Day 5: Ikkattooqhut – Eqalugaarniarfikhut, 11 km

The mountains surrounding us are covered with a thin layer of snow and it’s beautiful. The deep silence amplifies the beauty of it and when the sun has risen, I have taken the first pictures before I have even donned my backpack. While Anne and Marijke are still packing up, I head out. Despite the snow the trail is well defined, although I am aware it might by slippery here and there. It’s not too bad however and with the route I climb a bit higher into the mountains and my boots find grip on the bare rock. Cairns are plentiful here and although it still snows lightly and the clouds touch the mountaintops, below them it’s clear and I have no trouble following the trail. The path winds past lakes and across rises. The snows doesn’t seem to melt, yet a large amount of water flows downwards across the past. I realize the river I will have to cross later might be more than knee-deep. After a few climbs and descents I glimpse the valley where the Itinneq flows. It’s a gorgeous view, the red brown shrubs, the mountains reaching for each other in the distance and the river like a narrow ribbon towards the horizon. But first I have to get there. The descend is never worrisome, across a series of plateaus I descend gradually and nowhere it’s very technical or challenging. Only once I slip in the mud, fortunately without serious consequences. I descend below the snowline and trade the white landscape for peat bog, where sometimes there’s a path and sometimes only puddles past which I find my own way. Soon my boots are soaked again and even my waterproof socks are starting to feel clammy. The path guides me across the plain, where I encounter I sign pointing towards a bridge. Fortunately after Iceland I have no trouble crossing rivers and I can save myself the tortuous trek to the bridge. The bridge itself is the only easy part, there’s no path towards it and no path back to the trail. There are also no way markers and you’d have to find your way through the swamp based on the route description. No thanks. I prefer wet feet. I follow the path to the river, which flows quite rapidly in the centre. But it doesn’t appear to be too deep and I roll up my pant legs above my knees. Boots off, sandals on, camera in its dry bag and go. The water is cold, but until I reach the other bank I’m just fine. There the river suddenly gets a fair bit deeper. Ah well, I have to cross it anyway. I wade to the bank and get soaked up to my groin. Whoops! Fortunately they are fast drying hiking pants and the sun is making brave attempts at shining. I’ll be just fine. I continue past the rock face that borders the valley and where there’s sometimes a trail and sometimes there isn’t. There seems to be a second, wider path, an old track perhaps? Although it’s overgrown, it’s fairly wide and sometimes I see tracks in the clay which might be sled runners. Slowly the route starts climbing and slowly I climb with it. Before I follow the route to the right first I enjoy the view of Maligiaqfjord. A few winding rivers and then wide open water surrounded by impressive mountains. What a picture! Reluctantly I break away and follow the trail around a hill. There the familiar red color of a hut appears, Eqalugaarniarfik. The hut is right in a sunny spot and looks out on the fjord. A view which you would have to pay for handsomely in other countries and I get to enjoy this for free. How lucky am I with such a beautiful hut in such a gorgeous spot! The sun has broken through thoroughly now and I put my shoes and sock out to dry and make myself comfortable on the steps. Out of the wind, in the sun, wonderful. On the water boats appear. Three disappear behind a mountain and one remains stationary on the water. Perhaps to fish? I sweep the hut floor and exchange the excrement bag in the toilet for a fresh one and turn back to the sun. The next leg is nineteen kilometers and although my backpack is lighter than day one, thirty kilometers on a single day is too much of a good thing. Also it’s quite niche to take it easy for once. While I look out on the fjord two fast boats appear, which seem to travel up the Itinneq. Soon after Anne and Marijke arrive. They were originally planning to skip this hut and camp halfway through the next leg, but are taking it easy today as well. And it gets busier. First a quad appears with three reindeer hunters from Sisimiut, who pitch their tent in front of the hut, and later three German hikers who started in the Canoe Centre early this morning. It just about fits, but the hut becomes nice and cozy.

