M.Y. ASTERIA'S NORTHWEST PASSAGE
Reykjavik, Iceland to Nome, Alaska

by Captain Don Feil

(This is the last post of five entries. To read them in chronological order begin with the post titled, "Reykjavik to  Davis Strait".)

Captain’s Log

Pond Inlet, Nunavut, Canada to Nome, Alaska

August 18 - 31, 2011

On our return to Pond Inlet at the completion of two eight day trips with owner and guests, we shared the anchorage with the small oil tanker, Tuvaq. After much complicated maneuvering, she managed to anchor an acceptable distance from shore and deployed her floating discharge line to the intake pipe at the beach. This would be the last fuel delivery before the long, dark winter enveloped the Canadian Arctic.

Tuvaq 

Late clearing ice in the central Arctic had forced us to stay in the east around Baffin and Devon Islands. The ice maps issued by Environment Canada now showed promising conditions for a relatively ice free passage to Nome. We said our goodbyes in Pond Inlet and distributed our flowers to grateful employees at the library and cultural center. As we moved out into Lancaster Sound we marveled again at the giant ice bergs and soon ran out of superlatives to describe their overwhelming mass and grandeur.

Bergs in Navy Board Inlet (Photo Don Feil)

We encountered intermittent fog with dangerous growlers scattered about until turning south into Peel Sound, the channel between Prince of Wales and Somerset Islands. The rock hard bergs were now behind us, but we still had to deal with patches of first year drift ice and the occasional floe of multi-year ice. Both could do serious damage to Asteria despite her sturdy steel construction.

Fog Bow

Always on the lookout for wildlife, we poked into the western entrance to Bellot Strait, the narrow passage that separates Somerset Island from the Boothia Peninsula, the latter named in recognition of a nineteenth century expedition benefactor, Felix Booth, of Booth’s Gin fame. An impressive wall of fog encouraged us to launch the Nautica tender to continue a reconnaissance of the shoreline.

 Bellot Strait in the Fog

The party spotted a swimming polar bear that moved quickly to the beach, lumbered ashore and meandered off with only a few quick glances at the disappointed photographers eager for that full frame shot. Later that day I spoke through the VHF radio with the Mate from the Hanseatic. At the same time our group was hoping for a close bear encounter, their passengers were at the eastern end of Bellot Strait scrambling back into their tenders to put distance between them and an aggressive bear that was as curious as ours was timid.

 Timid Bear

Polar bears are fairly evenly distributed throughout the Canadian Arctic, but are now more frequently seen near populated areas. Many people misinterpret this to mean that the population is increasing, when in fact, it is the result of diminishing sea ice, the polar bear’s natural hunting ground. Bears can only capture seals as they poke their heads out of breathing holes in the pack ice. With less ice each year they are forced to hunt and scavenge ashore which increases the likelihood of an unwanted and often unfortunate encounter with humans.

Spotting what we assumed would be the last sighting of the hard glacier ice, we decided to retrieve a “small” berg as a future curiosity, conversation piece, and cocktail chiller good for an entire evening. In spite of the valiant efforts of our salvage team and underestimating its mass, we were soon defeated in our attempt to hoist it on board, and settled for crudely hacking off pieces with a fire axe. I cringed as many blows from the axe glanced off the ice with much potential for puncturing the fragile pontoons of our tender. Only after an intense effort to gather our samples did someone think to confirm it was in fact fresh water glacial ice, and not multi-year sea ice filled with pockets of brine.

 Ice Berg Salvage 

We entered Cambridge Bay with a northeast wind gusting to thirty five knots, but were able to find a protected inner harbor for a secure anchorage next to the Bremen, the sister ship to the Hanseatic.

The Bremen

 The wind howled during our entire stay there and every beach landing posed the risk of getting drenched with icy water during a moment of hesitation or bad timing in getting in or out of the Zodiac.

                                            Capt. Don in the Zodiac

The 2006 census pegged the permanent population of Cambridge Bay at 1,500, making it the largest Arctic waterfront community. We wandered the dusty streets, frequently shielding our eyes from the blasts of sand whipped up by the relentless wind and the ubiquitous, oversized four wheel drive trucks.

                                                 Cambridge Bay

Compared to the tiny, sleepy hamlets we had visited, Cambridge Bay was bustling with the impression that it was connected to the rest of the world. The streets were filled with people moving briskly, acting if they had some place to go with something important to do. Our crew struck gold when they found broadband WiFi in the library of the cultural center in the new high school. After weeks of cruel denial of internet access on board Asteria, they gorged themselves with e-mails and phone calls on their IPhones while simultaneously entertaining the local kids with tall tales of life at sea.

