Paddling to the Ice  by Katherine F. Patric       with George W. Kroener

      It was late July 1995, a beautiful calm day in Newfoundland. We (George and I) had been traveling and camping around the province, kayaking when the conditions seemed right. We had taken the ferry to Argentia and had seen the incredible gannet rookery at Cape Saint Mary. We had paddled out to islands riddled with the burrows of mating puffins.

      Now we were further to the north in a little rocky outport with beautiful scenery and a small protected harbor that was surrounded by small rocky islands. The day was perfect, windless and clear, so naturally we decided to go paddling. As we got ready, it did not seem as if the local folk were paying much attention to us.

      We paddled out into the harbor and out through the tickle (the local name for a narrow channel between rocks). There was a low rocky island with many birds that we had decided to go out to. As soon as we made it through the tickle, we spotted a huge iceberg well offshore to the northeast. We came up with at least twelve very good reasons why we shouldn’t paddle out to that iceberg, but our kayaks were pointed definitely in that direction.

      It was a lovely long paddle. There was still very little wind and a large, but gentle ocean swell. As we paddled toward the distant iceberg we would lose sight of each other and even the berg itself would disappear for a moment as the swells rolled on by. The paddling was rhythmic and almost effortless. Gannets were soaring around, suddenly plummeting straight into the water nearby as they spotted a fish. Puffins, murres and other birds flew busily by just above the water’s surface. Arctic terns hovered overhead. Only one boat motored by, far off in the distance, a local fisherman going about his business. It was the only other boat we saw out there.

      The distant iceberg never seemed to get any closer. We had no way of knowing how far off it was or if it was moving either toward us or away from us, or not at all. It was just there, shimmering white ahead as we glided up and over the long swells. We could hardly discern that we were slowly, but surely getting closer to it. Then, so suddenly, it seemed really close, gigantic, towering. We learned later that the water around a huge berg (with 9/10 of the ice below the surface) gets colder and sinks, so the warmer water moves in to replace the colder sinking water. This sets up a gentle but persistent current drawing toward the iceberg, a partial explanation as to why it seemed to get so close so suddenly. We were probably within ¼ of a mile at our closest approach.

      Now we could see the berg very well. It had four huge bright white towering sections, one of which was rounded, the sides of the other towers were sheer down to the water. At its base, the water surged and sighed. The ice there was an incredible translucent aqua blue green. Leaning back we could see some birds sitting way up on top, but they were too far up for us to identify.

     It was surprising how noisy the iceberg was. It creaked, groaned and hissed. George wanted a photo of me with the iceberg beyond, so I was paddling towards it when suddenly it cracked with a loud bang! A fair volume of ice fell from the top part into the hollow area between the towers. I was quite scared. Fearing it was going to break up, I paddled away from that berg fast. George faced it, watching the ice crumble and fall, waiting for a wave he thought might come. None did. The crumbling finally stopped. No more cracks. We decided to give the berg a wider berth and slowly paddled around it, at about a half mile distance where we felt "safer."

      In the berg’s lee there was a long wake of "bergy bits." These smaller chunks of ice varied in size from large ones as big as cars to mere ice cubes. This trail of ice followed the huge iceberg for at least a mile. The sea of bergy bits was all around our plastic Spectrums as we paddled through it. The bigger pieces had a dense heavy feel as we nudged them with the kayaks or prodded them with our paddles. We let some small bits melt in our mouths. This pure fresh water formed Arctic glaciers (How many thousands of years ago?). We decided to try and take some with us and put some chunks on our skirts which melted slowly as we paddled.

      We knew we had to start back, after lingering around the iceberg for about an hour, we had a long paddle ahead of us. We could see the land, but were too far out for any landmarks. We had our compasses and had noted our heading coming out, so we knew what direction to paddle to return. There was a bank of mist far off to the east that had not been there earlier. It was getting chilly. We paddled slowly back. The wind came up a bit on our beam as we paddled in towards the setting sun.

      Eventually, we got close to land. The sun was now so low that it was very hard to see and we were not sure how to approach the rocky harbor. We paddled by the big island with the lighthouse on it. Someone momentarily activated the melodic foghorn as we passed. A small fishing boat motored out from the glare and abruptly turned and went between some rocks, showing us the way. People were standing on the stages (fishing piers) and along the shore, watching our return. It seemed as if half the outport was out there as we slowly paddled back to where we had left the truck.

      When we finally stood up it was hard to walk, our legs were so stiff. We had been out there for seven hours. The locals gathered around, some of the fishermen wanted to try the kayaks. Most had never seen one before. They laughed and dared each other to try and had a good time.

      We stayed at that outport for a few days and met some of the locals. There were men here who had been around these waters all their lives, fishermen and retired sealers. They told us that the iceberg was at least seven miles out. We also learned how dangerous icebergs can be. Even big ships give them a berth of three miles. This is because these bergs can run aground. Pieces below the water can break off and shoot to the surface, or the berg can roll once or many times.

      We now know how lucky we were. If an offshore wind had come up, George reckons we would have ended up in Greenland. And that same berg we saw rolled several times and broke up completely within two weeks of our encounter with it. We had a once in a lifetime experience. When we went to Labrador this last summer and saw a huge iceberg far off, we did not paddle out to it. Instead, we closely inspected a beautiful small blue-green one, about the size of a UPS truck, that was firmly aground in the harbor at Red Bay.

Newfoundland and Labrador Tips:

1.The water in Newfoundland and Labrador is incredibly clear and cold. Dress accordingly and enjoy the experience of being able to see the bottom clearly to fifteen feet or more.

2.The Twillingate area of Newfoundland is good for icebergs some years. We also counted more than thirty bergs at once in Belle Isle Strait off Cape Normen on the northern peninsula.

3.We did see a few other kayaks in the beautiful Gros Morne area on the west coast of Newfoundland.

4.Safe launching places are scarce in Newfoundland. The rocks on the gravelly beaches are very sharp. Sandy beaches are few and far between. Most of the coast is steep too, and landing is impossible.

5.MOST IMPORTANT.....Beautiful paddling conditions can change in minutes to a bad foggy or windy survival situation. BE WEATHER WARY!!!

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