The need for food, fuel and mail then took us back
to Igdlorssuit, where in one busy day we accomplished all our errands
and then had time to watch a hunter and his wife skinning and cleaning
seals on the beach. A few dogs, mostly pups, loitered expectantly
around the operation waiting for handouts that never came —
there is another time for feeding dogs. Sometime later when I was
watching the same skilful and colourful procedure the woman cut
out one of the seal’s large eyes, put a small slit in it,
and handed it to a small boy who sucked it like a piece of candy.
A long evening boat journey led us to the southernmost
glacier on the west side of Upernivik Island, Serminguaq, and we
pitched our tents on a site used years before by a team of Danish
geologists. This was to be the location of the main part of John’s
glacier study, and while he was thus engaged on the next day four
of us climbed a relatively easy mountain, Biancai (about 5750 feet),
first climbed by an Italian group. It is well named since the top
is a large dome of soft snow, which gave some heavy plodding to
the summit. Again, however, our efforts were rewarded by a breathtaking
view into the upper snow basin at the head of the glacier surrounded
by jagged rock peaks draped with glaciers and bathed in the evening
sun. We stayed some time on the summit and performed the usual rituals
of eating and photography. In contrast to our first mountain this
one had been easy for us; we were getting into better shape. A leisurely
descent by a different route soon placed us on a rounded ridge 3000
feet above the sea where we stopped to appreciate the Arctic evening.
If the people of the North can be said to be robbed
for the summer of the pleasure of a starry night sky then they are
adequately compensated by the star-studded night-time sea. The many
icebergs, large and small, which dot the dark blue water glisten
a soft friendly golden-orange in the subdued light of a sun that
never sets.
That night our dinner was topped off with hot Christmas
pudding, and our falling asleep was accompanied by the sounds of
dying icebergs.
Colin and I decided that while the others were
pursuing their various interests we would go up to the head of the
glacier and bivouac, poised to climb on the following day. We packed
a light flysheet and enough food for two days and set off up the
glacier in the cool of the evening. After the first icefall we put
on the rope in order to safely thread our way among the ‘psyching’
profusion of yawning crevasses. As we moved upward into the Himalaya-like
valley enclosing the névé basin of Serminguaq a thick
blanket of fog crept in from the sea and enveloped the base-camp
far below. The others could not enjoy the bright sunny evening that
was ours. After 4 ½ hours we reached the obvious campsite
on the moraine rubble, a site which had been used by the Italians
in 1965 and again by a party from St. Andrews in 1969 (who named
it the camp of the 523 Biscottinis because of all the biscuits (cookies)
they found there).
Merendi was our objective, third highest peak on
Upernivik Island (6760 ft), rising cleanly to a tapered point from
a very jagged ridge. The sky was clear and the sun bright for our
walk up the edge of the glacier basin in the morning. The ascent
began on an easy rib of rock, which led eventually to a steep gully
of soft snow. Here we roped up. The first part of the route had
seemed obvious enough from below, but on reaching the ridge we discovered
that we were a fair distance from where we wanted to be. The hours
that followed became a mystery tour of the west ridge of Merendi,
climbing rock and snow, traversing around, over, and beneath the
pillars on the comb-like ridge, never knowing just what lay beyond
the next one. It was very enjoyable. The sun warmed the rock, and
in high spirits we reached the final summit ridge. Looking back
we were able to appreciate the ridiculousness of our route and the
incredible steepness of the north side of the ridge. Some easy scrambling
brought us to the final blocks of the summit where we again roped
up, and five pitches later we stood on the top. It was 9:30 p.m.
and the sun was still very bright although no longer providing its
daytime warmth. I had never seen a more beautiful view than that
which surrounded us then. To the north the high peaks of the island’s
interior thrust their rocky summits into the sky, while past the
névé basin to our south was a glacier-hung wall of
rock whose difficult peaks had yielded to the efforts of previous
expeditions. In the distance Snepyramiden loomed geometrically perfect
above its neighbours, while Umanak mountain, 50 miles to the south,
became a sun-fired rock in a sea of fog. We suspected that some
humps in the cloud beyond the sunlit slopes of the Nugssuaq Peninsula
were the hills of far-off Disko Island.