 Max and Jason, Cambridge Bay Library

Amid the raucous activity in the library (no shushing here) the competition for the computers was fierce and the possibility of uploading another post of the blog was slim. Hilary spent her time watching the cultural presentation for the guests of the Bremen and Hanseatic which were anchored next to Asteria. Women in traditional costume demonstrated the use of a Quillit, a seal oil lamp and sang soulful native songs.

 

 Cultural Show 

Hilary and I wandered into the small visitors’ center and found a haven of peace and quiet among their many excellent displays. The attendant, Clare, graciously loaned Hilary her computer to finish and post the next entry. I was surprised to see a three ring binder open on the table with a photo of Asteria and a print out of our blog to date. A clever web surfer had Googled “yachts in the Northwest Passage” and come across our web site. Reflecting on the isolation, hardship, and suffering of the nineteenth century explorers I was struck with the incongruity of their experience and that of ours, where we could inform the world instantaneously of our location and activities.

Art Piece of Bowhead Whale and Musk Ox Skulls

Of all the large animals resident in the Arctic, we had yet to have a decent sighting of musk oxen, rugged shaggy beasts resembling bison, but with the massive curled horns of a Bighorn sheep. The fine qiviut fur closest to their belly is purported to be the softest in the world. Unsuited to domestication, the fur is only found snagged on bushes in the vicinity of where they graze. In Cambridge Bay we found a ball of musk ox yarn, less than enough to knit one sock, priced at seventy dollars.

We anchored in Johansen Bay on the south shore of Victoria Island and set off in the Nautica in search of the elusive musk ox. A lone caribou trotted along the ridge and a curious bearded seal popped up several times close to the tender. We were about to give up our search when we came across an apparently abandoned hunters’ camp and decided to explore. 
                                                                      Curious Bearded Seal

 Researchers' Camp

The compound was surrounded by an electric fence that could be activated with power from a solar panel, evidence that animals very nosey (besides us) frequented the area. We tramped ashore to poke around the piles of caribou antlers, musk ox skulls, a hodge podge of huts/tents, and miscellaneous parts of boats, motors, and snow mobiles.

 Crew with Caribou Antlers

Four serviceable four wheelers parked outside the largest shelter caught our attention just as the four astonished owners emerged. Three wildlife researchers and an Inuit warden introduced themselves. They had not seen musk ox recently, but spoke of the presence of polar and grizzly bears in the vicinity, hence the precaution with the electric fence. They had been ferried from the mainland in a small landing craft and had driven overland forty five miles to the camp

 Warden and Researchers Chat with the Crew

Rough weather had prevented the craft from returning on schedule and provisions were running low. They found an old gill net, strung it out into the river and within minutes had snagged a dozen five pound char, an abundant Arctic fish related to salmon. Lacking refrigeration, they had been split and hung up to dry. On departure we emptied our pockets of candy bars and snacks to supplement their meager supplies.

Underway again, we sailed past The Smoking Hills along the mainland of Canada in Franklin Bay. Exposed seams of soft lignite coal ignited by lighting or spontaneous combustion have been observed burning in this area since the beginning of written and oral history. We were not able to get close to shore due to Asteria’s extreme draft, but there are times when the fires are dramatic, especially when seen at night.

 Fog on the Smoking Hills

Our last stop before entering Alaskan waters was Herschel Island, the site of a former whaling station, Hudson Bay Trading Post, Anglican Mission, and RCMP outpost.

Herschel Island Site

From 1893-94 Herschel Island was the largest community in the Yukon Territory with 1,500 residents. The island is now a territorial park with well preserved buildings and artifacts dating from the late eighteenth century when bowhead whales were abundant and demand for their baleen (corsets and buggy whips) and oil (lamps and lubrication) was high.

 Musk Ox Skulls and Assorted Bones

Two wardens guided us on an informal tour of the settlement which is being considered for designation as a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Unlike all of the other Arctic communities we visited, Herschel Island’s beaches were littered with drift wood; effluent from the nearby MacKenzie River.

 Hershel Island and Asteria

Departing our anchorage, we passed a moth balled oil drilling ship lying quietly at anchor until the day when a combination of economics, ice conditions, and a favorable regulatory environment will allow it to begin working the area. It was a poignant reminder that after the demise of the whaling industry and a century of benign neglect the Arctic Ocean is about to get very busy again. How and where development will proceed as the ice pack continues to retreat is the topic of the day. After a month cruising in this immense wilderness of  solitude and astonishing natural beauty it was obvious that any large scale commercial activity is incompatible with the fragile nature of the Arctic environment.

