Sunset
Photo by Nigel Vardy

A Greenland Expedition

by Nigel Vardy

I’ve visited Greenland several times, usually on skis or in a sea kayak, but it was time to don my crampons. Simon Yates and I had sparked the idea inside an emergency shelter high on Helvellyn as we were filming Terry Abrahams ‘Life of a Mountain’ series but COVID delayed our plans until 2022.

I met fellow mountaineers Nigel and John at Manchester airport, and we were soon in the Icelandic capital, Reykjavik, making final plans. The six hour drive northwards up the coast to Ísafjörður is an eye opener. There are few bridges spanning the fjords, so the long and winding roads allows a vista of meandering mountain and moss, with geology renowned the world over.

At Ísafjörður we met Vincente Castro, the skipper of the Iorana - our ride over the seas. He had only just returned from Greenland and was hoping to get back quickly as a low-pressure front was threatening to come in. We soon had the Iorana loaded up and left Iceland behind, heading almost due north into a wonderful sunset sky. Three days later we approached the Greenlandic coast. It was shrouded in a ghostly mist, but as we got closer the sun burst out and the skies cleared. It was cold and calm, but on the horizon, we could see icebergs. Bergs are a real danger, particularly the smaller ones which hide at sea level, but we avoided them successfully and entered Jacobson Fjord, anchoring close to the face of a glacier.

Silence roared through the air and a thick mist filled the skies. The evening was one filled with trepidation and excitement. Maps here are poor and the best way to navigate is to look up and pick one’s way through the rocks and ice. We landed at the side of the Schjelderup Glacier and began ascending a mixed field of ice, crevasses and swift meltwater rivers. We reached a cwm and then pointed at a small pinnacle to our left. It had no name, no place on the map, but within a couple of hours we were standing on its summit. The rock was shattered, and the last few feet almost stopped us, but the views were worth the effort. Over to the NW stood the Watkins Mountains. Gunnbjørnsfjeld was visible at over 80 miles and all around were 360° of glaciers, sun bleached rocks and the open sea. I don’t know if this was a first ascent, but it’s a privilege to look down a mountain and only see one set of tracks.

My heels were already aching, but the only route home was downhill, and it took until dusk before we were back on ship. My feet are covered in skin grafts after suffering severe frostbite in Alaska, and easily bleed if I do too much, but for now, they would survive.

We moved anchor the next day and crossed a large muddy delta to climb what, I thought, looked like Pike o' Blisco in Langdale. Above the delta, it was a long walk-in over undulating tiers of scree and streams until we entered a snow field near the col. Within minutes we were on the rocky summit overlooking Jacobsen Fjord to our south and Watkins Fjord to our west.

A huge meltwater lake lay high on the plateau and the mountains extended northwards as far as the eye could see. Two cairns adorned the summit from previous ascents. The distant drone of a helicopter’s rotors became louder, and it passed below us ferrying barrels towards Watkins Fjord. Greenland is being explored and exploited for mining.

We headed back to the boat, where the twilight cast shadows on Iorana’s deck. We’d planned to make a two-day assault upon a stunning snow pyramid starting the next morning. We walked and made a high camp, but overnight the wind increased dramatically, and we were forced to retreat.

Exploratory mountaineering brings ups and downs. We headed up a large glacier the next morning and hoped to plan routes for the coming days. A mile or so up, we ascended a steep slope to our left and entered a large cwm surrounded by jagged ridges of teetering boulders. Much of the rock here is shattered by the cold and regular falls litter the ice with stripes of grey, black and red. It’s not a place to climb, but we did spot a snow gully heading up the ridge and took it on alpine style. We thought an hour should do it. Four hours later we were finally back down! The route was only Scottish grade 1, but rotten rock threatened its flanks.

My skin grafts were very sore by now, so I let Simon, John and Nigel head up high, whilst I enjoyed a day with Vincente looking at the snout of the Sorgenfri glacier. The coastal map is from the 1950’s and shows one single face of ice, but the change in climate has forced the glacier back over a mile and now a rocky and barren island sits between the floes. It is still enormous and extends far out of sight and onto the main ice cap, but there’s no doubt that it is in retreat.

The weather dictates everything here and a front was heading our way. Time for one more day on the mountain and we’d have to head south. We climbed another glacier (there really are so many) and attained a saddle overlooking Nansen Fjord and beyond. Cloud obscured the Watkins and together we sat as high as we dared and celebrated the trip. Above us stood rotten spires of rock and the views back towards the boat showed glistening seas, reminiscent of the Mediterranean or the Caribbean, not the Arctic. We stomped down in the sugary snow, disrobed ourselves of mountaineering gear and enjoyed a barbecue on the beach, always with one eye looking for bears and foxes. We left the next morning and I sat on deck, exhausted but very happy, watching the Fulmars circle the boat all the way home. My skin grafts had taken a beating, but I choose to travel and they’re not going to get any better. It’s just part of expedition life.

Ice floes await
Photo by Nigel Vardy

Cloud formations
Photo by Nigel Vardy

Nigel on summit
Photo by Simon Yates

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