Day 6. Mon., July 18. (57°04’18” N, 76°31’53” W)

On which our protagonist makes an acquaintance.

10PM    57°03’02” N, 76°27’38” W

I woke at 5AM and was ready by 8AM. Started hauling and was back on track in the correct valley by 11AM. I reached the first pond by 7:15PM. Today ran 17 hours. Resting yesterday was a good idea.

The carry was one of the most demanding days I’ve ever had kayaking. Fortunately, conditions were excellent: It was “good running weather,” as I once would have called it. Cool, breezy, only a few bugs initially. The ground went from soggy at first to a smooth uphill covered with grass, lichen beds, sand and gravel, with a bit of brush but nothing unmanageable.

The 7km route runs between rocky valley walls, which are most dramatic on the southern side, a place rock climbers would love. After 2km, you can see Nastapoka Sound spread out dramatically behind you. By late morning, the sun was warm and I was sweating heavily from the carry. I probably would have been chilly at first, had I stopped hauling gear, but by midday I needed a sun hat and lots of water. It was dry and I was hydrating constantly. At one point I nearly stepped on an old metal tool, very large, presumably lost by the Inuit many years prior.

My rhythm was simple: Carry the pack aways, put it down someplace prominent and highly visible, go back for the boat, rinse repeat. There are plenty of high points for gear drops, but I was glad nonetheless that my boat and pack are bright red and orange. They stand out reassuringly among the rocks.

About halfway along I saw what was not a rock: My first-ever musk ox. He stood there, expressionless, just chewing his cud and looking at me. Naturally I dubbed him Elon. I wasn’t afraid of him, but neither did I want to tangle with a creature bearing such sizable horns. So I tried communicating.

With overly emphasized body movements and loud speech, I tried to get the point across that I was going up the valley and wouldn’t bother him. I added as respectfully as I could that it was his home and that I appreciated his understanding. He simply kept looking at me and snorted. I suddenly felt like Graham Chapman’s Arthur flattering the black knight in Holy Grail, and felt approximately as ridiculous, but I backed away and started up the slope again. He didn’t stop me.

Elon and I ended up accompanying each other all the way to the first pond. I talked to him every time we got close, trying to make it clear that while I wasn’t a threat, I needed to get up the hill. His typical response was to face me and snort. At some point I lost track of him for awhile, which made me happy enough because the portage was as grueling as previous trip reports had made it sound. The sun was getting over and I was almost ready to call it quits for the day when I came over a rise and saw it: The pond. I was nearly finished.

I must have made a good enough initial impression on Elon, because when I got to the top, he had his whole clan waiting: at least 15 of them, several females, calves scampering about. The word frolic entered my mind as they ran. I didn’t get close, but as I dragged the boat negotiating the last few obstacles, I did move toward them. The group quickly circled up in a defensive stance, but I talked and gesticulated again, like the tired and light-headed expeditioner that I was. After a few hesitant minutes they all ran up the cliffside and disappeared, faster than you might think for such ungainly looking creatures. Like moose, they can move when they need to.

It is done. I’m camped just uphill from the pond, which has a few whitecaps from the wind that has picked up. I’m exhausted but I’m clean, warm and fed. Tomorrow if the wind permits we pond-hop.