diane salter - Salter's travels

Suldun, Garda & Bormio

Sulden nestles underneath the Ortler mountains in a high valley of the South Tyrol. In the summer it can be accessed via the Stelvio Pass. With 75 hairpin bends, this is one of the most remarkable passes in the Alps but is closed during the winter. We needed to go the long way round and arrived just after it started snowing. This looked promising. March was proving to be every bit as unusually warm as February meaning that only the higher altitude ski areas were still functioning. In Sulden we got a good deal on half board in a hotel. We generally avoid this sort of thing and prefer to cook for ourselves. Fortunately, this family run hotel understood something about vegetarian cooking, and we ate quite well. The hotel was old and traditional. Felt comfortable and relaxing. Lots of wood panels, heavy wooden doors and a balcony where we could bask in the midday sun.

I managed a couple of days skiing. Higher up the snow was still in quite good condition. The lower slopes turned to mush by lunchtime and were showing patches of mud by the end of the week. As the skiable area starts to reduce, everyone gets packed into the remaining snowy patches. This increases the wear on the remaining snow, so everything starts to go off quite quickly. The furthest lift is some 300m from the next closest. A local man with a horse and cart offers an informal and voluntarily funded solution. He tows groups of skiers between the two lifts using a long rope attached to the back of the cart. This is and moderately practical. Typically, a few people fall over, and it takes some minutes to get everyone organised again. Even so, it is quicker than walking.

Sulden, no to be confused with Solden, which is in Austria, boasts one of the six Messner Museums. Reinhold Messner, possibly the most famous climber in the world, has been instrumental in setting up these museums which mash together stories of the Himalayas, South Tyrol, great achievements, and the decline of the mountains. To be honest, I found this a bit of a confusing mess although it was moderately interesting. Much more exciting was a rumour of a herd of Yaks kept near the museum. It started raining, hard, just after we set off to find the Yaks and we failed. Various locals assured us that they did exist and pointed us in the right direction but ultimately, we got fed up of being wet and cold so we hopped on the bus back to the hotel. Mesner would have been disappointed with our lack of commitment.

Next stop for skiing was Bormio, but first we skipped south for a weekend drive to be exceptionally beautiful Lake Garda. In general, we try and drive at the weekends. Ski resorts can get terribly busy on Saturday and Sunday, so we try and arrange to be on the road then. In this case we found a fabulous mountain route to a lovely hotel with a balcony overlooking the lake. The sunset was perfect, sundowners were tasty, and the restaurant served a rather good pizza. Terrific way to spend a weekend. We found a different but equally interesting route back north to arrive in Bormio on Sunday evening.

Monday skiing in Bormio was excellent. After that, not so good. On the first day the sun was shinning and there was a little fresh snow from the weekend. By Tuesday, the crowds were turning the snow into slush and the wind was picking up. Wednesday the wind had shut down all the top of the mountain, where all the good snow was, so Diane and I spent the day exploring the town instead. I managed another day’s skiing but by Friday the lower slopes were closing and there were patches of mud everywhere. Time was running out for skiing everywhere in Europe for 2024. Many of the very highest ski areas are near Mont Blanc, the highest mountain in Europe. So, we headed there next.

Italy

Leaving warm and sunny Budapest, we wandered off across Austria in search of snow. We found some. Mostly the dirty, slushy remains of ski slopes. Many resorts had shut down completely. Only the few higher altitude places were still running. We ended up in Kaprun, where they had a glacier. Sadly, the weather was rubbish, so we went for a walk instead and found a nice lake.

We pressed on. Not only in search of snow but also a good weather forecast. Two days later, we slipped into Italy and a little village at the end of Val Senales. This looked a lot more promising and I finally got a good day’s skiing. Then the weekend came, the place became very crowded and the weather turned bleak and cloudy. I spent a day sorting out my photographs. This is causing me a few problems at the moment. A couple of months ago I convinced myself that RAW images were the way to go. They allow much more scope for editing. The first problem was finding some software to use for sorting and editing. Diane and I take quite a lot of pictures so the first thing I need to do is move the images onto my PC and delete all the bad ones. Then I go back and start getting more meticulous while at the same time doing some cropping and rotating. Finally, I might do some colour and brightness corrections before exporting a small selection, in a lower resolution, to use on the blog. A modicum of research suggested that Corel Aftershot would do the job. Out of the tin, this appeared to be the case. It allows you to quickly view and sort the images so I could do a first pass filter quite efficiently. A database of change information allows you to apply corrections such as resizing, exposure and colour balance without changing the original. Finally, an export function supports conversion to JPEG format while also resizing. All good.

Then I started to discover the software is disappointingly flaky. The program crashes at random intervals. Some changes to an image render it unviewable by the software. The export batch process hangs up on any thing more than a couple of images and so on. This is disappointing because Corel appear to be putting more emphasis on headline features than creating solid, reliable software. The final straw came when I got my little camera back from being repaired. This is a Canon Powershot G1X. A terrific and handy pocket camera. But Aftershot cannot read the RAW files from it. A camera profile, specific to each camera, is needed. A profile for the Powershot is not included. I searched the Corel website for a solution and was eventually passed to a “expert”. A week later, after being passed onto several different experts, I concluded that I already knew far more about Aftershot and problem of camera profiles than they did.

Back at square one, I looked at some other image processing software and have now settled on Cyberlink Photodirector. Immediately I spotted two benefits. Not only will it import images from all my cameras, but it also crashes far less often. On the downside, it has a massive emphasis on using AI to mess with your images. Interesting to play with but not what I need. So again, the rush to introduce headline features has left the rest of the application a bit inconsistent. I might even say, incoherent. It is taking some time to work out the best way to use the software for the mundane tasks of sorting, filtering, and very simple tweaking. One pet hate of mine is a confirmation dialogue box every time I want to delete a file. Are you sure? Yes! Stop asking me. An extra mouse click for each delete operation may not seem much but by the 200^th time in one afternoon it gets very irritating.

Wandering further into the incredibly beautiful Dolomite mountains we arrived at the delightful town of Cortina – “one of Italy’s most famous, fashionable and expensive ski resorts”, says Lonely Planet. Certainly, the town centre boasts shops with names like Gucci, Versace and Louis Vuitton. We gave them a wide berth. Our hotel had a balcony commanding an excellent view over the town to the Dolomite peaks beyond. We only stayed a couple of nights but enjoyed sitting out, watching the sunset on both evenings. I managed to get in a terrific day of skiing. Next day we moved on to somewhere slightly less fabulous but much more cost effective.

Hungary

February was the warmest February, for the entire world, on record. Which means in the last 175 years or so. We are on a skiing trip. Unsurprisingly, the skiing part of this trip is not going brilliantly. We have seen many washed out ski slopes and, in places, green fields where there should have been ski slopes. At times we have pondered whether we are seeing the final, declining days of European alpine skiing. Last year it was raining in Chamonix throughout January. This year there was some early snow but many of the ski areas feel like spring – which would previously have been in April.

Leaving Romania, we set out to explore Hungary. For a few hours we drove through flat wetlands. There were a few ducks and a few more geese. Then we arrived in Slovakia and felt as if we had missed out on Hungary. Slovakia had some interest in the shape of the Tata mountains, so we headed there. On the way we saw the remains of several ski resorts. All looking remarkably sad. A couple of days later we arrived at the Tatras and they are indeed magnificent mountains. We spotted a ski area that appeared to still be operating but the weather was not very nice and we were still hoping to see some more of Hungary.

Our last night in Slovakia was spent at a castle that had been converted into a hotel. This was great fun and not expensive. The corridor walls were festooned with the heads from numerous dead animals. Fortunately, there were none in our room although the large boar’s head right outside the door was a bit alarming.

Heading towards Budapest, we crossed the Danube by ferry. At 2,850 km the Danube is Europe’s second longest river, after the Volga. It rises in the Black Forest, heading east and south to the Black Sea. Commercial river traffic can travel between Bavaria and the Black Sea. With the opening of the Rhine-Main-Danube canal, vessels can travel all the way to the North Sea forming a major trade route. Back in the 19^th century, the Danube was regularly frozen and impassable to marine traffic. These days, less so. We saw very little traffic on the river but we do enjoy a ferry trip and this seemed like a nice way to arrive in Budapest.

In Budapest we did a couple of days of city things. We looked at a lot of buildings, rode on a Ferris wheel, avoided museums and Diane found a new kind of ice cream in a cake. There are some amazing buildings in the city including the massive parliament building. We wandered around and tried to get interested in them but the overcast, grey, damp and generally dull weather gave the whole city a bit of a sober feel. The day we left it, the warm sun came out and it felt like summer. While this was pleasant, it also seemed unlikely that there was going to be much more skiing left. As best I could tell there was still some snow at some of the higher altitude resorts so we set off to find some.

Romania

We headed to Romania on a whim. We had never been there before and there was a small chance of skiing. Good enough. A day’s drive through Croatia and then we had to make a decision. Car insurance covered Serbia but not Bosnia. It is possible to buy insurance on the border, but we figured it would be easier just to avoid Bosnia. Driving through Serbia was an easy day, and the border checks were painless. Arriving in Romania, the guard was mostly interested in talking about skiing. Our first stop was the city of Timișoara, first European city to be lit by electric streetlamps in 1884. A fact still celebrated by displays of lighting across some of the streets. Timișoara boasts some large public squares surrounded by restaurants and bars. Wonderful to wander around in the evening and we found some good food as well. We were impressed by the magnificently lit city centre and also by a large statue of Atlas in the entrance lobby of our hotel.

Next stop was Castelul Corvinilor (Corvins’ Castle). Romania has an awful lot of castles. We felt obliged to visit a few. It was cold and raining when we arrived. The castle looked good from the outside. Inside it proved to be rather baren and chilly. Renovations were in progress. Areas were roped off. A few workmen were standing around smoking and looking cold. One of them examined a stone in a rather desultory way before putting it down and wandering off. A suit of armour in the corner of one hall caught my interest although, like me, it had a rust problem and probably creaked. We looked around for other interesting things but found little. We paid extra for entrance to the medieval torture display. Gruesome models of people being dismembered, disembowelled and generally filleted in various unhygienic and probably terminal ways. I imagine schoolboys would like this sort of thing. It was still drizzling as we checked out the souvenir shops and then trudged back to the car.

A day later I was standing in the lift queue at the ski area just outside of Lupeni. It was foggy but this time the was no getting above it. Fortunately, as the day progressed, the cloud lifted. At lunchtime two more lifts right at the top of the hill were opened along with several more ski slopes. There had been a bit of fresh snow. The pistes were still a bit thin but I enjoyed the skiing. Just before my last run down there were a few nice views of the valley.

We headed for Brașov in the heart of Transylvania. A rather circuitous route took us through the mountains where we met dogs and a cheese man. The cheese man was selling a selection of local made dairy produce out of the back of his van. Communication was limited but sufficient. He gave us various taster pieces and we indicated the ones we liked. In fact, we needed to restrict ourselves to the cheese that we really liked. It all tasted rather good. Especially the smoked cheeses. The dogs mostly live by the road and often appear to own a layby. They are quite peaceful and will only approach cautiously. We took some food with us for the dogs. They appreciated this and we like to feel we could do a little bit to help them. There are dogs running around all over the place in Romania. Many of them appear to be free spirits but very few look malnourished or mistreated. We have noticed that a lot of dogs are owned but live outside and are not tied up. I quite like this. You can see that the dogs are generally well balanced and happy.

