On August 23, 2021, I ventured 50 nautical miles out on the Chukchi Sea in a kayak to collect physiological and phenomenological data as part of research aimed at expanding our understanding of human performance under extreme Arctic conditions. Such a sight is not all that common out on the Chukchi Sea, so, after my landing, I discovered I had earned my first nickname: Qayaqti (“the guy with the kayak” in Iñupiaq).

There is a common saying that goes “the journey to get to the starting line is an achievement in itself,” and this couldn’t be more accurate. My expedition was slated for the previous year and postponed due to the “elephant seal” in the room—the COVID-19 pandemic. The new year brought with it less border closures but instead came with supply chain crises, making it nearly impossible to source the required gear, perishables, and the vehicle for the expedition itself. The products were either not being manufactured or shipped to their retailers, which changed the procurement process from doorstep delivery to a multi-city trek. The last stop was an outfit in Anchorage, which carried the only sea kayak on the market: a Nordkapp HM (hull modified) built by Valley Sea Kayaks.

A Nordkapp HM kayak stored in a repurposed Quonset hut that the U.S. Air Force built in the 1960s

Alaska’s tourism was hit hard by the pandemic, so I ended up helping out with their financial recovery. The vehicle I rented at the airport to pick up and deliver the kayak to the airport for northbound shipment cost around $400 for less than 24 hours! I asked the attendant if they were quoting me based on a preexisting or walk-in reservation and they informed me that if I hadn’t made a reservation earlier, they would have shown me the door due to limited availability.

I finally arrived at Wiley Post–Will Rogers Memorial Airport in Utqiaġvik, Alaska, the northernmost city in the country and the home of Iḷisaġvik College. I was immediately faced with the next challenge: weather. The Nordkapp HM was built with diolene, an early European Kevlar that makes it brutally strong and tough. They are also constructed in the Greenland style, made narrower with low profile decks and flatter hulls so they are less affected by wind. These kayaks are built specifically for Arctic conditions. The term “kayak” is actually derived from the Inuit term qayaq. They were, however, no match for the upwards of 20-knot winds that were reported during my first stay. I headed back at the end of the week, as the cost of staying in the North Slope Borough is very high. There are no roads that connect Utqiaġvik to southern Alaska and there’s only one annual cargo ship sailing to the community, so materials are generally outsourced via air. This includes fuel. Although the Prudhoe Bay oil field is only 204 nautical miles away, the petroleum is refined in southern Alaska.

I paddled past an iceberg, managed an aggressive huddle of walruses, and was escorted back to shore by harbor porpoises. These sightings made me rethink the righteousness of the word “uninhabitable,” as even freezing waters of high salinity are home to an ecosystem teeming with life.

I waited on standby for another 10 days until the weather improved. I was back on the Alaska Airlines Boeing 737 the following day and, less than 24 hours after that, on a kayak as far north as one can be on the waters of the western hemisphere. Greenland style kayaking is a skill in and of itself, but luckily, thanks to my background in rowing, I was able to transition seamlessly. The Nordkapp HM has a built-in skeg so it tracks like a train but has rolling tendencies. I therefore donned a dry suit and accessories (hood, gloves, etc.) to maintain insulation in the event of immersion into the icy, subzero waters. The Nordkapp HM also has an ocean cockpit sealed by a spray skirt so flooding is generally no factor with rolls. I carried a personal EPIRB (emergency position indicating radio beacon), a Garmin inReach (for navigation, tracking, and communications), and a handheld VHF radio, which I later realized had been inadvertently activated, broadcasting me talking to myself to all of Utqiaġvik. Once the boat hit the water, electrodes placed on and in my body quantified my vitals (heart rate, blood pressure, core body temperature, blood oxygen concentration, EKG, etc.), and I used a small waterproof journal and pencil to notate what the electrodes couldn’t. My rest and nutrition/hydration periods were scheduled prior to departure, the latter of which consisted of consuming protein-rich vegan bars, carbohydrate-rich gels, and desalinated Chukchi seawater.

Action shot of a harbor porpoise (Phocoena phocoena) escorting Amir to shore

Unfortunately, I was unable to collect all the required data on the expedition, so I hope to return to the Alaskan waters soon. However, I paddled past an iceberg, managed an aggressive huddle of walruses, and found myself escorted back to shore by harbor porpoises. These sightings made me rethink the righteousness of the word “uninhabitable,” as even freezing waters of high salinity are home to an ecosystem teeming with life. The most prominent of Arctic marine life that I was not fortunate enough to see were the whales, more specifically, belugas and bowheads (aġviq). The North Slope Borough shadows the spring (easterly) and fall (westerly) migration of aġviq, which are part of the backbone of Iñupiat culture. As a result, much of the advancement in our scientific understanding of whales at large comes from this region and its people. One mindboggling fact I learned from the people of Utqiaġvik during my time up north is that cows (female whales) collect rings in their eyes with each calf that is born due to the sheer stress involved. Another is that they were the first to discover that whales have a sense of smell due to their avoidance of smoke.

I was never a Boy Scout, but I strongly believe in one of their sayings: “Always leave the campground cleaner than you found it.” I thoroughly enjoyed my immersion into the environment and Iñupiat culture, so I wanted to give back. A few weeks after returning to the Utqiaġvik shoreline, I accepted an appointment as a one-semester-only assistant professor of business management at Iḷisaġvik College, the only fully accredited tribal college in Alaska. The college serves the North Slope Borough, greater Alaska, and even students in the contiguous United States. In addition to my course load, I worked on building curriculum around the populations we serve and establishing partnerships with local industry leaders so students can work on current, real-world challenges that directly impact them and their communities. The dean of academic affairs described these efforts as “memorable and impactful.” I even started a conversation around offering flight education in the North Slope Borough. I also attempted to develop and offer workshops in nearby Arctic villages, targeting educational deficits and supporting talent development. Unfortunately, we were unable to roll them out due to the COVID-19 pandemic. However, I will be returning to follow through with this promise as soon as it is safe.

I cannot end this article without acknowledging those who made this effort possible. I thank the great-hearted locals and elders of Utqiaġvik for providing guidance and looking after my safety. I would also like to thank Northern Air Cargo for completing the journey within the journey—transporting an 18-foot kayak to a remote station by air. I look forward to continuing to work with and engaging the community in my expeditions up north.

Amir (Qayaqti) Meraban served as an assistant professor of business management at Iḷisaġvik College.