Bellot Strait, Canada, September 15th: Icepocalypse Now

(All photos by Andy Jamieson)

There was no free water, no fifty to seventy percent of ice and slush in which our beautiful ferro-cement vessel could find a path to the soon-to-be frozen waters of Lancaster Sound.

There was just a wall, a thick heavy wall of old ice, pancakes of crushed, piled-up and flipped-over turquoise and jagged pieces of death, weighing up to thousands of tons.

The jokes and comments were there of course, from expert opinions to day dreaming, as they had been for the entire week leading up to our arrival; it takes more then impregnable ice to chip the moral of sea gypsies. As a Canadian coast guard vessel escorting a commercial cargo ship, the drone footage of their ice-breaking gave us a clearer idea as to whether or not we could tag along behind on their way back: absolutely no way, not in this life.

The jokes and comments slowly died as we waited for the night, anchored within sight of our goal, hoping the tide would flush the ice way.

First attempt: we turned away one mile form the half-way point; weather and ice charts look good for our next attempt.

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  Andy (510)

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  Andy (520)

Then the afternoon tide came in, and the ice was receding. The promise of a break through fuelled our second attempt and we made it a couple of miles further. Again, the ice got too thick, too dense, too dominating. The sun disappeared on us and reason prevailed as we quickly retreated to a safe anchorage in anticipation of high winds. Spirits were high as the ice charts were very promising for our morning attempt.

We had to make it through before the ice closed our exit route. The clock was ticking, and ticking fast.

4:30 am: wake up, chat with the watch leader, have a coffee, start the engine, have a coffee, raise the anchor, have another coffee, make our way to the entrance of the strait, make more coffee … and have another one.

It was looking good: despite some heavy ice, we had gotten around the first obstacle and the coast guards icebreaker had made it through in one strait line, over taking us without radio contact.

The situation was a stalemate as we were waiting for the tide to do its thing, and we had an exit route. All things considered, I decided to got to bed, to catch up on some sleep and read for a bit …

“All hands on deck, all hands on deck”: wake up, no time to chat, just suit up quickly and run up on deck. “Funny, someone took all the emergency suits out in the saloon”, I thought as I walked outside … into complete chaos.

I am talking six to ten knot currents hammering pieces of ice of any size into our hull, people polling and pushing ice away as fast at possible, positioning fenders and tires to protect our ship, the captain screaming instruction to everyone, asking for constant feedback, the first mate in the crows nest announcing incoming ice.

Infinity was trapped in a tidal current, with eddies and whirlpools of ice and water swinging her around, battering her like a bullied fat kid in a merciless playground. Every impact shook the hull, and our brave vibrating vessel took it as well as any ice breakers, shedding tears of red, bloody paint but never a chip of concrete under the ice of two playful polar bears, just there for the show.

Our general direction was good one, and both Clem and Andy were waiting for an opportunity to manoeuvre just enough to get us in the right direction. If only we got out of this damn current …

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  Andy (550)

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  Andy (543)

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  Andy (542)

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  Andy (541)

“MAN OVERBOAAAAAAAAAAARD”. No time to think as Clem is saying “no wait, really?!?”: just run to the aft deck where I'm meant to be … to see Neil, my bunkmate, walk up from the sugar scoop, soaked to the waist. “Sorry guys” he said with an apologetic look as he hurried inside to get dry. Thank God he fell onto ice and not water …

Then came the light, a narrow strip of water far to starboard, all the way to the other side, under the watchful gaze of the coast guards, ready to rescue us … or not. Who knows what their radio silence was: scorn? Respect? Disbelief at our bold stupidity?

The results are there: we made it through and we are partying.

Yours in an absolute fucking emotional turmoil,

Vicou the Sea Gypsy