Brașov was busy with tourists. We mingled with them and explored the streets. There are some nice buildings here. The gothic Black Church is possibly the largest of its kind in eastern Europe. Popularly, it became black during the great fire of 1689 but the reality is that the dark colouration comes from much more recent air pollution. The church houses the biggest bell in Romania – all 6.3 tonnes of it. I read that the best way to see Brașov was to take the Tâmpa Cable Car to the top of Tâmpa mountain. Sadly, it was not running so we mooched around in the town which is still not a bad way to see the place.

Time for another castle. This time, Bran Castle, famously marketed as Dracula’s Castle. There is no good reason for this. Bram Stoker, author of the original Dracula story is unlikely to have known the castle. His description of Count Dracula’s lair bears little resemblance to Bran Castle. None the less, this is another of those places made famous through literary fiction. Think Reichenbach Falls (Sherlock Holmes), Kings Cross Station (Harry Potter) and The Pond in Central Park (Catcher in the Rye). Around the castle is a roaring trade in souvenirs and other tat. I hoped to find a Dracula sticker but the only one I saw was rubbish. Plenty of fridge magnets but I do not own a fridge. We paid to go inside the castle. It was more interesting than Corvin’s Castle but also packed with people, many of whom were coughing far more than seemed healthy to me.

A couple of hours later we were looking for somewhere to warm up some soup for lunch and came across the medieval Rupea Fortress. A magnificent fortress on a hill. It has been renovated to some extent and commands terrific views across the town below. There were only a handful of people here and just one, small, souvenir stall. We enjoyed looking around and then had soup and bread in the car park.

Salina Turda sounds like something a bit dubious to English speakers. It is in fact a salt mine near the town of Turda. Mining finished, after nearly 900 years, in 1932. Since then, it has been turned into a tourist attraction. Salina Turda was ranked in 2013 by Business Insider as among the “25 hidden gems around the world that are worth the trek”. It is interesting in places but redevelopment, with a strong focus on tourist attraction, has sent it off into what seems to me a strange direction. The car park is expensive. Entry is expensive. There is a reduction for seniors but only if you are in possession of a Romanian pensioner certificate. Once inside I found the old salt mine bits interesting. Here we have stalactites and stalagmites made of salt. The main chamber is impressively large. The strata and mining techniques combine to create interesting patterns on the walls. Then things get strange. You can descend in a lift 90m to the bottom of the main chamber. Here you will find the ubiquitous souvenir shop. Also, a miniature golf course, some billiard tables, a Ferris wheel, a small arena and a boating pond. All of which you must pay extra for. Assuming you really want to descend into the depths of the earth to play miniature golf.

Our last stop in Romania was the Scărișoara Ice Cave. We have been into caves in ice before, usually inside a glacier. This is a limestone cave with a glacier inside it. Very strange. The entrance is a steep 50m descent down steps into the main chamber, about 100 m across and full of ice. The public can walk around this on a rather rickety wooden walkway. Here we have stalactites and stalagmites made of ice. They are quite fragile and fall off occasionally. Fortunately, they only take a few weeks to grow back unlike the calcite type which can take hundreds of years.

We liked Romania. Caves and castles. Dogs and a lot of rubbish. I mean, an awful lot of rubbish. And a little bit of skiing. Next stop is Hungary.

Slovenia

We arrived in Slovenia on a warm, sunny afternoon. We came over the Wurzenpass from Austria and descended the lovely road down the valley side towards Podkoren. On the other side of the valley were a few ski slopes. A perfect looking picnic spot in the sun was irresistible, so we stopped and cooked up some lunch. We have a little gas stove that is increasingly finding use at lunchtime. Often, I am re-heating soup or boiling up some pasta. Something quick and easy. This time it was cous-cous with a harissa sauce made from left-overs a couple of days ago. Sitting there, in the warm sunshine, it seemed unlikely that we were going to find much more skiing.

The rest of the afternoon was a relaxed and picturesque drive past the tourist town of Bled and into the centre of the national park hosting the Vogel ski area. We stayed at a small apartment in the town of Bohinjska Bistrica. There are many apartments like this, built specifically for rental. It makes an excellent alternative to a hotel. You get a space to yourself and a few basic facilities. Ideal for people, like us, that would mostly prefer to cook for ourselves. Possibly a good bet for small families or groups friends. Whatever the reasons, these apartments appear to be becoming more popular than conventional hotels.

Next morning, I abandoned Diane and drove a few kilometres to the cable car at the end of the valley. It was a foggy morning but cold and frosty. The venerable and modest sized cable car brought back warm, comfortable memories of my early days skiing in Switzerland. The younger me found it almost unbearably exciting as the cabin set off on its trip from the ordinary valley floor to the extraordinary and vertiginous mountains. Obviously, I am older, more experienced and far less likely to get excited these days but in fact, as we rose above the valley cloud and a clear, sharp vista of snowcapped peaks unveiled itself, I still got that old twinge of elation and wonder. The entire day proved to be visually spectacular. Clouds rolled over the mountain ridges in a thick, viscous wave at about the same height as the top ski lift. At times we were enveloped in thick fog but mostly we were just above it, looking down on swirling clouds. The skiing could not be described as spectacular. The slopes were limited and not particularly challenging. However, it was still great fun. There were no queues. The views were terrific, and, to my delight, there was an old, one-man chair lift. This took you to the very highest point on the mountain and felt remarkably precipitous. I had an excellent day and was a happy, if very tired, skier by the time I got back to the car.

The day afterwards, Diane and I explored the town and made plans for other things to do in Slovenia. There are many caves here. Also, castles. First, we drove over a mountain pass to the south. This was not only fun, but we also stumbled across another ski area that looked promising for another time. Then we passed a sign indicating a castle and a cave. Ideal. A short way down the road we found a car park and small tower. The tower was disappointingly closed so after walking around it we set off to find the cave. A short walk up a river brought us to the bottom of a deep valley that ended in steep cliffs with a sizeable river emerging from a cavernous entrance. This suddenly got much more interesting. We had brought our headtorches so, feeling pleased with ourselves for this forward planning, we advanced along the walkway into the cave. We found an enormous cavern containing a large lake. This had been dammed to draw off a supply for a water wheel a little way outside of the cave. At the back of the chamber was a locked gate barring further progress but even so, we felt comfortably happy with our discovery. I spent a little time messing with the camera to capture the moment. Eventually, we retraced our steps to the car and continued on the castle and cave journey.

Predjama Castle is a Renaissance castle built within a cave mouth. It is a marvellous looking castle tucked under an enormous cliff. There are many stories about the place but also, it looks like the sort of place that there should be many stories about. It has features in a Jackie Chan film and also Season 3 of The Witcher (which we have not watched yet, but we are planning to soon).

Not far from the castle is Postojna Cave. This caught me completely by surprise. I had not done any research and was unprepared when we were herded down a short tunnel and onto a train. The cave is 24 km long, second longest in Slovenia, and one of the top tourist sites. We were there on a damp and gloomy weekday in February, but even so there were plenty of visitors. Only about 5 km are accessible to the public. The train takes you much of the way and then there is over an hour walking through a succession of enormous chambers with the most extensive and amazing display of speleothems (secondary mineral deposits) I have ever seen.

Back in my younger and dafter days, I used to be quite keen on caving. Spent many cold, muddy but happy weekends crawling through limestone holes in the Yorkshire Dales and elsewhere. This cave, the Postojna Cave, is bigger and contains more flowstones, stalactites, stalagmites, helictites, soda straws and columns. that all the caves I have ever been in put together. This is no exaggeration. The scale of the place is utterly staggering. As a show cave the amount of work that has gone into the place is also impressive. Not only a whole railway system but also thousands of lights, miles of concrete walkways, bridges, railings and as we discovered at the end of the trip, the worlds only underground post office. The final chamber, called the Concert Hall, is known for its exceptional acoustics. Symphony orchestras, octets, and a variety of soloists perform here to an audience of up to 10,000 people. Deep inside the cave, away from the chaos of the tourists, lives an aquatic salamander. The Olm or Proteus (Proteus anguinus) is the only exclusively cave-dwelling chordate species found in Europe. It is blind, snake-like, 30 cm long, lacks pigmentation and has three toes. Stuffed toys of Olm are available in the underground post office.

Austria

First thing we did when we crossed from Italy to Austria was to go to Switzerland. The Riesa Pass brought us close to the village of Samnaun, a village where we spent a lot of time during the Covid lockdown. Although technically in Switzerland, Samnaun is mostly accessible from Austria and, for some reason, is a duty-free enclave. Very good place to buy alcohol and ski equipment. I wanted a new pair of skis. While travelling in Baloo, I had limited myself to a single set of skis. These are some wide, long, all-mountain skis. Terrific for fresh snow and skiing off piste, less good for the steep, icy pistes they appear to favour in Austria. I had done my research and knew what I wanted. Much shorter, narrower skis, necked in the middle so they will bite into the snow and help me properly carve turns. We looked in a couple of shops and then there they were. The skis of my dreams. Waiting patiently for me in the basement of the third shop. And at a healthy, duty-free price. We also bought some alcohol.

Back to Austria and the village of See. This shares the same valley as Ishgyl, one of the larger and busier ski resorts. See, however, is much smaller, quieter, more peaceful and altogether more our type of place. We got lucky with an apartment literally just across the road from the ski lift. I had a couple of terrific days skiing. The weather was a bit mixed but some flurries of fresh snow helped the state of the slopes and one morning I even found some fresh powder to play in. On the second day, Diane came with me on the ski bus to Kappl, a little further down the valley. This is another small ski area covered by the same lift ticket. The sun broke through the clouds from time to time and the views were terrific. We met up at the top lift station for lunch.

Next stop was Sölden. This a large, popular area at the end of a valley. The small, mountain road over the pass at the end of the valley is closed in the winter. I had booked a couple of nights at a hotel that appeared to be part the way up this road. The Hotel Silbertal runs a shuttle service from village and advises that to drive there yourself requires a 4×4 and snow chains. I found this irresistible, and we did end up using the snow chains. The hotel is right at the end of the ski area but high up so that you can ski in and out. We watched the sun set over the mountains at the end of the valley while sipping wine on the balcony. This all seemed perfect to me and to round off my pleasure the food proved to be excellent. Vegetarians are well catered for. The cooking was imaginative and tasty. The downside to this wonderful place was the cost. We kept our visit to a couple of nights in between which I had a long, hard day of skiing.

Driving further west, past Innsbruck and Mayrhofen, took us to the village of Bramberg am Wildkogel. Another smaller ski area and a return to the more modest apartments that we usually stay in. There had been a worrying lack of fresh snow for the previous week and the weather continued to warm up. As we arrived it was raining, clearing the last remnants of snow away from the valley. For the next two days it rained. I am quite keen on skiing but not so keen as to get intentionally soaked in the process. Anyhow, rain makes the snow slushy, heavy and difficult. Even up on the mountain tops it was raining, not snowing. We had a drive round. Visited the bottom of the Großglockner pass – also closed in winter.