Day 6: Eqalugaarniarfikhut - Innajuattoqhut II, 19 km
The three German hikers set out first. Their itinerary is quite tight and they are hiking double legs to make the plane from Sisimiut to Kangerlusuaq. In hindsight the regret not having a few extra days to visit the ice cap. Shortly after their departure the reindeer hunters fire up their  quad. The caught a bull yesterday, but need more for a successful hunt. When I hoist my backpack up, I see their quad crawling up the mountain. I follow a path towards a cairn with the now familiar red half moon. When the path seems to pass the cairn by, I think I have taken a wrong turn and take another path a few steps back, although by now I should know sometimes the trail has nothing to do with a cairn’s location. The path I am following dead ends in some shrubs. I aim for a distant cairn and hike towards it, straight through the shrubs. I have to cross a stream to accomplish that, but manage to do so with stepping stones fortunately. Once at the cairn I see a second on a distant hill with faint  traces of a path next to it. Straight through the vegetation I press on, until I reach the quad track and hiking gets easier. Although the path follows the direction of the quad track, we leave the track as often as possible. The climb up is a bit challenging and I feel it in my calves. But the reward it everywhere around me, in the beautiful landscape, the ponds with wool grass, the stalwart rock faces with snow white peaks behind them. Again I count my blessings, that I am here and lucky enough to experience this. When I reach the top, I have an awesome view of a fjord with its gracefully protruding peninsulas. Perhaps that is the reason I don’t pay attention and follow a trail downwards while I should have stayed on the ridge. The path disappears when I approach a lake and I decide to backtrack to the last cairn. When I reach the bottom of the slope and see the next cairn sticking out against the sky, I notice I certainly am not the only one who has made this mistake. A subtle snowy side trail leads directly to the cairn. I climb up and find the wide and certain route of the Arctic Circle Trail. The next cairn beckons and I continue on my way through the mountains and the snow, which hides the trail more and more. It has one advantage though: now I not only see the excrement of a polar fox, but also its footprints. The animal itself remains elusive however, although I have not yet given up hope of seeing one. A series of graceful lakes announces itself, curled around the foothills of the Taseeqqap Saqqaa mountain range. The mountains are stark white and I am appropriately impressed. When I descend a bit, there’s a lake with wool grass and again I whip out my camera. Because of my detour Anne and Marijke have almost caught up with me and only when I hear Anne’s chatter echoing against the rock face I realize how much I appreciate and even need the silence. How much loneliness is a part of me and resonates with me. I take a break to let the women pass. But it’s too cold to linger long and when the sisters are distant dots I start following them. The route descends towards a huge lake where it runs along the bank, sometime right at the water’s edge and sometimes a ways apart. I see Anne and Marijke are resting themselves now and when I near them they are accosted by a hunter looking for reindeer. He has seen nature change after tourists started coming here, he says. Where reindeer used to roam the valley floors, he now has to make an effort to find them. But he offers sled dog rides himself, of which I have seen the flyer in several hut, so it’s not all bad. With some discontent he tell of Greenland’s authority’s plan to turn the Arctic Circle Trail into a quad track. It is one of the reasons I wanted to hike this trail as soon as possible, before the pristine nature is spoilt and the silence ripped apart by the sound of revving engines.  The plan hasn’t gone through yet, but is still on the table. My feet don’t like being idle and I get going again. The path crosses two streams tumbling across rocks and I make use of the stepping stones. The lake is huge and I keep following the bank although two vague trails shoot up towards a cairn adorned hill. According to my guide book that’s the official route, but there’s not path to connect the cairns. I think I have climbed enough for one day and the steep rock faces reflection in the lake is a treat in itself. When I reach the end of the lake, it’s the start of a river, which initially squeezes in between two rocky banks and then spreads out between green clumps of moss. This seems like a prime spot for a break and I have barely taken off my backpack or I see a reindeer crossing the river. How beautiful. There are too many midges to enjoy the sun however and soon I hoist my backpack back up. Before the river reaches the fjord, it first flows into a new lake and around this lake too I go. It’s a large, boggy area without cairns and following the route is difficult. The path disappears just as often as it appears and only because I can read the ground and recognize the vaguest bending of yellow gold grass as a path, I remain on the right track. It’s hard and the flies don’t make it any easier. With my trekking poles I probe the ground to feel if it’s somewhat solid, but sometimes I am mistaken and my boot sinks into the peat up to ankle height. The path roams like a the bog like a drunk and  only very slowly turns towards the end of the lake. Eventually it hesitantly reaches the foot of a hill and climbs a bit, and I can keep my feet dry for a change. When I round a hill I see a puffy hill in the distance with a red house on its left slope. The cairns indicate a trail which swings to its right and I follow them, because on the hill’s other side there’s a second, more spacious hut so beautifully situated it’s warmly recommended by Paddy. And indeed, the red house at  the edge of a lake, with a grey and white mountain view, could not be prettier. I claim one of the ten beds and dig my head net out of my backpack. Then I settle in the sunshine behind the hut. Because of the head net I can’t see well enough to write my trail journal or look at today’s pictures. All I can do is sit and enjoy the sun’s warmth on my face. Doing nothing. I am still learning, but for now it’s enjoyable.

