The Long Exile (24 page)

He relayed his disquiet to Corporal Sargent, but the policeman did not seem to take any account of it, instead repeating the same excuse he had given over the matter of radio access, that sending Aqiatusuk and his family back to Inukjuak would be too logistically difficult. Aqiatusuk reminded him that the travellers had been made a specific promise that the Department would help them return if they did not like life in the High Arctic but Sargent merely shrugged.

On 14 February 1954 the sun poked a first, experimental ray beyond the confines of its winter hiding place and the Inuit at Lind-strom Peninsula ran from their snowhouses and sod houses to greet it. Over the days that followed, the sun did nothing more than wanly circle the horizon but the camp welcomed its return as that of a long-absent friend. Piece by piece the world quietly reappeared and
they were reminded just how beautiful it was. The winter had renewed the land. Icicles sparkled off the
komatiks
and icebergs shone blue-green in the distance and the sea was as white as a fox.

The return of the light seemed to impress upon Aqiatusuk more fully than ever that in spite of its beauty, Ellesmere Island was not his land. Once more, he took himself off up the cliff at the back of the beach and, gazing southward, set his sights on Inukjuak. He was feeling old and tired, his gallbladder ached and the signs of his age only made him more determined to return home. No Inuk would countenance dying in a foreign land, full of unknown spirits and unfamiliar stories. When the time came Aqiatusuk wanted to leave the world among friends and the spirits of his ancestors. And he wanted desperately to see losephie.

He passed his days carving and looking out across Iones Sound but the ache would not leave him and, when he could finally stand his
hujuujaq
no longer, he returned to the detachment to ask Glenn Sargent one more time to help him go back home. If it proved impossible to send him home permanently, he asked if a visit could be arranged so that he could see his family and his stepson again.

But Sargent had his instructions and they were to keep the Inuit where they were. He told Aqiatusuk that there were only two ways out of Ellesmere. One was by sled to Resolute Bay and from there by plane to the south, then north again to Inukjuak, which would be tremendously expensive and difficult to organise. The other was by sea on the C.
D. Howe
, but that too had its problems. After she left Craig Harbour the C.
D. Howe's
route took her
all the way
to Montreal. If she were to pick up Paddy and his family, they would all have to remain in Montreal for twelve months before boarding the C.
D. Howe
on the following year's patrol. The navigation season was too short for the C.
D. Howe
to sail back into Hudson Bay after calling in at Craig Harbour and such a huge diversion would, in any case, prove prohibitively expensive. There was no money to support the whole family to live in Montreal for a year and, Sargent surmised, they would be very unhappy there. What Sargent
did
suggest
was that if Paddy was missing his relatives as much as he said he was, then he could write to them and ask them to join him on Ellesmere Island. The government, he said, would sponsor their journey north on the C.
D. Howe
, just as it had Paddy Aqiatusuk's. It was the best he could do.

Over the weeks that followed, Aqiatusuk considered his options and after searching his heart he decided reluctantly that since he could not speak to losephie Flaherty on the radio, and he could not return to Inukjuak, he would do as Sargent had suggested and ask his stepson to come up to Ellesmere Island. The sculptor knew it was a lot to ask of the young man, more than losephie would realise, but the way he thought about it, the whole camp would be sent back to Inukjuak sooner or later and, until then, having the Flahertys on Ellesmere would bring great comfort to the family as well as adding another hunter to their number. If losephie were with him, Aqiatusuk felt he could manage his
hujuujaq.
The mail usually left the Craig Harbour detachment with the spring patrol at the end of March by dog teams and took two weeks to reach Resolute Bay from where it travelled by air to the south. If Aqiatusuk wrote a letter at once it would probably find its way on to the C.
D. Howe
that year and losephie would get it in July.

Spring arrived on Ellesmere Island. Temperatures rose and remained stable at around −25°C. The sun dazzled and bounced off the ice and the whole of the sound solidified into a hard, white plate, as smooth as marble, as the sea ice settled. Everyone who had them took to wearing their snowgoggles. Those who had none were forced to bind their eyes with strips of sacking to ward off the dazzle. Even then, hunters routinely came in off the ice snow blind. Ice crystals spangled the air. Forests of little ice fronds sprang up from the land, icicles hung from the roofs of the sod huts and the wind transformed them into little glockenspiels. Ellesmere Island became almost unbearably beautiful.

