffin Bay – one for the road and the next chapter. Soon enough our sails were flying on a beam reach with a decent southerly swell. Before my shift at 0300 hrs I called the folks to let them know we were off, however, Jude, a family friend spotted our movement on our tracker and had already texted mum to say that we were on the move. The overcast skies and swift winds pulled us away from the Greenland mountains in momentous form; the sun low on the horizon as though it would like to set, reminding us that summer is fleeting. We ran along a chain of islands which grounded giant icebergs and although we would see more, I silently saluted them as a thank you and a goodbye to the wonderful time in their waters. 

It was August 6th and sea ice in northern Baffin Bay was still present. In winter it makes it all the way down to Newfoundland some 1000nm south of our position and provides an important environment for the migrating marine life. However, it was late in melting this year, its thick floes of ice still undeterred from the seasonal temperatures. Our strategy was to veer north and over the narrow patch of ice which charts stated were up to 6/10ths coverage and not navigable in our vessel. The ice we would want to safely navigate through is 3/10ths and in favourable conditions. 

Not far offshore was an established line of sea ice to our starboard appearing as though it connected back to land. Through the binoculars it had appeared rather daunting. Ahead the horizon was clear so we continued to course, having expected the long tong of ice from the recent ice chart. The winds soon became light and the boys rigged the asymmetrical spinnaker.

Before my noon shift, I awoke to building seas and Caprivi riding the swell in a hastily manner. I popped my head out looking astern and noted the increased winds with Ben in the cockpit still flying the light wind spinnaker. Begrudgingly, I asked why that sail was still up and, of course, no longer than ten minutes later while getting dressed, the sail blew from its tack (the corner connected to the bow). Ben yelled to take the helm and ran to the bow to get the sock down (the material that conveniently brings the spinnaker down like a coiled sock) and sorted it out. Luckily the leach line, a small line on each vertical edge, hadn’t broken and was still holding the sail to the bow, otherwise it would have been a shit show with the giant sail likely flying above the top of the mast! Ben realised his mishap admitting to having too much fun flying the spinnaker. In these waters we needed to be prudent and our asymmetrical was our light wind weapon to allow for prolonged sailing in an area without many gas stations.

Before long the wind was up to 21 kts on the beam and we were double reefed. The swell was wallowy and conditions were clear with a light drizzle. By evening it died and we motored in the bergy water along with its best friend, fog. At the end of day one the seas became flat calm as we crossed north into the 74th parallel. Feet were beginning to freeze before our three hour shifts were over. Josiah served up cured Minke whale, that is, once he managed to translate the label. The ship’s log thanked Cliff of Williams Harbour in Labrador, for our last salmon feast paired with coconut rice and caramelized onions. We don’t do too shabby out here and meals are appreciated that much more! 

Soon the middle pack of sea ice was sighted on the horizon. The calm conditions desired for this section were with us. We veered a little north as we approached it and began looking for a gap to enter. Once we got further west and to our intended latitude we parallel the pack ice a few boat lengths away for a good six miles or so. That hour was most notably intense. The ice appeared impossibly impenetrable, gnarly as fuck and I think we were lost for words. We knew this was coming but it doesn’t prepare you for the imposing sight of frozen, vertically staggered sea blocking you from where you want to go and in the middle of an open sea. The line between ice and water was strikingly defined. I don’t think I’ve seen anything so tantalizing, beautiful and destructively fatal all at once.

After an hour or so the ice began to break up as we headed north and at our most northerly point of N74 15, we found a gap that looked decent. The other side appeared clear. It was our first one to think about and we just went for it. I had wanted to take more of a moment to fully comprehend what we were about to do but it all happened so fast. On approach one large growler began to break apart in front of us, shaking our nerves for a second but we continued on. Moments later we were in clear bergy water, our sights sharply on the waters ahead of us searching for anything that might take this moment of freedom away from us but it didn’t come. Full throttle west and barely looking back to gauge what we had passed through and what we might not endure again. From the information we had, we had made it. We had found a gap in the ice pack and were through the other side, clear to land in the Canadian Arctic in a few days time. On this new side of Baffin Bay, the skies were generous, the fog now behind us, the seas like a mirror and the sunshine warmed our faces. We gradually let ourselves breathe out. 

