Sailing to Greenland on a scientific mission on a 90ft schooner was a voyage of discovery for Julien Girardot
Poling off ice and a fruitless search for a passage to Narsaq in thick ice fields; ultimately Forel had to look for another route. Photo: Julien Girardot
The streets of Brest are bustling early on this market morning. On the terrace of a bistro some late diners are still finishing off their night, while a nearby poissonnier yells at the top of his lungs about the freshness of his stock, his chest bulging. I wander among the stalls and stop in front of a small shellfish merchant. Two enormous crabs caught my eye. I’ll take them, all 10 kilos. I’ll need them to feed the crew I set sail with from Lorient yesterday.
With my arms full, I retrace my steps down the narrow streets back to the Marina du Château. The air is chilly, but the sun gives a touch of softness on this June morning.
Towering over all the other masts in the marina with her twin red arrows, the outrigged schooner Forel is moored, connected to the quay by the diesel pump which has been running for two hours. Refuelling the near-8,000 gallon diesel tank was the goal of this last, short stopover in Brest. Tonight we set sail for Greenland.
Calm conditions off southern Ireland meant motoring under engine for some of the passage between Brest and Greenland. Photo: Julien Girardot
Sailing to Greenland: Shakedown sail
The Swiss Forel-Heritage Association bought the exploration schooner Paratii 2 from Brazilian adventurer Amir Klink two years previously. Once in Lorient it underwent an 18-month refit, transforming the 30m private yacht into a hi-tech research vessel. The yacht is renamed Forel to pay homage to François-Alphonse Forel (1841-1912), a Swiss pioneer and founding father of limnology, the science of studying lakes.
I joined the crew in May 2024 as they completed the final stages of the refit. I will have two roles: chef and photographer, feeding the sailors and scientists onboard, while also capturing and telling the story of this first adventure. For three weeks, I fill the boat’s deep holds with stores, equip the refurbished galley and make sure we have everything we need to be self-sufficient.
For this first transat there are seven of us on board: the captain, Yohann; first mate Brieuc; Erwan, chief mechanic; and two deckhands, Nicolas and Nitya. Yvan is an oceanography technician who will be checking and testing the instruments installed during the transatlantic. They have to be in perfect working order when the scientists arrive. I’m in the kitchen and behind the lens, leading some to call me ‘Le Cuistographe’.
Mission accomplished, a last meal aboard for the scientists. Photo: Julien Girardot
We cast off from Lorient in early June, head through the Raz de Sein and make a short stopover in Brest before Forel takes to the open sea, heading north-west. The first section of our crossing is windless, giving Erwan the opportunity to test the two new 410hp Cummins engines.
In fact this passage will be an opportunity to test everything because, in typical post-shipyard tradition, everything that has to break, will break. Despite the calms, daily life is punctuated by alarms and repairs. Fortunately, the workshop is well-stocked, the crew smart thinking, and there’s a solution to be found for every problem.
Passing southern Ireland at sunrise, puffins greet the crew, and islands appear out of warm mists. Yohann warns us that the next few days are likely to be more rock’n’roll. His predictions are correct: the wind builds rapidly, and we take in two reefs. Soon the gusts are topping 50 knots. On a reach, Forel’s favourite point of sail, she regularly tops 10 knots. Thanks to the Balestron masts, with pivoting booms forward, manoeuvres are simple and only two crew are needed on deck.
Photo: Julien Girardot
The wind climbs all night, and by early morning the saloon is deserted. We’re in convoy mode, and every opportunity to sleep is welcome, especially during rough passages. The living area is spacious, and includes a small library, two dining tables and the galley.
Despite the large volume of the saloon, there’s always something to hold on to, but as Forel’s motion is quite rollicking, you need to anticipate its movements to avoid going flying. On deck, Nicolas is constantly at the helm – a small problem with the pilot forcing him to endure the very uncomfortable conditions on deck, though always with a smile.
Foggy arrival
After one more night in tough conditions, when a problem with the foresail forces us to drop sails, the next day calm returns. Erwan fires up the engines again. We’re approaching the mythical Cape Farewell after 10 days at sea from Brest. At Greenland’s southernmost point, we can’t see a thing: the fog has set in for good and we’ve already lost 10°C of warmth.
The new factor in our navigation is ice. At this time of year the pack ice formed in the north during the winter breaks up and drifts southwards. Added to this flow are huge blocks of ice detached from the fjords’s glaciers: icebergs.