Seals began to gather in the open water at Hell Gate and, before long, the hunters were able to abandon their hunting at
agluit
, the
seals' winter breathing holes, and turn instead to stalking the creatures when they came up on to the ice to bask. From time to time whale and narwhal appeared on their spring migrations north and, when they did, everyone ate well. The hunters picked up aborted premature seal pups on the ice and by May they were hunting female seals and their live, full-term young in their dens under the snow. For the first time there was enough meat at camp for everyone at least to have a little. The improvement in the conditions brought the husky bitches into heat and pretty soon they were producing pups.

But Aqiatusuk took no comfort in this small upturn in his family's fortunes. His decision to ask Josephie Flaherty to come up to join the camp weighed heavily on him. It had not done anything to ease his homesickness either. He needed his stepson but he felt bad about asking him to come. He passed much of his time now sitting on the cliff above the camp, staring out across the sound, carving and waiting. All late spring and early summer he waited until one cloudy day at the end of July, his head began to droop and he began to feel his legs prick. Thinking he had overexerted himself on a hunting trip the previous day, the old sculptor clambered down the cliff and went to rest in his family's tent. By the onset of evening he felt quite ill. His chest ached and his limbs were sluggish and unresponsive. Through the night, his condition deteriorated until the moment arrived from which there would be no turning back. He had seen this moment a thousand times in the dwindling lives of fox and hare and seal and he was not afraid of it. He had lost the will to live and his heart opened to his fate. On 31 July 1954, Paddy Aqiatusuk lay down for the last time and took in his final breath.

A few months later, when news of his death finally reached the south,
Time
magazine published an obituary. It read:

But Paddy Aqiatusuk did not die from a fall on an ice floe. He died of a broken heart.

Paddy's stepsons buried their father at the foot of a south facing cliff under red rocks. The loss of their leader hit everyone at the Inuit camp on Ellesmere very hard. Aqiatusuk had pulled them together and they were now afraid that there would be nothing to stop them falling apart. There was no more talk about returning to Inukjuak. In ten weeks the dark period would fall over Ellesmere once more and they would have to build a winter cache of meat before it did.

If Paddy's death ended all thoughts of return for a while, it also strengthened the hunters' resolve to survive. The American adventurer, Lewis Cotlow, witnessing Akpaliapik and another Inuk track a polar bear on Ellesmere several years after this, wrote:

Over that hard, second winter, and over the spring and the summer which followed it, the Inukjuamiut and the Ingluligmiut of Ellesmere Island pooled their strength, their resources and their knowledge into the raw business of survival. During the long and
often savage months, those thirty-three reluctant pioneers took stock of their new land. It was not their way to try to master the place, a goal they knew to be quite fruitless, but to understand it. Gradually, through many weeks and months of watching and listening, they learned how to live on Ellesmere Island.

Before the sun set for the final time that year, the camp moved to a larger stretch of beach beside Grise Fiord and there, using spare packing cases and bits of lumber dumped by the C.
D. Howe
on her annual supply, they constructed a huddle of little huts. Each was about 12 feet by 15 feet long and 8 feet high, with an outer structure of packing crates covered with sod and a roof constructed from canvas stretched over a wooden frame. There was no furniture in the huts, but those who could afford to bought a primus stove with the credits from their fox trapping and these supplied heat for cooking and light in the darkness.

They rebuilt their
komatiks
shorter and wider, better to withstand the pressure ridges, loosened the battens to make them more flexible over rough ice and fashioned upright handlebars from bone and bits of old wood, which made them much easier to control. They plaited together new sealskin harnesses for the dogs, with a single central rope, from which long individual traces fanned to give the animals better purchase on the rough ice. The owners of shotguns made fresh cartridges from spent ones by inserting new firing pins and points, and filling them up with gunpowder.