We moved northwards past Kitzbuhl to Niederau. Our good friend Tim has a cousin who rents apartments here. We got a deal on a nice, cosy place for a week plus some excellent local advice and schnapps on arrival. The rain had passed, the sun came out and most of the week was warm and pleasant. The trouble is that warm and pleasant is not ideal for ski slopes. There are three small ski areas easily accessible along the valley. I enjoyed exploring them and Diane came along to take in the views. But all the time the snow was getting thinner and icier. It began to feel like spring skiing. This can be fun. Skiing in the warm sun with views across green fields. It does not last too long though before the snow is gone completely. Last year we had spent much of January in Chamonix vainly waiting for snow. Here it was looking like the ski season would end in February. I started to wonder, with climate change apparently starting to really kick in now, has the halcyon age of alpine skiing passed?

On this rather gloomy note we started making plans for a bit more road tripping and a bit less skiing. The gloom was emphasized by clouds rolling in and yet more rain. We headed for Slovenia. On the way we stopped for a day at Gastein. I skied at a couple of the areas there. The first, high area at Sportgastein, was pleasant if a bit crowded and limited to one lift. The second area, more comprehensively served from the main town was awful. The slopes were in terrible condition. Very icy with piles of slush that threaten to trip you up. It was Sunday and the place was very crowded as well. To the point where it started to feel a bit dangerous. Too many out of control skiers on a small icy slope. Diane came up to the restaurant at the top of the mountain. I not only met her there but came down on the gondola with her. Normally, I would always ski down but this time it really did not seem like a clever idea. Next morning we took a car-train through the Tauern Railway Tunnel to Mallnitz before heading south-east to Slovenia.

Reisa

Close to Vipiteno is the village of Colles and the Racines ski area. We stayed at small, modern apartment for a couple of days. I skied for a day although the weather was far from brilliant. When it is overcast the light can become very even. The same amount of illumination from every direction. This tends to make the snow covered ground look completely flat. Then it is difficult to see just how the slope undulates and you end up feeling your way down the hillside because you can’t see the detail of the slope. I suspect that this is good practice and helps improve your balance, but it can get a bit tedious. By lunchtime I was getting quite cold and little bit bored of wandering around in the mist. I stumbled, almost literally, across a lovely little restaurant high on the slopes. Just a handful of more hardened skiers were in there having lunch. I ordered a dish of spinach dumplings in a gorgonzola cheese sauce. This proved to be fabulous. By the time I was ready to leave I was thoroughly warmed through and feeling much more stable, anchored by some typically substantial Tyrolean dumplings. The cloud lifted a little, I found a new and interesting place to ski, and all seemed good with the world again. I also managed a little reconnaissance of the Passo Giovo. We needed to cross back over the next day, and it had been snowing. I could see the road was still open, the snowploughs had been busy although now the road was covered in a layer of hard packed snow.

Next morning, we set off and I wondered, yet again, at the wisdom of driving over alpine passes in a car that screeched as if all four wheels were about to come off. I really hoped that the Merano mechanic’s assessment was correct. In the event, the pass was straightforward. I put the Range Rover in “snow mode” and it happily coped with the icy conditions. Once again, I felt pleased that we had swapped the Jaguar for a car more appropriate to the task of a winter alpine road trip. We enjoyed driving over the pass, but it was cold and windy, so we skipped stopping for a brew this time. Back in Merano, we dropped the car off to be repaired and explored the town a little more.

Good news met us back at the garage and I eventually discovered just what had been going on. Language had been proving a bit of a barrier. Round here they speak German with an Italian accent. I don’t speak either. However, when the mechanic showed me the damaged parts it all made sense. A Range Rover, like most Land Rovers, has a hand brake that is quite separate from the service brakes that act on the wheels. The hand brake uses a drum brake on the output shaft of the transfer box. This had the advantage is that it locks all four wheels. The two brake shoes in the drum assembly are held in place by a pin with a spring. One of these springs had broken and was rubbing on the flat surface of the brake drum. This was really not doing any harm at all, hence ‘safe to drive’. None the less, me, Diane and the car all seemed much happier when the noise was cured.

I snuck in another day of skiing. This time, now that the New Year holiday is over, the crowds had vanished. The cable car carpark was now half empty, so I set off from there and thoroughly enjoyed the ride up the mountainside. The day was gloriously sunny, the slopes were mostly empty, lift queues were non-existent and even in the restaurants there was no waiting. There is an awful lot to be said for waiting until the second week in January to got skiing. If you can manage this, you will often be rewarded with the perfect combination of good snow and uncrowded slopes.

Next day we left Merano for what we hoped would be the last time and set off for Austria. Our route took us over the Reisa pass. A route which we had previously done in Baloo. This time however, we had a small car rather than a 22-ton truck, so it was much easier to find somewhere to park by the reservoir. The walk around the lake proved to be delightful. Crisp snow, warm sunshine and many interesting sights including kite skiers, ducklings, wooden walkways, and rotating boxes. The box was a very clever idea for a seat. It could be moved to just the ideal position to catch the sun while sheltering from the wind. In the evening we stayed at a hotel very close to the border and had a fantastic pizza at a restaurant that was within a few feet of the border. Finally, we were ready to tackle Austria.

Merano

Having managed to escape Christmas we still had New Year to deal with. New Year is typically far less problematical and often this can be great fun. Eat some tasty food, drink too much and watch fireworks. The previous few years have been noticeably quiet for us. Last year we were in Chamonix where it rained so much that although there were some fireworks all we could see of them were a few colours in the clouds. Prior to that were two years of lockdown and the year before that we were deep in the desert on our own. So, we had hopes for fireworks but were not sure how this might work out. In the meantime, we wanted to see a bit more of Piedmont so we headed to Alba.

The weather was dull and overcast but the city of Alba proved to be quite interesting. First job was to check into our apartment. We had booked a little apartment to be our base for a couple of days. Usually someone meets you, takes care of any registration formalities and shows you the place. Bit like checking into a hotel. Not this time. First, we both had to fill in an online form before they would send us the access code for the keys. This might sound like a convenient, high-tech solution but to be honest, sitting in a car, poking at a phone with one finger and having to contend with a dodgy signal, it was a bit of a pain. Eventually we got the code and found the keys without too much trouble. Then I got an anonymous text message on WhatApp. “Who are you?” seemed reasonable for me to ask but it was not until I threatened to block the sender that they admitted to representing the apartment company. After that the text conversation got increasingly ridiculous and annoying. “Where do we park” was answered with “Watch this five-minute video” and “Which is our apartment?” elicited “Read this 28-page document and follow the instructions”. We got to feel like we had become trapped in some weird and extraordinarily frustrating reality game. We wandered around, tried the keys in the wrong apartment, talked to some locals that lived there and searched for an umbrella stand. The company would not tell us which apartment we were in, instead we had to find an umbrella stand. Why? I have no idea. Eventually, we managed to get the car parked and out bags into the apartment. Took over an hour. The small flat was adequate even though they had skimped a bit on the cleaning. The company got very stroppy with me when I gave them a poor review on booking.com.

Alba is a food-lovers delight. Traditionally, Bologna is the food capital of Italy (and possibly the world) and while I would not dispute this, especially with an Italian, we found Alba to be much more accessible. The city is famous for wine and white truffles, but it is also where Ferrero Rocher and Nutella come from. Some of Italy’s more famous wines such as Barbera, Nebbiolo, Barbaresco, and Barolo originate here. Walking through the gorgeous old centre of the ‘the city of a hundred medieval towers’ we were fascinated by so many specialist food shops selling such a variety of wonderful eatables as to be almost overwhelming. I was intrigued by displays of white truffles each carefully laid out with its weight and price. Eventually, I bought one. We took it home and used it grated onto fresh pasta with butter and garlic. Absolutely fantastic. My mouth is watering just to write about it. I should have bought a couple more.

We headed for the mountains. Northwest across the plains of northern Italy, across the Po Valley, past Milan and then due north past Verona. Our overnight stop was a lovely hotel perched high on the valley side above Lake Garda. As night fell the stars came out and a fire pit was lit just outside of the bar. We could sit out by the fire and drink wine as the darkness closed in. Perfect. In the morning we continued north to the village of Tyrolo just above the Merano. To our delight, the apartment had a balcony which looked out over the village, the town, and the whole valley below it. New Year’s Eve was spent watching everyone else’s fireworks.

The car had started making a terrible noise. The sort of metal-on-metal screech that I imagined was an important transmission bearing failing. The day after the New Year break, we found a garage and they diagnosed a problem with the hand brake. We were assured that the car was safe to drive, they ordered a replacement part and asked us to come back in a week.

In the morning I went skiing. The car still sounded like there was a box of wailing banshees underneath it and people were turning round in the street to look. I drove to the main cable car, but the carpark was packed so I was waved past and directed up the hill. Twenty minutes of screeching and grinding up each steep hairpin bend and I arrived at the bottom of the ski slopes where there was a much larger car park. First day back on the slopes is always a bit tricky. My boots did not fit properly so my feet hurt. My skis did not work properly so I struggled to hold a good line. My legs did not work properly and soon started to cramp up. Apart from that it was great. Remarkably busy for such a small ski area but I did not mind waiting a bit for each lift as it gave me a small rest. By late afternoon I was so tired that I barely noticed the wails of tortured metal as I guided the long-suffering car back down the hill. It was a good day.

We still had several days to wait until we could get the car fixed and they had assured us that it was safe to drive. Next day drove over the Passo Giovo (Jaufenpass) to the lovely town of Vipiteno. The 31 km long, extraordinarily scenic route has the magnificent Ötztal Alps to the north, and the Sarntal Alps to the south. It is a varied and steep road with many switchbacks. Often included in the list of top ten Alpine passes. Because it is such a convenient shortcut it is usually kept open during the winter. We thoroughly enjoyed the drive over. With the windows shut we could barely hear the scaping noise from the transmission.

Next day, I skied and particularly enjoyed the first gondola ride. This takes you from the main car park up to the ski area by going over the busy A22 autostrada. This is one of the most important motorways in Italy. It connects Pianura padana (the Po Valley), the city of Modena and the A1 motorway to Austria. 35,000 vehicles per day, of which 30% are HGVs, use this road to cross the Brenner pass – one of the lowest mountain passes in the Alps and also one of the busiest borders in Europe. It is a remarkable route to drive, from the lowlands up and through the high mountains. We have travelled it many times in motorhomes, in Baloo, on the bike and by car. Every time I have noticed the cable car from Vipiteno. Now I finally got to ride it and found the experience to be remarkably satisfying.

Antwerp

December means Christmas is coming. This usually gives me an urge to leave the country. I am not so bothered about Christmas, never really have been. It is a family affair and in our family that did not seem to ever work too well. The problem however, my problem, is that I feel that I cannot be allowed to be indifferent to Christmas. There are many celebrations that I am not too bothered about, but which do not cause me a problem. Easter can pass me by without a chocolate bunny, on Burns night the haggis is optional and for Bonfire night I can choose to stay in without someone stashing gunpowder in the cellar. I leave them alone, they leave me alone, everyone is happy. With Christmas, I am not allowed to do this. We even have special words, derived from the absurd Dickensian Christmas fantasy, for people who will not conform. It is all-in. Like Marmite, love it or hate it, you cannot be ambivalent. The media starts its assault in November and by December is in full flood. Christmas this, Christmas that, Christmas the other and if you are not positively enthusiastic then “Bah! Humbug!” is the cry of shame you will be marked with. It is too much for me. Sometimes it feels like a scene from Invasion of the Body Snatchers. You may recall, when the pod-people encounter an unconverted human they point and scream. In this case one inadvertent disparagement of joyous noel brings forth the wagging fingers and the derisory “Bah! Humbug!”. Objectively, when I consider Christmas, I see a little religion and a massive amount of media hype. In all honesty, I am not too keen on either so each year, in November, the cross-channel ferry starts calling me. Obviously, despite Brexit, they still celebrate Christmas in the rest of Europe, but they don’t seem to make such a meal of it. What is more, if I am very lucky, I can get to ski instead of eating mince pies.

