9 minute read
Taking on Greenland by bike
AN EXCLUSIVE FEATURE for Ottawa Outdoors Magazine Story and photos by Martin Bissig
ARCTIC CIRCLE TRAIL NEVER TESTED ON FATBIKE WHEELS IN WINTER
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“ARE YOU SURE YOU ARE on the right flight?” a nice woman asked us at Copenhagen’s Air Greenland check-in. She was processing our bike bags as we headed for Greenland in mid-winter. The next few weeks would prove whether this was actually a good idea. We had about as much knowledge of the world’s largest island as this airport staffer had about our fat bikes.
I had learned from a friend about Greenland’s 160-kilometre Arctic Circle Trail. Far from civilization, it begins in the glaciers of Kangerlussuaq and ends at the coastal town of Sisimiut in Greenland’s southwestern corner. During summer it takes about 10 days to hike this distance on foot. But Internet research and emails confirmed that the trail was less than ideal for mountain bikes in summer. The ground can be boggy, the mosquitoes are aggressive, and paths are poorly marked.
Since summer biking would be split roughly 40 per cent biking and 60 per cent pushing, I dropped the summer option fast.
Together with Claude Balsiger, my partner for crazy expeditions in the Himalayas, and Swiss Valais mountain guide Fabian Mooser, we brainstormed Plan B. The hype around fat bikes fit into our ideas enough to make our expedition possible: the first trip down the Arctic Circle Trail by bike in winter.
Our hotel (more like a barracks) in Kangerlussuaq was right beside its airport runway. From here, we took a charter bus to where we had decided to start – the icefall of the Russell Glacier (Russells Gletscher in Danish), 40 kilometres east, ancient ice and a famous Greenland tourist attraction. As they climbed up on the ice, Claude and Fabian were a stark contrast to the cold blue glacier – in orange helmets and neon yellow-and-blue clothing. I sent them back again and again so I could shoot more photos.
But we made it back before dusk to our onehorse town, with the first 20 per cent of our trek behind us. We had another three days for the entire 160 kilometres of the Arctic Circle Trail itself. Questions abounded. What are snow conditions? Where can we stay? Can fat bikes handle the entire route?
Jens Erik had the answers. This Greenland giant (shoe size 21 in U.S. measure) was our guide, and he wrangled 16 dogs to haul our gear sled. He knew the terrain and traversed the Kangerlussuaq-Sisimiut route several times every year.
Martin Bissig, cyclist
Claude Balsiger, cyclist
Jens Erik, guide
Across fjords and lakes to Kanoo Camp
Our planned day tours were between 52 and 60 kilometres, way longer than anything possible in summer. In winter, ice metresthick covers fjords and lakes, so instead of the exhausting effort to follow the coastline, smooth ice was our road, and we could speed on top of skidoo and dogsled tracks because fat tires could span them. They made an almost perfect bike trail across the arctic snow.
During our first longer break, we realized we had to slow down. Even with daytime temperatures between minus 10C and -30C, we broke into sweat every time we got moving. And nature’s refrigerator froze that moisture stiff in minutes. So we slowed our pace to match Jens Erik and his dogs. It made no sense to go faster because everything we needed was on the sled. Keeping within a few metres of his team, we chatted about his life in Greenland.
We had found ourselves wondering why anyone would settle in one of Earth’s most extreme locations. Winter is more or less dark around the clock, and the thermometer only ventures above freezing in four months of summer. Agriculture and livestock farming are scant, just about everything has to be imported, and prices are in the arm and a leg range. Yet here was a 25-year-old, six-and-ahalf-foot man who loved his dogs, the hunt, and his rough, hard way of life. Our once-in-alifetime adventure was just another day at the office for him, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything. And he’s not alone. More than 55,000 people occupy this barren corner of the world.
After a lot of ups and downs, we conquered our first 59 kilometres and 750 metres of elevation in just under eight hours and reached Kanoo Camp. Not impressive. Half a ratty, hopelessly holed canoe were the only remains of a failed business there, but the hut itself offered more comfort than we expected. The oven warmed up quickly and we hung damp clothes and shoes above it to dry. There were even decent beds with mattresses. In candlelight over bowls of musk ox ragout, we discussed tomorrow’s route with Jens Erik.
