The day I missed the train

I realise that I've got rather a lot of blog entries to do and that this one is going to be particularly short and sweet...and also woefully inadequate. The Ski with the Cree trip finished on Friday with a lunch in the Cree Village Eco Lodge from which we were transported by minibus back to Moosonee to catch the train south. I decided not to go. Why not? I suppose missing a train is always a possibility, but there are always so many good reasons for why that is not a sensible option. This time I had an opportunity to deliberately miss it - and in doing so opened myself up to a completely different experience. I was walking down the street on Saturday morning when Philip pulled up, ordered me (in the nicest possible way) into the passenger seat, told me to check out of the ecolodge and said we were going back out to his camp. This was the place 14km downriver where we had stayed during the ski trip. I wasn't quite prepared to be given a thicker parka, gloves, a helmet and my own skidoo to drive out there...but that's what happened. It was wonderful out in the bush with Phil and his family. Quite a different experience to being there with Ski with the Cree. Both were amazing experiences in their own way, but very different. I feel incredibly privileged to have met such wonderful and generous people here.

Back in the south

This time I actually managed to make it out of Ottawa airport! I left Igloolik yesterday morning which was still sheathed in the low cloud or fog which started on Monday. When we landed in Iqaluit the sun was above the horizon! I was surprised by quite how excited I was by that, after all, I had only been in Igloolik for just over a week - imagine how it would be if I hadn't seen the sun since November? Arriving in Iqaluit also brought home to me how small Igloolik really was. After the last few days of community celebrations it felt strange to be queuing in a line of predominantly white people for my flight to Ottawa. I've been privileged to go somewhere and experience somethng very special. Like many aspects of life I think I will probably appreciate it differently in retrospect and at the moment the comparisons with the southern world I have come back to are adding a new dimension to my memories. This morning I woke up at 7 and it was light! The sun is above the treetops in the neighbouring garden as I write... sun...and trees! (I have to confess however that I rather like barren treeless landscapes - maybe that has something to do with growing up in Scotland.) I even took a shower without guiltily feeling that I was wasting someone else's water supply. Every couple of days water is supplied and sewage removed from each house in Igloolik by truck (obviously two different trucks!) So if one uses too much water then one just has to wait till the next delivery. There is a more serious problem this year in that a pump is broken and the town's reservoir is running dangerously low. It looks as though the town will run out of water before the spring and if that happens there are only two options: either the government has to evacuate the entire community or it will have to pay for water to be flown in on a daily basis.

I feel very much that this is a new beginning. Tomorrow I have a lift from Ottawa to Ste-Agathes-des-Monts in Quebec. From there I will be driven by minibus to Cochrane, Ontario where we will catch a train north to Moosonee. Then we'll begin 5 days of cross country skiing allied with demonstrations of traditional Cree methods of survival, hunting and cooking. I imagine it will be a complete contrast to my experience in Igloolik - I certainly hope so! Being out in the backcountry means that the blog will be silent for a week or so...but by the time it returns I'll have loads to write about!

Dance competition

It's foggy again today and I've realised just how lucky I was to have all that beautiful weather at the start of my visit.  Going out to the floe edge or dog sledding would not have been nearly as much fun in this!  Tonight there was an Arctic Dance competition in the school hall.  They call it Western Arctic dance or jigging.  To be perfectly honest, I've come all the way across the Atlantic to see a variation of Scottish country dancing!  The accordian music that was playing over the speakers wouldn't have been out of place at a ceilidh.  Each pair of dancers, one male, one female set to each other, toes tapping - some pairs linked arms in a ceilidh-style twirl but most kept their arms by their sides a la Riverdance.  Quite a few wore proper dancing shoes but other footwear ranged from battered trainers to sealskin kamiks (boots).  The rest of the costumes showed as much variation - some wore traditional skins but there were also teenagers in baggy combats.  It was great to see all ages taking part from a nine-year old to some of the town elders.  These evening events have brought almost the whole community together, packing out the school hall.  Coming from the UK where we have an increasingly aging population it is very strange for me to be surrounded by so many babies and children.  I would estimate that half the population here is schoolage or younger.  What are these kids going to do when they grow up?  (Apart from simply have more babies.)  There aren't enough houses here as it is.   This week has shown me that the people here are incredibly skilled.  As if more proof was needed I contacted one of the local hat makers to see if she had any hats she could sell me before I leave tomorrow.  She didn't, but immediately offered to go to the store, buy some wool and knit me one that afternoon.  Several hours later when Jenn and I stopped by her house the hat was almost done.  I got a phone call a couple of hours later...would I like a fleece lining for an extra $10?  So within a few hours the wool was bought and a beautiful hat was knitted with an intricate design of inuksuit and ulus.  Inuksuit are Inuit cairns and an ulu is a semi-circular knife carried by women.  The men's knife is a long blade called a savik.  So this is my last night in the Arctic, tomorrow I leave for Ottawa (weather permitting) and from there to Northern Ontario...