Day 7: Innajuattoqhut II – Nerumaqhut, 16 km
A river crossing is a nice way to start the day. The water is low and it looks like I can make it across without taking my boots off. Still it’s a puzzle which rocks are available for use as stepping stones. In advance I can’t determine which are loose and sometimes a rock just below the surface is better than a rock above it. With my trekking poles for support I’m doing fine and I even stop halfway for a picture of the sunlight’s brilliance on the water. Once safely across I follow the path along the bank of the beautiful lake, which could easily feature on the cover of a Greenland brochure. The trail leads through low willows, which flog my pant legs as if they’re getting paid to do so. The sun is out in force and it’s windless, meaning the flies are celebrating. They’re not midges, which seem to have made it their mission to crawl in your nose and ears as much as possible, but long before I reach the end of the lake I am fed up already. The path is easy to follow, although it can be hard to find again when you’re off it. Due to the cairns I always find it again and gradually it climbs to where there’s a slight breeze, which main merit is that it grounds the flies. Once up high I have an amazing view of a mountain range with grim white peaks, Nerumaq. They are dazzling in the sunlight and I can’t stop watching them. I pass a series of lakes which enhance the picture an near one of them a reindeer is grazing. Although he sees me, it animal doesn’t flee. Now this is a confident bull, in his prime, which will fight for a harem during rut. It’s many pointed antlers starting to chafe already, long and bloody strips of skin hanging down from it. It clearly irritates him, because with its hoof he tries to rid himself of the remaining skin. After I have made a few pictures I hike on satisfied, leaving the animal grazing for Anne and Marijke. The trail is passable, although there are a few debris fields where I step from rock to rock. A bit further on I see movement and I suspect a second reindeer, although it’s too far to be certain. Carefully I move on, taking care my trekking poles don’t scrape the rocks. I get to a junction Anne showed me yesterday, which is not mentioned in my route description. The cairns turn downwards, into the valley, but there’s also a trail going up, following the valley higher up. For a stretch I follow the higher trail, because it brings me closer to the reindeer. Now I can see it’s a bull, a very young one too. It’s still uncertain of itself and runs now here and then the other way. I take a few pictures, the best ones yet with that dramatic mountain backdrop,  and descend to the lower path. I don’t have the high route in my GPS and would constantly worry about where it would connect back to the right trail. Relaxing is not having to think too much about the route and enjoying my surroundings unobstructed. That’s why I follow the cairns down. View wise it probably doesn’t make much difference, high and higher is about the same. Immediately my choice is rewarded. For the first time I see a hind with a calf, which swiftly flee deeper into the valley. Such a shame animals consider humans a threat and fear us. However justified, I prefer a Disneyfied world where man and animal live together in peace. Thus thinking I enter a bog full of ponds and start to understand why the high route was invented. But it’s just too much fun jumping from clump to clump and I wouldn’t have wanted to miss this.
