Day 52. Life has shrunk to a tiny moist bubble. I lie in my sleeping bag, curled up in an attempt to not touch the damp fabric walls. How long have we been sitting here? The concept of time is hazy and distorted. I reach my arm out of my sleeping bag and unzip the door flap to peak outside. Whiteout. I see nothing but thick wet cloud.
No indication that we are suspended in the middle of a vertical rock cliff on the coast of Greenland.
No sight of the Arctic Ocean 600m below us, laden with icebergs and whales, stretching into the distance eventually to meet the islands of northern Canada.
No view of the summit, about 300m above us, tantalising us with the dream of being the first team to free climb the face of Qaersorsuaq.
My phone is dead, my watch is dead. The faint glow of the Arctic sun tells nothing of the time either — it’s been one never-ending day since we arrived nearly two months ago! I retract my face and zip up the flap. Brrrrrrrrr. I reach across my husband Jacob for our shared pee bottle. How much longer will this storm last?
Jacob and I started planning our trip to the west coast of Greenland a year ago. The huge granite sea cliffs had seen only a few ascents, mostly by climbers who had come by sailboat. We wanted to go with inflatable sea kayaks!
The more we researched the area, the more this crazy idea grew until it became a tangible mission. There always would be huge unknowns — that’s a lot of the appeal. If we wanted a well-tested package holiday, we were wildly off-course! We gathered as much information as we could, reading about every climbing trip to the area, any sea kayak expeditions, studying Google Earth, reaching out to local contacts, talking on the phone with anyone we could get hold of who had been there.
By October we had a route plan, some compelling objectives and a team. By December we had secured enough funding. It was happening! But we had a lot of work ahead of ourselves. A sea-kayak approach to climbing a big wall in Greenland would require a huge amount of specialised equipment. We’d need food for 2.5 months, that wouldn’t rot and that would give us the necessary balance of nutrients while physically pushing our bodies over that extended duration. We also needed to make a polar bear safety strategy, on top of our regular emergency response plan and materials…
In March we loaded everything into a shipping container in Vancouver, Canada, knowing (hoping?) that the next time we’d see this cache would be in the Inuit village of Uummannaq, as it arrived on an industrial ocean cargo freight ship!
The past two months have been a blur of exhaustion, risk assessment, the smell of salty seas, heavy bags, freeze dried food, aching bodies, the constant push to keep up with our ambitious itinerary, 15-hour days spent sea kayaking, one week carrying three loads each across a 20km pass, the most spectacular views, scarily large wildlife, not enough sleep, and a rollercoaster of emotions as we embraced the challenge we had set for ourselves many months ago.
On day 35 we arrived at the base of Qaersorsuaq, 400km north of our starting point. We set up camp across the thin channel and studied the 1000m-tall face intensely through the zoom lens on Jaron’s camera. We spotted a striking unclimbed line on the right side and began analysing each feature, wondering if the puzzle would connect.
We split into two teams — day team and night team. To maximise efficiency and given the 24-hour daylight, we aimed to have a team continuously working on the wall, whenever the weather allowed. Approaching mid-august now, winter was around the corner. Temperatures were dropping; the frequency of storms was increasing. We craved for more rest, but time was ticking.
Were we already too late?
For two weeks, we climbed and fixed our ropes higher and higher, to a small natural ledge about halfway up. Here we established our high camp, which we stocked with gear, food and water. The forecast showed localised storms circling us, would they miss us? Could we take that chance?
Every decision out here involves a risk assessment, by the whole team. A major benefit to our “high camp” strategy was that, once on the wall, we’d have food, water, shelter, emergency communications and first aid kits within reasonable reach.
We packed up the basecamp and committed to the wall. So far all the pitches had gone free, but the upper half looked steeper and likely more challenging. We had supplies to last a week living up there.
24 hours later the snowstorm hit…
Finally, on day 4 of the storm the clouds sunk below our wall camp and the sun began drying the rock that led to the summit, now revealed to us in all its prowess. This is it. Time to give this headwall our best shot!
In two teams of three, we racked up and started climbing. The wind was icy cold, the cracks we climbed dripping with muddy water. I wore my puffy jacket and puffy pants under my rain jacket and rain pants, while climbing! Numb fingers and toes were inevitable and accepted as part of the challenge.
Pitch after pitch we connected the dots, never certain if we would make it to the summit. Would the storm return? Would the rock become too blank and steep to climb? Although we shot for the moon, we let a more approachable attitude guide us: one pitch at a time. We’d be repelling the route as our descent anyways, whether we made it to the summit or not, so we kept in mind the technical reality of how to bail, every step of the way.
The summit was guarded by the free climbing crux of the route, a 5.11+ pitch featuring an overhanging hand crack — what a joy! And that joy only amplified when the six of us scrambled to the tippy top of the mountain shortly after! We came in for a group hug, one large and colourful marshmallow of puffy jackets, braced against the icy winds momentarily forgotten in the emotion of the moment.
Watch the full movie
“Sea Barge Circus” 900m 5.11+ FA: Bronwyn Hodgins, Jacob Cook, Jaron Pham, Zack Goldberg-Poch, Angela Van Wiemeersh, and Kelsey Watts, August 2022.