Dog team racing and a talent show

The second day of the Return of the Sun celebrations saw a dog team race on the sea ice, followed by an ice sculpture competition and a talent show in the evening.  I arrived down on the ice just in time for the race to begin.  As with the sled ride I went on the other day, the start was quite low key and a bit of a scrabble.  At least two of the teams headed off purposefully in the right direction!  Some of the others got a bit tangled, but eventually everything was straightened out and they all headed off into the distance.  Meanwhile, there was a caribou outdoor clothing competition.  

Some of the furs that were being worn for this were incredible.  Beautiful shades of greys and browns, some garments were little more than pelts sewn together although others had been cut and sewn to create distinctive geometric patterns.  Yesterday a large igloo had been built on the ice and the little kids in their furs looked incredibly cute playing in its entrance.  The end of the dog team race was quite exciting.  Two teams were neck and neck.  Unfortunately one of the teams swerved towards some other dogs that were chained nearby, the komatik overturned and by the time the driver had righted it, the competing team had sailed in smoothly to the finish.  It turned out to be Simon, the dog team driver who had taken us out the other day.  In the evening he proved that he could do much more than just run dogs with an impressive performance on the accordian.  The talent show went on for much longer than I expected as there were so many people performing.  Acts ranged from an entertaining demonstration of the traditional bone game to teenage boys playing rock music on electric guitars.  The bone game is the same as the traditional british ball and cup toy.  In this case a slim, long pointed bone is held in the hand and a section of vertebrae attached to it by a piece of string.  The aim is to swing the vertebrae and try to catch and impale it on the stick.  Needless to say, the elderly woman was far better at it than her grandson!  Quite a few of the women did throat singing which was amazing.  One of the throat singers was at the leaving party Jenn and Ian held here last weekend.  She and her partner were just incredible.  They stand close together, faces about a foot apart and make, what to my unaccustomed ear are very strange, rhythmic, huffing yet resonating sounds.  I can't describe it very well at all but I'm sure there are recordings online somewhere!  These two were particularly expert and did three short songs.  One entitled "River", the second "Dog Sledding" and the third "Mosquito" - and yes, it really did sound like a whole cloud of mosquitoes were descending upon us!  There were quite a few accordian players and their pieces all sounded scarily Scottish.  The evening ended in spectacular fashion with a tall teenage boy demonstrating the Alaskan and two-footed high kicks.  Somehow he propelled himself into the air and managed to kick a dangling ball suspended at least 9ft high.  It was quite incredible.  The kids I was sat next to provided continuous distraction from the events on stage.  A new face in town is unusual I suppose!   I ended up with double the number of photos as I let quite a few of them use my camera to take pictures of the various acts.  One girl looked back through all my 300 odd photos, including the ones of Christmas back in Scotland.  I was told I looked like my mum and asked whether the baby in the photo of me in an amouti was mine (I carried a baby belonging to a friend of Jenn's across town to help out.)  I think they were a bit disappointed and surprised (possibly even pitying) to hear that I didn't have any children of my own.  Babies seem to be the most important thing around here!    