On a distant hill I see something I suspect is a human. That bright red can’t be natural. At a creek I meat Kristen from the United States. We chat and I tell her of my waterproof socks and the beauty of Landmannalaugar. Kristen tells of a 73 year old German who has started a petition against the unfortunate plan to turn the Arctic Circle Trail into a quad track. He is hiking towards Kangerlussuaq, so I am sure to meet him. He has my support already. We say our goodbyes and I continue across the valley floor, along an attractively meandering river and through more low shrubs. The end is in sight where the valley turns right. A peculiar contrast, the sunlit abundantly overgrown slope to my right and the somber, mossy slope to my left. I hike on, as curious as ever to see what’s around the corner. It’s like the curtain to a play slowly opening. Thus the valley reveals new snowy peaks in the distance and quite soon a little red hut where four Danes are having a zero day. The hut fits seven people, but with the four there are now the air is stuffy already and for the first time I decide to pitch my tent. After all I have brought it for a reason. Once pitched I have the best view ever from behind the fly mesh. Because the distance is short today, it’s still fairly early and I spend a pleasant hour picking blueberries to cheer up my diner.

Day 8: Nerumaqhut - Kangerluarsuk Tulleqhut, 17 km
Getting up is much harder in a than in a hut. Not only a tent is nice and snug, the difference in temperature between inside a sleeping bag and outside it is much bigger. Eventually I haul myself outside, but only after I have heard the Danes leaving. When I packed up my tent, Anne and Marijke pass by too and not much later I descend to the river for my first crossing of the day. The first rock is rather pointed and when I step on it, it doesn’t entirely go according to plan, but fortunately I can step into the water without losing my balance. I step around the stone to another, just below the surface and a few rocks later I’m across. There are no flies today. It’s a lot cooler than yesterday and white wisps of cloud curls across the mountains like frozen waves. Yesterday’s snowy peaks remain hidden behind a sky as grey as the mountains. The route follows the rippling river on its way down, through low willows and wet peat and puddles. Where you cross depends on how long your legs are and how far you can jump. Now and again a waterfall drops down along the slope and there’s a stream to cross, although I also encounter dry stream beds. There’s a forest of willows where the shrubs reach above head height and I hike through a yellow tunnel, while the braches grapple at my backpack. When I emerge I am greeted by a pile of tissues someone has left right by the trail. You would think the Arctic Circle Trail is hiked only by nature lovers, which abide by the honor code of hikers: leave no trace. But for days now I regularly encounter tissues and other trash. Little pieces of plastic I collect as much as I can of. Of course, I too have a roll of toilet paper in its own little dry bag, but when I use it, I dig a shallow pit and cover the mess again, so the landscape looks pristine and the paper decomposes faster. I remember the Inuit-legend of Sanna, mother of the sea. A river flowed through her house and because she had no fingers, she could not keep her house clean herself. Whenever her house became cluttered, the animals of the sea became entangled in the trash and thus there was no more prey for the Inuit hunters. With the aid of his protecting spirits the shaman descended to Sanna’s house. He combed her hair and cleaned the house, so the sea could flow freely and prey could swim everywhere again. It’s an centuries old legend, but still applicable in these modern times. We might forget it sometimes in our modern, warm houses, our attention taken up by social media, but we are connected to the earth and need to take well care of her.
Soon I catch up with Anne and Marijke and again I realize I prefer to be alone in my own bubble of silence and loneliness. I take a short break and enjoy the landscape which now unabashedly adorns itself in fall colors. Red, green and orange alternate in continuously different shades and it’s never boring. After a quarter of an hour I become chilled and continue on. Although I see two figures hiking in the distance, I no longer hear them. While hiking I am keeping an eye out for a polar fox. According to Kristen we pass a hill today in which one has a den. But then, I am surrounded by hills. Still I stop regularly and scrutinize every hill before I go on. The route descends to a river where we are asked to cross it again. There’s also a path along the bank and I wonder if other hikers crossed it further downstream of if I should just follow the bank of the river, which I will have to cross again later. With my eyes I follow the river to a steep cliff and decide to risk the crossing. Where the trail reaches the water’s edge I see a large rock which takes up the entire width of the river. Parts of it are fairly deep under water, though. The river, supplemented by the waterfalls and streams I saw along the way, is fairly deep and swift. With my trekking poles I find a way across, but my boots get wetter than I would have liked. Once across there are more low shrubs and I follow the trail downwards. The river made a huge loop and stretches out before me again. In the distance I can see Anne and Marijke crossing. A bit later I am at the ford, where the river has gained some more strength. Again there are stepping stones and again my boots are less than dry. Soaked I hike on. I would like to stop and wring out my socks, but by now it has gotten warmer and flies dance all around me. As long as I am walking they don’t bother me, but as soon as I stop they swarm my face. I have discovered I dislike flies. Soon I get used to damp shoes and it doesn’t bother me anymore.