We took the Hull to Rotterdam ferry. This is our favourite way across to Europe. Short drive to Hull, meal, bar, sleep, breakfast, and you are good to go. This time we started off with a brief visit to Antwerp. Never been there before. Well, visited once on business but seeing just a hotel and an office does not really count. This time we wanted to spend a couple of days exploring. We found a nice enough place to stay a few kilometres outside the centre. Antwerp is busy, expensive, has tiny roads and barely any parking. We found it best to keep the car far from the centre and instead use the cheap and easy tram system.

Antwerp is mostly famous for chocolate and diamonds. It seemed sensible to keep Diane away from the diamonds, so we went to look at a chocolate exhibition. We both like a bit of chocolate and quite enjoyed learning about the history of chocolate and how it is made. Climax of the trip was a tasting involving a dozen or so distinct types of chocolate. The chocolate was being stirred in warm vats and we got to pour out a spoonful of each. Basic chocolate is either dark, milk or white. But, as I discovered there is now, in just the last few years, a new type of ruby chocolate. This is made from ruby cocoa beans and has a pink colour. The experts debate whether this is really a new type of chocolate – but it does taste rather good.

Wandering around Antwerp we found many museums and Christmas markets. We did our best to avoid both of these, but we did get lured into a couple of churches, How come churches do not put up Christmas decorations? We saw a few nativity scenes and lights on the outside but inside there was nothing. No tinsel on the pews, no plastic penguins on the altar, not a bauble on the lectern and the choir boys were not wearing Santa outfits. The Cathedral of Our Lady was our first dive into catholic artistic overindulgence. Many paintings by the Dutch Masters of which Rubens was prominent. He spent much of his life in Antwerp, so I imagine it was handy for the local cathedral that the paintings did not have to be sent far. The cathedral also sports some terrific stained-glass windows, the excessively ornate tomb of Isabella of Bourbon and a mighty organ. Sadly, there was no-one around to play it. The Sint-Pauluskerk church was a much more modest affair in terms of touristic hype and entry fee but, nonetheless, sported what was possibly a better array of paintings. Rubens must have been terribly busy at times. Next morning, our interest in churches sated for the next few years, we left Antwerp and set a course south.

We stayed in a gypsy caravan guarded by a fierce looking sheep. Then we spent my birthday in a little cabin with a lovely view and a hot tub. Diane enjoyed the hot tub, but I discovered that the high level of chlorine in the water played havoc with my skin and made me itch for days. South through France the weather was consistently terrible. Very wet and windy. Arriving at the Jura mountains we found the remains of snow being washed away by the rain. No chance of skiing here. We did however, find a lovely hotel restaurant that served us a fantastic fondu with morel mushrooms.

We pushed on south through the Alps, in the rain, and through the Fréjus Road Tunnel into Italy where the weather finally began to improve. At Oulx there was a lovely hotel in the mountains opposite a restaurant with the best pizza since the last time we were in Italy. Next day, in glorious sunshine, we crossed the Col de Montgenèvre back into France at Briançon and then south-west back to Italy over the fabulous Col de Larche.

By the evening we had arrived at Mondovi, a lovely little Italian town where we holed up for Christmas. Here we spent a few days pottering round and enjoying the tranquillity of a small mountain town.

We visited the old part of town, admired the architecture, climbed the clock tower and generally had a few very peaceful days. The apartment we had hired proved to be very nice and, as usual, we enjoyed cooking for ourselves. After three days we had done enough peacefulness and were ready to get back on the road.

Mediterranean Cruise

Last November we went for a cruise with Helen and David. It all worked very well. Everyone enjoyed it. This November we thought we would do something similar but on a different ship and a different itinerary. First significant change was that we were sailing from Marseilles. To get there would be a short road trip. We like road trips. Helen organised this one. Diane and I had hoped for a gentle and relaxed journey. Not a chance. First day was a 6am start for a mad thrash down the motorways to Dover. Next morning saw us up at 6am, again, to catch the ferry. Toll motorways to Epernay. A short break to taste and buy champagne. Arrived at the rented bungalow late and crawled into bed. Next day things began to get easier. We had time for breakfast before a relatively easy drive to a lovely hotel in a big old, rambling building. The fabulous evening meal was a highlight but also came with a fabulous bill. And so, to Marseilles where we arrived in the evening and found absolutely nowhere to park. Fortunately, the hotel manager moved his car to give us space. This was a great relief because we were starting to wonder if we would need to a find a different hotel with enough space to unload David in his electric wheelchair. Seeing the progressive deterioration in Dave’s condition is always upsetting. There is also the very practical consideration that every aspect of his life just keeps getting harder. On the previous cruise we had been able to use a conventional wheelchair that could be lifted and man-handled. Now, David is totally dependant on his electric wheelchair. Great bit of kit but way too heavy to lift.

Next morning, we were welcomed onto our ship for the next ten days. The MSC Divina. Quite a bit older than our previous cruise ship, the MSC Virtuosa, but equally enormous. Our cabin was lovely. Nice sized double bed and a small balcony. Diane and I got settled in, Helen and David got settled in and then we all met for lunch and a glass of champagne. We were pleased that we had made it to Marseille with any real problems. Helen does not consider getting up at 6am as a problem. We were looking forward to some relaxing days with a little bit of indulgence. In the evening we sailed for Genova, all was good.

From the port, Genoa is a solid, pressing mass of buildings going up the hillside around the docks. We found ourselves constrained to a narrow strip close to the coast. Beyond that the streets were just too steep. No matter, there was still plenty to see. I was delighted to come across a Focacciaria, a small shop selling variants of Focaccia Genovese – a light and tasty flat bread baked in big trays. This was served with a local pesto sauce. Genoa is famous for growing basil, the key ingredient of a traditional pesto. The result was, frankly, spectacular. Back on board by late afternoon, we broke out the cocktails as the ship left port in the evening sun. I discovered a cocktail with chilli and dried orange that was surprisingly good.

Next day we arrived in Barcelona. Sunny, bright and colourful. We headed out to Las Ramblas street. Originally this was a sewage-filled stream forming an important drain especially during the heavy rains of spring and autumn. In 1440, the stream was diverted to be outside the newly built city walls and since then the street has become an increasingly popular hub of urban life. The street is very crowded but also wide and open. Since 1703 it has been lined with trees and although the open-air markets for birds and small animals have been banned since 2010 there are still a wide variety of birds, including parrots, flying around. Small stalls, market traders, entertainers and side shows abound. You can easily spend a full day wandering around, taking in the sights and sounds while nibbling at tapas from the enormous range of restaurants. This was exactly how we passed the afternoon before heading back to the ship to prepare for Africa.

We had a day at sea while we steamed towards Morocco. In the morning, I hopped out of bed with bare feet straight onto a wet carpet. Some problem with the bathroom plumbing apparently. I did not want to know the details and washed my feet anyhow. We moved to a fresh cabin on another deck. Of course, we had to pack up first and then unpack. This all took a couple of hours and was a bit irritating. In fact, irritation became a bit of theme for this ship. On the Virtuosa, the yacht club dining room was on a mezzanine level above the bar. Fabulous views and very convenient. Here on the Divina, it was at the other end of the ship. To get there with David meant taking a lift down nine levels, walking the length of the ship and then going back up nine levels. There were often queues for the lifts so this route could easily take ten minutes. Does not sound too bad until you consider ten minutes each way for three meals a day by which time you have wasted an hour. For all that, the restaurant was cramped and had no views at all.

Casablanca, if I am honest, is a bit tricky as a tourist destination. The largest city in Morocco is also the country’s economic and business centre. The port is enormous, but it is a working port. Thousands of containers being moved around, bulk carriers getting loaded, a steady flow of commercial vessels in and out. In the distance the city, a massive commercial block, rises out of the dusty gloom. It is not very appealing. A handful of the more dedicated tourists booked trips although even then it is probably an hour or two of driving to see anything interesting. Morocco is a fascinating place. Golden sand dunes, amazing mountains, vest seascapes and ancient buildings. The trouble is that none of these places are anywhere near Casablanca. Quite why the ship docked here is anybody’s guess but I am fairly sure it was not for the benefit of the passengers. Getting David onto a bus was going to be impossible and when Helen and David first attempted to disembark, they were told that the tide was too high. They did eventually get off. David got to step foot (wheel) in Africa. They walked down to the security fence and got a stamp for his passport and then that was Morocco and Africa done. Next stop, the Canary Islands.

Tenerife is an immensely popular tourist destination. With five million visitors a year it is a major worldwide destination and one of the most important to Spain. The larger proportion of visitors are from the UK as it quite evident from the abundance of chip shops and Irish bars. The municipality of Adeje in the south of the island has the highest concentration of 5-star hotels in Europe and Spain’s best luxury hotel. For our part, we went for a walk round a park and ate some chips. Next day was supposed to be Madeira but a port pilot’s strike put paid to that so we had two days in Santa Cruz instead. This meant, come evening , that we could eschew the ship’s restaurant and sneak out for a curry. Turned out to be a properly excellent meal that we all thoroughly enjoyed. Next day Helen and Dave managed to have a fabulous day out in a taxi which was capable of taking the electric wheelchair. I don’t know the details, but they came back buzzing after being shown around the greater part of the island.

Late afternoon we sailed for Malaga. A two-day trip to the ever-popular Costa del Sun. Popular with the British that is. The trip was essentially uneventful. The sun shined. We explored alternative restaurants. Helen and Diane wallowed in the hot tub. I read a book.

We set off quite early to see Malaga and ended up on an open-topped tour bus. The pre-recorded commentary was desperately boring and delivered in a monotone. Rather than fall asleep I gave up with the earpiece and just looked as what was around us. Malaga seems to be quite a vibrant combination of beaches, bars, and restaurants surrounding a historic centre of narrow streets and old buildings. Having circumnavigated the city we hopped off near the port and attempted to find a restaurant, a tapas bar, that had been recommended to us. We did find it and so did several hundreds of other people. The queue was immense, so we gave up and settled for some perfectly delicious tapas at a smaller and less popular restaurant. The rest of the day was quite a long walk back to the ship where we started packing in preparation for returning to Marseilles the next day.

The return trip was easier. We even had time to stop off for a small tour round a champagne vineyard. Michel Fagot – possibly my new favourite champagne. We split the UK leg into a much more pleasant two days and all arrived back in Todmorden safely.