Return of the Sun celebrations

The celebration of the Return of the Sun is the whole reason for me ending up here in Igloolik at this time of year.  So I was quite excited and curious to see what would occur.  In previous years the celebration has taken place on a Saturday, but this year events have been planned for every night this week.  The local film company, Isuma, are filming the festivities, at least in part to promote the event to tourists such as myself.  In previous years a group of "older ladies" from Ontario have attended as part of a guided tour - the group came last year, and are due to come next year, but for some reason aren't here this time.  So there are some tourists!    The Return of the Sun celebrations started at 7pm in the hall of the elementary school.  The whole community formed a big circle around three female Elders who were sat on the floor, each tending a qulliq, which is the traditional stone lamp burning seal oil.  First there were short speeches in English and Inuktitut by the Mayor.  Then a couple of children blew out the qulliq lamps.  During the darkness several couples did some throat singing - standing less than a foot apart with arms interlocked at shoulder height.  The lights went back on in time for three young girls to do some traditional dancing to an accordian.  I felt very at home - the girl's dancing wouldn't have looked out of place at a Highland Games.  Add to that the fact that several of the female Elders were wearing tartan skirts under their amautis and it's obvious that I'm following in the footsteps of a long line of Scots venturing into the Canadian Arctic.  I think the originals were Scots whalers, followed by "Company men" - the Hudsons Bay Company had a policy of recruiting Scots and Newfoundlanders because those nationalities were supposedly used to hardship and deprivation!   After that little digression let's return to the celebration.  One of the male Elders managed to strike a light - his back was to me so I'm not sure whether he used flint or rubbed a fire stick (I'm hoping he managed to do it without a lighter).  Then a young girl carried the lit taper round to relight the three qulliqs to the sound of everyone cheering and clapping.  After a short period I was slightly surprised to see that the lamps were extinguished in order to clear the floor space for the dancing.  Putting out the lights didn't seem very traditional!  Next up was a drum dancing competition.  There were about eight pairs of singers and dancers.  The singer sat up on stage while the dancer stayed on the floor of the hall.  It seemed that the singer could be either male or female while the dancer was always male.  The singer would begin, generally a low ululating call, I'm not sure if the songs had words or not.  The drums were circular and very simple, just a piece of material stretched over a circle with a handle.  In the other hand the drummer held a stick which looked like it was wrapped with padding (possibly cotton grass).  The drum was always hit on the underside, first on one side of the circle, then on the other.  It was all quite slow and rhythmic as the drummer/dancer rose and fell, turning in the centre of the circle.  After the drum dancing there was a "candy toss" to end the evening.  That was very popular!  Some of the people hurling sweets from the stage had very strong throwing arms - it would have been a bit embarrassing to be injured by flying candy!   

Playtime with the sled dogs

Maren is a high school teacher who has lived in Igloolik for the last four years. A year and a half ago she got 8 pups from Simon, the Inuk who took Jenn, Natasha and myself out on his dog sled yesterday. Maren's pups are now a fully grown sled team and she invited me over for their daily exercise. Today she wasn't going to harness them to her komatik but another pair of teachers had just imported a kick sled from Quebec that they wanted to try out with two of Maren's dogs. Dan and Kim have two young pups of their own which they intend to train to pull the kick sled, but for now they hoped to test whether or not the idea was sound with two more experienced dogs. The idea worked perfectly! It's amazing how fast one can travel when pulled by a pair of Inuit dogs running with their teammates towards a rising/setting sun. We each had a turn of the sled while the others walked over the ice. Have I mentioned how beautiful it is out on the ice? A still camera can't quite capture the expanse, film would be better but still can't match up to the reality. There is a film production company in town called Isuma and a few years ago their first feature film was released and even made it to Britain. I saw it in Edinburgh, probably at the Filmhouse. It is called Atanarjuat and was filmed around Igloolik with actors from the town. I remember watching it and marvelling at the landscapes - I never dreamed that I would end up here myself! Apparently the komatik Alvin borrowed to take Jenn and myself out to floe edge belonged to Atanarjuat himself - or at least to the actor who played the leading role. Anyway, the film is worth watching purely for the Arctic landscapes.

