Trekking in Kangiqsujuaq’s Qingngua region

Cedric Gallant (File photo)

When an invitation to visit Pingualuit National Park is handed to you, you take it.

In August, I was sent on a four-day adventure like none other, trekking in a mountainous region called Qingngua, near Kangiqsujuaq.

It was the first time Pingualuit park staff sent people down this trail, which is intended to be offered as a self-guided package for seasoned hikers.

In typical Nunavik fashion, the trip did not go as planned.

On day one, the weather prevented us from going out onto the tundra. The park director at the time, Mary Pilurtuut Arngak, welcomed our group to her cabin, where we spent the night.

She told us the story of Pilurtuut, a powerful shaman who lived in the region in the late 1800s and early 1900s.

On the second day, we were brought to Qingngua by boat and began our long trek through the mountains.

Upon reaching the spot where the bay turns into a meandering river, we set up a tupiq, or traditional tent. The night was wet and windy, and the rain followed us the next day as we hiked up the rolling hills.

Our destination was a chalet, set up next to a large lake atop the mountain.

On day three, the sun finally cut through the thick grey clouds. Our objective was to hike the Qulusuttalik canyon to witness its stunning view and distinct Y shape.

We woke up on day four to the whistle of fast-blowing winds and the feeling of the chalet trembling. The winds were upwards of 100 km/h, and remained that way for the entire day.

Our objective that day would be our most challenging, because we had to walk back to where we were dropped off by the boat back on the second day, about 20 kilometres away in Qingngua.

Thankfully, the wind was at our backs, which improved our walking speed significantly.

Upon arriving at the destination, the bleak realization set in that the boat might never come to pick us up due to high winds and chaotic waters.

Qingngua’s geography is unique in that during low tide the beach at the foot of the hills reveals itself, making it walkable. We had to walk that beach to reach our destination, knowing the beach would disappear as the tide rose.

When we arrived, there were 30 minutes left before the tide came in.

As the thought that we might have to spend the night there set in, a team of ATVs pierced the horizon, driving down the beach that was now being eaten away by the tide.

A rescue team picked us up and immediately drove us back to the mainland, barely avoiding the rising sea.

The team had been called two hours prior by Arngak, who knew the boat would never leave town in those conditions.

We were brought back to town over a rough two-hour ATV trail, which did a number on my hips.

This adventure resulted in a series of stories on the history of Nunavik Parks, its conservation efforts, the history behind the trail I travelled, and the Qingngua region.

It also became one of my most intense, meaningful and exciting assignments as a journalist.