I Went Seal Hunting In the Canadian Arctic

So how does a young, inexperienced, white female from "the south" (that is, in Nunavut terms, anything south of "the north") get invited on a seal hunting trip in the Canadian Arctic during the dead of winter? Being a working scientist in the Arctic has its perks, but scoring a trip of a lifetime with Inuit hunters stalking the same prey that their ancestors have for thousands of years was at the top of my list before coming to the Great White North.

Luckily, when I first arrived in Iqaluit almost four years ago, a colleague of mine, who was studying the ways in which traditional Inuit hunting routes are being altered due to climate change, put me in touch with two local Inuk hunters, Josh and Levi, who were participating in his research.

I first started coming to the Arctic in February 2011. Initially, I came to Iqaluit to conduct scientific research on how changing environmental conditions impact Inuit hunters' ability to harvest traditional food, and how that in turn impacts the food security of Iqalummiut (that is, the people and citizens who live in Iqaluit).

I was focusing on a particularly anomalous climatic event, which was the winter of 2010-2011. This winter was off the charts in terms of instrumental data: ambient temperatures were significantly warme, it rained in February when it was supposed to be the coldest time of year and—for the first time on record—the open water season exceeded the sea ice season.

All this to say, I was in the territorial capital of Iqaluit, Nunavut, to get hands-on research about how these bizarre environmental conditions in the Arctic affected the Inuit traditional food system. What I wasn't expecting to learn, however, was the significance of those effects first-hand, by tagging along during a hunting trip.

For many Canadians, the Inuit seal hunt is somewhat enigmatic and decidedly controversial. We hear a lot about it, but often don't know much beyond hearsay. Especially "southerners" who weigh in on the debate without knowing the facts about it, let alone experiencing the hunt for themselves. It is something that the vast majority of our nation won't ever get the chance to experience, so I was undoubtedly honoured to get a personal account from Inuit hunters.

Despite the rapidly shifting socio-economic conditions in the Canadian Arctic, seal hunting remains a strong part of Inuit culture in Iqaluit. As the territorial capital of Nunavut, the mixed economy involves both traditional subsistence-based livelihoods as well as contemporary wage-based employment.

It's not uncommon for hunters to clock in 9 to 5 during the week, and then head out on the land for a weekend hunting trip. As a result, the modern food system is mixed. Iqalummiut eat both "country food" and store-bought food—sometimes even at the same time. True story: I've seen Inuit/Qallunaat fusion meals such as sweet and sour seal stir-fry.

On a frigid winter morning in 2011, I geared up for the -30°C weather. This was no easy feat, and involved an astonishing amount of gear—for me at least. I wore -100°C rated snow boots; Levi wore rubber boots. I wore a fleece-lined toque; Josh wore his beloved Boston Bruins hat. I wore down-filled snow pants; Levi wore surprisingly stylish embroidered jeans. I wore a Canada Goose Expedition parka; Josh wore a homemade pullover. I wore air-tight goggles; Levi wore sunglasses. I wore a neoprene face mask; Josh wore a goatee.

I could go on, but the point is this: there is something to be said about the physiological adaptation of Inuit to harsh climactic conditions. Because they are tough as nails.

With our snowmobiles fuelled and qamotiik (traditional sleds) loaded, we set off along the frozen expanse of Frobisher Bay. During any other year, the sea ice would have formed several months prior to our trip. However, this particular year wasn't like any other year. I was told by one Iqalummiut that, "we've had bad years in the past. This was extreme. This was special." Climate change was almost surely to blame for the slow freezing ice.

To be sure, the winter of 2010-2011 was statistically anomalous in terms of environmental conditions throughout the Canadian Arctic, and these conditions manifested locally in Iqaluit. The average annual temperature was 5°C warmer than the long-term average, which had a significant influence on sea ice formation. Freeze-up didn't occur until 59 days later than usual, which meant that hunters were unable to use the sea ice as a hunting platform until January. Lucky for me, it was February.

Our destination was a revered place: the floe edge. That is, where the frozen sea ice meets the open ocean, an ideal location to hunt for seal. Based on their hunting trip two weeks prior, Josh and Levi predicted it would take us 45 minutes by snowmobile to get to our hunting spot. Our anticipated trip length was cut short, however, as we discovered that the floe edge had since retreated towards town. This deteriorating sea ice would later prove to be problematic, because it eventually broke up 23 days earlier than the long-term average, further reducing the amount of time hunters like Josh and Levi could go hunting on the sea ice.