On a bald hill I see the German sisters talking to someone. When I reach them It turns out to be Frider, the 73 year old German. He is obviously on his hobbyhorse concerning the plans to turn the Arctic Circle Trail into a quad track. Detailed he speaks of emails to the mayor and amended maps with the proposed route. What I really want to know I hear only when I interrupt him: what can I do to help. He digs up a flyer from his pocket with a website where I can find information and sign a petition. I am not sure if it will help, but I will certainly look at it. The flies are a pest and give me a decent excuses to hike on after awhile. It’s important someone protests against Greenland’s plans, but I don’t want to hear every minute detail. The German women don’t escape their countryman that easily and prepare themselves to listen a bit longer. While I hike on, I think of the pristine nature I have seen the past few days and the silence, which was so loud. If a road would truly be built here, all that makes this area worthwhile is lost. For hikers and nature lovers there will be no more reason for traveling to Greenland. No more spontaneous meetings with reindeer, no hope at a polar fox. It’s a shame the Greenlandic government doesn’t realize that in this pristine nature they have an unique jewel that can’t easily be found or reached in other parts of the world. It’s a shame they don’t cherish their landscape and save it for future generations. I am glad to be here now, while it’s still silent. 
The Arctic Circle Trail goes on and I go with it, ever along the river, which meanders and squirms freely, spreading broadly across the valley floor now and again in attractive pools with wool grass and green moss. Beautiful red and orange shrubs. Like I am lost in a postcard. Hiking remains a challenge, that much bog and peat, jumping and judging where best to plant your feet and after which the path reappears as if it was never gone. Eventually the river drains into a lake, where I sometimes hike on small beaches, with little waves kissing my feet. Before I reach the end of the lake

The trail climbs a hill. Looking back the lake becomes more and more pretty the higher I get. The scenic mountains around it, the blue sky and sun, giving the landscape a golden glow. Once at the top near a cairn for the first time I really lose the trail. I think to see the path in the distance again and walk towards it, but a trail it is not. Then I see a cairn below me and although a few stones have been stacked by humans, there’s no trace of a trace. Deep below me at the bank of the fjord I see a red hut and high up a hill a second. The lower hut is bigger, but is two kilometers off the trail and is sometimes used by fishermen. I want to go to the second hut and that’s too far to hike straight through the vegetation, especially because I do not want to damage the fragile landscape. I know the trail runs to the left of the hut, because after a last bog you have to turn right. I climb a hill expecting the trail to run there and see a cairn again. En at the cairn, clear as day, is the trail. I follow it to the hut, where Anne and Marijke were already wondering where I had gone off to. The hut is quite full with the four Danes and two Germans, but because rain is expected for tonight and we are a lot higher than yesterday, I again choose the hut for this last night on the trail.

