For centuries, the quest for the fabled Northwest Passage brought only death and disaster. The promise of a shorter sea route connecting Europe and Asia through Canada’s icy Arctic Archipelago lured explorers like Sir John Franklin to their demise, lost to the unforgiving frozen labyrinth.
Today, with the rapid melting of sea ice, the Northwest Passage is open for longer periods, welcoming thousands of tourists on large cruise ships each year. Nine such vessels are expected to arrive this year at Gjoa Haven, an Inuit hamlet whose deep history with the passage could now secure its future.
“The Northwest Passage flows through our communities, through our land,” asserts Raymond Quqshuun, the mayor of Gjoa Haven.
A map highlights the location of Gjoa Haven, Nunavut, within the Northwest Passage in Canada, illustrating the strategic importance of this Arctic region.
A Northwest Passage navigable for several months a year represents one of the warming Arctic’s most significant prizes, and a potential flashpoint for international conflict. The United States and several other nations dispute Canada’s sovereignty claim over the passage, viewing it as an international waterway, despite its path through Nunavut—a vast Canadian territory where Gjoa Haven and two dozen other sparsely populated Inuit communities reside.
Global warming is making the Arctic and its immense natural resources increasingly accessible, igniting a superpower rivalry not seen since the Cold War. Russia is bolstering its military presence in the region, sometimes collaborating with China, a self-proclaimed “near-Arctic state” that is also expanding its commercial and scientific endeavors.
Former President Trump is reportedly threatening to annex Canada and force the sale of Greenland. He proposes building a $175 billion “Golden Dome” defense shield designed to intercept intercontinental ballistic missiles traversing the Arctic.
A series of images capture the serene beauty of Gjoa Haven during its summer, where daylight never fully disappears, showcasing small houses on treeless land under a dramatic sky, children playing, and groups gathering near all-terrain vehicles with the sea in the background. Crosses mark a cemetery in the foreground of one photo.
Despite possessing more Arctic land than any nation except Russia, Canada is scrambling to avoid becoming a mere observer in this unfolding drama. Prime Minister Mark Carney recently announced Canada’s most significant increase in military spending since World War II and has pledged massive infrastructure projects to strengthen the nation’s hold on the region.
Yet, securing the Far North also means relying on the Inuit, who are the sole inhabitants to have continuously lived in Canada’s Arctic for centuries.
The Canadian government’s assertion of Arctic sovereignty has long been rooted in the Inuit’s enduring presence. This claim is based on the legal concept of “historic title,” underpinned partly by the continuous habitation of Inuit and other Indigenous peoples since time immemorial.
And perhaps no one is more vital to this claim than the people of Gjoa Haven, whose ancestors have inhabited the region for centuries and whose history is deeply intertwined with that of the Northwest Passage.
Two composite images show the flat, sandy terrain around Gjoa Haven, on the southeastern tip of King William Island, a couple of hundred miles north of the Arctic Circle.
In recent years, residents of the hamlet played a crucial role in solving one of Arctic exploration’s greatest mysteries, demonstrating their unmatched knowledge of a region still partially unmapped. Their oral histories were instrumental in quickly locating Franklin’s two long-lost sunken ships, after decades of fruitless searches by outsiders.
Mr. Trump’s perceived threats have exacerbated anxieties among many in Gjoa Haven, who are already grappling with the region’s rapidly changing climate.
For Mayor Quqshuun, a critical moment arrived last winter, during a day of almost complete darkness. He recalls turning on the television and hearing “Trump saying Canada should be another state.” Immediately, he asked a friend to send him a baseball cap emblazoned with the message, “Canada is not for sale.”
“We have our own country here, and we want to keep it that way,” Mr. Quqshuun declared.
An image shows Raymond Quqshuun, Gjoa Haven’s mayor, sitting on a motorcycle, wearing sunglasses and a parka, with his baseball cap clearly stating “Canada is not for sale.” He says, “The Northwest Passage goes through our communities, our land.”
However, he sounded less confident about Canada’s ability to fend off encroachment from larger rivals. “It’s mainly us people up here who are kind of, like, I don’t know, protecting our sovereignty?” he mused, referring to the Inuit.
