Elder Susanne Signoorie speaks to a crowd gathered on Parliament Hill forWorld Suicide Prevention Day.

May/June 2012 By: Mary Simon

When my mental health was getting worse, I experienced the darkest days of my life. I could not feel the hope and happiness that I had previously felt, and thankfully that I feel again today. When I got sick I felt“different”— and I later learned that this feeling was called depression. In my case I was diagnosed with clinical depression. It felt as if life was not worth living,and I carried a heavy burden that I could not seem to let go.There was a sadness in my head and in my heart that would not go away.

Eventually I ended up in the hospital,but I was ashamed and didn’t want to talk about my illness. I now realize that mental illness is just like any other sickness — it needs to be treated by medical professionals. In that way, breaking a bone is no different than suffering a devastating depression that leaves you unable to feel happy or whole or be able to function on a daily basis. Having gone through this I know, I know you can be treated and you can get better.

We can overcome the stigma and shame that often surround mental health issues simply by talking about them—by acknowledging that they exist and seeking support. I am no longer ashamed of what I went through — it has made me a better person.

It is the stigma surrounding mental illness that makes us sometimes think that psychological pain is not as urgent or as worthy of treatment as physical pain.

I truly believe that everyone can get better with the right kind of help—medical attention as well as counselling. I know it works. Sometimes it can take many years to overcome depression. It took me a long time.With good support from doctors, psychologists, friends and family I was able to get better and I became stronger for it.

It can be embarrassing to admit that we need help,but we cannot make any situation better by refusing to talk about it. I have decided that I will tell my story and I will not be ashamed. I hope others will begin to tell their stories too, so that we can begin the discussion, so we can begin to heal.

We need to break down the barriers that keep people who need help from seeking it. Community-based efforts such as the Kamatsiaqtut Help Line in Nunavut make it easier for people in trouble to reach out.This volunteer-run initiative provides anonymous and confidential telephone support in English and Inuktitut. Something that many people might not know is that the service operates across Canada — and throughout Inuit Nunangat.

The Aboriginal Healing Foundation also provided needed support in the form of healing workshops. It offered a welcome flexibility in allowing communities to develop projects according to their own needs. It is sorely missed.

At ITK,work continues on a National Inuit Suicide Prevention Strategy with the regions. A national plan will allow Inuit to collaborate on this critical issue, to share success stories such as Kamatsiaqtut, and to develop new Inuit-specific initiatives that will work for us.

We need to be able to offer proper mental health diagnostic services,care and counseling, and after care in our communities.Those services are currently not available. So talking about mental health is only the beginning. It is the beginning of a movement.

And although the pain is great and the statistics are daunting, I have hope,and I know we can turn things around. I have worked hard to bring this issue to the attention of governments.

The end of the HBC Post era

May/June 2012 by David F. Pelly

Annie Tatty, 81 years old, spry and engaged as ever, leaned in close to the tiny window of our single-otter chartered plane as we passed low over the cliffs that line the southern edge of Ukkusiksalik,Wager Bay. It’s a dramatic moment on the flight from Rankin Inlet north to the most magnificent fiord in western Hudson Bay, when the view below suddenly opens up over the waters of this inland sea.For Tatty, the drama had an extra edge of emotion, as she peered eastward toward her childhood home at Piqsimaniq, beside a cascading river mouth on the north side of Ukkusiksalik.

The waters of Ukkusiksalik sparkle benignly on this calm sunny day in late July, 2010. There is next to no ice left in the bay. The hills rising up behind us are green. It’s as inviting a scene as one could want for a return home. With Annie Tatty on the plane are a few members of her family, who share her physical and spiritual connection to this land in a way that the rest of us can only imagine, though the beauty and allure of the place is clear to everyone.

After our plane landed, and we settled into camp, Annie began to reminisce.

“I really liked living here. It is beautiful in Ukkusiksalik. Maybe because I was a child, it has always seemed to be beautiful at that time. We were usually alone. My father always tried to be where there were fewer people around because the food could run out early if there were too many people.”

Annie Tatty was adopted at birth, in 1929, by Joseph Kakak and Paula Angnaujuq, who lived near present-day Repulse Bay. They later moved down to Piqsimaniq because the hunting for caribou and seals, and the fishing for Arctic char, provided such a reliable source of food.

“The animals that we eat were the only food that we had at that time so we had to keep on moving in order to survive. We would travel inland to hunt caribou. We would cache the meat so that they can go get them in wintertime. [In September] we would start hunting seals because we would have to use the qulliq to make water, boiled meat and tea. We would travel where the seals were closer, to hunt, and we would have a camp there, at Tikiraarjuk. We had a huge iglu, [so big] we had to use four qulliq. The qulliq was the only thing that can make heat either in summertime or winter. The ringed seals and the caribou were hunted most often. When it was springtime and summer we used to catch many fish, with those fish spears, kakivak, and sometimes we would use nets – the ones that Inuit made.” Annie remembers her father leaving their camp at Piqsimaniq or Tikiraarjuk to take his fox skins to the trading post, either at Repulse Bay or at Tasiujaq, at the very western (inland) extremity of Ukkusiksalik. Sometimes she went along. She knew the people who lived there – Iqungajuq, who eventually became the post manager, his daughter Tuinnaq, and his son Tatty – but she never imagined then that she would one day marry into that family, and live at the post. As she relates it, “Inuit used to make plans who is who that will marry,” meaning it was an arranged marriage, put into effect when she was not quite 16 years old.

***

Robert Tatty’s father was W.E. “Buster” Brown, post manager at Ukkusiksalik for the outfit year 1926-27, but he left before his son was born. Tatty’s mother, Toota, was one of Iqungajuq’s wives, so naturally Tatty became an adopted son. When the last of the qallunaat managers left in the summer of 1933, Tatty was not quite six years old. Iqungajuq took over as the post manager, and soon young Tatty was helping out, in effect helping to run the family business. Tasiujaq was home, in the deepest sense possible. Fast forward many years, and it is no surprise that Robert and Annie Tatty decided in 1978 to move their family back to the old Tasiujaq post in Ukkusiksalik. He loaded some of his family and an array of supplies onto his Peterhead boat in Rankin Inlet – where he and Annie had raised their family since 1959 – and they headed north to Ukkusiksalik.