In the evening Jenn and Ian had invited friends round for a leaving party for a couple who were leaving Igloolik to go and live in Saskatchewan. Most of the qallunaaq (white people - actually, I think the true translation is more derogatory!) who live here stay for only a couple of years. The salary is very good and it helps a lot of people pay off college and university debts. Most are teachers as there are both an elementary and a high school here. There is also a research centre so there are a small number of scientists. It was good to meet a few more people in the community. A couple of Inuit came round to the house in the evening to sell some artwork. One brought a painting done on tent canvas by his wife, and some cinnamon rolls that she had made. Another brought an intricately fashioned komatik made out of wood. Inside the box on the komatik were some tiny utensils: a kettle, a gun, a fishing stick, all done in incredible detail. Apparently that is the usual way that the art here is sold. As work is finished, or when money is needed, individual items are taken round the houses and sold.

Dog sledding

Today we saw the sun! And of course I took a photo - it's just visible on the horizon behind the other dog team we met while out on the sea ice. During the last few days only the refracted image of the sun has been visible as a long firy rectangle on, or just above the horizon. It was especially exciting for Jenn and Natasha who haven't seen the sun since November.

Simon told me he'd been running a dog team for nearly 25 years, so he's got quite a bit of experience! Last year he and the dogs flew over to Iqaluit on Baffin Island in order to sled back to Igloolik - it took them three months. That was Will Steiger and Richard Branson's expedition to highlight climate change. This summer Simon is working with the Arctic Voice expedition. Coincidentally I met Stephen Doughty from that expedition at the Scottish Arcctic Club dinner last year. He'd spent the summer kayaking through part of the North West Passage which was phase one of the expedition. Phase two is dog sledding but I think Stephen is giving that phase a miss. I hope the people who are taking part invest in some very warm boots. Jenn's feet are just a little bit smaller than mine and my feet got very cold. Running along beside the kamotik exercised my lungs but sadly didn't seem to improve the circulation in my feet. To be honest, I was quite surprised by how easy it was to run and keep up with the dogs despite the -35C temperature and the number of thick insulating layers I was wearing. The komatiks (sledges) they use here are very simple. Just two runners with planks lashed across to form a platform a metre and a half to two metres long and about half a metre wide. Caribou skins are lashed on top of the planks to form a nice comfortable seeating area. Just enough room for four of us to sit close together, at first we were worried about our feet catching in the snow so tried to kneel or sit cross-legged. By the end we were all sitting sideways with legs stuck out and feet dangling off the kamotik which was much more comfortable. Simon essentially controls the dogs with his voice. He also had an incredibly long leather whip - it must have been at least 4 metres in length - which he waved over the heads of the dogs before we set off, it seemed to calm them down and signal that we were nearly ready to go. There is also a metal brake which is dug into the snow to anchor the komatik. I doubt it would be particularly effective if the dogs really decided to take off! The trickiest part of the whole proceedings was the setting off. Simon said "get on", we jumped on the kamotik and we were off! It was a proper scramble! The dogs set off very enthusiastically but their pace soon slowed down to a fairly gentle trot. The ride was very smooth, quite calm and relaxing. Especially nice to just hear the noise of the komatik runners and the dogs footsteps on the snow rather than the engine of the skidoo. No fumes either! Dog sledding felt like the perfect way to move through this beautiful Arctic landscape.

