Walking Alone.

by Johanna Sorrell

A leap into the unknown Canada

The Baffin Island park rangers gave me a few parting words of advice, an ominous pat on the back, and a flare gun: The advice was a well-meaning note of caution and comfort. The pat, a gesture to reinvigorate my waning confidence. And the flair gun? Well, that was to protect me from the polar bears. Two days prior, I had stumbled out the hatchway of a cargo plane, and onto the dirt runway of Pangnirtung; the artic outpost of Nunavut, Canada. As my eyes adjusted to the stark white sun, the mix and stir of propeller dust settled into place and a world of giants slowly came into focus: Towering blue-grey walls of granite unfurled themselves from the dark, roiling ocean below, reaching further into the sky than I thought possible for a thing of nature's creation. The place defied physics, and I had my doubts whether poetry could describe the brutality of its beauty. I knelt to the ground in what could easily be interpreted as a moment of solemn reverence, but in reality, I was doing my best not to puke: What on earth did I think I was doing here? If you make the somewhat questionable decision to hike into Auyuittuq National park alone, orientation is a must. Firstly, to say that not many people travel there is a giant understatement. While most national parks see visitor numbers in the millions, the year I went to Auyuittuq, the park saw a mere 196 brave souls. There's no cell service out there. There are no roads or established trails. And if danger should arise, consider yourself lucky if you happen to be near one of the blaze-orange emergency shelters that emerge like fluorescent beacons every 10 or so miles along the valley floor. During my orientation, the rangers instructed me to "barricade myself into the shelter should I encounter a polar bear." And if I miraculously made it to the shelter before the bear made it to me? Then hail a helicopter via the ancient shortwave radio, of course . if you could get the thing to work. When I finally left the ranger station, I was shuttled by boat up a long, lonely fjord, and deposited unceremoniously on a pile of rocks at the mouth of the untamed park. I pulled on my pack to weigh down my anxiety, and watched the tiny craft disappear like a waking dream. The sun soaked cliffs invited me toward them, and I began to disappear into the scenery. A smile shaped my face, and I remembered the flare gun: It was right where I left it, sitting by the door of the ranger station, alongside my fear of walking alone.