The above images show a gradual progression with dates (June 5 – Nov 6) of ice melt and freeze in the Eastern Arctic Region.

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By day three we received ice charts that still showed Pond Inlet – our initial destination – to be filled with 5/10ths & 8/10ths ice. Eclipse Sound and the waters between Baffin and Bylot Islands are typically late to melt and having watched it over the last few days, the movement of ice was erratic and unpredictable so we made the decision to continue further west to Arctic Bay which had recently just cleared. It was important here that we were able to top up and have maximum fuel capacity for the following leg so that we would be ready for any sort of backtracking and/or altering of route if the ice decided not to melt, or if we had to turn around. 

Onwards west we headed towards the southern entrance of Lancaster Sound. The south wind began to hit our beam and we were once more on a silent reach gliding through the water. We began to notice clusters of small birds, a type of Murre seabird, and realised I had never known about the common species thats depicted as the northern penguin. The ships log noted the many ‘little bird whanaus’. They would have trouble flying away and were terribly inefficient as they slapped the water with their thick wings and dragged their bodies while trying to take flight. How could a bird have such difficulty? I almost felt bad for them as we scooted by. Later we learnt that they well overcompensate by their underwater skills with some variants diving down to 600 foot depths!

Soon enough we were back in pea soup fog barely able to see a few boat lengths in front of us, the wind and seas had picked up as we sailed along with two reefs in the mainsail and genoa. I remember peeping out to watch the bow and feeling nervous.

By midnight, Josiah was on watch with diligent eyes on the bow as we moved briskly through the water. He promptly and calmly announced that a band of sea ice was directly in front of us and brilliantly got the genoa in and engine on just before needing to turn to port to avoid colliding with the ice. Seas were now lumpy and things got real again. All hands were on deck as we faced into the sharp wind, stuffing the bow into the waves while trying to avoid any chunks of ice in these less than ideal conditions. We decided to head south of it understanding that the entrance to Lancaster had more ice in the north. Moments later, like some kind of cruel joke, the fog lifted and we could see clear waters around the ice. The midnight sun shone brightly behind the clouds like an ominous backdrop as the ice undulated in the swell as one. 

We continued west and found more clear water thanks to the lifting fog. Surprisingly, views of Bylot Island appeared with its snowy mountains roughly 20 nm away. We cherished the moment, for some reason not thinking the island would possess such beauty. For the next half hour a good watch was kept as we veered into the sun’s blinding light, still dodging chunks of clear ice that were extremely hard to see. Calin, on Seabelle called them ‘little torpedoes’. Soon enough we got back into our groove and for the next eight hours had a good 25 kts behind us in a confused sea state and again in dense fog.

It isn’t nice, it’s kind of nasty and we’re still avoiding growlers and icebergs on the radar. The feeling of a towering iceberg appearing out from the fog is truly an unforgettable experience. Avoiding these became more difficult due to our proximity to the magnetic north pole. Since our radar uses a fluxgate compass to position an overlay on our chart plotter and due to our northern position, this soon became erratic and displayed an incorrect overlay, and therefore location of the large mounds of ice a few miles ahead. Below is an image showing this. The best practice was to change course once we were much closer. This proximity to the magnetic north pole also affected the performance of our autopilot, which we knew would be the case and could have been rectified with a specialized $1500 GPS compass. We chose to deal with it and pay close attention which in the end wasn’t too bad with our crew of three.

Frozen feet are soon the norm. I hand my shift over to Josiah and he gets a good hour of the action before it begins to calm down, the skies clear and miraculously the sun comes out and it’s here to stay. 

