Taissumani: March 28, 1923 — Rasmussen meets the Netsilingmiut

KENN HARPER

In 1921, when the Danish-Greenlandic explorer, Knud Rasmussen, embarked on his epic Fifth Thule Expedition, his goal was to meet as many as possible of the diverse Inuit groups which populated the Arctic. One of the groups most little-known to outsiders was the Netsilingmiut in the eastern reaches of the central Canadian Arctic. British explorers had previously met them in the 1800s, but their interests had been largely confined to collecting geographical information and learning what the Inuit knew about the fate of the missing Franklin expedition.

Rasmussen’s goal was quite different. He wanted to record the social life and the religious beliefs of the Inuit before both were irrevocably altered by an expected influx of white traders. Furthermore, he had an advantage over previous explorers — he was part Inuit and had grown up speaking Greenlandic, had an ear for language and a fascination with dialects, and so could speak to the people he met in their native tongue. The Inuit, unable to pronounce his first name, called him simply Kunu — in Greenland he was known as Kununnguaq.

Already some Netsilingmiut had relocated to the area of Repulse Bay where a trading post had been established. It was from there that Kunu hired two guides, Taparte and Anarqaaq, to lead him into traditional Netsilik territory. His only other companions on this, the first leg of his great sled journey across the top of America, were two Inughuit: Qaavigarsuaq, and his female cousin, Arnarulunnguaq.

Eight days out from Reuplse Bay, on March 28, they unexpectedly met the first Netsilingmiut. Anarqaaq, who was outside repairing the snowhut, removed the snowblock from the doorway and shouted in that he had seen men. Kunu rushed outside and saw two “stoutly built men” approaching the camp.

Meeting strangers was a serious matter in this land. The men carried snowknives and harpoons. Kunu, unarmed, approached them and greeted them in their own language, “You can put your weapons away! We are peaceful people who have come to visit your country.”

The Inuit were astonished to be greeted by a stranger in their own language, and the greeting broke the ice. “We are just ordinary people, and you need expect no harm from us,” they replied.

The two men were father and son, Orpingalik and Kanajoq. They were curious to know all about the trio of strangers who had appeared unexpectedly in their land and shared their language. Kunu and his party soon decamped and moved, at Orpingalik’s invitation, to the latter’s camp, two interconnected snowhouses accommodating eight people. They were on their way to Repulse Bay to trade their fox pelts for guns and ammunition.

Kunu stayed with Orpingalik’s extended family for eight days. He wrote of the occasion, “We met as if we had known one another for years, and an encounter between old friends could not have been more cordial.”

Orpingalik was a shaman who was held in high esteem, well versed in the old traditions of his people, intelligent and witty. He was an expert archer and the quickest kayakman of all his people in pursuing caribou at the river crossings. Kunu’s interest was primarily in folk tales and he collected many from his host. Orpingalik also offered Kunu the words to a number of magic songs. Kunu had to pay for these and he did so by trading magic songs he had earlier learned from the Iglulingmiut. He entitled one of Orpingalik’s songs, in translation, “A poor man’s prayer to the spirits.” It was used when hunting seal in winter:

“You, fatherless and motherless,
You, dear little orphan,
Give me
Kamiks of caribou.
Bring me a gift,
An animal, one of those
That provide nice blood-soup,
An animal from the sea depths
And not from the plains of earth.
You, little orphan,
Bring me a gift.”

Orpingalik was more than a shaman. He was also a poet. Kunu, clearly impressed with the man, described him thus: “His imagination was a luxuriant one, and he had a very sensitive mind; he was always singing when he had nothing else to do, and he called his songs ‘comrades in solitude’, or he would say that his songs were his breath, so necessary were they to him…”

Orpingalik himself said of his love of song: “There are so many occasions in one’s life when a joy or a sorrow is felt in such a way that the desire comes to sing… All my being is song, and I sing as I draw breath.”

On April 5 everyone broke camp. Orpingalik and his family would continue on to Repulse Bay; Kunu and his companions would sled westward. When the two parties were a little distance apart, Orpingalik’s group stopped and waved their hands. The shaman’s son called out, “May we all travel without evil spirits following us!”

Taissumani: A Day in Arctic History recounts a specific event of historic interest, whose anniversary is in the coming week. Kenn Harper is a historian, writer and linguist who lives in Iqaluit. Feedback? Send your comments and questions to kennharper@hotmail.com.