In the short-term, however, the reduced sea ice extent was arguably favourable since less distance meant less time, gas, and money. This is a pretty big factor, as Josh and Levi are dedicated hunters who don't make exorbitant amounts of money. You see, a trade-off exists in Iqaluit's mixed economy: full-time hunters have the time to go hunting, but not the financial means to do so; full-time workers have the financial means to go hunting, but not the time to do so. Between the high cost of gas, snowmobiles, rifles, ammunition, and cigarettes (yes, a requisite hunting supply for hunters patiently awaiting their prey), a few bucks saved on gasoline is an added bonus.

At the floe edge, Josh and Levi used their harpoons to check that the thickness of the sea ice was sufficient to support ourselves, our gear, and our (very heavy) snowmobiles. This harpoon practice for hunters has been common for thousands of years, but was especially imperative considering the poor sea ice conditions that year. Both hunters noted that the sea ice was less predictable and therefore more dangerous than ever before—a problem that has only worsened since our hunt.

Community members have also been concerned about the rapidly thinning ice. One told me once that, "very knowledgeable hunters have had accidents, and that says a lot, to me." That same year, a hunter broke through the sea ice while polar bear hunting almost 200 kilometres down the bay we were hunting in. He was fortunate to be saved. But the loss of his snowmobile and equipment can't be underestimated, nor his loss of trust in the sea ice. As a prolific hunter with 20 years experience, the same hunter told me, "the ice was different than anything else I've ever traveled on."

While Josh appraised the safety of our hunting spot, Levi checked the scope of the .22 he received as a youngster. It has gotten a lot of use, as evidenced by the worn out electrical tape still holding it together. Once their rifles were fit for use, Josh and Levi surveyed the scene, smoked their cigarettes, and awaited the target.

It didn't take long before we spotted a seal poke its head above water. Josh aimed his rifle quickly and carefully.

He fired.

The sound of the gunshot echoed off the surrounding coastal mountains. There was nobody for miles.

He missed.

Frustrated with himself, he muttered, "Can't shoot worth shit!"

More waiting. More gunshots. I was torn over who to root for: the hunters who are under pressure to provide for their families, or the seals who certainly have a survival instinct similar to ours. In the end, I sided with Josh and Levi.

Traditional foods, such as seal, are becoming more and more difficult to obtain for a variety of reasons: loss of traditional knowledge limits harvesting, high cost of harvesting equipment is unaffordable for many, and the rapid human population growth leads to demand outweighing supply. Not to mention the big elephant in the room, climate change, which undoubtedly impacts wildlife patterns, restricts access to harvesting areas, and so on. With all that, I figured, all things considered, the seal probably has less to contend with.

Finally, their patience paid off. Josh shot at the seal from our sea ice position, his bullet striking the seal's head quickly and cleanly. Levi retrieved the floating carcass from the open ocean with a not-so-traditional rowboat (despite the fact that the Inuit invented the kayak). Both hunters then butchered the seal on the sea ice. With a sharp blade—and even sharper hunter's wit—the seal was transformed into meat for eating and skin for sewing. Nothing was left behind, save for the streaks of red blood on the white snow.

I was told by an Inuk that, "Our diets define who we are." For thousands of years, seals and other Arctic wildlife species have formed the basis of the traditional food system that remains prevalent today. Everything from seaweed, to Arctic char, to polar bear have been consumed by Inuit.

In the north, we often hear about the impacts climate change is having on the environment, but we don't hear enough about the impacts that climate change is having on people. Warming temperatures and deteriorating sea ice conditions are worth examining, of course, but these are not mere metrics; they are real-life challenges experienced by the Inuit who live closely with, and rely heavily on, their environment. And they have for millennia.

Since my hunting trip, it would be difficult to definitively say whether sea ice conditions have further declined, hunting patterns have continued to shift, or seal populations have since wavered. What we can say, however, is that the bizarre environmental conditions experienced during that winter of 2010-2011 are scientifically predicted to become increasingly common with future climate change.

As such, we can use that winter as a lens for understanding climate change adaptation. That is, knowing how the hunters adapted during this recent trip can help inform which adaptations will likely be needed in the future.

That said, we shouldn't be quick to victimize these resilient peoples. Inuit will continue to adapt to their surroundings, as they have for thousands of years. Perhaps a community member put it best, "hunters have a certain degree of resilience; it's very hard to erode that."

And coming from a group of people that have survived and thrived in the most unforgiving place on earth—you need to take them seriously, thinning ice and all.

Sara is a Canadian geographer, the Territorial Food Security Coordinator with the Government of Nunavut, and a member of the Climate Change Adaptation research group. She also regularly blogs from the Canadian Arctic. Follow her on Twitter @SaraAshleyGrant