Churchill

We joined a trip to the town of Churchill, organised by Natural Habitat Adventures – a group who claim to be world leaders in conservation travel. Their by-line is “conservation through exploration”. The idea is that they organise trips for small numbers of people to inaccessible locations in a responsible way. Churchill is a small settlement on the western side of the Hudson Bay known as the Polar Bear capital of the world. In October and November each year, hundreds of bears converge on the area. Polar Bears like to eat seals. They hunt seals on the sea ice, so in the summer, when there is no ice, they get hungry. Churchill is pretty much right on the point where the sea ice starts to form each year. Polar Bears are traditionally very solitary creatures. Possibly one of the loneliest mammals on the planet. However, this behaviour is briefly put to one side for the bears of the southern and western Hudson Bay. These bears make up two to three thousand of the world’s total population of maybe 30,000 animals. Exact numbers are difficult to assess. See https://www.arcticwwf.org/wildlife/polar-bear/polar-bear-population/ Back in the 1950’s it was estimated there were only 5,000 bears left worldwide. There has been an enormous rebound since the international agreement of 1973 to seriously limit hunting. Humans have always been their biggest threat. These days, some populations of bears continue to flourish while others suffer from the ubiquitous combined pressures of habit encroachment and climate change. A few years ago, National Geographic published a distressing video of a starving polar bear along with a dialog that pointed squarely at global warming as being responsible for the poor animal’s imminent demise. For a while it looked like polar bears were going to become the poster child of the climate change lobby. Fortunately, sanity ruled. National Geographic were playing fast and loose with the facts for the sake of a story. The bear simply could have been old, ill, or suffering from a degenerative disease. Overall, polar bears are doing fine. You can still hunt bears though. For around £30,000 an Inuit hunter will sell you his allocation and help you find a bear to murder.

In 2021, Churchill had a population of just 870. Tourism is the major source of income. Some whale watching and some aurora spotting but mostly polar bear safaris in October and November. To the west of Churchill is a large conservation area that used to be a rocket launching range. From 1956 to 1984 rockets were fired into the upper atmosphere for research purposes. These days a handful of special trucks are licenced to take tourists out in search of polar bears. The trucks are custom built and quite enormous. They can easily travel across the rough terrain while at the same time keeping visitors safe from wandering polar bears. The bears are wonderful to watch but it is prudent to remember that these are the world’s largest terrestrial carnivore. Half a ton of apex predator. And they are hungry.

Our trip began in Winipeg. Here, at the rather lovely, Fort Gary hotel, we met up with the rest of our group, collected coats and boots, attended an introductory talk, attended an introductory meal and had a tour of Winipeg. Unfortunately, at about this time my small camera developed a fault. It was not focussing correctly. Looked fine through the view finder but the final images were terrible. What makes this worse is that I did not notice until I took the images from the camera several weeks later. My main camera is a Canon EOS 5D MkIV. This is a truly beautiful camera and much better than me at taking photographs. However, it is a bit large, so for smaller jobs I use a Canon Powershot GX1. This is also excellent. Pocket sized with a telephoto lens and a proper view finder – essential in bright snowy conditions. Ideal for a day trip to see the sights of Winnipeg.

We started the day by visiting a field full of bison. Big, shaggy cows that reminded me of Yaks. We were driven into the middle in a rather battered bus and warned not to get out. The North American plains used to support over 30 million of these animals living in balance with the local tribes. Then came the cowboys and someone had the great idea that an effective way to get rid of the North American Indians (pesky locals) would be to exterminate the bison that they depended on. By 1900 the entire bison population was down to about 1,000. Now there are around 200,000 in the whole of North America. On reflection, I can see that Canada has a long history of hunting creatures to extinction but despite that mostly everyone we met still seemed very keen on hunting and fishing. Lessons yet to be learned. As we left the two-acre field our guide remarked “I hope you enjoyed your safari”, which caused me to wonder about how far the meaning of a word like “safari” can be stretched. The rest of the day was a relaxed meander round some parks and monuments. We eventually ended up in a museum where there was even more bison romanticising. Also, a ship which was supposed to illustrate early trade but seemed more like a pantomime pirate vessel to me. Next morning, we flew to Churchill.

Churchill has the wonderful air of being a frontier town about it. Not quite so extreme as some of the settlements we had encountered in Nunavut, but still a long, long way from the hustle and bustle of a modern city. It was late afternoon by the time we arrived. Our group of sixteen was assigned to a bus with Judy, our group leader, and went for a drive around town. The road from the airport is mostly a dirt track. There is not much to see in Churchill. Houses, a few hotels and restaurants and some basic facilities. Some interesting art, painting on rocks and houses, remains from an event a few years ago. I was struck by the polar bear warning signs. This is not a place to wander around on your own. At the coast is an Inuit inuksuk – a construction of rocks used as a cultural symbol. Made a good place for a group photograph. Also gave me a chance to look out across the Hudson Bay – somewhere I have wanted to visit for a long time. The bay is a massive salt-water inlet, technically part of the Atlantic Ocean. Named after the Englishman, Sir Henry Hudson, another character in the story of the Northwest passage. He spent time mapping the bay but met his end when his crew mutinied in June 1611 and set him adrift in a small boat, possibly not far from Churchill.

The bears come here because the ice starts forming here. Winter is coming. By the end of November there will be sea ice and the bears will be gone. For us, in October, it is still getting chilly. Minus 24°C is the Churchill record low for October. That would have been cold. While we were there the temperature hovered around freezing, even so, there was often snow in the air. In the morning we were introduced to our truck and our truck driver, a big, cheerful bloke and clearly a bit of a character. The trucks, called Polar Rovers, are designed specifically for this job. Apart from being massive, they are also capable off-road and self-contained. Water, food and a toilet are all provided. You get on the truck via a special raised platform and get off, at the end of the day, the same way. The truck has an outside viewing platform, but you are still way above the ground, safe from bears. Did I mention the Polar Rover was big? Seating for about forty so with just sixteen of us there was plenty of space and everyone could have a window seat.

The sun was just coming up as we left the boarding area along with four other vehicles. They like to make an early start here. A Polar Rover is only quite slow but even so, on the rough terrain, you needed to hang on a bit. For an hour or so we lurched and banged our way along following rough tracks marking the passage of many other trucks. Then our driver saw a bear. I was immediately reminded of spotting polar bears from the Hurtigruten ship we had been on earlier. A little white dot in the distance. We waited a while and then moved closer. The driver used his judgment to decide whether we were disturbing the bear. Clearly it would be a bit irresponsible to simply chase the animals around in trucks, so they try and tread lightly. As lightly as possible in a 25-ton truck. To be fair, the bears do not seem too concerned about the rovers. Possibly they have got used to them or maybe they hope there may be some food involved. At times they are quite curious although they are never given any food. Elsewhere in the world you would not be able to do this at all. In Svalbard, for example, it is illegal to hunt, lure, pursue, feed or disturb a polar bear. Around Churchill the polar bear viewing is highly regulated although part of this might be driven by protectionism of the tourist industry. Natural Habitat make a big issue in pointing out that they are one of very few organisations with permits to visit the whole conservation area.

We finally got reasonably close to a bear so, along with several other rovers, we stopped for lunch. This proved to be a pleasant affair. A range of food was produced from cupboards. Hot food in flasks. Cold nibbles. Even some wine. The pattern was established for the next couple of days. Up early. Bounce off across the tundra in the morning light while sipping coffee. Wander around until we found a bear. Spend time on the rear viewing platform trying to get some half decent photographs. Leisurely break for lunch. More bear spotting and then back as dusk was falling. It was interesting and fun, but we thought, after three days that we had done about enough of this.

On the last day in the rovers, there was an unexpected drama. Bears are normally very solitary and only get forced together here while they wait for the ice. Most of the bears are single males. On the last day we saw a mother with her cub. Typically bears have one or two cubs which they look after for two or three years. The male bears have nothing to do with bringing up the cubs, in fact, they are a bit of a danger and have been known to attack and eat cubs. Especially when they are hungry in the late summer before the ice forms. So, we spotted a mother and cub on a small spit of land and a larger male bear making its way towards them. The mum played it cool for a little while and then decided to make her escape. She took her cub to the end of the rocky spit and then clambered into the water. The cub was clearly less competent at swimming and mostly just hung onto her back. They swam round to shore well away from the male. He appeared to lose interest once they took to the water. By the time the mother and cub were shaking themselves dry the big male had laid down and gone back to sleep.

Our last day at Churchill we went on a helicopter ride. Once again, this was very expensive but so worthwhile. We are unlikely to ever visit Churchill again. It is an amazing place and flying is a terrific way to see it. Just three of us in the aircraft along with the pilot, Bob, who explained he had been flying bush helicopters for several decades. He was certainly an excellent pilot and truly knowledgeable. By flying we could range much further out than in the rovers and get a much better sense of just how many polar bears were around. Most of the bears were along the coast so we flew a zig-zag path along the beach. Did we mind doing some sharper turns Bob asked? No we did not so we ended up doing some very exciting manoeuvres. Great fun.

Occasionally bears must be handled. Sometimes they are fitted with tracking collars or simply need to be measured and examined for scientific purposes. Occasionally they may need to go to prison. Bad bears, those behaving in a way which is causing problems for the settlement get locked away. Solitary confinement in an old military building. Later that day we visited the polar bear holding facility. Bears are locked up here until the ice has formed and they can be taken well way. Initially, the bears were fed until it was found that the following year, they came to the facility hoping for more food. To catch a bear, you approach in helicopter and shoot it with a tranquilising dart. The sedated bear can then be handled, netted or whatever. The bears do not like this, and they remember. Bob could point out bears that had experienced this because as the helicopter approached, they promptly sat down so that they could not be shot in the bum again.

A short but fun dog sled ride plus a visit to a souvenir shop rounded out the day. Then came the flight back to Winnipeg and by late evening we were back in Fort Gary hotel enjoying a farewell dinner with the rest of the group. Next day we flew to Calgary and a couple of days later were back in the UK.

Rockies

In Calgary we traded in our compact RV for a larger model. The smaller one had proved fine, with the possible exception of the shower. It was a bit narrow. l found I could clean one side of myself but then had to step out and turn around to clean the other side. We had a problem with the generator which is why we had called at the Calgary depot. While discussing this, it occurred to us that we could try a different RV for the remainder of our trip. We ended up with a considerably larger model. It had slide-out sections. The whole vehicle could expand when we parked up. Gave us loads of space inside. Much bigger than Baloo ever was although the base vehicle was much smaller. Also, we had a proper oven thus expanding the range of culinary possibilities.

One aspect of Canada that takes a bit of getting used to is that you never pay the advertised price. It does not matter what you are buying, the displayed cost is only ever a starting point. On top of that will come at least one tax, often two and then sometimes a tip. I have a receipt which includes ECOFRAIS, TPS and T.V.P. – no idea what any of these are although they add 15% to the bill before tips. Tipping in Canada is not just encouraged but virtually mandatory. When you are handed a credit card payment machine it will not simply display the amount you will be charged. First you will need to choose the level of tipping – typically 15%, 20% or 25%. In a move that seems strangely unfair to me, the tip is calculated as a percentage after tax. So, you pay a tip on the tax as well. It is also difficult to know when you are going to pay a tip. Supermarkets, no. Liquor store, yes. The shop keeper hands you a bottle of wine and then expects to be tipped for this. It is all a bit baffling and disturbing. Feels like having a little mouse in your pocket that keeps nibbling away at your money.

We spent a night in an exceedingly popular RV camp just outside of Calgary. It was not great. Busy and expensive. Next day we stumbled across an almost deserted campsite a few miles off the road. As we were driving down the track, a grey wolf ran across in front of us. This was much nicer. We spent a couple of nights there. Had a few walks. Saw another wolf and got to find our way around the new, enormous, RV. Eventually, we arrived in Banff. We had definitely arrived in the Rocky Mountains. On the downside, the weather started to be quite wet and we discovered that Banff was just about to close for the season. We had arrived just on the awkward gap between summer and winter. Last time we were in Banff was back in the winter of 2009. It appears to have changed enormously since then. Such is the power of the tourism industry. We had a potter around time. It was not too crowded, but we could sense that it must be heaving at times. Found a lovely vegetarian restaurant and a specialist chocolate shop that was irresistible to Diane. Next day the campsite closed. This RV site on the hills overlooking Banff is truly massive. We are talking a thousand or more pitches. Even so, it closes at the end of the season.