It’s important to note that sea ice and icebergs are different. Icebergs are frozen freshwater carved off of glaciers and are good for cocktails; sea ice is a freshwater brine squeezed out from sea water freezing and is less ideal for cocktails. The two act quite differently and at this point we were only used to icebergs. Wind and current can change the sea ice situation quickly. It’s also currently 24 hours of light with no darkness and 3/10ths of ice is considered navigable.

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The entrance to Lancaster Sound is about 50 nm wide with Bylot and Baffin Islands to the south and Devon Island to the north. At first glance a white strip lined the horizon appearing like 3-5/10ths of ice with no obvious direction to head. However, we knew there may be a clear passage to the south so Ben gets the drone and scopes it out. Flying the drone as our eyes was a surprising success and we were able to see an opening near shore. The gap did not seem apparent from the boat and it was miraculous that we could even see the horizon to begin with! Before we knew it, the opening proved wide and we were in clear waters with the initial bands of ice now to our stern. Having that extra information (sight/drone eyes/no fog) and making a decision with that information was a lovely and at that stage, a rare thing. 

At this point the fleet of boats from Greenland were a day or two behind us and we would send our position via Iridium and Inreach communications of what we were experiencing, which was remarked to have helped in their decisions. Reports were that entering the Baffin Bay sea ice at a more southerly position was difficult with multiple hours spent navigating denser ice. Interestingly, a few days after we encountered the ice pack, it actually got denser before melting altogether a week or two later.

With the sun still beaming down on us, we slowly sailed west with the silence and stability of the symmetrical spinnaker, hardly worrying too much about our two knots speed. Glacial and mountainous views were to our port and we reaped the glistening conditions as we entered into the fabled Northwest passage. 

The fog was soon back and we were motoring again in scattered ice while hugging much closer to Bylot Island. Ugly Betty, the expedition motor yacht with Hermoine, the rowing boat in tow, passed us to port just after we had taken down the spinnaker. This would have been a great sight to see peering out from the fog but too much of a risk in the low visibility and it’s difficulty to take down in a hurry. The wind returned and we ran with just the mainsail for a good six hours in the dense fog, still making at least 5 kts and with easy maneuverability. Icebergs were parked along the coast as we travelled nearshore and began rounding down into Admiralty Inlet towards Arctic Bay. 

The small hamlet located 50 nm south into the inlet and which we will have to back track out to continue west. The skies became clear and we managed to dodge the fog that was sticking close to land, as we stayed to the middle of the road. We hoist the spinnaker once more with gorgeous views of Baffin Islands glaciated valleys and red rock cliffs. We duly scan for polar bears and narwhals, thankful to have these bouts of calmness and sunshine. Down below I began making soup and soon heard Josiah repeat “narwhal, narwhal”. I clamber to the deck and spot one less than a boat length away! Ben had monkeyed up to the first spreaders for a better visual, all while the giant spinnaker was dragging Caprivi through the water. I truly didn’t think we would see a narwhal. They typically stick to ice floes using them to hide from polar bears and orcas. It was a very special moment and we enjoyed potato soup on the bow with a picnic blanket and all, silently wishing to see more. 

Not far from Arctic Bay, we start seeing small run-about boats in action. One approaches us and we chat for a few moments and realise the locals are out hunting narwhals. We had seen a few carcasses on the shore but hadn’t realised they were narwhal. It clicks that these waters have only just melted a week or so earlier and the game is on for meat and the prized tusk. The last few hours are a motor so we fill the tanks with the water-maker, take hot showers while the engines hot and clean the interior before plonking the hook right outside the small hamlet to children yelling from the small breakwater. After almost five days and 580 nm at sea, we toast to making it to Canada and finally being in the northwest passage.

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I realise this blog is three (!!) months late. Admittedly I had written most of this in Arctic Bay but putting it all together takes a moment and the ensuing month was ‘game on’ for getting west and out of the Arctic, the next was getting out of the Bering Sea and back to civilization and the last was a full month of rest! Apologies, more to follow.