I WATCH THE YELLOW FLY of my tarp flap in gusts whilst unpacking my tiny daypack. I’ve returned from a five-hour hike up a nearby, nameless summit, and the weather remains unchanged. The strong August sun shines brilliantly in a completely cloudless, deep blue sky. It is an almost perfect campsite – an intimate, sheltered corner surrounded by large boulders scattered across a beautiful grassy plain. A collar of cotton grass lines the tiny stream I take water from down towards the Sondre Stromfjord, the longest fjord of West Greenland. The fjord and surrounding glaciers are lined by kilometre-high, near-vertical granite walls.
But, as impressive as the scenery may be, the afternoon is nerve-wracking. Large waves race across the turquoise water of the fjord. I have been pinned down for 24 hours now, waiting for a weather window to paddle across one mile of icy water in my packraft, then follow the southern shore under a steep cliff for two more miles towards the ocean, to reach a side valley and continue my hike. According to the last weather update (via satellite phone), the wind was supposed to drop for a while in the afternoon, before picking up to near gale force for two or three
