Reykjavík Grapevine - 08.01.2016, Qupperneq 28

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Welcome to part two of our Greenland
diary. In part one (read that in our De-
cember issue, or online at is.gd/grape-
land), we experienced the wilderness
airport-town of Kangerlussuaq, and took
a drive to the vast Greenlandic ice cap.
The story resumes as we head back into
town for a Greenlandic feast to remem-
ber.
On the outskirts of Kangerlussuaq, on
the shore of Lake Ferguson, lies a well-
regarded restaurant named Roklubben,
or “The Rowing Club” in English, one of
the town’s only eateries. Named after
the building’s previous use, Roklubben
specialises in locally sourced ingredi-
ents, including thick reindeer steaks,
various cuts of musk ox, and gamey
grouse—all hunted in the region—as
well as Disko Bay halibut.
The meal's finale is a “Greenlan-
dic coffee”—a super-strong dessert
cocktail, mixed by pouring a stream
of flaming liquor into the glasses from
a height, to create an “indoor aurora.”
Despite being in the smallest town we’ll
visit, Roklubben definitely served the
best meal we enjoyed on our trip.
“Just jump on!”
The next morning, we sit in the de-
parture lounge, sleepily watching the
sky’s gradient change from dark, inky
blue to fiery orange and luminous pink.
Kangerlussuaq airport is tiny, but it’s
also Greenland's main air travel hub,
and an improbably atmospheric hive of
activity, with snow-blowers constantly
clearing the runway of ice. Planes come
and go in rapid succession, with their
attending baggage carts, landing ve-
hicles and fuel wagons zipping busily
across the frozen runway.
The flight takes off into a glorious
sunrise that floods the plane’s cabin
and the frozen plains below in pink
light. Just twenty minutes later, we de-
scend into Sisimiut, coming to a halt on
a seaside airstrip so picturesque it feels
almost unreal. Sun rays catch the tops
of the snowy islands that dot the bay,
casting long shadows over the icy sea,
and the world takes on on an indefinite
magic-hour glow.
We're met at the gate by Ólafur, an
Icelander and an enthusiastic cham-
pion of Sisimiut who's lived there for
several years. Our first order of busi-
ness is to go dog-sledding. Before long,
we’re in the hallway of a nearby wooden
house, suiting up from head to toe in
bulky sealskin clothing, worn over the
top of our lopapeysur, parkas, hats,
scarves and everything else.
Marius, a no-nonsense Greenlan-
dic dog-team driver with a weathered,
lined face, waits outside. His dogs howl
with building anticipation as he ges-
tures for me to sit in the back of the
sled. He sends Axel running up to the
top of a nearby ridge. “Just jump on as
it comes past!” he shouts. “Okay then!”
replies Axel, gamely, running up the hill.
The dogs' howling reaches a crescen-
do, and suddenly, the creaking sled
leaps forwards. I grip the ropes that
criss-cross the frame for dear life, gig-
gling uncontrollably as we shoot up the
steep slope. Within a few seconds Axel
appears out of thin air, plopping down
in front of me, his camera held aloft. We
cackle with laughter as we cross the
ridge into a flat white expanse.
Marius reappears from behind us,
clambering deftly to the front of the
sled. He communicates with the dogs
by shouting out high-pitched syllables
such as “jú, jú!” and they turn or change
speed in response. He sometimes hol-
lers to us in broken Danish over the
hissing of the runners scraping over
the snow. “We’re crossing a frozen lake,
now,” he shouts. “All of this is water in
summer.”
We pass through a couple of route
marker flags, picking up speed. "I take
the sled to Kangerlussuaq every year to
hunt the musk ox,” shouts Marius, “and
bring back four, on the sled, to feed the
dogs.” He cracks the whip to either side
of the pack occasionally to guide them.
"I once took some tourists on a trip
across the ice cap on the sled,” he yells.
“It got damaged and I had to repair it
along the way. It took a month to cross
it, and another month to come back.”
After an hour of mushing between
the frozen mountains, the colourful
houses of Sisimiut come back into view.
As we reach the house once again, we
clamber off the sled, breathless and
aching. I’m filled with admiration for the
indefatigable Marius.
A dog’s death
Sisimiut, population 6,000, has a very
different atmosphere to the more urban
28 The Reykjavík GrapevineIssue 1 — 2016TRAVEL
Feasting, sledding &
seeing stars in the Arctic Circle
Words John Rogers Photos Axel Sig
Southwestern Greenland