She remembers it well.

“Tatty wanted to come back here. We heard about polar bear hunters, those qallunaat from America. If they were to come here to hunt polar bears he [Tatty] wanted to make money because the mine was closed at that time in Rankin Inlet. He needed a job. We have some pictures of the polar bear hunters that went hunting in this area. In the winter when the spring was near, he guided them at Nuvukliit area. I think there were two hunters. There are pictures of them. You could tell it was cold, cold winter – they have all their thick caribou parkas.”

The family lived at the old HBC post from the summer of 1978 until the summer of 1980. Tatty and his wife stayed in the larger building at the back, known by the HBC as the “Native house.”Others came with them. The Ukaliq family stayed in the old store, the smaller building on the west side of the site. “Kaluk’s [son Paul’s] family came here with us at the same time” – they stayed in the old manager’s house, the building to the east. “When Kaluk’s family went home to Rankin Inlet, Kakak’s [son John’s] family came here to live with us.”At this time, the generators weremoved to the old manager’s house, the porch of that building was shifted over to the old store, and John Tatty’s family lived in that porch. Robert and Annie Tatty continued to live in the old “Native house,” with Simeoni’s family (wife Minnie and young daughter Dorothy) living upstairs in the loft. Food from the land was abundant. Life, it seemed, was good. Tatty was back at his true home.

“During the summer we would go buy food supplies, but people from Rankin Inlet would travel to where we were [and bring some store-bought food]. We got many fox skins.We have some pictures – the fox skins are hanging. They caught many foxes. The fox skins are easy to clean but the wolf skins are harder to clean because they are very thin. I did not have any help. People mostly from Repulse Bay used to visit. People who went hunting to this area. They knew they can fill up their gas from here, so they used to come here to hunt.

“If Tatty did not get ill – he was ill for a while – we would have stayed there longer. When he got ill, we went to Rankin Inlet and right after we went to Rankin Inlet, he went away for medical – he had to have surgery. He was ill and I also told him our children have to go to school as well.He started to think that I was homesick so we went home. After the two years we have stayed here,we never did come back here,” said Annie,with a hint of sadness, sitting by the shore at Tasiujaq during the 2010 trip, going home for one last time. It was a long while since 1980, when Robert Tatty moved his family back to Rankin Inlet, and was never to return again.

With that, the long and storied history of the HBC buildings at Tasiujaq came to an end, 55 years after their hasty construction started in the autumn of 1925. All three buildings soon began to decay, and may one day return to nature. But, fortunately, the colourful stories of the lives, which unfolded in those buildings, are preserved.

Long-time contributor David Pelly (www.davidpelly.com) wishes to acknowledge the assistance of the family of the late Robert Tatty (1927-2009) in the preparation and illustration of this article.

Canada’s current Prime Minister frequently advances Canada’s position on Arctic sovereignty with the words “use it or lose it” and just as frequently demonstrates Canada’s “use” by dramatically increasing the levels of military activity in the North. Under the present government’s watch, the North has seen a robust increase in military-related exercises, some unprecedented in their size and scope. Plans are also in place to deliver new ice-strengthened patrol vessels (the first ready by 2014) as well as a costly program to purchase new fighter ets to replace our aging CF-18’s, a plan hat is today still very much a hot topic in national media.

Still, there are also those who criticize the Prime Minister and his Government for not doing more. But the simple fact remains this government, comparatively speaking, has been far more assertive on northern sovereignty in terms of posture, tone and implementation than any that came before.

Across the Arctic Regions however, particularly among Inuit, whether it is the Government of Nunavut, or the National Inuit organization, Inuit Tapiriit Kanatami (ITK), or “distinguished citizens,” the Prime Minister’s “use it or lose it” words might seem to unintentionally widen the historic gulf between an Ottawa-entrenched government mentality and those in fact living the northern reality.

“It’s insulting,” is the blunt response from John Amagoalik,who comes as close as one will find to an elder statesman in the Inuit community. When he was barely 10 years old he was moved with his family and others from their community in Northern Quebec more than 2,000 kilometres north to Resolute Bay.

“The relocation was and remains very painful,” says Amagoalik, adding the Prime Minister’s statements “do little to acknowledge the contribution Inuit have made and continue to make in the High Arctic.” Amagoalik has said that painful and cruel relocation helped shape him to work tirelessly and successfully on confirming Inuit rights in Canada’s Constitution, the Nunavut Land Claims Agreement and the creation of Nunavut as Canada’s newest territory in 1999.

He believes Inuit are among the Government’s strongest Sovereignty assets. “It is we Inuit that are using the Northwest Passage as an inland waterway that is also surrounded by our settlements. It is a homeland!” Neither does Amagoalik agree with the massive military spending because“our communities are in such need.The cost of living is so high and our people are prisoners in their own communities.”

The President of ITK, Mary Simon, also believes Canada’s strongest sovereignty argument is in the very existence of Inuit communities across the North.

“Sovereignty Begins at Home,” is the message she and the organization have been carrying across Canada tomajor newspapers, Boards of Trade and Universities in major cities, including Vancouver and Toronto. The ITK position is profoundly basic and clear — Inuit are the strongest sovereignty card Canada has, but it doesn’t use it effectively.

“The bedrock of Canada’s status as an Arctic nation is the history of use and occupation of Arctic lands and waters by Inuit for thousands of years. Inuit are, and expect to remain, the permanent majority population of the Arctic.Our Arctic homeland comprises one-third of Canada’s land mass and 50 per cent of its shoreline.

Simon always reminds and provides southern Canadians with a lesson in basic Canadian geography. “It’s an area roughly one-third of all Canada, where 55,000 Inuit live, but now spread across two provinces and two territories in communities ranging in population of more than 3,000 to as small as 200.” She then adds,“Inuit lived here long before there were provinces and territories.”

Both ITK and the Government of Nunavut, representing a Territory that comprises the largest of the four Inuit regions in Canada, are clear in their view that Canada’s sovereignty position internationally is weakened and compromised by the unacceptable social and economic imbalance that exists between southern Canada and Inuit regions.

“For Canada to legitimately assert its sovereignty in the Arctic it must also ensure that Inuit are treated as all other Canadians are — with the same standards of education, healthcare and infrastructure that is the foundation of healthy communities across Canada,” says Simon.

