The midnight sun traveled in a circle around the sky day and night, oddly disorienting when you’re accustomed to regular stints of darkness. Your brain never really wants to go to sleep, and I was glad for the airline eyepatches I had brought to combat the sunshine streaming into the tent at 2 am.

On our 12th day on the trail we dropped back to sea—and mosquito—level and could see the head of Tanquary Fiord, our destination, a day’s walk away. As we set up camp that night, I saw human footprints for the first time in almost two weeks. The next afternoon, we spotted a cluster of brown Quonset huts and a Canadian flag fluttering over the Tanquary Fiord Warden Station. One of the rangers had strolled out a kilometre to meet us.

“Congratulations,” he said and shook our hands. I heard nothing of the ensuing conversation because I had caught scent of the chicken he had thrown on the barbecue when he had seen us approaching. It was a heavenly aroma after 10 days of freeze-dried food. But then I certainly did hear him say: “Would you two be wanting a shower, by any chance?”

Margo Pfeitt - Author

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