During the summer the main body of the Arctic Ocean pack ice, driven by a seasonal northerly current, had drifted sixty miles off the coast. Near mid-September the current would reverse and the dense mass of multi-year ice would settle in tight against the shore, closing off the Northwest Passage to Asteria and all of the smaller vessels who had not passed Point Barrow, Alaska’s northern most point.

In the four days of cruising from Hershel Island to Nome we saw no land and very little sea life, other than black guillemots, short tailed shearwaters, puffins,  swimming walrus, and a few seals. The transit of the Bering Strait was anti-climactic as we sighted no point of land from Russia or the U.S., only a faint radar return.

                              The Bering Strait on the Chart Plotter 

Just south of the Bering Strait we crossed the Arctic Circle for the second time and celebrated the completion of the purist’s definition of the Northwest Passage (Arctic Circle to Arctic Circle) and the crew received their “official” certificate of achievement. We don’t make a habit of imbibing alcohol while underway, and I hope the Coast Guard will take notice the helmsman abstained from the revelry.

 Chief Eng. Zoqui Receives Certificate from Capt. Don

The Crew of Asteria Celebrate Completing the North West Passage

Two weeks after departing Pond Inlet we moored alongside the rough, steel caissons at the outer dock in Nome.

Asteria in Nome

None of the crew besides me had been to Alaska and they knew little about this vast wonderland. Our three day visit was an eye popping introduction to the Wild West. In 1899 gold was discovered in great quantities in the dark sandy beaches that stretch for miles. Within a year thousands of luckless miners from the Canadian Yukon strike at Bonanza Creek had raced to Nome, swelling the population to an unofficial 20,000 and making it the largest city in the whole of Alaska.

Gold Dredge Flower Buckets in Nome

Nome is now famous as the finish for the Iditarod, the one thousand forty- nine mile sled race that begins in Anchorage each February and culminates in Nome.

Iditarod Finish, Nome

A modern day gold rush has emerged, although on a much smaller scale. Dozens of two man operations work small, home made dredges and suction barges in the shallow waters off the beach in Nome. Some are more successful than others and occasionally someone has a banner day. In a typical underwater operation, one diver descends wearing a hot water heated suit and directs the suction hose wherever a bright speck appears. At the end of the day wild stories abound at the Board of Trade Saloon, the Polar Bar and the Breakers Bar. Liars lying to liars exaggerate the days haul just as any fisherman cannot resist the urge to measure with arms spread wide the “one that got away.” 

 Small Gold Dredge

Many of the more pragmatic locals are anticipating that the real gold for Nome may lie in its potential as a staging area for oil and mineral exploration in the Arctic. But with a maximum depth of only twenty five feet in the outer harbor, massive investment would be needed to make it a viable deep water port for large vessels.

Determined to make a last attempt at seeing musk oxen, Hilary, Capt. Pat, and I set off to the north in a battered SUV on one of the three roads to nowhere that radiate from Nome. Mile after mile we passed through rolling hills carpeted in a palette of red, yellow, and orange autumn vegetation. After two hours of dirt road travel we saw a herd of fifteen musk ox grazing in a depression several hundred yards distant. A fine mist descended and once again we were thwarted at a close up sighting.

Fall Colors En Route to Teller

Meanwhile, several of the crew who had been befriended by one of those bigger than life characters that inhabit places like Nome, experienced an in your face encounter with musk ox and arctic fox just a few miles from town. Such is the whimsy of wildlife and weather in the far north.

Arctic Fox and Musk Ox  (Photos Frankie Molina)

We said a heartfelt goodbye to our Ice Pilot, Capt. Pat Toomey, a gentle man who had endeared himself to us as a consummate raconteur honed over decades of navigating in high latitudes north and south. His vast knowledge of the Northwest Passage, and the scenic and cultural highs and lows, and his expert advice regarding weather, ice conditions, and anchorages, had been an invaluable contribution to our safe and successful passage.

Capt. Pat Toomey

Hilary departed at the same time as Capt. Pat, eager to return home to our garden after an absence of four months.

We had completed half of our 15,000 mile journey from Palma de Mallorca, Spain to Thailand. Now we turned our thoughts to Asia and the happy prospect that each day of southward travel would bring warmer weather for our next grand adventure.