Many southern Canadians are shocked by the contrasts in the social statistics between the Arctic and the South, beginning with a life expectancy that is 10 years shorter for Inuit, suicide rates 11 times higher than the rest of Canada and overall health conditions. “Inuit do not want to be in the headlines for our tuberculosis rate which is 14 times the overall Canadian rate,” Simon told a supportive Vancouver audience in the autumn of 2011.

Nunavut Premier Eva Aariak agrees “the human dimension” is an essential element to the overall sovereignty debate as well as “Inuit Land Claim agreements” that can strengthen Canada’s overall position.

“There is an ancient and on-going connection between the people of our territory and the lands and waters within our boundaries. The Nunavut Land Claims Agreement acknowledges this and is a strong demonstration of Canada’s sovereignty. The land claim also makes clear that, as people of the Arctic,we have the right to make the decisions about how the land, waters and resources within our boundaries will be managed, developed and protected. If ‘Sovereignty’ is based on‘use’ as the Prime Minister says, then look at the Inuit reality,” says Premier Aariak.

“Look at all the wonderful Inuit place names that are being documented. There are literally thousands of them. They identify everything from waterways to rock formations to areas where you can find certain resources or wildlife. They speak to how people have used the land and water over the centuries.And they fill the map—from Kugluktuk in the west to the tip of Qikiqtaaluk in the east.”

Premier Aariak adds that Canada’s overall sovereignty position is strengthened by Inuit internationally through Canadian Inuit involvement in the Inuit Circumpolar Conference. Inuit in Greenland, the United States and Russia adopted aDeclaration on ResourceDevelopment. This declaration“is neither pro-development, nor is it pro-conservation. More than anything it says that Inuit – and the public governments that represent them in the Arctic – have the right to make the big decisions.”

In the Nunavut Premier’s view, “the declaration establishes our right to continue to use our resources to improve the quality of life in our communities and contribute to the wealth of the nation. It answers the questions, who gets to decide, and, who benefits from those decisions?”

The issue is far more complex than Canada asserting its sovereignty internationally, because key domestic sovereignty questions remain unresolved.“Nunavut is about to become the only jurisdiction in Canada that is not in control of its land and resources. This is about much more than how we draw the lines between countries on amap; the future of our communities hangs in the balance.”

At the core of the domestic sovereignty question is “devolution,” the term that describes the negotiations between the Territory and the Federal Government over dividing the responsibilities and royalties from non-renewable resources.

“This is why as Premier, a top priority is to negotiate an agreement to devolve control over Nunavut’s lands, waters and resources from the federal government to Nunavummiut.We support Canada’s position on Arctic sovereignty. But, by the same token,we expect Canada to recognize Nunavut’s sovereignty over the lands, waters and resources within our boundaries.”

Premier Aariak says the traditional economy will remain key to the future economy. “We will do our utmost to protect it but we won’t be put in a box or turned into a giant international park just tomake people living in the developed world feel better about the damaged environment.” The Premier and the Government of Nunavut are well in tune with today’s economic reality and recognize that their Territory’s economic future and the future of Inuit depends on resource development that must be managed with extreme care. “It is our communities that face the greatest risks from development and so it follows that we should also receive the greatest benefit.”

Similar views, though not specifically related to Inuit issues, are echoed in the Northwest Territories. Premier Bob MacLeod is already closer to a devolution agreement with the Federal Government, an agreement that he expects will be completed by September of this year, but adds, “there are a number of critical domestic sovereignty issues that Ottawa needs to resolve with the territories in order to enhance its overall sovereignty position.

Asked to name the three most important, he quickly responds, “healthy sustainable communities, an action plan on climate change in northern areas and moving forward on governance issues.”

Constitutional experts would agree that control over resources comes with becoming a Province but the Northwest Territories Premier notes that, “when the complex Federal Territorial or Federal Provincial funding arrangements are factored into the size of the NWT population and its vast geography, the economics of province-hood doesn’t work in the best interests of the Territory and the people who live here”. He also suggests there is a constitutional or jurisdictional middle ground that in the end would strengthen Canada’s overall position nationally and internationally.

He also shares the view with Amagoalik, Simon and Aariak that Ottawa puts too much emphasis on military activities, because they come “at the expense of larger nation building projects,” such as highways, pipelines or large renewable hydro projects.

Increasingly, academics, diplomats, legal observers and constitutional experts continue to focus on the large international Arctic sovereignty debate,most often at major national or international conferences.One of the most recent was in February 2012 at the Northern Lights trade show and conference held in Ottawa where Canada’s Arctic sovereignty was arguably the most highly attended session on the jam-packed five-day agenda. However, discussions about the extent of Canada’s sovereignty position, as influenced by the complex social, economic and constitutional domestic questions, are rarely discussed.

It is clear that Inuit leadership supports Canada’s sovereignty position but at present it remains “a qualified support” tied to positive moves and signs of tangible and honest recognition of the Inuit presence and contribution in Canada’s Arctic.

Whit Fraser is a freelance writer living in Ottawa and Kuujjuaq and can be contacted by email at whitfraser@bell.net.

U-537’s Top Secret Incursion into Canadian Waters

May/June 2012 by Gerard Kenney

In 1969, I worked for Bell Telephone Company of Canada, today Bell Canada. As a telecommunication engineer, I was given the responsibility of overseeing the expansion and maintenance of a high frequency radiotelephone network. That network covered the Inuit Communities of the eastern half of Canada’s Arctic, including those in Labrador and Nouveau Québec.

The first Inuit community I visited in my new job was Port Burwell in the Northwest Territories, now Nunavut. My task was to fly from Quebec City to Port Burwell via Fort Chimo, today Kuujjuaq, to plan and design a high frequency radio system that would provide Port Burwell with radiotelephone communications with other northern communities, as well as the rest of Canada. Port Burwell — it no longer exists (In 1978, the village was abandoned and most residents were re-settled at Kangiqsualujjuaq in Nunavik, formerly known as George River.) — was located on Killiniq (Killinek) Island where Ungava Bay meets the Labrador Sea.

