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We were hauling our kayaks up through Gjoa Haven on their carry-wheels, after arriving into town at the end of our kayak journey, when two men began talking with us. That’s how you meet people up here. You just cross paths and you’re suddenly in conversation.

“There’s human remains up there,” says Patrick. I saw him up on the hill that morning, and assumed he was on the lookout for caribou and muskox. We’d met him the day before. He was stormbound like us and camped close by. With his rifle slung across his back he walked into our camp, seriousness etched on his face. “I was just walking and I saw it. A skull. Up there, between the two rocks. Never noticed it before.” He pointed up the slope, back the way he’d come, then turned an

Once we hit shore for the night, we set camp immediately. It’s a synchronized process, with each member of the team doing their bit. Once out of our boats, we quickly strip out of our Mustang dry suits and PFDs into warm fleece and wind-breaking pants and jackets.

We’ve made the call to turn around at Washington Bay. For those following along you probably noticed by the tracker. We’ve been religiously following the Windy app (which is uncannily accurate) and the long range forecast is for high winds and many stormbound days here on King William Island. This forecast makes it clear to us, that we don’t have enough food, fuel, or paddling days for a full circumnavigation of the island. It isn’t happening on this trip. And honestly, that’

After 3 days storm bound we push out of Booth Point into a dying wind. A 35-km blow overnight eased to a steady 20-km out of the northeast by morning, and we take our window. The paddling is still challenging enough with waves whitecapping just beyond the lee of the coast. The land here is low and barren. Gravel shorelines give way to a carpet of green tundra that runs unbroken to the horizon. Because the coast sits so low, the wind shadow is thin, and we hug the shoreline ha

It’s 1am, early Tuesday morning, when we glide onto the isthmus of Booth Point, a narrow spit at the southeast tip of King William Island, with a tiny islet at its end. Bones from the Franklin crew were found there. Todd Island is visible from here too. There were bones found there as well. Was this a jumping-off point for crew members heading to the mainland? Why were bodies found here specifically? We can only surmise. We pitch camp on the strip of sand. Locals tell us it’s

“To travel in the arctic is to wait”. A concept shared by Barry Lopez in his modern masterpiece of Arctic observation called Arctic Dreams. Historical expeditions through the waters of the Arctic were always defined by long episodes of interminable waiting: waiting for weather to warm, waiting for ice to move, waiting for conditions to improve. Our journey is no different. Nicky, Julie, Ken, and I arrived in Gjoa Haven just as a window of nice weather closed. Cold, rain, and