We moved on to the rather scarily named Radium Hot Springs. I have no idea if the waters there really glow in the dark but there was a quiet and pleasant campsite. Next day we drove up to the town of Golden. Another slightly odd name but naturally lends itself to naming local features, Golden Road, Golden Bridge and so on. Here we paid extra for a campsite pitch with a view (Golden view). It was lovely so we stayed two nights. Then we climbed over Rogers Pass and through the Glacier National Park. You need a permit to drive within a national park. Fortunately, we had bought a multi-park pass when we hired the RV. We stopped in a small car park by the side of the road and discovered that we were supposed to have a permit for that. And another, special winter permit if we wanted to park there in the cold. We hoped we could get away with our 30 minute pause while Diane made lunch and I tried to photograph the chipmunks running around the tarmac.

After a very pleasant and relaxed few days crossing the Rockies, we arrived in Vancouver and gave the RV back. This left us a day spare, so we went to look around the downtown area on the rather excellent mass transportation system called SkyTrain. This proved to be a bit of a shock. We had come to expect Canada to be generally clean and pleasant. Downtown Vancouver has a bit of a social problem. Not only were there many derelict and run down areas but also a lot of derelict and run down people. In fact, some of the park areas were festooned with people who appeared to be very much down on their luck and either unconscious or begging for money. We kept our visit fairly short before heading back to our hotel and preparing for the trip to Winnipeg.

Montreal

After leaving the Fram, we were flown to Montreal. Following six weeks in remote Arctic places, we were back in a big, bustling, modern city. In general, we are not too keen on cities, but Montreal feels clean and friendly, so we did not mind spending a few days exploring. The weather was warm and sunny. We looked at a few buildings, walked in some parks and found a couple of nice places to eat. Eventually it was time to move on.

We got a taxi out to the north of the city, to where we had arranged to collect a small motor home, a recreation vehicle or RV as they are commonly referred to. Diane and I have spent quite a lot of time in motor homes of diverse types. These have ranged from cheap and small to the 22-ton monster that was Baloo. This one was definitely on the smaller side. A converted Ford Transit van. Although quite small, it was well equipped. The back turned into a reasonable bed. There was a small cooking area with a sink, gas hob and microwave. We had a small shower and a toilet, gas heating and even an air conditioning unit in the roof. A generator meant we could even stand a few days wild camping. Underneath there was a very neat combined grey and black water drain valve – something that would have saved an awful lot of time and trouble in Baloo. The hire company claimed that the RV could be used in winter down to -30°C – this was probably true and quite impressive – the Canadians know a thing or two about cold winters.

After a couple of days on a pleasant campsite just outside of Montreal, we set off westwards. It was lovely to be back on the road again. The fine details of what type of RV you are in or how it is equipped really makes little difference to the basic pleasure of moving through the landscape, seeing something new each day and never being quite sure where you are going to end up. For the first week we travelled through forest. East Canada is one immense forest. A vast extent of gently rolling hills and trees. We chanced across a few interesting sights such as Canada’s longest rope bridge, but for the most part, each day was pleasantly quiet roads and endless trees. Not boring but not notably exciting either. Canada is a wonderful place for RVs. Lots of space and well organised campsites. We were travelling close to the end of the season so there was never any need to book ahead. Most campsites come with electric and water hook up plus a little drain that you can connect the waste water outlet to. Usually there was a fire pit. For a few dollars you can buy a sack of logs and then have a campfire to sit around.

Round about this time, my mother died. This was not unexpected. We knew she was seriously ill before we left for Iceland. We had talked. She was content, she had made peace with her God and when I said goodbye at the end of July neither of us expected to meet again. That said, losing your mother is a big thing and for a few weeks we both felt decidedly low. Quietly travelling and sitting around campfires suited us just perfectly.

Passing Winipeg we arrived at the wonderful little town of Eyebrow. The small RV site appeared deserted but not long after we settled in, a local woman turned up in a pickup truck to bring us firewood and welcome us to the Eyebrow RV site. Next day, to my delight, we went through the town of Elbow, just a short way from Eyebrow. Aside from towns named after bodily parts, this part of the trip also marked the transition from forests to plains. Vast plains of wheat. Many things in Canada appear to be vast. Vast and flat. One local, a fruit seller just outside Eyebrow, explained that it was so flat you could watch you dog running away for four days.

On we drove, along dead straight roads, past wheat fields the size of small counties, past grain silos, farms and harvesting machines as big as family homes. We passed several salt lakes and oil pumps, nodding donkeys, pulling oil up from deep underground. Slowly, slowly the totally flat fields gave way to undulations and then, rather suddenly, we dropped off the edge of a plateau and into some deep ravines. After nearly three weeks and over 4,000 km we had reached the edge of the plains. Next stop Calgary and the Rocky Mountains.

Uqsuqtuuq

The town of Uqsuqtuuq is the only settlement on King William Island. The name means “lots of fat” and refers to the abundance of sea mammals in the nearby waters.

Roald Amundsen named the place Gjoa Haven in 1903 after his ship Gjøa. It was during his expedition to be the first to travel the Northwest Passage. Amundsen arrived here and declared it to be “the finest little harbour in the world”. The vessel was moored for nearly two years while Amundsen and his crew learned from the local Inuit about living off the land and traveling in extreme conditions. It was these skills that stood him in good stead later when tacking the South Pole. They also plotted changes in the Northern Magnetic Pole which, rather surprisingly, moves quite a lot. Today some locals claim descendancy from Amundsen, or his crew.

The mist had come down, the sea was calm and the land, what we could see of it, was flat and featureless. Not ideal for photographs. I could slip a couple of pictures of Saddleworth moor on a foggy day in here and you would not spot the difference. Despite the “lots of fat” name, we saw nothing more than a couple of sea birds.

The settlement was interesting and gave us a bit more insight into life in the high arctic. A little museum hosted a rather excellent bronze bust of Amundsen. Turns out he had a large and prominent nose. In the community centre my attention was caught by some public information signs about travelling on the sea ice. It reminded me of the posters you might see in the Peak District reminding walkers to take a waterproof with them. Of course, this is a far more extreme environment, so the advice made refence to such things as rifles, harpoons, satellite phones and recognising sea ice features. I also spotted a poster concerning the Erebus and Terror. You will recall that these were Franklin’s ships. Both now found in the relatively shallow waters not far from Gjoa Haven. Erebus was discovered in 2014 and Terror in 2016. The cold, arctic ocean has preserved both vessels well and they have given up some of the last pieces of the puzzle of Franklin’s expedition. Both are now preserved as historic sites and strictly off limits.

The cultural demonstration proved to be genuinely entertaining. We knew to expect throat singing and drum dancing. I was somewhat surprised when the event was rounded off by square dancing, something I think I had last experienced in Texas.

The next day we arrived at Cambridge Bay and the end of our trip. We left the Fram for the last time on the RHIBs to spend a few hours looking around. Off to one end of the town is the Canadian High Arctic Research Station. A marvellous looking building with two very interesting hovercraft parked outside. Unfortunately, no one was there. I guess they were all out doing research. Just out from the other side of town are some geodesic domes that looked to enclose radars. These are part of the Distant Early Warning (DEW) line established during the cold war. as protection from incoming soviet bombers. I asked our guide about the radar station, and he asserted that it was so secret that it was best to not mention it at all. Mid-afternoon we flew in a small charter plane to Montreal.

Bellot Strait

Next day we were heading south. We crossed Viscount Melville Sound and by daybreak passed Prince Leopold Island, an important bird sanctuary, before arriving at the northeast corner of Somerset Island. Here are the remains of another HBC trading post and the opportunity for another landing. Standing by the hut, we tried to imagine what it might have been like back in the day. Two people, a pile of provisions and a stove. Occasionally, local hunters would turn up with furs which were then compressed into 90 lb bales. Once a year a ship would arrive to take the furs and drop off more provisions.

In the evening we pressed on south. This is probably not the route that Franklin took. He went west of Somerset Island. Our route took us past Fort Ross and through the Bellot Strait. Fort Ross was the last ever trading post for HBC. Built in 1937 and operated for 11 years it was eventually abandoned when two successive resupply attempts failed because of the sea ice. The three HBC employees were eventually airlifted out in a daring rescue that involved the first high arctic parachute jump. The Bellot Straight separates Somerset Island from mainland North America. It is a narrow channel and a significant challenge to navigation. Part way through is a large cairn marking Zenith Point, the most northerly point on the American mainland. The channel is 25 km long, narrow and steep sided. Currents can reach 8 kts and there are often small icebergs creating a significant danger to shipping. In the event, our traversal went very smoothly. Sadly, the mist closed in and although we got a glimpse of Zenith point that was about our lot. We finally emerged into open ocean at Franklin Straight. So, you may guess who sailed past here once.

Before we picked up the Franklin trail again, there was one last chance for a trip out in the RHIBs. A couple of polar bears had been spotted in Peel Sound. We took turns in using the RHIBs to get a little closer to them. Not too close obviously. We did not want to scare them or ourselves. That done, the Fram turned south again. Next stop Gjoa Haven.

Polar Bears

We were at the start of the Northwest Passage (NWP). For centuries this was a much sort after, almost mythical, route between the Atlantic and the Pacific. Before the Panama Canal, vessels needed to either risk the infamous Cape Horn or sail south of Africa and India to get to the far east. Renowned polar explorer, Roald Amundsen found a route in 1903. It took him three years, two winters in the ice. In 2007 the Norwegian Polar Institute announced that the passage was clear for the first time since records began in 1972. It is generally acknowledged that the declining ice is caused by climate change. Since 2009 the winter pack ice has cleared, albeit for a fleeting time, each year. Now it is possible, for just a few weeks annually, for the right type of ship following the right route to slip through.

The tale of the NWP is many stories of courage, endeavour, and mystery. Prominent amongst these is the well-funded, well-equipped British Royal Navy expedition led by John Franklin. His two ships, the Erebus and Terror, were hailed by whalers in Baffin Bay, July 1845 and then never seen again. We were following part of his route, along Lancaster Sound and the coast of Devon Island. Specifically, we were heading towards Beechey Island, a small piece of land just to the south of Devon Island. Here some of the first clues about Franklin’s expedition were found in 1850. However, hours before we arrived, before breakfast in fact, the ship’s PA system announced another polar bear.

I went out to look. Fully expecting to see a little white bear in the far distance. This was exactly what we saw. But then, just as I was about to go back into the warmth, someone shouted that there was a bear in the water. There were three bears, a mother and her cubs. The shipped slowed right down and we watched as the bears clambered out of the water onto the rocky land. For ten minutes or so they made their way along the difficult and steep coastline. Faced with even steeper cliffs, they eventually gave up on this and hopped back into the water. To our complete delight, they then set off swimming towards the Fram. Maybe they could smell food or maybe they were just curious. Either way they came remarkably close, while the decks resonated with the sound of camera shutters. A few minutes later, Mum appeared to decide that was enough and led her cubs away. Brilliant. A once in lifetime encounter. Well, so I thought.