Times had already started to change at a rapid pace in the Arctic, but Port Burwell, being in a relatively isolated area of the North, had yet to feel much change. In the winter, the Inuit travelled by dog team. There were dogs everywhere. There were very few skidoos in town and government employees mainly used those. Seal meat and fish were the staple fare for both man and dogs. Walking through the village one morning, I crossed paths with an elderly Inuk who spoke a bit of English. Concerned with all the loose dogs running around, especially as I was limping along like a wounded animal from a badly sprained ankle, I asked him, “Do the dogs bite?” “No, no bite,” he reassured me with a big smile. Feeling better, I carried on our separate ways. But then, from a distance behind me, I heard him yell, “Only sometime!”

In 1969, the modern world had not quite reached Port Burwell. Yet, only some 50 kilometres to the southeast of the village, in small, well-protected Martin Bay, unknown to all of Canada,German agents had secretly installed a very advanced electronic weather station. Its ultimate role in the Second World War was to promote the destruction of the Allied forces.

* * *

In 1943, the world was just entering the fifth year of the Second World War. Atlantic Ocean waters were crawling with German U-boats whose area of activity included the American and Canadian eastern seaboards. It even reached deeply into the mouth of the St. Lawrence River. U-boats penetrated more deeply into Canadian waters than most Canadians realized. The Ottawa Government spread a veil of secrecy over most of such information.

U-boats prowled the Atlantic, hunting down and attacking convoys of ships carrying food and war material essential for the Allied war effort in Europe. They succeeded in sending countless tons of essential supplies down to Davy Jones’ Locker, depriving the Allied war effort of them. However, on September 18, 1943, when U-537 quietly slipped her moorings in Kiel, Germany, and headed west across the Atlantic toward Canada, it was on a different kind of mission, a top-secret mission that did not directly involve torpedoing enemy ships. Twenty-three-year-old Kapitän- Leutnant Peter Schrewe (Captain Schrewe) was on his first wartime submarine sortie.

On his Atlantic crossing from Kiel, Captain Schrewe discovered that the open sea could be very rough at times for vessels as fragile as a submarine. U-537 was fitted with the usual anti-aircraft ack-ack deck gun, but before the U-boat reached the Canadian coast, a ferocious Atlantic storm had ripped it off the deck.

Once the ship had safely reached the Labrador coast, its next moves were, of necessity, very, very delicate. That part of the coast is littered with innumerable craggy rocks, small islands and dangerous shoals. Captain Schrewe carefully threaded his sub through the natural obstacles as if through a minefield to reach a safe harbour and complete his mission, protected fromthe turbulent open sea.On October 22, 1943, the captain guided his slim ship south into Ikkudliayuk Fiord between Home Island and Avayalik Islands, past Oo-Olilik Island and into a tiny cove named Martin Bay, which is completely protected from any storms that might rage out in the open sea. (Martin Bay was not officially part of Canada at that time because Labrador had not yet joined our country).

Once safely anchored in Martin Bay, Schrewe and his men executed their top-secret mission.Their first job was to muscle ashore the heavy components of an electronic, automatic, unmanned, weather reporting station. Inflatable rubber boats were used to float the heavy components of equipment to shore.Once the equipment was safely landed, the technicians assembled the parts into a working weather reporting station.

Siemens, the same German company that still supplies electronic equipment to the world, had designed and built 26 such weather stations, one of which was KURT, as the station in Labrador was named. KURT comprised a mast, an antenna, a radio transmitter, various meteorological measuring instruments, as well as ten 220 pound steel barrels that contained nickel-cadmium dry-cell batteries. It took the better part of two days for the sub’s technicians to assemble KURT and put it into service.

The station would record atmospheric conditions and report them back to German receiving stations by radio signals. Being able to know the atmospheric conditions that prevail, or will prevail at any one time in sea and air battle areas, is obviously a crucial factor for the success of military operations. Once the weather station was in operation and tested, Schrewe and his men carefully turned their ship around, snaked out of the perilous position they were in, and disappeared over the horizon into the Atlantic — mission accomplished. The whole time U-537 spent in the shallow waters of Martin Bay, she had been in an extremely vulnerable position had she been discovered. She could not have dived,or otherwise navigated to escape the prison she had put herself into. In other words, she would have been a sitting duck in any attack.However, unknown to Canada,Germany had successfully built a weather station on the coast.

* * *

When I travelled to Port Burwell in 1969, some 24 years after the Second World War had ended, Canada and Canadians still knew nothing about the wartime weather station that had operated from their shore.

In 1979, a retired Siemens engineer in Germany, Franz Selinger,was writing a book on Arctic weather reconnaissance during the Second World War.He contacted Dr. Alec Douglas, official historian for Canada’s Department of National Defence. Selinger was looking for details on two weather stations that had operated during the Second World War, one of which was supposed to have been on the coast of Labrador. For a long time, Dr. Douglas searched, but could find nothing in military files or archival records about such a Labrador operation. In Germany, Selinger doggedly persisted in his search over a period of several years. He paged through hundreds of German submarine logbooks for clues. Then, one day he came across the logbook of U-537, signed byCaptain Peter Schrewe,detailing his orders to proceed to the Labrador coast to erect an automatic weather station. The logbook, of course, held the key to the exact location of the German weather station!

On finding the logbook, Selinger was ecstatic. It was like discovering the mother lode. He lost no time in calling Douglas, in Canada, to tell him the good news. Douglas immediately called an old buddy of his in the Canadian Coast Guard (CCG), James (Jim) Clarke, to see if it would be possible for Selinger to hitch a ride on a CCG ship to Martin Bay to find the German installation. A CCG icebreaker on its yearly trip North along the Labrador coast passed just a few kilometres away from KURT.Not only was it possible, replied Clark, getting into the spirit of the hunt, but he suggested that all three of them, Selinger, Douglas and himself, board the Louis S. St-Laurent icebreaker together on her yearly trip.

On July 16, 1983, the three men and Donna Andrew, a Transport Canada Marine Liaison Officer left Dartmouth aboard the icebreaker and five days later dropped anchor just off the Labrador coast at approximately the latitude of Martin Bay. All four piled into the Louis S. St-Laurent’s helicopter. The pilot was able to fly them to the exact location of KURT in Martin Bay because of the precise nautical information in Schrewe’s log. The weather station was still there, but as expected, it had deteriorated quite a bit. It could still be recovered, though. The remains of KURT were brought back south to Ottawa where the weather station was restored to a condition, if not new, that reflected a more realistic amount of wear and tear of a working unit. The weather station is now on exhibit in the Canadian War Museum in Ottawa.

