Читать книгу An Intimate Wilderness - Norman Hallendy - Страница 21

CENTRE OF THE WORLD

About 100 metres off my left shoulder lies that part of the Arctic Ocean known as the Foxe Channel, named for Luke Foxe, who sailed into these treacherous waters in 1631. Some believe that ships shaped like seagoing monsters sailed these very waters 400 years before Luke Foxe. As I look toward the sea it is difficult to comprehend how anyone could entrust his life to a small wooden ship, sail across an ocean, then enter a sea choked with ice that never ceases moving. Here, tides rise and fall anywhere from six to nine metres, causing riptides and whirlpools and changing the profile of the entire coastline every six hours. This is where the Inuit elders I knew took to the waters in little boats made of sealskin and driftwood to hunt walrus that could destroy their kayaks with a single lunge. Buried in the Inuit legends of Sikusiilaq are accounts of huge and fearsome creatures that plied these very waters long before the arrival of the qallunaat.

Across from me and hidden below the horizon lies Southampton Island, known to the Inuit as Salliit or Shugliaq. If I look carefully in that direction, I can make out a faint and distant cloud that behaves as if tethered to some invisible body. Its unmoving presence tells us that below the horizon and within its very shadow lies Salliit.

Looking north, I face into the prevailing wind. It drives down the length of the Foxe Basin, moving enormous slabs of ice around in the sea as if they were mere snowflakes. Far beyond my line of sight lies the ancient settlement of Igloolik. Inuit have lived there long before the coming of wooden ships, some people believe as far back in time as 4,000 years.

Turning slightly to my right, I look straight along the western edge of the Foxe Peninsula. Here I see a powerful landscape. It is a virtual desert of rolling hills, frost- shattered rock, countless small inland lakes, and tiny pockets of the most delicate wildflowers trembling in the incessant Arctic wind. Far beyond lie the two ancient camps of Nurrata and Nuvudjuak. The ancestors of many of the elders I knew lived here for countless generations. Many of the legends, stories, and personal accounts of extraordinary happenings divulged to me relate to this strangely beautiful region.

Now I turn slightly to the northeast. Far in the distance can be seen an inuksuk. It points the way to one of the most extraordinary places in the entire Arctic, the Great Plain of the Koukdjuak. An eerie landscape, it is a vast plain, part of the sea bottom that rose when the great mantle of ice receded from here nine thousand years ago. Here I see small, perfectly round lakes, some filled with azure water. In the middle of this vast plain lies a huge freshwater lake called Nettilling. It is connected to the sea by the Koukdjuak, which means a Great River. It is indeed great, in some places over two kilometres wide as it winds its way to the sea. But unlike other great rivers, it traverses a land so flat that it has carved no banks. Upon the Great Plain of the Koukdjuak, geese in the tens of thousands come to nest each brief season.

I now turn once more, this time facing south and notice the rugged landscape unfolding in the distance. I am looking along the inland route stretching across the west end of the Foxe Peninsula. The landscape is exceptionally beautiful with its valleys, hills, gorges, small plains, and hidden places. Because the dominant features of this landscape are oriented in a north-south direction, sun and shadow create an astonishing effect. The landscape never looks quite the same; there are times when even the passage of clouds casts moving shadows that make mountains look as if they are moving and valleys disappear. Still further in the same direction is Kinngait (Cape Dorset), meaning high mountains or hills, the place from which this journey began.

Where I stand at this moment is at the centre of all these remarkable places. I catch my breath, not wanting to speak. Finally, I sit in the windless shadow of yet another circle of experience.