Five minutes later came another shout. “Bear in the water!”. Again, the ship slowed right down and again we all watched in awe as the bear came right up to us. This time it was a single male. A big one. Clearly, he was well fed and happy. He bobbed around for a while watching us watching him. Then he turned and headed off towards the now distant shore. Incredibly. Two amazing bear encounters and we not even had breakfast yet.

After breakfast, we arrived for a landing at Beechey Island. In all, around thirty expeditions set forth to discover the fate of Franklin and his crew. The whole story was only pieced together in the last decade. Early evidence showed that Erebus and Terror spent their first winter beset in the pack ice off Beechey Island. They were prepared for this, and the ships were built to survive the ice. It would not have been a problem to over-winter there. In later years, the bodies of three of the crew were buried there along with a French Naval officer who died falling overboard on one of the search expeditions. Amundsen too stopped here to pay his respects on his successful 1903 expedition. Since 1975, Beechey Island has been designated a Territorial Historic Site by the government of the Northwest Territories. Beechey Island is a bleak and forbidding place. The land is virtually bare and pock-marked by curious depressions caused by permafrost. We wandered around a little, paid our respects at the graves and spotted some beluga whales off in the far distance. As the day ended, we were safely back on board the Fram and sailed out past Northumberland House. This is the remains of a Hudson Bay Trading Company trading post. There is also a memorial, a cenotaph in the shape of a hexagonal pillar, commemorating Franklin and some of the other brave explorers that died in the quest for the North West Passage.

Pond Inlet

For a day and a night, we sailed west across Baffin Bay. In the morning we were holding station outside Pond Inlet. Population 1,500. Mostly Inuit. Largest community on Baffin Island in the Nunavut area. Known to the Inuit as Mittimatalik. This is the traditional start of the NW Passage and our entry point to Canada. Border control formalities needed to be observed and an official came aboard to stamp our passports. A couple of other ships were hanging around similarly waiting for clearance. A big old tramp steamer called Kitimeot looked like she had a tough life. By contrast a strangely shaped super-yacht called Shinkai looked to be dedicated to easy living. Hard to work out who owned this remarkably expensive vessel, but our best guess was a Russian oligarch.

Formalities over, we were ferried ashore to be shown around the town in small groups. Wikipedia states: As a tourist destination, Pond Inlet is considered one of Canada’s “Jewels of the North”. It is one of the most picturesque communities with mountain ranges visible in all directions. Far be it for me to contradict this but, my first impressions were that it was a bit of dump. Life here is harsh. It is one of Canada’s most inhospitable climates. Long, dark winters and temperatures averaging −35 °C. Trust me, that is properly cold. Your eyelids freeze together, and the snot turns to ice in your nose. In those conditions tidying the place is possibly a low priority. Today it probably did not help that the cloud was thick and low making visibility poor. We were shown round a few places in town and asked not to visit the supermarket. Provisions were low and they did not want us wandering off with anything. We ended up in the community centre for a cultural presentation. Diane and I have seen a few of these now but this one was better than most. We passed on the fish and caribou soup but enjoyed the drum dancing, the throat singing and the demonstration of winter games. That is, competitive Inuit games, including jumping on one foot to kick a small, suspended stuffed mouse.

Next day, after leaving Pond Inlet, we sailed north back into Baffin Bay, then through Lancaster Sound and up to Devon Island where we saw a polar bear. First bear since we had been in East Greenland several weeks ago. He was far in the distance making his way along the coastline. Even with a long lens he was just a little white blob in the distance but still exciting to see. Later in the day we turned into Dundas Harbour for a possible landing but then another polar bear was spotted. This put paid to the landing. Too dangerous. So instead, we got the RHIBs out and went to look at the glacier snout. Pottering around glaciers and icebergs is always quite good fun. A few brave souls went out in kayaks. I have tried kayaks at various times in my life and never really seen the appeal. Diane reckoned that if she got in one then she would never be able to get out again. Either way, we left the kayaks to others.

Early evening, everyone was back onboard, and we were heading back out to Lancaster Sound when we came across the second bear again. He was closer to the shore now and I could get a slightly better photograph. Sadly, he did not look a very happy bear. Through the summer, the bears typically do not eat. They need to wait until the sea ice comes so that they can hunt seals. This guy really looked like he could do with a couple of seals.

Ilulissat

Our last port of call, in western Greenland, was Ilulissat. Third city of Greenland. With a population of just 4,500, there are almost as many sledge dogs here as people. The harbour area is quite small, so the Fram anchored off and we were ferried ashore on the RHIBs. No bus tour, but there was a shuttle service up to a visitor centre. Ilulissat is the most popular tourist destination in Greenland. These days it is tourism, not fishing, that is the town’s principle industry. Part of the attraction is the nearby Ilulissat Icefjord. This is a spectacular fjord into which calve enormous icebergs from Sermeq Kujalleq, the most productive glacier in the northern hemisphere. This is one of the few glaciers where the Greenland icecap directly reaches the sea, and it is moving fast. Up to 40 m per day. Listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, it is described as a dramatic and awe-inspiring natural phenomenon. Seemed like it might be worth a look.

The bus took us through the main town and out past another dog town to the Ilulissat visitor centre. We chose to save the centre for later and went off for a walk. A wooden walkway helps in crossing a boggy area on the way to the coast at the outlet of the fjord. I think there must be some sort of bar at the exit because many icebergs were jammed here. This makes the rest of the brash fill the fjord in a very spectacular and satisfying way. Despite being 250 km north of the Arctic Circle, it was quite a warm and sunny day. Perfect for a hike. We could make a loop by walking back along the rocky side of the fjord then cutting over a hill back to the visitor centre. It was a slow walk with many stops to gaze across the constantly moving ice. If we stopped for more than a couple of minutes the mosquitoes found us.

We walked for three hours or so, but I think, if you had the time, there must be days of fabulous hiking around here. The visitor centre is an interesting building shaped like the wingspan of a snowy owl when it is in flight, apparently. There are numerous displays about how people have lived in the area, the geological history of the glacier and how studying the ice is helping develop the current scientific understanding of anthropogenic climate change. Visitors are required to remove their boots before entering. It is possible to walk across the roof which gives some nice views. We poked around for a little while and then hopped on the shuttle back to the ship. In the evening we sailed out into the fabulously named Disko Bay where I glimpsed a whale. Then it was north past Disko Island and finally west across Baffin Bay to Canada and the entrance to the North West Passage.

Sisimiut

Overnight we sailed 320 km further north. We crossed the arctic circle and arrived in Greenland’s second city, Sisimiut. Population 5,500. Sisimiut means “the people living in a place where there are fox dens”. Originally established to support the whaling industry, fishing is now the principal industry in Sisimiut. Shrimps, salmon, halibut and cod. The Royal Greenland fish processing plant at the port is the largest within Greenland and is amongst the most modern shrimp-shelling factories in the world. 20,000 tonnes of shrimp a year. The city is very striking. Brightly painted houses and a busy port all surrounded by picturesque mountains.

Once again, we set off on a bus tour but this time the trip proved to be much more interesting. There were dogs. First, we looked at a local bronze of a fisherman catching a fish. A few shops of interest were pointed out. Then we got to the dogs. Lots of dogs. About a thousand of them all living in an area well outside the main conurbation know locally as “Dog Town”. There is only one type of dog in Greenland, the Greenlandic Sledge Dog. Other breeds are not allowed and dogs that ever leave Greenland are not allowed back. The dogs live outside, year-round, in an assortment of kennels and shelters. Each dog owner has a designated area in Dog Town and it is strictly forbidden to interfere with dogs that are not your own. Fortunately, our guide explained, she had her own dogs so we could go to see them. She had about a dozen dogs. These were used for pulling sledges in the winter. Greenlandic Sledge Dogs are big strong animals with a thick, insulating fur. They can sleep outside quite comfortably even when the temperature is well below freezing. In the summer they can easily overheat so mostly they just laze around. Fortunately, everyone on our small tour was much more interested in dogs than shops and schools so we spent quite a while with them. Also, there were puppies. One pair were several weeks old. The other two were just a few days old so their eyes had not opened yet.

Eventually we had to leave the dogs and got dropped off by a museum not far from the port. Diane and I stuck our head in a couple of the buildings but did not find much of interest. We are not good museum people. Instead, we wandered back to the Fram. Our coats were shedding dog fur for several days and probably carried a canine whiff with them, but we did not mind.

Paamiut and Nuuk

Further up the western coast of Greenland we approached the little town of Paamiut. Population 1,300, it is the tenth largest settlement in Greenland. We sailed straight past Paamiut and up the fjord to the east. Here was another magnificent glacier emptying directly into the sea. Also, there was a chance to go ashore. As usual, the expedition team landed first to check for polar bears and set up the armed guards. Then we got ferried ashore in the RHIBs. At the start of the voyage, we were allocated to a boat group. The order in which boat groups go ashore is rotated. This time we were in the last RHIB to land. A short walk up the hillside brought us to a fabulous viewpoint. Mountains, glaciers and the fjord. Someone saw an arctic fox earlier, but it was long gone by the time we got there. Superficially, these landings can seem like a lot of effort for a short walk. For me, they are completely worth the trouble just to stand on such a remote place as Greenland. To take in some of the terrific and rare sights. Just a short walk but a special one.

Next day we arrived in Nuuk. The population, 19,600, is about a third the entire population of Greenland. Nuuk is the capital city. There are a few roads but none of them go anywhere outside the city. The Nuummioq (citizens of Nuuk) are well served for education with a university and several other establishments of higher learning. There is also a good healthcare provision and a cultural centre.

We began our visit with a tour on a bus. This did not take very long. We stopped outside the Royal Greenland fish processing plant, a major source of income derived from an awful lot of frozen shrimp. We also looked at the university and a large graveyard where the locals like to be buried with a view. Finally, we were dropped off at the city cultural centre for a short presentation. A couple of songs, some drum dancing, and ten minutes of crazy mask dancing later we queued to taste some local delicacies. Dried fish high on the menu along with a few other things that did not bear close inspection. Diane and I slipped out of the queue and took a wander round the shopping centre instead. The sky was getting dark and ominous as we took the bus back to the harbour and rejoined the Fram.

Prince Christian Sound

We spent the night and the following day sailing north towards Greenland. I amused myself by trying to photograph the sea birds following us. These are Northen Fulmars, they have a reputation for flying after ships. Everything I read suggests that they are opportunistic feeders hoping to find something tasty from the vessel. However, watching them swoop, glide, dive and generally mess around behind us, I could not help feeling that they were just having a good time. Photographing them was tricky because they move so fast. Fortunately, I had time to take many, many out of focus pictures and then throw most of them away.

In the morning we had arrived at Prince Christian Sound, gateway to a series of magnificent fjords in the very southernmost tip of Greenland. The sound is 100 km long and narrow, just 500m wide in places. Steep, bare rock walls rise up to 2,000 m above it. Several glaciers calve directly into the fjord and numerous waterfalls cascade down the precipitous cliffs. We got the RHIBs out to have a closer look at one of the glaciers. I always find it fascinating to peer into the dark blue recesses and caves in a glacier. Not too close though. These glaciers are quite active, towers of ice regularly collapse into the water and would be extremely dangerous to a small boat. There were many small ice bergs and lumps of ice floating around and this gave us an idea. After a bit of messing around we managed to retrieve a piece of ice from the water and took it back to the ship with us.