* * *

Unanswered questions still remain about the KURT episode, questions that time may answer, and no doubt some that will never be answered.

• Numerous signs left behind over time that indicated the passage of visitors to the site after its installation. One was a live British 303 cartridge with British Dominion inscribed on it. There were signs of attempts made to destroy KURT.Who were the visitors? Did Inuit visit the site? Could they have come across KURT, and in their innate curiosity to understand, rendered the weather station inoperative? If so they may have unknowingly contributed to the Allied war effort.
• A geomorphologist and professor of geography at Carleton University, J. Peter Johnson, actually came across the remains of KURT while working in the area in 1977, but did not stop to examine them. He suggested that Inuit had frequently visited the site.
• A Labrador coastal pilot, Captain W. F. Shields, heard stories from the Labrador Inuit about the “umilakalu” that went under the water like a duck, suggesting that the Inuit spoke of the submarine. He also mentioned that there were many Inuit in the general area of Martin Bay.
• How long did KURT send weather information back to its German masters? KURT’s technical specifications indicated it was built to continue operating for only three months. U-537’s log indicated that meteorological data were transmitted for at least two weeks.
• After about two months of sending out radio signals, KURT’s radio frequency was jammed.Who did the jamming? There are no definitive answers found in the records.
• What was KURT’s contribution, if any, to the prosecution of the Second World War?

One question that did get answered, though, concerns the history of U-537 after her 1943mission to the Labrador coast. In November 1944, after being transferred to the Asian theatre, U-537 received detailed, encoded radio signals ordering her to patrol off the coast of Bali. Unfortunately forU-537, her detailed orders were also received by American code-breakers. The American military quickly mounted a three-submarine co-ordinated search and attack group under the USS Flounder to meet U-537. Flounder met her with torpedoes. U-537 sank with all hands on-board.

Kapitän-Leutnant Peter Schrewe was at the helm of U-537 when she was destroyed.

An inuksuk on the rocky landscape between Starvation Cove and the river contributes to the“other world”nature of our incredible journey.

May/June 2012

For as long as I remember I’ve wanted to go to the High Arctic. So did two of my brothers. The urge likely latent in the Murphy family DNA, I suppose. So Spring 2011 we began researching our journey. We were soon to discover that airplane flights (for three) into the farthest regions of the Arctic were difficult to come by. Cambridge Bay though – home of the Arctic Char – was available. My brothers, from Newfoundland, loved to fish. So for the practical reasons of transportation and the promise of angling bliss, our destination was sealed. Cambridge Bay via Yellowknife it would be.

Soon images of the remoteness of the High Arctic were replaced with visions of 20-pound char at the ends of my brothers’ fishing lines. Photos of these triumphs would be prominently displayed on office walls and desks. From my loft in downtown Toronto I found myself in new territory hiring an Inuit guide to take us fishing in Nunavut.Over the next few months my brothers,potential guides and I would confer extensively via e-mail and phone. The best tackle, lure(s), gear, clothing, etc. – nothing would be omitted in preparation for catching the big char.

So we shopped in sporting goods stores in Toronto and in St. John’s and in Newark. We also shopped and sought advice in Yellowknife and grabbed snippets of fish wisdom from overheard conversations at the local Co-op in Cambridge Bay. There would be so many big fish. How would we ship them back? I was to be the photographer who would capture that first moment when the char would dangle from my brothers’ fishing lines. In Cambridge Bay we met our guide,Dennis,and he and my brothers discussed strategy.

The morning air was crisp and fresh as we strutted down the hamlet’s main road, all decked out in our gear.

“Catch me a fish,” hollered someone. You just wait, I thought.

It had been decided it was better to catch char from the boat at the entrance to the bay where the two rivers converged. Once on Dennis’s boat we sped to the middle of the channel where the first river streamed in. Positions were ritualistically and carefully chosen. Then, the serious silence of men engaged in fishing.

Cast after cast but no bites. It was early. We moved closer to shore to fish from the shoreline. As the dearth continued I found my own diversion, photographing Arctic flowers peeping from rocks (something that I would do a great deal) only to be called back to snap Anthony landing a four-pounder. Then it was back to the boat and onto a small sandbar island. Nothing! We moved to the channel near the second river where a midsize lake trout was caught.

“Starvation Cove,” Dennis shouted. “Tomorrow we go to Starvation Cove.Always big char there.Two and a half hours by ATV.”

Why was it called Starvation Cove? It sounded so bleak, so empty and considering the morning’s meagre haul – possibly ominous. It reminded me of some of the place names in Newfoundland – Famish Gut, Bare need, or Seldom – Little Seldom. Ah! Maybe the cove was a local secret – so named in order to divert visiting anglers from its riches. In any event, Starvation Cove and its fruits or lack thereof dominated our conversation for the rest of the day.

At 8:30 the following morning, on three ATVs we resumed our quest.Our little caravan passed the Dew Line Facility, the airport and the fishing shacks that dotted the shore near town. Soon our only landmark would be the partly ice covered Northwest Passage itself. I recall musing that our presence might be a tiny contribution in the name of Canada’s Arctic sovereignty.

“How self-important of me,”I thought.The endless land was separated from the Passage by mile after mile of golden sand. The blue hues of the sky and water were separated by slob ice. A slither of land lay on the horizon. Small birds sat on mini-icebergs. Arctic terns with nearby nests showed their screeching displeasure at our presence.

We followed Dennis over crevasses,through water, and up and down sand hills. If Dennis decided that we couldn’t traverse an indentation, we followed along its embankment until he deemed it passable.The landscape and the beach gave way to small hills of shale rock set in perfectly formed layers. The drive became more challenging.

Near noon we reached Starvation Cove – a small sheltered inlet. Four or five other people were already there fishing.They must know. Dennis knew. The char would be here. But according to those already fishing the char weren’t biting.

“Maybe it’s too late in the day,” surmised my brothers spouting Newfoundland fishing wisdom.

“Maybe they’ve already fed,”mused one of the fishermen.

Maybe they’re the same fish from yesterday morning.They weren’t hungry either, I thought.