In the cairn we found the notes left by our predecessors,
Italians, a St. Andrews team, and Germans, and then a small tragedy
struck! We had brought no pen to leave a note of our own. What to
do? Aha! Blood! I pricked my finger and laboriously wrote our names
on a small piece of paper and placed it in the cairn. The night
was cold and our feet were wet, so after drinking deeply of our
surroundings one last time we quickly climbed off the summit blocks
and put on crampons to move onto the hard snow of the mountain’s
south slope. The descent was not difficult but required care, kicking
steps and front pointing, moving backwards about 2000 feet to the
easier angle snow at the edge of the glacier basin. It was a long
pleasant trudge back to the tent, and our not-too-exciting meal
was topped off by a large piece of luxury fruitcake and a deep sleep.
On returning to base camp we were greeted by Dave,
our seventh member, who had just arrived, and that night a small
collection of driftwood provided our first campfire, which cheered
us into the wee hours.
On the move…A trip to Igdlorssuit for supplies,
a base camp at the next glacier north. Two trips each along the
moraine and then on the glacier itself, deep into the heart of the
island. The nine-mile walk with a rise of about 3500 feet took seven
hours carrying heavy loads of food, tents and other equipment. At
first the campsite seemed an unlikely one, perched as it was on
the ridge of a moraine, but it is understatement to describe the
site as a scenic one, and under the influence of such stark grandeur
the hard work of load carrying and the rocks under the sleeping
bags seemed to fade into triviality. To the north rose the Great
White Tower, highest peak on the island and our major objective
(6900 feet). Further to the east the rocky spine of Scorpio gleamed
in the sun and beside it the long pinnacled ridge of Mt Spume angled
up from the glacier to its snowy summit, shaped like a breaking
wave (hence the name). In the distance was the lonely and singularly
beautiful form of Whaleback, while further around stood the king
of the island, the Horns of Upernivik. This complex fortress of
rock is the fourth highest peak on the island and probably the most
difficult. Although Phil and Dave had climbed it years before we
did not seriously consider an attempt this time. The twin pillars
of its summit are truly the horns of the island, raised in defiance
to those who look upon them with intent. Southward the beautifully
conical massif of Merendi caught the eye. From just below our campsite
she presented to us a magnificence we had not known before. The
snowy skirt of her hanging glacier, seemingly tied by a crinkled
ribbon of bergshrund, was suspended over a tall impressive plinth
of vertical rock. This splendid northern perspective made Colin
and me even more pleased that we had stood on her crown.
A day of rest, then a 5:30 a.m. start. Six of us
set off to climb the Great White Tower. The snow was still crisp
and firm as we walked easily across the glacier and onto the ridge.
Brilliant sun! Already the view was superb. While John and Colin
chose a rib of rock to the left, the rest of us started up the main
east ridge. We roped up, Peter with Phil and Dave with me, and took
turns leading up the sun-baked granite. It was very pleasant, though
occasionally not easy. The crux soon appeared as a seemingly hold-less
ten foot chimney which barred the way to the top of the second gendarme.
It was my turn to lead and I looked for another way, but there was
none. After an unsuccessful first attempt I retreated to remove
my rucksack and then struggled up successfully to a ledge from which
I could haul the rucksacks up on the rope. The end of the pitch
left us in an airy sunbathed spot from which John was seen further
ahead on a narrow ridge of snow. We paused to snack and contemplate
the sheet of grey cloud which was creeping up on us from the south….
A safe snow bowl, a few exposed pitches wearing
crampons on steep rice-like ice, a dramatic traverse on a narrow
crest of snow, and we were lounging on a ridge of scree, eating
again. The cloud had reached us and was gently wafting around the
towering boulders when the silence was broken by a cry from above.
John and Colin had reached the summit! We scrambled to the final
blocks and roped up for three pitches of variable difficulty, then
climbed one at a time onto the flat boulder which formed the summit,
and on which there was only room for one or two people to stand
at once. It had taken nearly 11 hours. Phil gave a short speech
renaming the mountain in honour of Professor Drever, to whom we
owed the existence of our expedition, and then we huddled over a
tangled mass of rope eating while the cloud moved in around us.
We moved off the top rocks in pairs and then cramponed down a few
pitches of rotten ice to safer rocks below. The original plan to
descend by traversing the west ridge was abandoned in the face of
deteriorating weather. A thick mist enveloped us and the rock was
becoming wet and slippery. We unroped and scrambled down steep scree
and ledges to a steep ice slope where crampons were necessary again.
Soon we were staggering through the soft snow of the glacier on
the way to the tents, where Adam had a supper waiting for us. We
had been away 17 hours.
Heavy rain interrupted our sleep several times that
night and continuing drizzle kept us in bed most of the following
day, but the day after that was perfection itself we set out to
do “hard things”.