The sun is out, shyly hiding behind a gradient of subtle blues and greys, and the temperature has risen at a surprising rate. The closer we get to Greenland, the warmer it gets. A paradox. But only until we reach the swift East Greenland Current that brings cold Arctic water, mottled with sea ice, icebergs, bergy bits, and growlers. We expect a precipitous drop of both the water and the air temperature then. The days of ‘summer’ are counted.
Satellites have monitored the extent of sea ice coverage and icebergs since 1979. The Danish Meteorological Institute (DMI) creates ice charts from Sentinel satellite images. These charts are maps showing the extent of the ice, its concentration or density as well as the nature or type of the ice in each area using the “egg” code, so called due to the shape of the symbols used to encode this information. They allow the experienced navigator to decipher what conditions to expect in which area.
The ice belt in the vicinity of Nunap Isua (Kap Farvel), the southernmost corner of Greenland, can be over 100 M wide in June, as the ice charts this year confirm. We must double this cape to reach the SW coast with a good offing. Not only due to the ice, but also due to the weather, which can be dicy near the cape, as near all big capes.
Ice belts are landscapes adrift. Currents and winds shift and swirl a continuously morphing mandala of frozen matter. A change in the wind direction or strength, tidal or ocean currents swiftly alters everything, and an area that was open water yesterday might be choked with ice today.
Ice comes in two basic types: sea ice, which is frozen sea water that forms, grows and melts in the ocean; and glacial ice, which originates from the land and calves off glaciers as icebergs, often with spectacular displays.
Glacier ice comes in an infinite variety of sizes and shapes, from cathedrals, spires and pinnacles, tables and domes, to arches, wedges, blocks, or even cradles. True bergs can be anything from 15 m to over 200 m in length, smaller bergs are called bergy bits, and even smaller ones that are often mostly submerged and float just a little above surface level, are growlers. Small is relative – they might still be about 5 m long. We don’t want to collide with any of them. The sea ice, likewise, has many appearances that tell of its age, formation, conditions and history.
We are curious for our first glimpse of ice. Who will spot the first berg, when will it be? Will it sail towards us, slowly peeling out of the mist? Or will it lie sedate in a long heaving petrol-green swell under a deep-blue sky, reflecting and refracting the sunlight like a prism? Will we happen upon it in darkness, and will the sea breaking around it glow with the fluorescence of plankton?
How thick will the ice cover be? Will there be dense bands of pack ice? And just how tired will we get keeping a tight ice watch at all times? It relies on two people – one on the lookout, the other to manoeuvre the ship. One person is outside elevated on the pilot house to raise their horizon and be able to spot the ice in the water. The other inside at the wheel, poised to take over from the autopilot with a moment’s notice when ice is spotted ahead.
In anticipation, our thoughts overtake us, our imagination travels ahead. Today, we are still four days out from the ice. We motor as we have run out of wind. The silence of sailing is interrupted by the hum of the engine.
It’s not all bad: this is the time to heat the boat with the excess engine heat, to reduce the moisture inside, to make fresh water directly from the sea with the desalinator, and to have hot showers! Those are a delight. Each of us take turns to have a hot shower outside in the cockpit while contemplating the waves and watching birds bob about in the remaining swell. We’re all feeling a little lazy today with the lack of sunlight and having just filled our bellies with several rounds of delicious Breton galettes! Nevertheless, one of us just has to start and the other ones will follow suit.
A basic thing like a shower becomes astonishingly precious and delightful when at sea. Sailing sharpens the appreciation for the little things. A floor that isn’t constantly bucking under your feet, forcing you to hold on tight at all times, a bed that doesn’t lurch from under you, a tea mug that can for an instant be set on a surface — not too long, mind you — become a source of bliss. Things taken for granted morph into things to be intensely grateful for. A joyful and gratifying state.
Angie