The men spread out around the cove – all angles now covered.Somewhere in that cove big char lurked hungry enough to be attracted by the red and yellow lure.An hour passed. No bites!Can this be happening?Would Starvation Cove be just that – Starvation Cove?

Another hour passed. Dennis shouted, “There is a river about twenty minutes away. Do you want to try?”

‘Yes, yes,”my brothers responded.

The sun was high, the flies getting worse. It was now mid afternoon. Our gear repacked off we went.The beach long since disappeared, Starvation Cove remained true to its name.

A series of peninsulas jutted out into the Passage. Over bogs, across eddies, and over seeming miles of rocks that had previously in the distance appeared as charcoal hills and upon close-up were row after row of shale rock.Up and down and diagonally across the rocks we went for what seemed like hours. At times it felt like we were riding at a 45-degree slant. I noted that we had no cell phones.What if the ATVs were to break down?What if we were injured? Dennis assured us that technology was unnecessary. His family back in Cambridge Bay knew where we were. I liked that.

The landscape was starkly beautiful. It grabbed me: had already grabbed me, in fact, from the window seat of our inbound First Air flight from Yellowknife.At times I didn’t know where I was.What country?What head space? The vastness! The space between thoughts! The space between everything! The sense of another world.

This was still Canada. Basil had flown twelve hours to get here and he was still in the same country!Maybe all Canadians should do something like this, I reflected. I had never experienced anything quite like it.

Oh, yes, I very much wanted my brothers to catch their 20-pounders. I wanted those prized photos to shine brightly on their desks in St. John’s and Newark. I kept thinking that they might be getting frustrated or even angry with me for having arranged the whole thing. But next break, I was relieved to learn that we were simultaneously all sharing the same sense of awe as Anthony mused, “My God! He’s taking us on the ride of our lives.”

Basil followed with, “If it’s all about the journey, then this is it. We need cameras strapped to our helmets to capture this. I feel like I’m in a David Suzuki documentary.”

Hours passed.Forget“twenty minutes”– the nickname we had by now given to Dennis.We all sensed that we would not be doing this if we had caught that char back in Cambridge Bay.

First we were looking for a fish. Now we were looking for a river. Up and down over across the forbidding yet beautiful landscape. Where was the river? One hill after another and it wasn’t there. Gorges would often lead us inland before offering up away across.Always, we would be led back to the Passage.The sun was on our right now. It was getting late and there was no fish, no river.We joked that we might get back to Cambridge Bay before dark. That gave us a few months I think.

Finally, there it was! The River!

We stood looking at it like ancient explorers who had finally come upon their long sought after valley or grail.We just stood in silence and looked. There was a sense of something bigger.The flies brought us back—to reality.

The river flowed from an inland lake. The rapids made it look like the perfect char river.And as if to assure us that our quest had not been in vain, a huge char sprang from the water. We could see his shining back glistening in the sun —taunting us as if to say,“Here I am.You have chased me all the way from Cambridge Bay over sand,bog, rocks and tundra.Wasn’t I worth the quest? Just look at me.”We had arrived at the river beyond the villages and the beaches and beyond “our salvation” Cove and the big guy seemed to tease us.

The poles, the gear, the netting came out again! Dennis went upstream. Basil and Anthony went into the river. Positions were changed. I continued to photograph the tiny flowers that carpeted the tundra.The colours of land, sea and sky were changing. More casts, no bites! The flies! The flies! They were making it difficult. Dennis muttered,“We have come all this way just to see a fish jump.”

Maybe there was truth in that.Perhaps the ride had been about nothing more than — seeing that fish jump—that elusive goal that creates the best of journeys.Serene,we called it a day at around 9 p.m.

Our little caravan of ATVs headed back to Cambridge Bay.A return trail took us inland.A herd of musk oxen grazed in the distance.The tundra dipped and changed and one small elevation became another and another. The colours changed as the midnight sun began its brief descent below the horizon.Then back towards the Passage for the final stretch along the beach. We were silent, reflective, even grateful.We hadn’t caught that big char but the journey had been both prize and surprise. We had been lured.

The fish shacks near Cambridge Bay came into view.I knew we were coming out of our little trip.I didn’t want it to end.I don’t think any of us did. Before returning to our accommodation we accepted an invitation to share a barbecue with Dennis’s family.This added a last breaking of bread moment to our day.

Dennis would later e-mail to tell us about a 20-pounder caught at the bridge soon after our visit.

That fish had gone complete circle and was back in Cambridge Bay.Why hadn’t he wanted us to catch him? Perhaps he had a bigger experience in mind (for us). Had the lured been doing the luring?

Traditional igloo life on the Belcher Islands, where eider duck clothing was the key to keeping warm. For the first time in many years, three generations wear traditional clothing, created for People of a Feather.

May/June 2012

In the late 1990s, the Inuit community of Sanikiluaq, Nunavut, raised concern over large die offs of Eider ducks that spend the winter around the Belcher Islands in Hudson Bay. This concern initiated the interest of researchers including Joel Heath who began filming the birds underwater to determine how changes in sea ice were impacting their ability to survive the harsh winter conditions. For seven winters he filmed and worked closely with the people of Sanikiluaq to develop an understanding of how the community was adapting in the face of significant changes.

People and Eiders alike have evolved intimate relationships with the natural cycles of the landscape.These relationships are being challenged as hydro dams on the mainland force significant changes to the hydrologic cycle of Hudson Bay. In a convergence of science and art, man and nature, past and present, Heath and the people of Sanikiluaq have succeeded in bringing these challenges to the screen with an award-winning documentary, People of a Feather.

With sparse dialogue, the film gives powerful breathing space to Heath’s mesmerizing,often heart-wrenching footage of Eider ducks finding their way through unfamiliar conditions.With energizing hope, his lens follows a parallel journey of the community as they take action to recalibrate a relationship with their shifting landscape.

The film is punctuated by beautifully rendered sequences that recall life on the Belcher Islands 100 years ago. A sealskin qajaq weaves a route through a maze of shifting summer sea ice to a colony of nesting Eider ducks. An elder coaxes metallic sounds from a plucked Eider feather.Illuminating the role of a people not as components in but components of a landscape, these glances to the past carry further purpose as the narrator explains ‘’…by seeing how we have changed, we can better adapt to the future…” People of a Feather has picked up awards at the Vancouver International Film Festival, The Vancouver Film Critics Circle and The San Francisco Ocean Film Festival.

