Arctic Circle Trail: Day 1

Running 103 miles from Kangerlussuaq, just west of the Greenland ice sheet, to Sisimiut on the coast, with no phone signal or resupply points — nothing except what you can carry. Welcome to the Arctic Circle Trail (“ACT”).

After a two day journey, via Copenhagen, I step off the plane at Kangerlussuaq and take in the sparse collection of buildings, flanked by grey hills. The largest commercial airport in Greenland was originally a US WWII airbase and many of the buildings remain, repurposed as visitor accommodation. It’s bleak and I’m excited.

I have two concerns. The first is whether my backpack will arrive. There are several reports on the Facebook ACT Group of people losing their luggage in this summer’s aviation chaos, which means the adventure is over before it begins. I’m relieved when the battered pack trundles along the conveyor belt.

The second is to find camping gas. This is my first hiking trip overseas and of course I’m not allowed to fly with gas canisters. I don’t fancy seven days of cold freeze-dried meals and no hot drinks, so I relax when the supermarket has some of the right canisters on the shelf. Now I’m self sufficient and can handle whatever the trail throws at me — I hope.

I’ve booked a taxi with a local tour company, Albatross Arctic Circle, to take me to the start of the trail. I’ve seen enough roads recently when hiking in Scotland and Essex. Hans-Peter turns up in a yellow school bus, as all the smaller vehicles are out or being repaired. As I’m the only passenger, we have a long chat on the slow journey along a bumpy, potholed road. He tells me of the Danish “Titanic” that struck an iceberg and sank in 1959 on her maiden voyage off the coast of Western Greenland. He drops me off at Kelly Ville, the site of a recently abandoned atmospheric research facility and the start of the trail, before kindly taking a picture and wishing me good luck.

The trail is similar to the West Highland Way in that it begins with gentle rolling hills and becomes more dramatic the further you hike. I soon realise that the narrow trail is invariably flooded, forcing you to walk over rougher ground, meandering round, and through, the frequent bogs.

There are various small huts to sleep in along the trail, although they may be occupied, so you need to plan to camp. There is an “unofficial” hut at Hundeso lake, which looks like something built by The Wombles or taken straight out of Mad Max.

I prefer my tent.

Shortly after leaving the hut, the wind picks up and the rain falls. This is not a day for photos. A grey veil covers small lakes and hills stretching as far as I can see. Am I really heading into that? I trust my gear, but if anything goes wrong out here then you are on your own. I’m aware from the Facebook Group of a few other people hiking around this time but who knows if they are ahead of, or behind, me.

The trail is well marked with a series of cairns bearing a red semi-circle from the national flag and often strewn with reindeer antlers. A sea eagle soars far above and wheatears flit around to keep me company.

Toward the end of the day I pass three fellow English hikers: Dennis and his two adult daughters, Jen and Liz. We stop to watch two small reindeer wander across the valley floor. They are too far away and it’s too wet for a picture.

My paper map is buried in a pocket underneath my waterproof trousers. It’s hard to access, and the rain is relentless, so I take a quick check of my downloaded map on GAIA against my GPS position. There are two trails marked and I take the shorter one over a hill. This is a mistake, as the official route continues along the valley. Cresting the ridge, I can see the first official hut: Katiffik, at the head of Amitsoruaq lake. Unfortunately, it’s a very steep descent and hard work to avoid slipping down the slope.

A separate tall building houses an outdoor toilet, tethered by four heavyweight steel cables, testament to the wind strength out here. I guess no one wants to be sitting in there as it topples over!

The sun appears at the end of the day which is a blessing. I’m surprised to see so many people around the hut. Three solo hikers occupy the hut: Pia from Denmark, Megan from the US, and Michael from Germany. I pitch farthest from the hut, next to three Oregon firefighters: Lisa, Terra and Jen, who are very welcoming. The English trio arrive shortly after and camp further along the lakeshore. That makes nine companions.

My socks and boots are already soaked. Michael has the paraffin heater going, so we all put our gear in the hut to dry.

I’m tired as it’s been a long day with a heavier pack than I’m used to. The terrain is not too difficult compared to the ups and downs of coastal walking, but the miles are long due to the frequent detours round bogs and streams. Once I’m in a warm sleeping bag, fed and resting, I’m not venturing back out into the cold despite an intriguing yipping sound nearby. Sleep well Mr. Arctic Fox. I shall.