A cold start into the day
At 7 a.m. we thrust open the hut door and for a few seconds couldn’t see a thing. It was -29C outside and cold air rushed in to fog up the room like a smoke machine. The dogs yawned and howled after a night chained outside. Jens Erik fed his team, we strength
ened ourselves with muesli. Our clothes were dry enough to wear, the Rocky Mountain fat bikes had thawed, and we were warm.
The first 25 kilometres were pretty easy, across a frozen lake with a steel-blue surface contrasting with the glistening white wonderland around it. It was the end of March, so the sun was still low in the sky, providing great light for taking pictures. The batteries of my Canon camera were holding up, partly because I kept spares close inside my clothes so they wouldn’t die in the cold.
At lunch we could see our first serious incline, a zigzag up 400 metres to a mountain chain. To us, it looked too steep for the dogs to haul the heavy sled up. But Jens Erik went ahead while we took in some sun and then reduced our tire pressure from 7.2 to roughly 4.4 psi to gain more traction. Except for a few metres, we handled the first part of the ascent by bike. We were steaming out of every gap in our clothing and knew that whatever was wet would freeze later. So we shed clothes, even gloves, for part of the way. Our guide and the sled were waiting two-thirds of the way up and we set out to conquer the rest of the elevation together. When it got really steep, Jens Erik hopped off the sled, reducing the load by a good 130 kilos, and the dogs prevailed.
The rest of the day was child’s play. Casually cruising, we reached our second hut in late afternoon – after 52 kilometres and almost 900 metres of elevation – and spent the night in close quarters. A Greenland family had bunked down for an extended weekend, and their snore philharmonic drove us out for a night in the common room. It turned out to be a wise choice in more ways than one, because its large windows provided a spectacle we had hoped for. Green shimmering northern lights lit up the night sky.
For me this meant climbing out of the sleep ing bag, putting on winter clothes, unfolding the tripod and going out into the cold. The camera caught – thanks to 30- to 60-second exposures – more color than seen by the naked eye. After an hour I had a trove of images, numb fingers, and a frozen-stiff remote cable.
Back to civilization
On our fourth and last day, 56 kilometres still separated us from the coast and our final destination Sisimiut. Jens Erik pointed on the map to a chain of hills in the second half of this day’s route. When this 600-metre barrier was behind us, we would coast right into town. As we got closer to the top, there was more traffic. Snowmobiles sped past us, dog sleds going the other way, even local hikers. People knew each other, and exchanged greetings and news. Even though Sisimiut is relatively large by Greenland standards with 5,000 inhabitants, it is still quaint and everyone knows everyone.
The uphill in front of us resembled a ski slope, a wide, white stretch all the way to the pass. Again, we deflated tires and fought our way to the top, drawing glances and thumbups from the locals. The dogs seemed to have just as much energy as on the first day.
After a good 90 minutes, we reached the pass. The dogs caught the scent of home and pulled like crazy. We skipped lunch and shot down the mountain towards the sea, past a ski lift, then a cross-country trail. The snowmobiles count went up drastically, then a row of houses in the distance. There was
nothing stopping us and definitely nothing stopping the dogs. A smiling Jens Erik banned any more photo ops because the dogs pressed on regardless of his commands.
In 20 minutes we were back in civilization. After a round of hugs and high-fives with Jens Erik, we said our goodbyes to our loyal fourlegged team-mates and to our guide. A warm shower and a deerburger awaited us in the best hotel in town.
When we flew back to tiny Kangerlussuaq, Greenland’s air transport hub, we thought about the Air Greenland lady. If we meet her again we’ll tell her that biking in Greenland in winter is the coolest thing we’ve ever done. “Get ready for more bike bags soon.” ~ Martin Bissig is a freelance photographer based in Switz erland specializing in travel and adventure stories. Countless trips have brought him to the most remote places in the world.
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