Visit their website for more information and a list of screenings.

Willie Kulula arrives in sixth position in a whiteout, some 16 hours after race winner Peter Kiatainaq.

May/June 2012

Peter Kiatainaq celebrates a victory in the Ivakkak 2012 dog sled race for the sixth time in nine years. The race sees Inuit participants brave the elements on a 650 km trip from Kangiqsualujjuaq to Kangirsuk.Kiatiainaq finished the race with his teammate and son, Peter,nearly four hours ahead of second place finishersWillie Cain Jr. andWillie Cain Jr. Jr.

The underpinning of Inuit nomadic lifestyle, sled dogswere almostwiped out in the 1950s and ’60s as authorities tried to encourage a sedentary existence in the North. In 2001, the Makivik Corporation initiated the first Ivakkak dog sled race in an effort to bring the dogs back to Nunavik, and with them revitalize an influential aspect of Inuit culture. Besides the adventure,winners shared prizes of $12,500 in cash fromMakivik Corporation, a $12,000 gift certificate to FCNQ and two First Air return flights to Montreal.

© NWT JUDO ASSOCIATION / ASSOCIATION DE JUDO DES TN-O

Japan is a lot different from where she had ever been before, but even if she points out that cars are on the other side of the road and that you’re not supposed to eat in the street, Gabrielle Desforges says that she’s not experiencing a cultural shock. She feels great in that country. “I grew up reading Mangas, watching Japanese cartoons and doing Judo.

Gabrielle Desforges could not wish for more as she was celebrating her 18th birthday last December: the young athlete spent 11 days in Japan, the birthplace of Judo, enrolled in a training trip with nine other senior Canadian female judokas. She trained at the Inter – national Budo University in the fishing town
of Katsuura, (2:30 hours west of Tokyo). During her stay, she practiced three hours per day of intense Judo where she would fight with Japanese and Chinese partners.

Desforges thinks this experience is beneficial. “I’m more and more confident as I’m beating talented girls from elsewhere. I’m training really hard and I can see the results. I’m feeling really well here. Japanese and Chinese train really seriously and they always fight at their best. Every fight is like a
competition; it’s intense.”

Gabrielle Desforges is now training in Quebec, thanks to a grant from the Government of the Northwest Territories, as part of the High Performance Athletes Program. She competes nationally in the 57Kg category.

While signals point to an economic boom in the Arctic, the reality is that a growing education deficit in Inuit Nunangat is preventing many Inuit from fully participating in the workforce.

By Mary Simon, Inuit Tapiriit Kanatami

I often talk about the dramatic political and social transformations that has undergone in the past several decades. But recently I had the opportunity to talk business with Northern and Southern business leaders, first at the 2012 Northern Lights Business Showcase in Ottawa, and then at the Toronto Board of Trade.

I talked about how, from a business perspective, the changes we have seen across the Arctic over the last 50 years have been quite extraordinary — unlike anywhere else in Canada. And how it will take some strategic investments to sustain the current level of growth.

Years ago, when land claims were still a foreign concept to many people, the business community in the Arctic consisted of a Hudson’s Bay store, and very little else. Today, you’ll find businesses of all kinds and sizes — many of them Inuit-owned.

That transformation did not come easily. The phenomenal growth we have witnessed in the Arctic is related in part to an investment environment that is a product of many years of negotiations and struggle. It’s hard to forget that Northern economies were once largely controlled by Southern interests. It’s equally apparent, however, that those days are over.

Inuit have become major investors throughout the Arctic. And Southern investors who seek to develop our natural resources must expect that they will do so only in partnership with Inuit.

Quite simply, it is an exciting time to be a business person in the Arctic today. Yet it is within this dynamic environment that we encounter the great paradox of Inuit Nunangat.

How is it that in Nunavut, as an example, where the GDP rose by an astonishing 15 per cent last year, there is a shortage of labour — and unemployment can be as high as 70 per cent in some communities?

As the Territorial Premiers pointed out in their 2007 Northern Vision document, the North has critical shortages of qualified homegrown workers — men and women with trades skills and professional qualifications.

So while all the signals are pointing to an economic boom unfolding in the Arctic over the next decade or two or four, the stark reality is that many of our people will be unable to participate in the economy.

We have an education deficit in Inuit Nunangat, and as Canadians we have a moral and ethical responsibility to pay down this debt by investing in education. In fact, this responsibility is so great it cannot be government’s alone. After all, it takes a community to educate a child. That’s the central message of First Canadians, Canadians First: The National Strategy on Inuit Education.

We know, of course, that some families are struggling to get their children to school every day rested and well fed. And this is where the business community can make a difference: by supporting breakfast programs and after-school programs that provide that
extra bit of support.

Businesses can provide a critical link between schools and the labour force by encouraging financial literacy, and sponsoring apprenticeships, work placements and continuing education for employees. They can also provide scholarships, and major program investments in areas related to their expertise.

Inuit-owned corporations have a role to play as well. I believe our major resource development agreements should pay a regular education dividend for community-based education projects aimed at keeping our children in school.

We can change things together. For businesses, it’s quite practical — they are building a workforce, a client base. For our children, they are making dreams come true.

© HANS-LUDWIG BLOHM

By France Rivet
July 1, 2010 at 1:24 pm. Nuuk, Greenland. For the last four days, Inuit from Canada, Russia, Greenland and Alaska assemble in Greenland’s capital for the 11th General Assembly of the Inuit Circumpolar Council. During an intermission in the official proceedings, the paths of two participants cross. Their encounter lasts a brief seven minutes. Neither of them knows who the other person is. Not a single word is exchanged. Yet, for both, this moment becomes one of the highlights of their presence in Nuuk. Luckily, one of them has immortalized their chance encounter with his camera.

A year and a half later, on December 30, 2011, these photographs take a totally different significance when His Excellency the Right Honourable David Johnston, Governor General of Canada, announces that both individuals are being appointed to the Order of Canada. Both are being recognized for their contributions to Canada’s North, its people, its culture: a passion they share. Who are they? How did their encounter come about?