Floe edge

The trip out to the floe edge has been the best thing so far. I was so glad to be outside! Jenn and I arrived at Alvin's house to find that he was almost ready to go. He'd already attached the komatik (sled) to his skidoo. A small boat and a large wooden chest were lashed on top of the komatik. Jenn explained that if we were lucky enough to find and shoot a seal Alvin would use the boat to go out and fetch it. To me it sounded like a rather risky operation. He would have to push the boat out in front of him towards the edge of the ice until it dropped into the water. Then he would have to clamber aboard. The landing sounded even worse as he would have to haul both the boat (containing himself and the seal) up onto solid ice. I imagine that the ice would continually break underneath, requiring yet more hauling using curved picks (a bit like ice axes I suppose). Unfortunately we didn't find any wildlife at all during our trip so I never got to see this. Alvin was a very considerate driver but even so being towed behind the skidoo led to a bumpy ride. It was a bit like a rollercoaster as we never quite knew when we'd hit the next stomach churning dip or lump of ice. My goggles had iced up and I could barely see anything so it was quite amazing to stop, take off the goggles and see the surrounding beauty. This place is absolutely stunning. The vast expanse of ice and snow is almost luminescent. The colours in the sky graduate from pink to dusky purple to blue and for a brief period we even saw a refracted image of the sun - a firy rectangle floating above the true horizon. Areas of open water are obvious because of the clouds which form above them. The Inuit call these tunguniq or water sky. On this day there wasn't very much open water but we went as close to the edge of the floes as we dared. Alvin said there was a very strong current in this area, and with the skidoo engine off we could hear the groaning of ice grating on ice. Where the floes had rafted up over one another there were large mounds and lines of geometric ice shapes. All the facets and angles caught the light differently to stunning effect. Who would think that ice could have so many colours? I loved it out there. It was wonderful to see that despite his familiarity with it Alvin still appreciated it too. "It's different every day" he said, "I'd be out here all the time if I could". Even as I watched the ice moved and different patches of water opened up and closed. Alvin spotted two sets of polar bear tracks - one from yesterday and another set only a few hours old. He also found an aglu, a seal breathing hole, that was in use. It was a circular mound of smooth ice (the rest of the ice surface was quite rough) with a small hole in the centre through which we could just see the water. Interestingly the ice we were on appeared to only be a couple of inches thick - best for me not to think about that observation too much!

Igloo building

On the ridge behind Jenn and Ian's house there are three large Inuksugait. An Inuksuk or Inuksugaq is essentially the same as a Scottish cairn - a marker for campsites, path turnings, food caches, etc. Although think more along the lines of a carefully crafted Stonehenge style monument rather than a pile of rubble. At one o'clock I headed out towards the Inuksugait, well wrapped up in balaclava, borrowed parka and borrowed sealskin mitts. Jenn had arranged for one of the Inuit to show me how to build an igloo. Soon a figure appeared from between the houses carrying a saw in one hand and a knife in the other. This was Pakak - a man of few words but a very competent igloo builder. He'd already identified a suitable patch of snow and cut out a block to mark it. The first step was to cut two parallel lines, just over half a metre apart. Then he cut straight across between the two lines with his saw and excavated the snow in front to leave a flat face. Now he was ready to cut the first block by making a slanting cut to form the base and a vertical cut between the parallel lines, about 15cm away from the existing edge.

When Pakak did this the block almost seemed to pop out. When I tried it seemed to involve quite a few more cutting strokes and even then my blocks were rather misshapen. Definitely not the tidy cuboids with a diagonally cut base that Pakak produced. The snow was very dry - it looked and sounded like polystyrene. This appearance belied the reality - each block was much heavier than polystyrene as I discovered when lifting them up onto the side of the growing hole. The hole grew into a 2m slot and after cutting about 15 blocks it was time to start building the igloo. The first block was placed vertically into the hole. A second was placed horizontally to bridge the gap between the first block and the side of the hole. Each subsequent block was snuggled up side by side with the preceeding block and leant slightly inwards towards the centre of the growing igloo. Pakak used his knife to trim the sides of the blocks so that they made a close fit. Particularly when he started on the second layer of blocks I was amazed to see how much the blocks could be angled inwards without collapsing. By this time Pakak was trapped in the centre of the igloo and soon he ran out of blocks and started cutting more from the area within the igloo itself. Lifting each block up over his head took quite some physical strength! Placing the last couple of blocks to close the igloo looked like an especially skillful task as it involves shaving each to fit - all the while holding it up over his head and lowering it carefully into place. The whole operation only took about an hour and a half - incredibly quick!