While nomadic Inuit have long gathered in the region, Gjoa Haven became a permanent settlement with the establishment of a Hudson’s Bay trading post in 1927 and government services in the 1960s. Some older residents recall living in tents and igloos until houses were built in the 1970s. Today, the population has grown to about 1,500, including newcomers from as far as Ghana and Nigeria.
The ice in the Northwest Passage, which separates Gjoa Haven from the mainland, has been receding, leading to three to four ice-free months annually—double the duration of a few decades ago. Winter ice is now thinner and melts without forming the dangerous pack ice that once threatened ships.
An aerial view shows two flat pieces of land divided by water, with the sea stretching under dramatic clouds near Gjoa Haven, where the sea is ice-free for several months a year. Snow melts earlier than a generation ago, and rivers break up and run sooner.
Grizzly bears now regularly venture from their traditional southern habitats into Gjoa Haven, mingling with polar bears. Across the tundra, shrubs are growing taller and greener.
“Maybe in 50 years, we’ll have palm trees,” Mr. Quqshuun quipped.
Cruise ships began navigating the Northwest Passage and visiting Gjoa Haven in the early 2000s, initially bringing small numbers of passengers. This season, nearly 1,700 guests are anticipated.
“Maybe one day there will be ice for only a few months a year,” speculated Allen Aglukkaq, 65, a retired schoolteacher. “And there will be lots of ships in the Northwest Passage.”
Allen Aglukkaq stands in a treeless landscape near small houses, holding a framed portrait of his grandmother, Joanne Hummahuk, who passed away in 1972. She was a custodian of the island’s oral history, sharing tales of their ancestors’ encounter with the Franklin expedition but cautioning against revealing them to outsiders.
Many residents in Gjoa Haven—a community characterized by simple houses and unpaved roads—continue to recount stories of the Franklin expedition, whose crew members perished after their ships became trapped in ice.
Europeans had been seeking the Northwest Passage for centuries before Sir John Franklin, a British Royal Navy officer, led 128 men on two ships in an 1845 mission. His vessels, the Erebus and the Terror, became trapped near King William Island’s northwestern shore, eventually drifting south.
According to the oral history preserved by Gjoa Haven’s Inuit, their ancestors encountered Franklin’s crew. Despite the explorers’ desperate situation, they maintained their distance.
“Our ancestors knew that the people in those ships were starving,” recalled Peter Akkikungnaq, 80, one of Gjoa Haven’s oldest residents. “They spoke of trying to offer them raw meat, fish, and seal meat. But they refused to eat, even though they were skeletal.”
Peter Akkikungnaq is pictured at his home in Gjoa Haven, reflecting on the historical encounters.
By 1848, the surviving crew members abandoned their ships, attempting to walk south across the island to reach the mainland. All perished from cold, disease, and starvation, with some reportedly resorting to cannibalism.
The Franklin expedition stands as the greatest disaster in Arctic exploration history and has, in recent years, been reinterpreted as a cautionary tale of a rigid colonial mindset.
For a long time, many Inuit kept silent about the Franklin tragedy, especially with outsiders. There was deep-seated distrust of the Canadian government due to its past official discrimination against Inuit and other Indigenous peoples.
A vibrant series of images captures life in Gjoa Haven: people playing guitars and drums, a solemn church service, a group gathered around a bonfire on the flat land near the water, and children playing on exercise equipment. The caption emphasizes that the Inuit, whose ancestors have lived in the region for millennia, learned to thrive in the Arctic.
Joanne Hummahuk, a custodian of Gjoa Haven’s oral history, passed down information about the Franklin expedition and the potential location of a sunken ship to younger Inuit. However, Ms. Hummahuk, who died in 1972, expressly forbade sharing this knowledge with outsiders.
“She told me that if I tell the story, maybe I’ll die,” recounted Mr. Aglukkaq, her grandson and the retired schoolteacher. “They would have found the ship long ago, but the people that knew kept it quiet. It was a taboo.”
This taboo was eventually broken by one of Ms. Hummahuk’s great-grandsons, Louie Kamookak, who developed a keen interest in the Franklin expedition as a boy and went on to become a renowned Inuit historian in Canada.
Josephine Kamookak, 64, his widow, shared that her husband was haunted by the fact that Franklin’s grave, his ships, and the remains of most crew members had never been recovered.