Poling off ice and a fruitless search for a passage to Narsaq in thick ice fields. Photo: Julien Girardot
Despite this abundance of ice, it’s rare to see the passages into the southern fjords, where the villages are located, completely blocked for more than a week. But the year we visit is special: ice is everywhere. The winds and currents don’t seem to be clearing the way.
Yohann looks up from his computer and confirms that it will be impossible to reach Narsaq any time soon. Satellite images downloaded from the Danish weather forecast website (DMI) leave no doubt (Facebook is a popular means of communication in Greenland, so the DMI Facebook page is a good source of information).
The satellites show the ice situation in almost real time and we can see it’s packed, there is no way to get inside Narsaq’s fjord for now. A strong gale is also forecast.
Photo: Julien Girardot
On the east coast, a hundred miles to the north, the map indicates possible shelter – the small village of Paamiut, population just 1,350, could be our salvation. Twenty-four hours later, the fog finally lifts and we cross our first ice field. These ice cubes are so big that they seem anchored, indestructible. Yet a gust of wind can sweep them all away in a matter of hours. For most of us, this incredible spectacle is a lifetime first.
Engraved in the memory
We wait over a week before attempting a first passage to Narsaq. Baptiste Régnier, freshly arrived from France, takes over from Yohann at the helm of Forel. He is also marine co-ordinator for the Forel project. Our new skipper has extensive ice experience and we leave Paamiut soon after. He decides to try and bypass the ice by heading through a side fjord. The route is longer, but seems clear.
Anchored in the Qalerallip Ilua fjord while waiting for pack ice to clear. Photo: Julien Girardot
I’ll never forget that night watch with Baptiste. In the darkest hours of what is supposed to be night, the light is a deep blue. Navigating by sight, binoculars and instinct, we keep a constant, active watch. Occasionally, a growler grinds along the hull with a sharp metallic noise, breaking the monotony of the engines’ hum.
I can’t help but wonder how such a small piece of ice can make so much noise. I pad back and forth to the galley to refill our cups with hot coffee. There’s no wind, but creeping forward at a slow speed creates enough breeze to freeze our noses.
The game is to find a way through the labyrinth. We meander offshore to get around a clump of ice. Further along, what appeared to be a clear passageway turns into a thick, white carpet. We’re trying to decipher a succession of mirages: rocks are ice cubes, the coast is mist, the pack ice is the sky. Nature plays tricks on us.
We train our eyes along the coast looking for gaps. In this half-night, Forel seems to be gliding like a spaceship through an asteroid field. The icebergs we pass in slow motion are an infinite museum filled with living works, frozen forever. It’s easy for your mind to wander, but we must stay awake and focussed – below, warm in their bunks, our friends have placed their trust in us.
After four hours on watch, I’m exhausted. Brieuc and Nico relieve us. When I wake up a few hours later, we’re making good speed up the Snaevringen fjord on the south-west tip of Greenland, which is free of ice. The sun is high, the sky a clear blue, it’s true summer – and a total contrast to the night before.
We drop anchor in a magnificent bay where herds of wild musk ox populate every shore. With them, we’re alone in the world. Baptiste’s new weather forecast and ice map readings indicate a safe passage to Narsaq, but we have to wait two days. There is time for hiking, mussel fishing and contemplation. We silently thank the ice for this unique moment, forever engraved in each of us.
Heavy, heavy fog blanketed the boat. We had a rotating watch standing on the bow looking for growlers. Everything, and…
Glacier tracking
After 70 miles slowly heading south-east under engine, we finally reach Narsaq, four days behind schedule and with no more time to lose. The very first scientific team to book Forel is GreenFjord, a project funded by the Swiss Polar Institute aiming to understand the differences between a fjord fed by a glacier ending in the sea and one fed by a glacier ending on land.
A four-year multi-disciplinary research program has been capturing how climate change affects the fjords of southern Greenland, which are highly complex eco-systems.
On land, two teams study the glaciers, bivouacking for weeks at a time to collect data – this is literally terrestrial science. Another team visits villages, speaking in schools and with politicians to include the local population.
Forel has been specially converted for high latitude scientific expeditions. Photo: Julien Girardot
Once on board, the seven GreenFjord scientists unwind cables, plug in all kinds of instruments and wake up the machines one by one. The bowels of Forel are now home to a veritable hive of industry. For the next 10 days the boat will be at its maximum mission capacity of 12 people. The nights will be short, the activity intense.
Each scientist has his or her own specialty, and there are four specific teams. Julia Schmale, a professor at EPFL (École Polytechnique Fédérale de Lausanne), heads the GreenFjord project and is in charge of the atmosphere.