Aaju Peter
Aaju was born in northern Greenland. In her early 20s, when both Inuktitut and English were foreign languages to her, she emigrated to Canada to follow a young hunter who had won her heart. In her new home in Iqaluit she quickly learned both languages and rediscovered the Inuit culture she had lost. Obviously Aaju developed a passion for her culture and took every opportunity she could to learn about its history, its traditions, and its language. But when Aaju sets her mind on something, she doesn’t only do it partially! Aaju did not only learn English and Inuktitut, she became an interpreter and translator.

Aaju did not only learn the techniques to make centuries-old sealskin clothes, she became a designer of contemporary clothes that are inspired by traditional Inuit designs.

Aaju did not only learn Inuit songs, she became an accomplished musician and a recorded performer and songwriter. Aaju did not only hear about the beautiful ancient tradition of tunniit (facial tattoos), she participated in interviewing elders and documenting this once forbidden and almost forgotten tradition. Then, in August 2009, she was one of five Inuit women who allowed this ancient art live again by having their faces and hands tattooed. She did it for the younger generation, to show her pride for her culture, to take ownership of an art that was once part of Inuit identity.

Aaju did not only read about social and cultural issues in Nunavut, she embraced the seal-hunting heritage. To ensure that Inuit concerns about the European ban on the trade of seal products are addressed and voiced, she became an activist and obtained her degree in international law. For years now, she has been protesting, lobbying, speaking and publishing articles on the importance of sealing for Inuit livelihood and culture. In 2011, Aaju was the recipient of the Bernard Cahill Memorial Award, given by the Fur Institute of Canada to recognize the promotion of respect for people, animals and the environment.

Oh! Did I mention Aaju did all of that while raising a family of five children.

Hans-Ludwig Blohm
Born in Germany to a father who was an accomplished amateur photographer, Hans’s passion for photography was sparked at a very young age. At 25, as he was hitchhiking through Lapland, he crossed the Arctic Circle for the first time. Little did he know that the next time he would set foot in the Arctic would be 25 years later accompanied by his teenage daughter! During that period, Hans obtained his Master Carpenter credentials, immigrated to Canada, married and established his family in Ottawa. As he was about to turn 40, time had come for his passion, photography, to become his profession. From rural school photographer to darkroom technician, from freelance cameraman to operating a wire service and partner in a photography business, Hans’s skills, versatility and reputation have continually grown. In 1966, he branched out on his own.

Looking back at the great variety of his work, Hans admits that “from tiniest micro chips to huge murals, from small stamps to very large internationally running exhibits, from aerials to architectural, from books and photo-journalism to informal portraits and scientific subjects, from travel and advertising to the people of the North in their great country, all filled me
with great joy and I keep on learning”.

The aspect of his work that moved him most and brought him most pride and recognition is his time spent up in the Arctic. For more than 30 years, he has been travelling across the Arctic in all seasons and under all conditions, capturing its beauty, its history and its spirit. Elder gatherings, Inuit inmates in penal/halfway institutions, milestone events leading up to the establishment of Nunavut, highway construction, to name just a few, are all events immortalized by Hans’s lens. His book The Voices of the Natives: The Canadian North and Alaska, which includes essays from Northerners along with a selection of his photographs, is a testimony of his love and respect for the land and its people.

As Peter Irniq, then Commissioner of Nunavut, summarized it so well in a 2001 letter, “Hans is a true ‘Ambassador’. He is our voice in southern Canada and the world. He has also become a good friend of us Northerners — we trust him”.

Paths Cross
Now, back in Nuuk, Greenland, July 1, 2010. Early afternoon. The official conference procedures are underway. In the centre of the u-shape conference installation, where all delegates can see it, the traditional qulliq is burning. Aaju is sitting in the audience when she notices that the qulliq needs to be tended to. Unfortunately, she cannot interrupt the conference. Her anxiety level goes up one notch and she starts asking around for someone to go tend it. The president of Greenland who lit it earlier in the day is not available and no one present knows how to do it. She has no choice but must do it herself. But first, out of respect for the Inuit culture and the qulliq itself, she needs to put on a traditional outfit. Luckily, it is also time for a recess in the proceedings. As soon as she can, Aaju walks towards the qulliq, takes the tending stick and proceeds with the traditional gestures of making the flame more contained. At the same time, she sings a traditional song reminding us all how we need to care for the environment and how important wildlife and seal are. Without their fat, the qulliq could not be lit.

“I felt intimidated because it was not my place to tend the lamp as I had not been invited to do so. But, at the same time, I felt honoured to have received the call to tend the lamp. It is such a fundamental part of our culture,” Aaju remembers.

Shortly after Aaju finishes her song, Hans walks by. With his trained eye always on the lookout for a special moment to immortalize, Hans notices her. Over the last four days, he has photographed and has been by the qulliq at various occasions. “But this time, I noticed something totally different happening and it fascinated me! I moved right in, close to get some shots of the very interesting human being whom I didn’t know who she was nor where she came from. But what fascinated me was her personality, the tattoos on her and the way she responded to me. I feel sometimes I was perhaps a bit too pushy but I saw some possibilities and she reacted to me. This is why we have the reflections of her hands in the oil. I had to move freely and I’m not afraid to do that under those circumstances and I’m very happy about it,” he recalls.

The photo session goes rather swiftly as Hans does not want to be in the way of other photographers nor does he want to interfere in any way with the procedure of the conference. All communications between the two of them is done through their eyes. Seven minutes later, they part but both quickly inquire who the other person is. Aaju knew of Hans but she had no clue he was the person standing in front of her a few minutes ago. As soon as he returns home in Ottawa, Hans hurries to send some of the photos to Aaju. She is delighted and feels honoured that Hans felt compelled to take photos of that very meaningful moment for her.

In hindsight, Hans immensely regrets not having taken the opportunity to speak with Aaju. Undoubtedly, when their paths cross once again at Rideau Hall, they will have much to say to one another. This ceremony will also bear a very special meaning for Hans who was one of the few accredited photographers to attend the very first Order of Canada ceremony on November 24, 1967. Congratulations Aaju!

Congratulations Hans! May your paths cross again many more times!

France Rivet lives in Gatineau, QC. She loves sharing her passion for the North through her photos, writings and presentations. You can follow her adventures and see more of her work at polarhorizons.com.