Log Book


Antoine, May 18, 2004

Ivujivik is a small village located at the extreme northern headland of Quebec . It is so to say, the most northern inhabited zone of Quebec, located in a quiet area on an abrupt and rocky hillside. As I expected on my descent off the plane, the weather was even chillier here, than in Akulivik where I had left Camille, Jean-François and Saima some time earlier in the day.

Ivujivik sunsetThe first curve of the road to the village just about passed, that a plunging view above the bay gives us an end of the world impression. The frozen immensity, the rocks powdered with morning snow, the seagulls shouting in the sky, the sharp and rigorous cold, these are the numerous striking details that have attracted as I laid my eyes upon them for the first time.

Ivujivik AntoineUnfortunately, the work here declared itself to be much less exciting. I spent two days struggling with defective satellite equipment and finally gave up, and admitting the unthinkable that is a total cut out of the Internet network for a minimum of 3 days! Others died for less than that...

Walking in the village, I noticed a significant number of polar bear skins set to dry in the sun, which had a tough time shining though a thick layer of greyish clouds. This reminded me of the anecdote told by Camille, about an Inuit woman from Akulivik, who had met a polar bear while descending the stairs of the airport.

Ivujivik neigeOn Sunday evening, while standing up to fill up my cup of herbal tea, I saw a superb spectacle though the hotel window, that directly looks onto the bay. The sun had raised and was dissipating the fog in a setting of mountains, rocks and ice fields. I put on my clothes hastily and ran to the end of the peninsula with my camera firmly in hand. While running on the ice fields and the rocks, I was often looking around me, fearing to bump into a polar bear that would have particularly spoilt such a beautiful tour.

Fascinated by this setting, in the sunset, on an ice field cracking under the pressure of the tide, I took hundreds of photographs, being conscious that such a chance would not happen that often again.

When the sun finally disappeared on the horizon, it was more than 11 p.m. It was more than time for me to go to bed.


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