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Friday July 15. During my phone call yesterday with Stephen, he used decimal degrees to describe the coordinates of our pickup spot on July 19. For example, he mentioned 62.35 degrees north, rather than his previous indication of 62º 21’ N. I have always used degrees and minutes rather than decimal degrees. Accordingly, I had entered degree and minute coordinates into my GPS.
I woke up in the middle of the night fretting just a smidge about the possible differences between the two approaches. Certainly, however, the two methods must describe the same geographic location. Could I prove it to myself? I should be able to. Let’s see, now, Mike. How many minutes are there in one degree? Probably 60. So, 21 divided by 60 should be the decimal equivalent. But you know what? I didn’t have a calculator handy, and I had forgotten how to do long division. I could rummage through our gear to find my iPad. It has a calculator. But that’s the innumerate’s way out. Besides, I didn’t want to disturb Kathleen.
I climbed down from my bunk, donned my headlamp, and sat down at the kitchen table with pen and paper. It’s likely been at least 50 years since my last attempt with long division, but my mind eventually resurrected the process. Twenty-one divided by 60 equals 0.35. Sixty-two plus 0.35 equals 62.35 degrees north. Perfect! I went back to bed, and slept until 5:30 a.m.
In the afternoon Ken took Karen, Kathleen and me by fishing boat to see tent rings and a waterfall. Kathleen and I have seen quite a few tent rings on the Barren Grounds. They are striking, obvious and conspicuous. Even squinting hard, and using a great deal of imagination, I would not have considered Ken’s example to be tent rings. Just somewhat largish stones that didn’t truly form a circle. More like a scattered jumble. Ken pointed to a large boulder with a smaller stone on top, which he claimed to be a directional marker. Not at all like the classic Inukshuk. I was sceptical that it was a directional marker. One would have to spot the large boulder first, and then get near enough to see the small stone on top. But I suppose it’s possible. Someone likely put that small stone on the large boulder. Unless the small stone just happened to have serendipitously landed on top of the large boulder during the last deglaciation.
Then we motored over to the waterfall, followed by a brief stop to view where Hank’s ashes were distributed. Hank was a plumber by trade, and as I mentioned before, contributed a great deal of time and knowledge to the lodge’s construction. Memories of Hank occur throughout the lodge, including a large freezer with the words ‘Hank Simon Personal’ written on top.
Back to the lodge around 4:00 p.m. Still too windy to paddle, although, perhaps I was being a bit wussy. Even so, Kathleen and I were ready to spend a third night at the lodge. A bit too late in the day to pack up and leave, anyway. “I assume, Ken, that Dan will want us to send another $400.00.
“If he knew you were staying a third night, I think he would want to charge you. If he asks, I will tell him.” (Note: Dan Wettlaufer owns the Lynx Tundra Lodge. Ken is Dan’s uncle.)
“No problem, Ken. I’ll contact Dan as soon as we get back to Yellowknife.”
By five o’clock the wind had died completely.
Ken is an avid reader of literature, and particularly enjoys Russian authors such as Dostoevsky. One of Ken’s favourite books is Solzhenitsyn’s One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich. The following is from a review.
“First published (in censored form) in the Soviet journal Novy Mir in 1962, it is the 208-page story of labor-camp inmate Ivan Denisovich Shukhov as he struggles to maintain his dignity in the face of communist oppression. On every page of this graphic depiction of Ivan Denisovich's struggles, the pain of Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn's own decade-long experience in the gulag is apparent―which makes its ultimate tribute to one man's will to triumph over relentless dehumanization all the more moving.”
I’m a little embarrassed now to be sending Ken copies of our Thelon River book—mundane and inconsequential by comparison. Not literature at all. More like “What Kathleen and I did on our summer vacation.”
The conversation before, during and after supper focussed primarily on politics. Karen is intensely political, and most of her discussions began with political statements. Fortunately, Karen, Ken, Kathleen and I shared similar political positions and philosophies. Otherwise the afternoon and evening would have been extremely uncomfortable for me. I certainly would have headed back to our cabin soon after supper. Even so, I didn’t enjoy discussing politics. I’d much rather talk about tundra plants, or muskoxen, or how an Arctic Tern is able to hover like a hummingbird. Ken and I did manage a few of those discussions, but not nearly enough.
Kathleen and I returned to our cabin at eight o’clock—no wind at all. I was optimistic about tomorrow’s paddling conditions.
Karen Waiting For Boat Trip
Lynx Tundra Lodge. Outhouse With Door Far Right.