RHIB trips done, we pushed on through the sound. Diane tested the ice and found it to be pure, fresh water. Perfect. We left it in a bucket and hoped it would not melt too quickly. Much of the rest of the day was spent on deck, camera at the ready, watching cliffs, glaciers and waterfalls drift past. Quite remarkably there is a settlement here, called Aappilattoq, where the tough people live off hunting and fishing. The handful of colourful houses nestle on bare rock underneath a steep and forbidding mountain. Access by land is probably quite impossible. We spotted a small helipad but even so it is an incredibly isolated outpost.

I set up a small time-lapse camera to capture part of the passage.

As we reached the far end of the fjord the mist arrived. The Fram was enveloped in a thickening fog. Fortunately, this did not seem to upset the navigation at all, but it did mean there was very little more to see on deck. We retreated inside, collected our piece of glacier ice, and headed for the bar. Here, the very obliging barman mixed a gin and tonic for using our carefully collected ice. Apparently it was very hard and difficult to break. It did however make and excellent cocktail and seemed a very appropriate way to end the day.

Reykjavík

We had a day in Reykjavík . The Fram was extraordinarily busy disgorging passengers, collecting fresh ones, bunkering fuel, and loading victuals. We, on the other hand, needed to do a little shopping but otherwise had an empty day. Diane’s birthday was fast approaching so a helicopter trip seemed in order. She has always been excited by helicopters and, as we discovered, a flight in Iceland is something special. With a little help from Jón, our friend in Reykjavík , we booked a trip. The weather was perfect and ideal for the half-hour stroll from the harbour to the airport. We even managed to get the necessary shopping done on the way.

Our captain was the incredibly cool Solveig and our aircraft was a six seater Airbus H125. I do not know anything much about helicopters, so I looked this up. We shared the trip with a very pleasant American couple who were visiting from one of the big cruise ships. We compared notes about sharing a vessel with 6,000 passengers as against the 200 onboard little Fram. We walked out to the helicopter, settled in and, after a very short brief, took off. First, we flew south towards the coast. Reykjavík looked very neat and tidy from the air. I caught a brief glimpse of the Fram in the distance. Then we were flying over part of the great divide. The line where Iceland is pulling apart at a few millimetres each year. From our vantage point we could clearly see the fault lines and volcanoes. As Solveig explain, in Iceland, if it looks like a volcano, then it probably is. I asked about living with volcanoes and the possibility that your house might suddenly get destroyed. Solveig said that people just get used to it. Apparently, whenever there is a new eruption, everyone packs up their trucks, not in preparation for escape but to drive out and get a good look at it. We also passed over some oddly coloured lakes and a massive steam vent.

Reaching the coast, we flew along the cliff edge for a while and then turned inland along the the Reykjanes Peninsula. Iceland is an extraordinary country. There is so much volcanic activity that the ground seems alive. From our viewpoint we could see many volcanic cones (if it looks like a volcano, it probably is a volcano) and vents emitting sulphurous steam. Solveig took us in to land at what appeared to be a small car park right next to one of these cones that was dotted with fumaroles venting steam. Closer inspection revealed that we had genuinely landed on a small car parking area – an ideal place to park your helicopter. I did notice that Solveig followed standard car park protocol in carefully locking the doors of the vehicle before we left. A short climb got us to the crater rim for a round of photographs then back to our aircraft. I could not help thinking that this was an incredibly cool way to explore volcanoes.

We flew over the Blue Lagoon, a man-made geothermal spa. The water is a byproduct from the nearby geothermal power plant Svartsengi. Superheated water is vented from the ground near a lava flow and used to run turbines that generate electricity. After going through the turbines, the steam and hot water passes through a heat exchanger to provide heat for a municipal water heating system. Then the water, rich in salts and algae is fed into the lagoon. A remarkably high silica content accounts for the milky blue colour and forms a soft white mud on the bottom of the pool. Bathers like to wallow, hippopotamus like, in the pool while smearing the mud liberally about themselves.

Then we circled round the new volcano a couple of times. The cooling craters of Litli-Hrútur are the newest landscape of Iceland. The area, known as the Fagradalsfjall volcano, has erupted three times since 2021 and remains a top attraction in Iceland’s southwest corner. The broad valley where all recent activity has occurred is completely uninhabited and considered very dangerous. New erupting fissures and craters can open up anywhere without any notice. However, it is only 35 km from Reykjavík and glow was visible from Iceland’s capital. Litli-Hrútur was still emitting lava, smoke and steam when we first arrived in Iceland. Sadly, for us, it stopped while we were exploring the fjords of eastern in Greenland. None the less it was still fascinating. You could clearly see where the fresh lava had flowed to merge with slightly older rock and fumaroles were everywhere. Brand new rock was laid out underneath in complex swirls and patterns. We looped past one of the earlier calderas., a fearsome looking carbuncle of cooling lava and vents, then turned for home. I could very happily spend days flying around an incredible country like Iceland and I would strongly recommend a flight. But be warned, this is Iceland, so the cost is fearsome. Even our short trip cost around €1,000.

We calmed down a little on our walk back to the harbour. Although even when we stopped for a beer all we talked about was how fantastic the flight had been. Eventually we arrived back at the Fram to a pleasant surprise. There were fewer passengers on this next leg of the trip, so we were offered a free cabin upgrade. This new cabin had a balcony. We did not hesitate for a moment and so ended a particularly good day drinking wine on our balcony as the ship set sail for West Greenland and the North-West passage.

Sirius Dog Sled Patrol

Siriuspatruljen (the Sirius Patrol) is an elite Danish naval unit that conducts long-range reconnaissance. Set up during the advent of the cold war in 1950, they patrol and enforce Danish sovereignty in NE Greenland. Soldiers patrol in pairs, using dog sleds. They travel independently for months at a time in the winter and cover a combined distance of 20,000 km. Volunteers sign up for this duty but need to satisfy a gruelling qualifying course before the elite, few, are chosen. These are properly hard men and are truly maintaining the Viking spirit. Women are allowed to apply – but so far nobody has. The name, Sirius, comes from the main star in the Canis Major constellation, also known as the Dog Star. Ironically, although Sirius is the brightest star in the night sky and is visible across most of the world, it is not visible at latitudes above 73°N – the location of the patrol’s main operational area.

We landed at their base but did not encounter any active Sirius solders. Instead, we had a pleasant walk up a hill to a view over the next fjord. We also saw a few dogs tied up outside but were warned to give them a wide berth. On the way back from our stroll we met a couple of “old dog men” as they introduced themselves to us. They had sailed up to the base in a small red boat just as they had been doing for years since they retired. We chatted a little about the old times and they reflected that this was probably their last trip up here.

By early afternoon everyone was back onboard, and we set sail for Reykjavik. There was no rush. We still had a long and spectacular trip back out along the fjord. Plenty of time to take in more of the austere rocky magnificence of the awesome cliffs and powerful glaciers. At the mouth of one wide valley that opened into the main fjord we spotted muskox. The name derives from the strong odour emitted by males during the seasonal rut. However, despite the name, muskox are more closely related to sheep or goats rather than oxen. Big, hairy things, they are up to 1.5 m at the withers and weigh up to 400 kg. Native to Greenland and Arctic Canada, they are well equipped for the conditions with thick, dark hair overlaying a lighter layer called qiviut that is prized for its softness and insulation value. Sadly, we could only see them from what seemed to be a great distance. Even with my best camera lens the animals can only be discerned as little dark blobs.

Approaching the entrance to open water we came across drifting sea ice. Although well broken up, this was still thick and dense in places. Possibly strong enough to cause the Fram a few problems. We slowed right down and worked our way forward using the excellent manoeuvrability of the ship to dance round the larger icefloes and bergy bits. The sunset provided a perfect backdrop to the scene, and we enjoyed some spectacular dusk views while sitting out on deck with a glass of wine.

Next day we made our way serenely down the coast of Greenland. The captain kept a course close to the coast in case we might sight anything. All was peaceful on the Fram so we got to have a tour of the bridge. I could, at this stage, go off on a rant about the terrible state of digital chart systems in the over-regulated marine world. However, I could see that nothing much has changed, and I got bored of this rant fifteen or more years ago. Suffice it to say that the bridge was loaded with official, type approved navigation displays that were largely being ignored in favour of a small, cheap system designed for yachts. Diane got to sit in the captain’s chair. Late afternoon, the tannoy barked into life to announce polar bears. This was true but, again, they were far, far away. So, try as I might, I could only add little white blobs to my collection of animal pictures. That evening there was a little party in the bar. The following day we crossed the Denmark Straight ready to arrive back in Reyjavik early the next morning.

Keiser Franz Josephs Fjord

Northeast Greenland National Park is the world’s largest national park and largest terrestrial protected area in the world. At almost a million square kilometres it covers the whole of the top, righthand part of Greenland. Nobody permanently lives there. Typically, the wintering population, a mix of scientists and military, amounts to about thirty people. We had permission to visit a small part of the park.

Two days later, early in the morning, we sailed into Keiser Franz Josephs Fjord. The sky was dark and overcast. Fog clung to the mountains. The steep, dark and imposing fjord walls loomed over us. The place was dead. Usually, at sea, there is always some life around you. Sea birds, especially near land, things swimming in the water, occasionally animals on land. Here there was nothing. The land was steep, rocky, barren and almost lifeless. Just the occasional patches of rough grass and stunted plants. There was not a bird to be seen and the water remained still, dark, and deep. All felt a bit sinister. We stopped a couple of kilometres short of the snout of the massive Waltershausen Glacier. This is fed directly from the main Greenland ice sheet and is around 10 km wide.

The Fram has a Dynamic Positioning (DP) system. This keeps the vessel on station without needing to tie up or drop the anchor. It is rather clever while being extremely easy to use. Once the ship is in the required position and orientation, the skipper presses a button, and she simply stays there. Under the covers is a sophisticated process that monitors the ships position and orientation then uses the bow thrusters and azimuth pods to keep her there. This is an enormous benefit and allows the Fram to stop and deploy the RHIBs from a position that might be impossible to maintain otherwise. In front of the glacier the bottom is several hundreds of metres deep, far too deep to use an anchor. Elsewhere, it means that the seabed is not damaged unnecessarily. In the RHIBs we could get right up close to the glacier and see some of the very dark, old ice formed deep inside – ice that is possibly hundreds of years old.

In the afternoon we went for a walk. This is Greenland, it is not so simple to just go for a walk. First the “Expedition Team” go ashore and secure the area. They check for polar bears and set up sentries. They also unload a great pile of survival gear, food, shelter, and water, just in case we inadvertently get stuck ashore for a while. Then we can be ferried ashore by RHIB in small groups. One of the conditions of visiting the national park is that only a few people can go ashore at a time. We all keep our life jackets on in case we need to return to the boats in a hurry. This time, we also slapped on extra mosquito repellent. It was a pleasant walk and nice to get off the ship for a while. We climbed a small hill to take in a view of some lakes and the surrounding area. That done, and in the spirit of all great expeditions, we headed back to the Fram for diner, a glass of wine, and an early night. Next morning, we would find out about the Sirius dog patrol.

Lofoten

Lofoten is a chain of islands. Very picturesque and, during the summer, popular with tourists. Fortunately for us it is still the winter for visitors so peace and quiet prevailed.

Sunny but also freezing cold and windy

Anden Island

Anden Island is to the North of Langøya. It is one of the few places that Puffins breed. In Nyksund, we found a man with a boat who took us on a short trip around the island. The first few puffins were returning from the sea. We also saw Sea Eagles, Shags, Kittiwakes and Harbour Seals.