Forel had to look for another route. Photo: Julien Girardot
Her colleagues specialise in topics such as oceanography, greenhouse gas emissions, and the bio-diversity of plankton and fish. It’s a cross-generational team, led by veterans whose combined experiences have taken them on many unique adventures.
Sadly, given the delay and the workload, we’ll have very little non-work interaction during these intense days. A study of this kind has never been carried out so thoroughly. It involves very complex logistics, which is why we’ve taken so much equipment on board.
After leaving the Narsaq dock the first scientific mission of this season takes place in the Sermilik fjord, which is fed by a tidal glacier (ending in the sea). Another oceanographic vessel will cover the Igaliku fjord, whose glacier ends on land.
The Rosette water sampling instrument is winched back aboard. Photo: Julien Girardot
Forel becomes a floating laboratory, carrying the scientists around the fjord as they take samples from exactly the same spots as they did the year before. As the ice is everywhere this year, we only move carefully under engine. The crew work hand in hand with the scientists, sending sampling machines below the surface with a 1,000m-long cable.
Working around the fjord is never easy as we take samples far from Narsaq and need to find shelter each night. But many locations in this area of Greenland have not been properly charted, and there is an element of uncertainty when it comes to anchoring. So, sometimes, the crew will keep the engine running on low all night, and stand a constant night watch. We anchor only when we know that it’s secure.
The Swiss-flagged Forel’s second season of scientific expeditions, May-September 2025, will include trips to the St Lawrence Estuary in Canada, and two voyages to Greenland. See forel-heritage.org/en/. Photo: Julien Girardot
Arriving at the GPS point of the first station, I strike up a conversation with Virginie Marquez, a French post-doctoral student who is fishing for plankton. She explains that nutrients at the bottom of the fjord are not normally accessible to phytoplankton, as they need light and can’t survive at 600m.
But a tidal glacier melts from below, and the freshwater rises to the surface, carrying with it matter from the bottom. This rising column of water makes nutrients available to phytoplankton – which grow and are eaten by zooplankton, which in turn serve as food for fish. The process is known as upwelling. Because of this phenomenon, tidal glacier fjords have rich ecosystems.
Musk ox for company. Photo: Julien Girardot
The aft deck is bustling with activity. Two scientists are adjusting an instrument worthy of a space rocket engine. It consists of a laser spectrometer integrated into a watertight tube that continuously measures the composition of gases dissolved in water. Correlated with other instruments, it allows the team to observe what’s happening in real time.
Next door, their colleague dismantles the Niskin bottles of the Rosette, a complex plankton sampling instrument that’s returned from a dive to 500m.
The large aft area of Forel is primarily dedicated to scientific expeditions. During the refit it was fitted out with three laboratories: wet, dry, clean (the clean one being a major asset for scientific teams) and numerous instruments.
In the wet lab on the port side, Prof Julia Schmale and her assistant Mihnea are filtering samples, looking for small natural particles in the atmosphere – sea spray, dust released by melting glaciers. “They have the power to form clouds,” Schmale explains.
“Clouds are vital in terms of global warming because they block the sun. The consequences of too high a reflectivity are accelerated melting of the ice.” I’ll never look at clouds in the same way again.
Morning light over Narsaq. Photo: Julien Girardot
Changing times
Back in the saloon, Swiss oceanographer Sam shows me a GreenFjord map on his computer over coffee. “You see here, this is the other fjord: Igaliku. It’s very different from Sermilik in that its glacier has retreated beyond the coast, and its meltwater flows into the fjord via a river. It no longer benefits from upwelling.
“Fisheries in this type of fjord have almost disappeared. This is a tragedy for local fishermen. Greenland’s economy is based on fishing. The Sermilik fjord represents what Greenland has always known for thousands of years.
“But the case of Igaliku will be repeated across the country, and this type of fjord will become the new norm here. There will be far fewer fish and icebergs. Instead, with vegetation growing, global warming is also seen as an opportunity. Sheep farms and market gardening are springing up.” Greenland is changing rapidly.
Our work done, we head back to Narsaq, and I prepare one last supper for this incredible team to celebrate the end of the mission: a huge smoked salmon pie, with a fresh salad of quinoa and vegetables. For the desert, a speculoos cheesecake, which draws some of the scientific team to hang around the kitchen while I finish the preparations.
Julia comes by the galley to make herself a little Chaï. Not a sailor before, the expedition has won her over to working from a yacht. “These 10 days have convinced me,” she tells me. “The environment here is challenging, but Forel is very flexible, going where other, larger vessels wouldn’t: you get the feeling that anything is possible.”
The following day, the scientists disembark and I return to France for true summer, grateful for the adventure. Mission accomplished.
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