When the Inukjuamiut's bitches came in heat, they bred them to Akpaliapik's and Anukudluk's Greenlandic dogs and trained the pups to sniff out the breathing holes of seals and follow polar bear tracks. By the end of the year, most families had two sleds, one with steel runners for the compacted spring snow and another with whalebone ones for the winter. In the absence of water, they iced the runners with fresh caribou blood and filled the cracks in the whalebone runners with pieces of frozen walrus liver, rasped smooth.

Land mammals continued to be hard to find but marine mammals proved more plentiful. The big issue on Ellesmere Island, they
carne to see, was not so much the quantity of marine game as its accessibility. Like their land-based counterparts, the marine mammals around Ellesmere were living at the most northerly ranges of their species. They were mostly migratory and congregated in highly scattered pockets. As the hunters extended their ground, sketching hunting trails west along the sound from Grise Fiord, down into Devon Island as far west as the Grinnell Peninsula, then northeast to the Bjorne Peninsula and Baumann Fiord on southwest Ellesmere, they took note of the inlets and bays where they had seen narwhal, seal or beluga. They made trails inland from Grise Fiord across the south central tip of Ellesmere to meet the sea route at Baumann Fiord and ran their trap lines there. They travelled as far east as Coburg Island, then north all the way to the Bache Peninsula, a journey which had defeated the icebreaker
d'Iberville
only a couple of years before. Eventually, their hunting routes would traverse an area no less than 255,800 square miles and would include 750 miles of established winter routes and 3,200 miles of less regularly used paths. By the end of the 1950s, the average hunter in Grise Fiord was covering an area of 6,864 square miles every year, the largest hunting range of any Inuit people.

The hunters also began to adapt the way they hunted and trapped. In good fox years, they extended their trap lines, but learned to avoid those areas, such as Baumann Fiord, that were patrolled by wolves which would eat the trapped foxes. They learned how to stalk and hunt polar bear and then how to flense and butcher them, avoiding the livers which they knew would make them sick. When hunting for beluga, experience taught them to swap their harpoons for lassoes. The beluga living round Ellesmere had more fatty insulation than those in Hudson Bay and the harpoon heads would only find fragile purchase and work themselves out of the flesh, allowing the creatures to escape wounded. Lassoes gave the hunters a firmer grip but they also made sure that those whales which did slip away remained unhurt and would live to breed and perhaps to be hunted again. Instead of leaving their families behind,
the hunters gathered the confidence to take them along, so the women could help in the hunt and make repairs to the hunters' clothing or sew a new pair of
kamiks
while they were en route.

By the close of 1954 the hunters had established a hunting cycle on Ellesmere which remains unchanged today. From mid-April to mid-July, they hunted ringed seals by stalking them on the ice from behind hunting screens,
utoq
, made of Arctic hare to blend in with the snow. During late April they began
nunajak
hunting, locating seal mothers and their pups in their dens with dogs, and by June they were hunting seals through open leads in the ice in Jones Sound in their old police detachment skiff. Whenever their journeys took them to Coburg and Smith islands, Makinson and Sverdrup inlets, Baumann, Grise and Starnes fiords or Cape Combermere, they would stop to collect the eggs of the glaucous gulls and Arctic terns which nested in thick clumps on the cliffs. During the brief Ellesmere summers they would concentrate their efforts on sealing at ice cracks and when the water opened up in mid-July they would hunt ringed seals on the open water, banging on the gunnels of the skiff to arouse the animals' curiosity. Noting that walrus moved from Baffin Bay into Jones Sound in June or July, they would take walrus-hunting parties out on to the open water, finding the females and their young at Jakeman Glacier and males at Hell Gate. In late July, they hunted narwhal migrating up into Jones Sound from Baffin Bay. The beluga arrived later and more reliably, they discovered, from areas of open water in Baffin Bay and Cardigan Strait and came into Grise Fiord to breed. In the early autumn they pursued walrus heading back down south on their migrations and when the ice came, and they were able to take their dog teams out, they hunted caribou around Bjorne Peninsula and Makinson Inlet, lightly at first, and more vigorously after Henry Larsen relaxed the hunting quotas. As soon as the ice reached a thickness of three or four inches, the hunters returned to catching seals through their
agluit
or breathing holes.