Maybe it's the early morning start, but the cabin switches: now I'm 20, in a DC-3 and off to discover the world. Back to reality, there are no Inuit to practice with on this flight, just commuters going north for another rotation, and I am one of them. So back to my Inuktitut grammar.
Ok, let's see: it's 7:00 AM to arrive in Quaqtaq 2:30 PM that's 8 and a half hours, and still in the province of Quebec. The Dash-8 is a perfectly comfortable plane, The passengers are used to the run. The plane just stops for 15 minutes in Quebec city then north. The next 2 hour run to Schefferville takes us through such heavy turbulence that I decide the only safe place for my juice is in my stomach. It is now early spring, with snow everywhere, and sub zero weather. This isn't the Shefferville of my youth, just a sleepy outpost now. The trees are smaller but still substantial.
Now on the one hour leg to Kuujjuaq, the trees really start to thin out. Winter stakes a solid hold on the ground. Waiting at the airport, I bump into Charlies' entire family. On a tiny digital camera, I'm viewing a spectacular whale hunt video shot up near Kagniksujuaq; the whale was immense with the hunters dwarfed by the scale of the beast on the beach. In one scene, a 35 foot boat rocks on the whales' back as it surfaces under the keel. It turns out this is a very expensive business even though meat for 14 communities in Nunavik.
2:00 PM off to Kagnirksuk. I'm sitting on the east side of the plane and I miss the spectacular village view on the left side of the plane. Charlie offers his place so I can watch the next village during landing. I will just have to plan my seating to view this village on the way back. I'm still filled with memories of my year in Kangirksuk as I catch a glimpse of the long road leading back down to the village. The nicely kept cemetery at the end of the runway makes me laugh again "of course they were not passengers". As the plane taxies to the building, the dust kicks up everywhere. The pilot carefully inspects the props for knicks. On takeoff, we climb over the lake where medivac landings we staged from time to time by lighting the plane`s path with snowmobiles on either side of a makeshift runway .
3:30 PM landing at Quaqtaq, I wander up to the airport building, it hasn't changed in 10 years. The same fiercely green, shiny, washable walls try too hard to be cheery, but the room is empty. Unlike my last trip, no crowds greet me; the scheduled plane is not such a big event anymore, and I'm no celebrity. Jusipi pulls up in his bright red four wheeler and arrangements are made. Quaqtaq is frozen solid, with small rivulets where bright sunlight has melted a little snow in sheltered spots. This is not Montreal anymore.
This is a community. Where every event is communicated all the time. Not so much for gossip, but because every event may eventually affects everyone in this place. So friendly, everywhere, smiles, shaking hands, now I'm the stranger, the hadlunak (white man) and I feel out of sync. Functioning in Quaqtaq is not like changing gears on a car, it's like walking is to driving. A new pace settles in, or wants to; I feel I should be rushing, but the world now runs at a more natural pace, where people are more important than speed. I'll adapt.
So I caught up with Max the dog. The pup we sent up has turned into a fine fellow; with many pups of his own around town. He seems in fine spirits.
I have a lovely room to myself, but it's hard to imagine being in there other than to sleep, there are so many people to meet, places to go, things to do, slowly. An hour later, thanks to our speedy Honda four wheeler, tea and bannock bread, I have toured the town, heard a all kinds of stories, met dozens of people with all the time in the world to connect.
These are beautiful well appointed homes. I had a lovely dinner with the whole gang, in the company of expert story tellers we burst out laughing at every retelling of human frailty. Lively.
And so to bed get a good rest for tomorrow holds eight hours of work.