Arriving in Igloolik

In order to get to Igloolik, I first had to fly to Iqaluit. Luckily I'd put my down jacket in my hand baggage, but I was wearing ankle socks and trainers. How cold would it be? Ribbons of windblown snow were snaking along the runway - just at ankle height. In the event, it was only a short walk from the plane to the building, and the cold fresh air felt great. Iqaluit airport was positively heaving with people and an extraordinary quantity of luggage. Then 16 of us got onto an 18 seater plane and set off for Igloolik, just as the sun was setting. This was about 2pm. The flight was a couple of hours and it was completely dark by the time we landed, on a gravel runway, in Igloolik. This airport was tiny, and much less busy. Jennifer was there to meet me, a small figure muffled up in a huge down parka. Fantastic! Someone said something about how we must be really good friends for me to come and visit her here - so we laughed and confessed that we'd never met before in our lives! Jennifer and Ian completely welcomed me into their home - complete with baby Aowyn and husky dog Kuni (Inuit for kiss). The evening I arrived we all walked over to John and Carolyn MacDonald's house. John is a Scot who has been living in Igloolik for 23 years and reminded me very much of the Scottish Arctic Club members in his enthusiasm and seemingly boundless knowledge. The walk over to their house was the moment when I truly appreciated that I was in the Arctic. It was dark, but there were streetlights reflecting off the snow and Northern Lights in the sky. The houses were shrouded in frost. Ian and I had big down parkas and Jenn was carrying Aowyn in the hood of her amauti. The amauti is a traditional parka made with a big hood which the baby sits in. The hood is big enough that it can be pulled right over the baby's head to keep her completely warm and insulated from the cold. The snow squeaked under our boots and the air was crisp and cold on my lungs. It was all real, despite the horrendous journey to get here, I had finally arrived.

Outward bound...

After the delights of a drizzly Welsh New Year, wading in a waterlogged Lake District and accidentally finding a Scottish snowstorm on the return to Glasgow it was a bit of a shock to find myself finally on a plane across the Atlantic. I was armed with almost everything I hoped I needed for a couple of weeks in the Arctic. The only extra necessity was a pair of warm winter boots and so I'd built an extra day into my itinerary to allow time to hit the shops in Ottawa. Or not... as the case might be. I arrived in Newark, and then got stuck. Unseasonal fog in Ottawa meant that my connecting flight was cancelled, then the next, then the next. After a night in a hotel the next day was spent in the airport - and making friends with fellow passengers in the same plight. Tifenn, David and I came up with a great plan of driving six hours from New York to Ottawa - but decided that would be a bad idea when Continental staff appeared to say that if we did that, they wouldn't be responsible for getting our luggage to Ottawa! After being sent over to Air Canada, we waited nervously to discover whether we would be allowed to fly as standby passengers on a flight to Toronto. Toronto, not Ottawa - but at least it would be the correct country! We were ecstatic to get on the flight - all three of us had spent more than enough time in Newark airport. Unfortunately, the last thing I heard before getting on the flight was that no bags had been transferred from Continental. I spent the flight chatting to the wonderful lady in the seat next to me who had just spent the last day or two flying from Jakarta where she'd been visiting her daughter. The connecting flight to Ottawa wasn't due to leave until 6:20am, so we pulled some seats together and slept in a cafe in Toronto airport. Then when I got up at 4am, our flight was "on time" - were we really going to make it to Ottawa? Finally? I checked the arrival board - all flights leaving Ottawa for Toronto had been cancelled...maybe we weren't going anywhere after all. I didn't tell the others - let them hope! So I was very surprised to be boarded onto the plane. At this point I was utterly convinced that I would never see my bag again. I knew that I would arrive in Ottawa airport with just enough time to get to my connecting flight to Nunavut. Should I go even without my bag? Turning up in Igloolik without anything warmer than my jeans and trainers seemed to be the height of stupidity. But not to go? That too seemed foolish. So I checked in. "Would you like to check any bags?" asked the check in clerk. "No thanks" I said blythely, "They're somewhere in America". Then, I went back downstairs to rejoin the others. Skeptically, we allowed the baggage service officer to take our luggage receipts and go to "see if your bags are in customs". Yeah right, we thought. Not a chance. He disappeared for ages and I was beginning to get worried as I wanted to go through security for my flight to Iqaluit. Then, miracle of miracles, he came back, with a trolley upon which were sat our bags! Suddenly, everything seemed to be coming together and I rushed off to happily check in my bag and head through security to the gate. Looking outside, it seemed that my haste had been premature. It was properly thick fog. How on Earth could any pilot take off in that?! Nonetheless, amid all other flights cancelling, ours was called, we trouped onto the plane and were pushed off to taxi through the cloud. The guy sat next to me worked for a renewable energy company and lived in Iqaluit. He said exactly the same thing happened yesterday - they taxied out, sat in the plane for an hour, then taxied back to the terminal. It seemed as if history was repeating itself when the pilot said we were waiting in a queue of five, all of us praying for the visibility to increase. Some of the other planes gave up, we stayed. Then, our pilot announced that there was a jump in visibility - hopefully it would last long enough for us to get airbourne. To be honest, from my view through the window there wasn't any better visibility but incredibly we took off. I was on my way to the Arctic at last.

