Gingerly, I shove away from the iron cliff of the steamer towering far above me with its fringe of watching faces. I am conscious that the water is ice cold, and I am wedged tightly into my seat, Land seems a long way off. In a few moments I get my balance and with the aid of the paddle overcome the kayak's tendency to slip from under me. Now the wind and current have carried me past the shi overhang and out among the drifting ice and screaming gulls as I strike for the beach with increasing confidence and zest in the fresh glory and glitter of a Baffin Island day.
Canvas and skin tents are pitched among the ridges and boulders just above high tide. Reaching the shore. I crawl out and pick a way among husky dogs, harpoons, kayaks and debris toward one of the larger tents, A little fellow looking like an Esquimau doll scuttles in ahead. Tapping a polite warning on the low wooden door—always shut to keep out the dogs—I stoop and enter.
The tent is 20 feet long and half as broad and for the most part high enough for standing. Squatting along the edge of the couch of skins and blankets which covers half the floor space are two women and a man. Another man is seated on a wooden box, a little boy hiding between his knees. A smaller child is crawling behind the women and a couple of older children are standing immovable. At one side is a slab of driftwood, covered with chunks of raw meat, blubber and other titbits.
A shallow iron basin (kudlik) filled with seal oil, with a wisp of arctic cotton plant stuck on the edge for wick, is providing a few candle-power of heat—the kitchen range. A battered alarm clock, an up-ended hand sewing machine, a few enamel mugs, tin plates, mits and a big pie-shaped loaf of bannock are jumbled together near the couch. I smile ual greeting "May you be strong"), and proceed to shake hands all around.
"Toga," I suggest, pointing to a tusk and looking about the tent as though in search ut ivory.
The grown-ups stare at each other discuss the meaning of this, A man rises, rummages about in an open tool box, draws out x tiny ivory seal.
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.