Directional Marker?
Ken, Me And Karen At Directional Marker
Waterfall
Still A Smidge Windy At Four O’clock
I woke up in the middle of the night fretting just a smidge about the possible differences between the two approaches. Certainly, however, the two methods must describe the same geographic location. Could I prove it to myself? I should be able to. Let’s see, now, Mike. How many minutes are there in one degree? Probably 60. So, 21 divided by 60 should be the decimal equivalent. But you know what? I didn’t have a calculator handy, and I had forgotten how to do long division. I could rummage through our gear to find my iPad. It has a calculator. But that’s the innumerate’s way out. Besides, I didn’t want to disturb Kathleen.
I climbed down from my bunk, donned my headlamp, and sat down at the kitchen table with pen and paper. It’s likely been at least 50 years since my last attempt with long division, but my mind eventually resurrected the process. Twenty-one divided by 60 equals 0.35. Sixty-two plus 0.35 equals 62.35 degrees north. Perfect! I went back to bed, and slept until 5:30 a.m.
In the afternoon Ken took Karen, Kathleen and me by fishing boat to see tent rings and a waterfall. Kathleen and I have seen quite a few tent rings on the Barren Grounds. They are striking, obvious and conspicuous. Even squinting hard, and using a great deal of imagination, I would not have considered Ken’s example to be tent rings. Just somewhat largish stones that didn’t truly form a circle. More like a scattered jumble. Ken pointed to a large boulder with a smaller stone on top, which he claimed to be a directional marker. Not at all like the classic Inukshuk. I was sceptical that it was a directional marker. One would have to spot the large boulder first, and then get near enough to see the small stone on top. But I suppose it’s possible. Someone likely put that small stone on the large boulder. Unless the small stone just happened to have serendipitously landed on top of the large boulder during the last deglaciation.
Then we motored over to the waterfall, followed by a brief stop to view where Hank’s ashes were distributed. Hank was a plumber by trade, and as I mentioned before, contributed a great deal of time and knowledge to the lodge’s construction. Memories of Hank occur throughout the lodge, including a large freezer with the words ‘Hank Simon Personal’ written on top.
Back to the lodge around 4:00 p.m. Still too windy to paddle, although, perhaps I was being a bit wussy. Even so, Kathleen and I were ready to spend a third night at the lodge. A bit too late in the day to pack up and leave, anyway. “I assume, Ken, that Dan will want us to send another $400.00.
“If he knew you were staying a third night, I think he would want to charge you. If he asks, I will tell him.” (Note: Dan Wettlaufer owns the Lynx Tundra Lodge. Ken is Dan’s uncle.)
“No problem, Ken. I’ll contact Dan as soon as we get back to Yellowknife.”
By five o’clock the wind had died completely.
Ken is an avid reader of literature, and particularly enjoys Russian authors such as Dostoevsky. One of Ken’s favourite books is Solzhenitsyn’s One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich. The following is from a review.
“First published (in censored form) in the Soviet journal Novy Mir in 1962, it is the 208-page story of labor-camp inmate Ivan Denisovich Shukhov as he struggles to maintain his dignity in the face of communist oppression. On every page of this graphic depiction of Ivan Denisovich's struggles, the pain of Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn's own decade-long experience in the gulag is apparent―which makes its ultimate tribute to one man's will to triumph over relentless dehumanization all the more moving.”
I’m a little embarrassed now to be sending Ken copies of our Thelon River book—mundane and inconsequential by comparison. Not literature at all. More like “What Kathleen and I did on our summer vacation.”
The conversation before, during and after supper focussed primarily on politics. Karen is intensely political, and most of her discussions began with political statements. Fortunately, Karen, Ken, Kathleen and I shared similar political positions and philosophies. Otherwise the afternoon and evening would have been extremely uncomfortable for me. I certainly would have headed back to our cabin soon after supper. Even so, I didn’t enjoy discussing politics. I’d much rather talk about tundra plants, or muskoxen, or how an Arctic Tern is able to hover like a hummingbird. Ken and I did manage a few of those discussions, but not nearly enough.
Kathleen and I returned to our cabin at eight o’clock—no wind at all. I was optimistic about tomorrow’s paddling conditions.
Karen Waiting For Boat Trip
Lynx Tundra Lodge. Outhouse With Door Far Right.
Directional Marker?
Ken, Me And Karen At Directional Marker
Waterfall
Still A Smidge Windy At Four O’clock