How it all began...

Well over a year ago I heard about the Winston Churchill Travelling Fellowships. One of the presenters at the Scottish Arctic Club slideshow gave a talk about his trip to Greenland to visit the original Inuit kayak builders there. Another friend went to America to study science communication methods after her PhD. A close friend of the family had had a fellowship to look at the role of women in science in engineering. It seemed that a lot of people I mentioned it to could recall a friend, or friend of a friend who had taken advantage of this fantastic funding opportunity. So obviously I applied. My original application talked about visiting Alaska, Eastern Canada and Mexico. By the time the interview came round I had toned this down to visiting Eastern Canada in September/October - about the end of their tourist season. This seemed like a good place to go as it would have climatic, social and economic similarities to Scotland. Unfortunately (and I should have anticipated this!) I got bogged down in the minutiae of finishing off my PhD. I submitted within a week of going to Disko Island, West Greenland so suddenly it was the end of August, my viva was scheduled for mid-September and I hadn't even thought about the Winston Churchill Fellowship. Realistically, it seemed that the earliest I would be able to travel would be January or February. After a month in Greenland I was itching to go back to the Arctic - but in January? No-one but me (and my supportive family) seemed to think that this would be a great plan. Won't it be cold and dark? I was forced to agree. Google turned up something called the Return of the Sun festival, held in a place called Igloolik. However, I could barely find any more information about it other than that it was an ancient ceremony revived in modern times by the Inuit Elders to try and keep their traditions alive. Even the tourist office I emailed in the Nunavut capital had never heard of it and were very discouraging of my intention to visit in January. One of the few hits on Google was a weblog. Jennifer and Ian (www.nunablog.ca) are teachers who moved to Igloolik several years ago. They went to the Return of the Sun festival last year and wrote it up on their blog. I wrote a comment on their blog asking about the celebration, Jennifer emailed back, and the next thing I knew I had an invitation to stay in Igloolik. Opportunities like that just have to be taken! Google also found me a cross country ski trip in Cree territory. Skiing every day with talks and demonstrations of traditional hunting, survival and cooking methods sounded like a suitably fun way to learn about a different sort of tourism experience. The owners of an ecolodge in Temogami, Ontario were also happy for me to come and learn about how their business operates. In fact, Caryn suggested that rather than staying for a few days as a guest, I could stay in staff accommodation and help out for as long as I liked. Those three components should occupy me happily from the beginning of January to part way through February. Then I've got another 10 days or so until my flight back to the UK on the 21st of February. I'm hoping that talking to people on the way will throw up new ideas of things to do, people to see and places to visit which will fill that extra time. So that's the plan... I'll just have to wait and see how it all works out.