Sitting in my sleeping bag, gazing across the rocky landscape shrouded in heavy cloud, I’m enjoying a hot breakfast. The more you eat the lighter your pack gets, and almost half my food supplies have gone.
The view across the broad Itinneq river flood plain is incredible — a labyrinth of light and dark greens.
As I make my way down to the valley floor, I pass a Swiss guy, perched on a ledge, packing his gear. He will follow me to the ford.
The path lies under a foot of water, and I can’t find any way round it without water pouring into my boots. I’ve brought sandals with me for the first time, and having carried them all this way, I should put them to good use. In shorts, sandals and bare feet, I plough straight down the trail. My feet are chilled, but I reach the river quickly.
The best crossing point is not obvious, so I choose a line just upstream of a large rock. Working against the flow, moving diagonally upstream with my poles, it’s not too bad. Only mid-thigh deep at the far side. Even so, I can’t resist a big smile on reaching the bank. There’s no sight of the Swiss guy. I assume he changed his mind and diverted to the bridge.
There are newspaper reports of a young London banker who vanished on the trail in 2016. His last notes were in the hut before the river crossing, and it’s assumed he tried to ford it in spate, being swept away. Rather poignantly, his family removed the diary page from each hut carrying his last words. Apparently, if you flick back through the books you can still see where the pages are missing.
The ground is still very boggy, so I hike in shorts and sandals for another hour before getting dressed. Warm, dry socks feel wonderful.
Climbing up a narrow valley on the far side of the river plain, I reach the Eqalugaarniarfik hut, lying neat and empty. A fine place for second breakfast and another note for the Fellowship: “They lied about the jacuzzi. Hope you enjoyed the ford.” Having written that, no doubt the firefighters improvised a rope bridge crossing!
It’s a beautiful, if strenuous, walk up the valley. I pass the All Terrain Vehicle track for the first time and it jars to see the landscape churned up and covered with black scars. A road is to be built from Sisismiut to Kangerlussuaq, supported by the locals for economic reasons as currently all goods have to be flown across. All this will change. No doubt the huts will become cafes for the day trippers from the cruise ships. This is one reason why I decided to experience the trail now, although there is a nascent alternative southern route on the map.
Cresting the hill, the next valley opens up, with my first sight of snow on the distant mountains. It’s a stunning walk along the ridge. One of my favourite sections so far.
The trail runs down to the valley floor and follows a series of lakes. Do I need to mention by now that it’s boggy? On my first day I thought the cotton grass was cute — hundreds of tiny fluffy white tufts marking the path. I soon learned that they grow in the wettest part of the ground and are to be avoided at all cost.
I reach a magical lake that takes my breath away. The water surface is so still, like a mirror, and a hidden path hugs the base of the lush hillside.
There is water everywhere and such wonderful reflections.
I’m starting to see people on distant hilltops or sense them behind me, but when I look over my shoulder it’s just a tall cairn. Is this what happens when you’re alone for too long?
It’s 6pm and a wide river bend should take me round to a lake and my hut for the night. Unfortunately, it leads to another vast marshy plain, with no obvious trail markings. Give me a break. After 17 miles, it’s hard to keep concentrating on finding firm ground to step on.
Finally, I see it at last — the beautiful Lake House. Opening the door, somewhat weary, I receive a great welcome. Nabil, a Frenchman working for the WHO, brews me a cup of tea. Heidi, an enjoyably manic US vet, offers hot water and food. Carlos, a Brazilian, now living in East Yorkshire, makes room for me. Nabil and Carlos are walking in the same direction as me, while Heidi is heading east.
We chat and swap stories. No-one has seen musk oxen yet, although Carlos saw several arctic hares, all standing on their hind legs. Nabil suffered a little after the ford crossing as the mosquitoes feasted on him while he was stripped off and resting on the shore. Heidi is cursing the 10 hours it took her on day one to get through the bogs outside Sisimiut. The guys both smile when I mention Alice. Seems like everyone has an Alice story. We all crash out around 9pm in the dorm.
Another wonderful day. Solitude during the day and companionship at night. I’m going to miss this when I return to my coastal walk.
Hi Tony, well done for crossing the river. I had to cross a similar river back in 2002, while completing the Fisherfield 6, a 13 hour slog over these hard to reach Munros. The river in question was the Abhainn Gleann na Muice and the ice-cold water came up to the ‘dangly bits’. Like you. I used my poles for support, had no choice in the matter as my tent was on the other side.
Great to read of the other walkers you have met.
Hi Alan. I think “dangly bits” is a pretty good warning sign. Any higher than that I might turn back, depending on the strength of the current.