For centuries, the elusive Northwest Passage, a promised shortcut between Europe and Asia through the frozen Canadian Arctic, spelled doom for explorers like Sir John Franklin. This treacherous, ice-bound labyrinth claimed many lives and thwarted countless expeditions.
Now, with rapidly melting sea ice, this legendary route is open for extended periods, drawing thousands of tourists on large cruise ships. This year alone, nine vessels are expected to visit Gjoa Haven, an Inuit community whose deep historical ties to the passage are now crucial for securing its future.
As Raymond Quqshuun, Gjoa Haven’s mayor, eloquently states, ‘The Northwest Passage flows through our communities, our very land.’
A map highlights the strategic location of Gjoa Haven, Nunavut, within the Northwest Passage. The surrounding landscapes offer a stark reminder of the Canadian Arctic’s unique environment.
A Northwest Passage open for several months each year presents both a significant opportunity and a considerable risk of international dispute. While Canada asserts sovereignty over this route, the United States and other nations view it as an international waterway. This contested passage runs directly through Nunavut, a vast Canadian territory dotted with Inuit settlements like Gjoa Haven.
The increasing accessibility of the Arctic and its rich natural resources, driven by global warming, has ignited a superpower rivalry reminiscent of the Cold War era. Russia is actively enhancing its military presence in the region, occasionally collaborating with China, which, despite its geographical distance, labels itself a ‘near-Arctic state’ and is expanding its commercial and scientific endeavors.
Amidst these tensions, former President Trump has issued provocative statements, including threats to annex Canada and compel the sale of Greenland. He has also proposed a massive $175 billion ‘Golden Dome’ defense system designed to intercept intercontinental ballistic missiles traversing the Arctic skies.
Even in the heart of summer, Gjoa Haven experiences perpetual daylight. Images capture the hamlet’s unique atmosphere, from its homes against a radiant sky to children at play, warmly dressed residents near all-terrain vehicles, and graves marked with crosses.
Canada is determined not to be a passive observer, despite possessing the second-largest Arctic landmass after Russia. Prime Minister Mark Carney recently unveiled Canada’s most significant military spending increase since World War II, alongside commitments to substantial infrastructure projects aimed at solidifying the nation’s presence and claims in the Arctic.
Crucially, securing this remote northern territory necessitates collaboration with the Inuit, who have been the sole inhabitants of the Canadian Arctic for many centuries.
For generations, the Canadian government has grounded its Arctic sovereignty claims in the enduring presence of the Inuit. This assertion rests on the legal principle of ‘historic title,’ significantly bolstered by the continuous occupation of Inuit and other Indigenous peoples since time immemorial, as detailed in an official government declaration.
The residents of Gjoa Haven are perhaps the most pivotal to this claim, as their ancestors have inhabited this region for centuries, weaving their history inextricably with that of the Northwest Passage.
Gjoa Haven itself is situated on the southeastern tip of King William Island, a flat, sandy expanse located a few hundred miles north of the Arctic Circle.
In recent history, the residents of Gjoa Haven played a pivotal role in solving one of Arctic exploration’s most enduring mysteries. Their profound, generations-old oral history proved invaluable, leading directly to the swift discovery of Sir John Franklin’s two long-lost sunken ships after decades of fruitless searching by external expeditions.
The climate crisis is already a source of deep concern for many in Gjoa Haven, and Mr. Trump’s recent threats have only exacerbated these anxieties.
Mayor Quqshuun vividly recalls a moment of stark realization last winter, during a day of near-total darkness. While watching television, he heard Mr. Trump declare that ‘Canada should be another state.’ His immediate response was to request a baseball cap emblazoned with the defiant message: ‘Canada is not for sale.’
‘We have our own country here, and we want to keep it that way,’ Mr. Quqshuun said.
Raymond Quqshuun, Gjoa Haven’s mayor, a man in sunglasses and a parka, famously wears a baseball cap emblazoned with ‘Canada is not for sale.’ He firmly states, ‘The Northwest Passage goes through our communities, our land,’ underscoring the deep connection and claim.
Despite his conviction, Mayor Quqshuun expresses reservations about Canada’s ability to repel larger adversaries. He wonders aloud, ‘Is it primarily us up here… protecting our sovereignty?’ highlighting the Inuit’s frontline role in this geopolitical struggle.
Historically nomadic, the Inuit have long converged in this area. Gjoa Haven evolved into a permanent settlement following the establishment of a Hudson’s Bay trading post in 1927 and the introduction of government services in the 1960s. Elders recall living in tents and igloos before modern housing was constructed in the 1970s. Today, the hamlet’s population is approximately 1,500, including newcomers from diverse places such as Ghana and Nigeria.