Day 9: Kangerlusuarsuk Tulleqhut – Sisimiut, 20 km
Sleeping in a three man hut with seven people is not a good idea. Continuously there’s someone who has to steps out, snores or turns, which causes the lilo to squeak mightily. The air is damp and pregnant with the scent of wet socks . Sleep eludes me. At 05.30 I am fed up and get up. While the first rays of sunshine light up the clouds, I pack my backpack. When I set out the fjord, mountains and sky have that blue hue of the very early morning. The trail is clear and leads to the river where I got water for cooking yesterday. With two steps I cross it. There’s a low willow forest and then the crawling shrubs of the past few days. The path floats back and forth across the slope, passes dry stream beds and little streams and slowly the sun return the landscape’s true color. My fleece sweater comes off, it’s warm. And it occurs to me that it has been a fair bit warmer since I crossed the mountains near Ikkattoq. Probably because I am further from the icecap now and the wind no longer carries its cold. Along the fjord I discover one, two private cottages. I have not memorized the route today and expected to follow the fjord till the end. When I approach a waterfall, I see the trail going up on its other side. Right below the waterfall I cross the stream via stepping stones and start going up. The climb makes me sweat and I progress slowly. William, the youngest of the Danes and a cheerful curly, catches up to me and appears to hike up the mountain effortlessly. Once at the top he takes off his backpack and backtracks to carry up Jan’s pack, an elderly man. I take off my coat and continue a lot more comfortably. The route runs through a small valley with a bog here and there, but in general the trail is dry and comfortable. I am starting to see signs of human civilization: a cottage high above a lake, wooden posts in the ground, a broken sled. There’s even a small memorial with plastic flowers and candle jars, but without any indication for whom the memorial was made and why there especially. Later I hear from the Danes a young man was killed in a snow mobile accident. From the lake a river flows, sometimes wide, sometimes narrow. The mountains around me still have those gorgeous color, so many shades of grey and brown and black, with at the valley floor the long yellow-green long grass and mirroring water. Sometimes the path runs across round rocks and is hard to find, but the cairns are numerous and swiftly lead me in the right direction. On the horizon a series of jagged peaks appear, of which Nasasaaq is the highest. The route winds from the right side of the valley to the left and there, in the shade, it’s definitely chilly. But I am enjoying myself and don’t want this day to end. Where I normally can’t wait to see what’s across the next hill, now I do want to know and don’t at the same time. Right before the point where the river booms downwards a long way, I cross it and steeply descend a long way on the other side. It view is beautiful. Still those same shades of red and yellow of low shrubs, a lake, and lower still, another river. A gravel bank in the middle helps with the crossing of the first half, stepping stones take me across the second. And then I turn around and take pictures of the Danes crossing, who have no pictures yet featuring all of them. They invite me to lunch, even though it’s only 1 o’clock in the morning. In a few hours we are back in the inhabited world again and they too want to stretch out their time in the wild. I hand out biscuits and the Danes cook water for their lunches. We discuss the pros and cons of various outdoor meals and I tell them of my homemade trailmix, with cereal, milk powder, raisins and M&M’s. Then we hike on and the Danes faster than I, hike ahead of me before long. Nasasaaq looms large and grey above us. A red ski lift is the beginning of the end. I follow the valley further and where the hill part I see cheerful blue buildings in the distance, the houses of Sisimiut. A woman walks towards me and is the first to welcome me in Sisimiut. A moment more in the green valley, then I reach a dirt road past the great lake the town with its 5.500 inhabitants draws its fresh water from. An elderly woman approaches with two large dogs and from the corners of my eyes I see a puppy running high into the mountains. The creature is not hers, she says. Until six month old puppies are free to roam, then the sled dogs are leashed. The two dogs she has with her are sled dogs as well, as it’s illegal to keep other races as pets, to prevent weakening of the breed. When I approach the city I see numerous small dog houses and if one animal starts barking, they all participate. It’s a immense racket and I understand why the dogs are kept outside of town. What I don’t understand is that they have thought up the campsite right next to them. It’s one of the reasons I continue to the youth hostel, right in the town centre. The last few hundred meters I am accompanied by a enthusiastic pup, who is glad with a quick pet on its head. The dirt road is surprisingly long and follow the contours of the rocky landscape, while in the distance more and more colorful houses appear, blue and yellow and red and green. The colors have meaning:  prior to the Inuit being able to write and things like street names and house numbers, the colors indicated a house’s function or the occupation of its resident. Blue for fishermen, red for trade, green for management and yellow for hospitals. Thus as a fisherman you could enter a random port and know exactly where to find the harbor master of a doctor. The sandy path curls towards town, with some sled dogs on the rocks, asleep next to their kennels. Cairns are everywhere and lose their meaning as trusted guides. Eventually for the first time in nine days I step onto the tarmac, see cars and people. Amazing how quickly you get used to their absence. There is no official end to the Arctic Circle Trail, no plaque or statue to photograph yourself next to. For me the trail ends at the tarmac. I hike on towards the youth hostel, but my heart remains behind in the mountains. Only the memory of the fantastic Arctic Circle Trail and the Greenlandic landscape I carry with me.