Written by Bronwyn Hodgins

Photos by Bronwyn Hodgins, Kelsey Watts and Jacob Cook

In Greenland, at 72 degrees north, the summer sun never sets. Instead, the fiery ball circles the horizon, starting in the east, then moving to the south by midday, west in the evening, and north through the night. The 24-hour clock means nothing. As sea kayakers, we align our daily schedule with the tide and the waves (which often means paddling at night when the wind dies down). As climbers, there is no need to worry about getting caught in the dark when an ascent takes longer than anticipated! Eternal daylight changes the game.

I smile at the ridiculous scene in front of me: Jacob is hanging on some Friends about 10m up the wall, struggling to get out of his drysuit and into his climbing shoes, while Jaron has him on belay from the kayak below. Angela and Kelsey are laughing, too, partially at the boys and partially at their attempts to pee off the side of their kayak. Our laughs, however, are only small peeps amidst the cacophony of hundreds of squawking birds perched or circling overhead. I quickly understood why the Inuit call this place Agparssuit, which roughly translates to “where the gulls stand in a row.”

It’s day 28, four weeks already! I can hardly believe it. But I can feel it in the aches all over my body, the salt and sand caked into my skin and hair, the sunburn on my nose, and the stench of my clothes. In truth, this past month has physically been one of the hardest of my life. The overloaded inflatable kayaks moved like sloths in molasses.

We would paddle for 15 hours before collapsing in our tents and then wake up to do it again; even still, we’d barely kept on pace. The week-long portage, carrying a literal tonne of food and gear over a gap between fjords, had also been a painful feat of stubbornness. And throughout, our constantly changing schedules and the nocturnal daylight led to inconsistent and often insufficient sleep. Why do we put ourselves through this?

The answer is all around us as I roll gently on the Arctic swell, gazing up at the swath of red granite rising straight out of the ocean next to me. I’m filled with awe and appreciation for this place and the friends here with me. The rock is immaculate, with perfect crack systems for free climbing. Jacob, Jaron, and Zack would head straight up from here in an attempt to repeat a route put up by Nico Favresse and Ben Ditto (sailboat approach) in 2011. In an area with such challenging remote access, it’s unusual for a line to see a second ascent, but this one is clearly a gem — the Astroman of Greenland?

We wish the boys good luck and continue to our own objective, a potential new line Angela had spied. We first paddle out a bit to get a better angle for photos (these would likely help guide our route-finding decisions later). I look up. The wall is confusing, consisting of three big faces stacked vertically and separated by two grassy ledges. The first third looked steep but likely passable; the middle looked hopeful; the third was impossible to tell. 

Would we be able to connect all the pieces to the summit? If so, how long would it take us? 

TIME IS A CONSTRUCT

Rock Climbing in Greenland

by Bronwyn Hodgins

5.0 minute read

It’s true; I’ve put up a couple of remote lines of this size in the past, but always with my husband Jacob, who has far more experience than I do in that realm. I know I have the skills and knowledge to take this on, but I’m definitely nervous. This is a big and intimidating mission and a step up in climbing progression for all three of us. 

The plan is to attempt the line in a single push. The sun never sets, so we’ll keep going until we get shut down or make it to the top! It’s a committing style in a committing place. The packs feel heavy with 10 bars and 2L of water each, big puffy jackets, emergency bivvy bags, radios, first aid supplies, InReach, a small hand drill with three bolts, and an ice ax.

It’s early afternoon by the time Ang takes the first lead. Progress is slow but steady. We check in with the boys every so often on the radio. The direct sun is warm, for now… We nearly grind to a halt at a thin seam splitting a blank wall. I quest up first free climbing, but soon it gets too thin, and the finger pods are caked with dirt and grass. Ang takes over, making improvised ladders out of slings, and starts aid climbing. We only have a few pieces of metal, so she soon runs out and uses the tip of the ice ax like a beak! Then the seam closes entirely, and she hand-drills a bolt. From here, Kelsey takes over for some hard mandatory free climbing, and after a few good whips onto the fresh bolt, she manages to connect us to the corner system above.

It’s now well into the evening. Should we bail? We’ll never make it to the top at this rate.

Around 8 am, we pull onto the first grassy ledge, shivering and exhausted. But what a ledge! A perfect bivy on soft moss, with a water trickle just off to the side. Ang immediately plops herself down and fills our bottles in about 20 minutes. We eat a bar each — oh yes; the rationing is about to get real — send a quick update to the boys, and tuck into our foil bivy sacks. Luckily, the sun should keep us warm enough as we sleep through the peak of the day.

I wake groggy and hungry after a fitful sleep. I check the InReach: the boys have made it to the summit and back to camp in a 28-hour continuous push! Also, they’ve warned us of a possible storm brewing on the forecast for tomorrow. It’s already 4 pm. Tomorrow isn’t that far off, and we still have more than half of the wall above us. We decided to keep going for now. Was this reckless?

The cracks above look both cleaner and easier. Climbing quickly has never been my forte, but we have to seriously pick up the pace. Of the three of us, I have the best chance of making this happen over this type of terrain. I charge ahead with a new mindset, leading full 60m pitches on repeat while focusing on a silly little mantra: 

I am speedy Bronwyn!

We stay roped up a little longer (wary of our mental exhaustion) and then drop the rope and Friends and throw our arms around each other, jumping up and down and shouting wildly!!!! Of course, I’m very proud of our accomplishment, but deeper than this, I am thankful for these two ladies. What could have been a stressful and arduous experience instead was fun and light. I trusted we would care for each other and make good decisions. The teamwork felt easy. I’m also proud that we could find the confidence to set off and did not let intimidation or self-doubt repeatedly turn us around. The most memorable and life-changing experiences happen when you step out into the unknown.

From the summit, we can see the iceberg-laden ocean stretching off into the distance. We try to radio the boys, but the radios are dead–It doesn’t matter. It’s a long but simple hike down the sloping backside of the formation. Finally, we can let our guard down and trudge forth like zombies for many hours more. And eventually, there will be friends, food, and cozy tents to sleep in.

Time is a Construct (5.11 A2) FA Bronwyn Hodgins, Angela Van Wiermeersch and Kelsey Watts, in a 50-hour push on August 1-2 2022

The wall steepens again at the second grassy ledge, and I can see a blank section looming a few pitches above. We reconvene for a group check-in: How’s everyone doing? What’s the update on the storm? Should we keep going up? If so, what path should we take? After some more 5.9R scrambling, I pull out into a wildly exposed arching roof that would connect (hopefully?) into a new corner system up high. It worked! I belay the girls up to me, and Kelsey takes the lead as we head into our second night on the wall, but who’s counting? 

Ang and I sit at the midnight belay, bundled in our puffies, while Kelsey quests on above, raining dirt down on us as she digs out spots to place Friends. Finally, Kelsey comes onto the radio: Off belay! Wooo! You’re off! Ang and I follow, clinging onto desperate crimps through the surprise slab crux — wow, Kelsey, well done! After a group hug at the belay, Ang takes the sharp end as the early morning sun peeps around the corner. I bring us up the final proper pitch and surprise the girls with a small pack of gummies I’d been saving for us.