The Northwest Passage’s ice, which separates Gjoa Haven from the mainland, is rapidly diminishing. What was once ice-bound for most of the year now sees three to four ice-free months, double that of a few decades ago. Winter ice is thinner, and melts without forming hazardous pack ice, making navigation less perilous.
The marine areas around Gjoa Haven are now ice-free for extended periods, as depicted in aerial views showing flat land meeting open water under dramatic skies. The earlier melting of snow and ice, and the quicker runoff from rivers, are stark indicators of rapid climate change.
The environmental shifts are striking: grizzly bears are increasingly migrating north from their usual habitats, coexisting with polar bears in Gjoa Haven. The tundra itself is transforming, with shrubs growing noticeably taller and lusher.
Mayor Quqshuun wryly observes this profound change, quipping, ‘Maybe in 50 years, we’ll have palm trees.’
Large cruise ships first entered the Northwest Passage and began visiting Gjoa Haven in the early 2000s, initially with a modest number of passengers. This season alone, almost 1,700 guests are anticipated, signaling a significant increase in Arctic tourism.
Allen Aglukkaq, a 65-year-old retired schoolteacher, contemplates the future: ‘Maybe one day there will be ice for only a few months a year… And there will be lots of ships in the Northwest Passage.’
Allen Aglukkaq is pictured with a portrait of his grandmother, Joanne Hummahuk (who passed in 1972), a revered keeper of the island’s oral history. She meticulously shared tales of their ancestors’ encounter with the Franklin expedition, yet cautioned against revealing these stories to outsiders, reflecting a deep-seated distrust.
In Gjoa Haven, a community characterized by humble homes and unpaved roads, the Franklin expedition remains a pervasive oral tradition. Residents continue to recount the tragic fate of its crew, who succumbed to the Arctic’s unforgiving embrace after their ships became hopelessly trapped in ice.
The quest for the Northwest Passage had preoccupied Europeans for centuries before Sir John Franklin, a British Royal Navy officer, embarked on his ill-fated 1845 expedition with 128 men aboard the ships Erebus and Terror. These vessels ultimately became ice-bound near the northwestern coast of King William Island, eventually drifting southward.
Inuit oral histories from Gjoa Haven tell of their ancestors encountering Franklin’s starving crew. Yet, despite the Europeans’ desperate circumstances, a cautious distance was maintained.
Peter Akkikungnaq, an 80-year-old elder of Gjoa Haven, recalls the poignant accounts: ‘Our ancestors knew that the people in those ships were starving. They talked about trying to offer them raw meat, fish and seal meat. But they refused to eat, even though they were down to the bone.’
By 1848, the remaining crew abandoned their ships, attempting a perilous trek across the island to the mainland. All perished from the brutal cold, disease, and starvation, with some desperate individuals resorting to cannibalism.
The Franklin expedition stands as the greatest catastrophe in Arctic exploration, now viewed by many as a cautionary tale illustrating the fatal flaws of a rigid colonial perspective.
For a long time, the Franklin tragedy remained largely unspoken among the Inuit, particularly to outsiders. This silence was rooted in a profound distrust of the Canadian government, whose historical policies included official discrimination against the Inuit and other Indigenous populations.
The Inuit, whose enduring presence in the Arctic spans millennia, mastered the art of survival and thriving in this challenging environment. Images depict community life, from shared music and church gatherings to bonfires and children at play, showcasing their vibrant culture.
Joanne Hummahuk, a custodian of Gjoa Haven’s rich oral history, shared crucial information about the Franklin expedition and a possible sunken ship with younger Inuit. However, until her passing in 1972, she strictly prohibited discussing these sensitive details with outsiders.
Her grandson, Allen Aglukkaq, recalls her stark warning: ‘She told me that if I tell the story, maybe I’ll die.’ He believes the ships would have been found much sooner if not for this deeply held taboo among the people.
The silence was finally broken by Louie Kamookak, one of Ms. Hummahuk’s great-grandsons. From a young age, he harbored a keen interest in the Franklin expedition, eventually growing to become one of Canada’s most respected Inuit historians.
Josephine Kamookak, Louie’s 64-year-old widow, shares that her husband was deeply troubled by the unresolved fate of Franklin’s grave, his ships, and the majority of his crew.
Josephine Kamookak, widow of the renowned Inuit historian Louie Kamookak, reflected on her husband’s profound unease that Franklin’s grave, his ships, and the remains of most crew members were never recovered, leaving a lingering mystery.