“He knew how it would feel, being away from family and never returning to their hometowns,” Ms. Kamookak explained. “He believed they should all be found and sent back.”
Josephine Kamookak, widow of Inuit historian Louie Kamookak, is shown in her home. She shared that her husband was deeply affected by the unresolved fate of Franklin’s ships and crew.
Initially hesitant, many elders eventually shared their memories with Ms. Kamookak, who diligently documented their accounts alongside her husband. The couple also created a detailed map of the region, incorporating traditional Inuit names, as Ms. Kamookak demonstrated by unfolding a large, laminated map on her floor.
Countless explorers and researchers had searched fruitlessly for Franklin’s ships. However, the Canadian government launched a new search in 2008 with a fresh approach: for the first time, it would draw upon Inuit oral history, acknowledging that “local Inuit involvement has been absent in previous searches.”
It wasn’t until 2014 that the Erebus was located. Yet, Mr. Kamookak was unsurprised by its position south of King William Island, his widow noted. It was found precisely where his great-grandmother had indicated, near an islet traditionally named “Umiaqtalik” by the Inuit, meaning “There is a boat there.”
“You couldn’t get any closer,” said Adrian Schimnowski, then leader of the Arctic Research Foundation, a private organization, who participated in the search. “It was right there. It was in 40 feet of water, hiding in the shoals.”
Two years later, Mr. Schimnowski was leading a crew aboard a converted fishing trawler in search of Franklin’s other ship, the Terror. They were en route to Cambridge Bay, approximately 450 miles west of Gjoa Haven, when Mr. Schimnowski began conversing with an Inuk man he had welcomed aboard from Gjoa Haven: Sammy Kogvik, a former reservist in Canada’s northern military.
Two composite images show the harsh and unforgiving landscape where the men of the Franklin Expedition perished.
Aboard the vessel, Mr. Kogvik and Mr. Schimnowski quickly connected, and Mr. Kogvik revealed that he knew the Terror’s location.
Years prior, during a fishing trip off King William Island’s southwest shore with his father-in-law, Mr. Kogvik had spotted a mast protruding from the ice, both men recounted during an interview at Mr. Kogvik’s Gjoa Haven home.
Ben Putuguq, 81, Mr. Kogvik’s father-in-law, expressed no surprise, having grown up hearing his own father’s tales of discovering relics from the ship and human skulls in the vicinity.
Mr. Kogvik, 67, who had learned these stories from Mr. Putuguq, was also unsurprised. “That’s the ship they’ve been searching for,” he recalled exclaiming upon seeing it.
However, at the time, he remained silent about his discovery.
Mr. Schimnowski, who had initially been heading in the opposite direction, immediately turned the boat around.
“I heard Sammy’s story in the afternoon, and less than 24 hours later, we found the shipwreck,” Mr. Schimnowski marvelled. “You’re left wondering, why didn’t anyone listen before?”
“That’s what the Franklin men encountered—that pride,” he added. “They believed they knew better than Indigenous people, whom they considered lesser beings.”
An image features Ben Putuguq, left, and Sammy Kogvik, who provided crucial information leading to the discovery of HMS Terror, the second Franklin expedition ship to be located.
A captivating display of artifacts recovered from Franklin’s ships is showcased in Gjoa Haven.
While Canada now seeks the Inuit’s support to strengthen its Arctic sovereignty claim, this assertion also requires significant development in a region long overlooked by the nation, according to Tony Akoak, who represents Gjoa Haven in Nunavut’s legislature.
Like most other Inuit hamlets, Gjoa Haven lacks paved roads and adequate housing. It relies on an annual sea lift of diesel for its power supply.
Mr. Akoak emphasized that larger airports, deeper ports, and more docks would foster economic growth in the region, enhance Canada’s military capabilities, and help deter foreign ambitions in the Northwest Passage.
“We need to build more infrastructure in Nunavut, and that’s because of Trump’s attitudes toward Canada,” Mr. Akoak stated.
A collection of images depicts Gjoa Haven’s landscape, highlighting its modest houses on flat, treeless land with the sea in the background, an old boat resting on shore, a large cairn of stones, and individuals in small boats or all-terrain vehicles. The caption notes that Gjoa Haven lacks essential infrastructure, as stated by its mayor.