There’s forty six passengers, nineteen Russian crew, three international expedition staff and three international hotel and catering staff. It was stormy last night. The Gregory Mikheev, all two hundred and ten feet of her, tilted and bobbed like a jack- in-a-box. At twelve and an half knots she crashed through the night sky, a shadow cutting through a shadow, lighthouse spills midnight truths from the ragged coast. Morning breaks through and there’s no sea sickness, only wonder.
Hello all, sorry for being quiet since our arrival in Greenland, but we’ve been working hard on trying to extract data from our CTD. Even after many hours sitting in a container battling with a computer we’ve not yet managed to get any data out of it. Rewinding slightly…
It was fantastic to see the old faces of last year’s Noorderlight trip at the airport on Thursday evening and to meet the rest of the crowd on the expedition. The Iceland flight was delayed somewhat, but with all the excitement we didn’t really notice! On Friday we were delivered to Greenland in style with our very own charter of a Fokker 50 aeroplane, delivered to the port in less style on an ancient bus, and ferried to the ship in zodiac inflatables, finally arriving at 4pm GMT, 5pm British summer time, 4pm Iceland time and 2pm Greenland time. There was so much confusion over what time we were working on that each room on board ended up being in a different time zone! The ship is great and so is its crew. To us scientists it’s much more like we’re used to in our research, just without the winches!! That afternoon/evening we were welcomed aboard, had our safety briefings and set about unpacking as we steamed out of the fjord.
Musk ox burgers are one of the faster moving offers in the Kangerlussuaq airport café. A butchered deer and freshly shot Arctic hare were piled in the back of a pick up on the quay. The closest we’ve got to fauna and a good reminder of the fact that the Arctic wildlife that to date I’ve known only as the subject of natural history films and photos is a (fresh, tasty, free) resource for Greenlanders. Hunting for it is a job for some and a favoured pastime for most.
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I am travelling through the sea at night and I am not sure which sea it is. I am in the Arctic, so it could be the Arctic sea. I have travelled across the world to be here but I am not sure which countries I have passed. I have no idea which hemisphere I am in. I think I am in the southern hemisphere but I am not sure. I can find out but at time of writing I am not sure. I don’t know what time it is.
I am on a ship. I am not sure what it is called. I can find out. But what I know so far is that it is named after a famous Russian Oceanographer who has died; Gregory something-or-other. I can’t remember his name. But I can find out. One thing I am sure of. Gregory something-or-other is dead.
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You are not currently connected to any networks. My remote wireless connection won’t work because I am somewhere too remote. A backbone of water slithers behind the ship as it bows out of the fjord from Greenland. To each side great warriors made of rock, protectors of landmass, line the coast and watch us go quietly. The ship hums, gallantly rises up and down as waves dive to each side of stern.
On top of my warmies, I’m bringing to Greenland with me a cough, a cold and some congestion. My pharmasaviour advised I take some decongestant before I hit the skies. I did. It wore off about just before I hoped it would. As the plane initiated its descent, I had some serious head pains. It kind of felt like my eyeballs were going to explode. There was definitely one of blood, sweat or tears coming from them. I got another decongestant down with a dry swallow, leaned back in my chair and prayed my little sudafeds were of the fast relief variety. Minutes later, I’m all right.
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Steaming through the fjord leaving Kangerlussuaq, the journey begins.
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We could see the east coast of Greenland, indifferent, majestic, and there they were - icebergs from above!! Aaaarrr!! We were suddenly all toddlers, looking down on the little minty sailboats being shoved out of the nest of the shore, forced to take off on voyages from which they would never return. Ever diminishing, ever more alone. Gliding off into the vastness.
5 hours sailing down the gargantuan straight of Sondre Stromfjord, the light starts to get soaked up by the time. Like a waking dream. Milky green sea that looks alive. A beautifully perfected valley scraped out of the landscape as our guide, singing us out of its mouth. The weirdness. The spook. That half-light that makes you feel like the whites of your eyes are glowing. A low-lying cloud that turns a scottish landscape into a science fiction set. The boat is full and buzzing like a hive. The Belgian-Danish bar and restaurant manager Jan (Yan? Xian?!) has the best and weirdest burr on his r’s I’ve ever heard. Want to teach him the Ragged Rascal Ran tongue twister.
Despite having known from long time that I was taking part to this exceptional voyage, it didn’t feel quite real until I met the rest of the group at the airport, all geared up, enthusiastic and probably a bit nervous. It was really hard to imagine what it was going to be like spending 10 days with such an eclectic mix of artists and scientists. What was clear from the beginning though, was the positive energy end enthusiasm of the group, the sense of urgency and ‘mission’ that everybody shared, and the spontaneous discussions on climate change and politics that sparked at any occasion.
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Joe Smith and Suzan-Lori Parks
No time to be fussy about personal style
Jarvis Cocker dons life-jacket
Ryuichi Sakamoto on the zodiac transfer as we boards the Grigory Mikheev in Kangerlussuaq
Joe Smith, Marcus Brigstocke and David Noble
Francesca Galeazzi and Ruth Little
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