Josephine explains, ‘He knew how it would be, being away from family and never coming back to their hometowns. He felt they should all be found and sent back,’ expressing a deep empathy for the lost explorers.
Initially, many elders were hesitant to share, but eventually, they confided their memories to Ms. Kamookak, who diligently transcribed them alongside her husband. Together, they meticulously crafted a map of the region, meticulously labeling it with traditional Inuit names, a testament to their collaborative work and cultural preservation.
Despite countless unsuccessful searches by explorers and researchers, the Canadian government initiated a new expedition in 2008 with a crucial shift in strategy: for the first time, it incorporated Inuit oral histories, acknowledging that ‘local Inuit involvement has been absent in previous searches.’
The HMS Erebus was finally located in 2014. Louie Kamookak, his widow confirmed, was unsurprised by its position south of King William Island. Its discovery aligned perfectly with his great-grandmother’s accounts, near an islet traditionally known in Inuit as ‘Umiaqtalik,’ meaning ‘There is a boat there.’
‘You couldn’t get any closer,’ remarked Adrian Schimnowski, then leader of the Arctic Research Foundation, a private organization involved in the search. ‘It was right there. It was in 40 feet of water, hiding in the shoals,’ underscoring the precision of the Inuit knowledge.
Two years on, Schimnowski was aboard a converted fishing trawler, continuing the search for Franklin’s second ship, the HMS Terror. En route to Cambridge Bay, some 450 miles west of Gjoa Haven, he struck up a conversation with Sammy Kogvik, an Inuk man and former Canadian military reservist he had welcomed aboard in Gjoa Haven.
The unforgiving landscapes where the Franklin Expedition’s men met their end serve as a stark reminder of the Arctic’s brutal beauty and the extreme conditions that claimed their lives.
A bond formed between Kogvik and Schimnowski during their voyage, leading Kogvik to reveal his knowledge of the Terror’s whereabouts.
At Kogvik’s home in Gjoa Haven, both men recounted a fishing trip years prior, off the southwest coast of King William Island, where Kogvik and his father-in-law had witnessed a mast protruding from the ice.
Ben Putuguq, 81, and Sammy Kogvik, 67, are pictured in a shared interview at Kogvik’s home in Gjoa Haven. These two Inuk men provided the crucial intelligence that led to the discovery of the HMS Terror, marking the second Franklin expedition ship to be found.
Ben Putuguq, at 81, stated he was not surprised by the sighting, having grown up immersed in his own father’s tales of discovering relics and human skulls from the ill-fated ships in the same vicinity.
Kogvik, 67, having also absorbed these ancestral stories from Putuguq, shared his father-in-law’s lack of surprise, recounting his own realization at the site: ‘That’s the ship they’ve been searching for.’
However, he initially kept this profound discovery to himself.
Upon hearing this, a decision was quickly made: Schimnowski, originally heading in the opposite direction, immediately turned the vessel around.
‘I heard Sammy’s story in the afternoon, and less than 24 hours later, we found the shipwreck,’ Schimnowski marvels, questioning, ‘You’re wondering, why didn’t anyone listen before?’
He concludes with a sharp observation: ‘That’s what the Franklin men ran into — that pride. They thought they knew better than Indigenous people who were thought of as lesser beings,’ highlighting the detrimental impact of colonial arrogance.
Artifacts recovered from Franklin’s ships, including antique dinner plates, ceramic jars, glass bottles, and fragments of rusty metal, are now proudly displayed in Gjoa Haven, serving as tangible links to the ill-fated expedition.
While Canada now relies on the Inuit to bolster its claims of Arctic sovereignty, Tony Akoak, who represents Gjoa Haven in Nunavut’s legislature, emphasizes that this assertion must also be supported by significant development in a region historically overlooked by the Canadian government.
Gjoa Haven, like many Inuit settlements, grapples with a severe lack of essential infrastructure, including paved roads and sufficient housing. Its power supply is entirely dependent on an annual sea delivery of diesel fuel.
Akoak advocates for larger airports, deeper ports, and more docking facilities to spur economic growth, enhance Canada’s military capabilities, and effectively counter foreign ambitions in the Northwest Passage.
He directly links the need for development to recent geopolitical tensions: ‘We need to build more infrastructure in Nunavut, and that’s because of Trump’s attitudes toward Canada,’ Akoak asserts.
As Gjoa Haven’s mayor highlights, the hamlet is in desperate need of improved infrastructure. Images illustrate this reality, featuring small houses, an old boat on land, a cairn, and residents navigating the terrain with ATVs and small boats, reflecting a community making do with limited resources.