Like all deserts, it celebrates details and challenges the mind to fill its proverbial void. A desert is the landscape of the imaginary and the sacred. It is where you go to have conversations with God; the serene feeling of being deeply immersed in this magnificent frozen world, riding for hours, relying only on the wind's power, leaves much room for contemplation.
Excluding the glitch of six days and seven nights spent praying that our tent would not disappear in the storm, the conditions we experienced in Greenland were forgiving and mild. The sastrugi were virtually nonexistent for most of the trip, replaced by soft and often powdery snow. Though this boded well for my knees, it is a bad sign for the rest of the planet. At 10,000 feet of elevation and in these latitudes, it is supposed to be cold. And soft snow at the top means greater melt at the bottom.
With this year's record temperatures, the increased water displacement into the ocean will precipitate Greenland's influence on global climate and wreak further havoc on crop cycles and global economies. Though the focus of the trip was adventure, it is hard not to be sensitive to Greenland's plight when covering its length on foot – not to ponder its consequences. After all, anyone who walks the land will gravitate toward becoming an advocate in its defense.
We had covered just over 1,500 miles. When the helicopter lifted us from our pick-up location, I saw the rocky slopes we had just negotiated on our way down, the patches of snow we slid down, our campsite by the glacier, and in the distance, beyond the multitude of crevasses we had crossed, I saw the ice sheet we were leaving – alluring, gigantic, and forlorn. And what I heard beyond the chopper's rotors was an ice world's plea for help.