Greenland -Arrival
June 21st 2022
Arriving at Narsaq. All photos credited to author
“Do you think we’ll see an ice berg?” a voice asked from beside me, as we anxiously gazed down through the small airplane window, bickering like siblings to get a better view of the silk sheet of dark blue a few thousand feet below us.
We were steadily flying towards Narsarsuaq, southern Greenland. Already a day into travelling, having flown from Edinburgh to Copanhagen late the evening before, we had another day of travel to go – once we landed at Narsarsuaq, a public ferry would take us to Narsaq, our stop for the night and last glance at civilization before a chartered boat would take us up the Kangerluarsuk fjord. Our final destination was the Lakseelv valley, home to the ancient remains of a magma chamber, once risen from the deep mantle, and our wild home for the next 4 weeks.
Our purpose there was to map the geology of the Ilímaussaq igneous intrusion which once sat 4km below the crust, now sitting at the surface following millions of years of tectonic uplift and weathering. The 4-week stint would provide invaluable data for several research projects. Our team consisted of 5 female students: a PhD student (and our expedition leader), a masters student, and three undergraduate students, all studying geology and focusing on the exploration of critical minerals and the structures of layered intrusions. On the noon of our much anticipated 6-week field expedition, the excitement in the team was palpable. Our trip would consist of several weeks camping in the south of the intrusion, followed by a week camping on the island of Tuttutoq (sometimes written as Tugtutôq), each with several kilometres of rugged terrain to map in our relatively short time. The data collected would be used for our own research, myself for a mapping report on the relationship between pegmatites and Rare Earth Element (REE) -bearing minerals such as eudialyte, others on the mechanisms for layered intrusion formation and the presence of fault structures, as well as to contribute to the 2 centuries-worth of data and observations previously collected here.
Hold up - a layered what now?
The Ilímaussaq igneous intrusion is a layered intrusion, meaning that when this body of magma cooled before it could reach the surface, it became vertically separated, with different layers exhibiting different composition and textures. This is due to a process called fractional crystallisation, whereby minerals are formed from solution in a generally predictive manner. Layered intrusions can be found across the globe, with many exploited for their rich metals such as platinum, chromite, and REEs. Interestingly, Ilímaussaq is an alkaline intrusion, meaning there is relatively little silica - the most common element in the Earth’s crust - to be found in its minerals.
Ilímaussaq has been extensively studied for the last 200 years, with first publications of its mineral wealth being published in 1806. The high concentrations of HFSEs and REEs provide an alluring target of mineral exploration, with several licensed mineral deposits. Planning is currently underway for the mining of Kringlerne to the South West of the intrusion.
Narsaq
Once landed, a boat ride from the airport town of Narsarsuaq took us to Narsaq, where we would find our beds for the night. Our stopver at Narsaq was short but sweet. Upon arrival we quickly scouted the pallet of food and equipment that we had shipped out ahead of us and acquired fuel for our stove and the drill we would be using to take samples. A recce of the town provided our legs a sweet stretch from the 3000km travelled by sky, sea and road. Our found gem was the Ulu netcafe – we filled up on burgers, chip sand beers, before our lean diet of pulses and pasta began. It was quite the sight, us five girls, taking in the landscape of fjords and icebergs, with KT Tunstall playing on the radio.
The next morning we stood at the dock awaiting the chartered boat. Like children, we were obsessed with the icebergs filling the fjord! It seemed more had filled the fjord overnight, which to our untrained eyes, raised concern that the boat would be unable to navigate safely through the fjord. Our local hotel owner assured us that the icebergs were of no concern to the locals, and sure enough the fishermen coming in and out of the dock were rather easily knocking the smaller icebergs out of the way. Our nerves settled, and our attention was now focused on trying to either grab an iceberg floating near us, or trying to push it in sync so that it would rotate.
Our obsession with the icebergs continued through the boat journey to Ilímaussaq. We gaped at each flying past, as though our memory of the towers of ice melted away between each one.
Our boat eventually arrived, and we were whisked away into the wilderness. With the wind whipping at us, our eyes peeled for the distinctive ridge marking the edge of the field area, we reached the end of the fjord by mid-day. We had only a small outcrop of rock to jump off onto land, and 650kg of kit to get off the boat and away from the fast-rising tide, so we quickly got to work lugging the boxes onto the rocks. Having previously scouted out the landscape on our maps, we had an idea for a camp site around 3km into the valley, at a relatively flat-looking area of the valley floor nearby the Lakseelv river. As half the group headed to scout a path that would take us over the hill immediately behind us, the remainder hauled the boxes further uphill from the tips of the tide. Curiously, we didn’t feel all that secluded –the bank above the beach housed a long hut of corregated iron and wood. This was the field-home to Bose Henning, a Danish geologists who spent decades studying the intrusion, and apparently, liked to do so in some comfort. Unfortunately, he wasn’t in. There was however a father-son duo camping just outside the hut, currently out of camp fishing.
An hour or so later, the scouts returned. Our options were to camp here, above the beach, and hike each day through the valley, and a ten metres or so of cliff face between us and the river, or camp inland of the valley, reducing the hike each day (and central to all of our mapping areas) nearer fresh water. However, the 3km hike was indeed through purely boulder field. After some deliberation of pros and cons, we decided the sure supply of water and daily convenience for the month was worth hefting our kit across the boulders. The team set off across boulders, carrying our 20kg personal bags and tents on our backs, keen to start setting up camp and getting food in our bellies before evening. The hike was tough. With heavy bags an uneven footing, we made slow progress. Nina found alternative methods for overcoming the boulders – throwing her bag to the next boulder, hopping it lands and doesn’t tumble down to the rushing river beneath, and crawling after it. The sun shone down as the whole valley spread itself before us – the river meandering from the far east corner, the ridge standing proudly at the far end, the lush grass carpet beyond the boulders, and the striped cliffs to the south of the intrusion. We arrived at the area scouted. Standing, sweating, we looked around for a good space to start setting camp. I had made the mistake of packing my headnet a little too securely away – I was batting mosquitos away constantly, and could feel the bites on my brow beginning to itch furiously already. They certainly hadn’t been this bad at the beach, and we all knew it. The river was a few hundred metres from us, gliding over cobbles. The ground was soft, disregarding the occasional boulder. It would be fine dry, but if the weather turned and rain made itself comfortable in the beautiful landscape, it would make a rather nice bog…
We exchanged glances, waiting to see who would speak up first. The light wasn’t waning, we wouldn’t be expecting much darkness this trip, but our bellies were beginning to grumble.
“Right, I’m not going to lie to you, but this spot doesn’t fill me with joy” said Emily, our expedition leader. We agreed that the water was just as far away as before, and the mozzies worse, so with little argument, hoisted our bags back on and set off the way we came. Figuring our absent Danish-geologist wouldn’t be overly concerned of some more squatters in his front garden, and with the approval of the fishermen, we decided on a patch of clear ground a little above the beach, some 300m from the boat drop-off point. Already tired, but still buzzing with excitement, we set up camp, cooked some lovely pasta (the first of many, we were sure), and turned in for the night. Tomorrow’s task would be scouting for access to the river, which joined the fjord a few metres downhill of the campsite, and lugging the rest of the kit to camp.