August 22. 17.6 km, 502 feet of climbing. Camped at 5,935 feet.
113 kilometers from the shore of the Irminger Sea.

We woke to the aftermath of wind. Drifts had piled against the tent overnight, sculpted and dense, a familiar sight this far onto the icecap. It felt close to something we remembered, not just in geography but in tone. Nearly four years ago, within a few miles of here, our crossing ended early under harsher conditions. That memory sat quietly in the background all day.

A steady north wind blew straight across the icecap, cold and persistent, hammering our right side as we skied. I layered up more than usual: heavier long underwear, thicker gloves, extra socks. Even so, the wind worked its way in. The terrain was straightforward, gently rising, but the effort felt heavier than the numbers suggested.

I spent the first part of the day in the back, fighting boredom and low energy. Group travel magnifies small things, and today that included a bit of quiet worry about hygiene and food handling after a messy group toilet stop. Nothing dramatic, just the kind of concern that has more room to grow when you’re tired and moving slowly through a long, white day. I pushed it aside and kept skiing.

The group was subdued. Few words, steady movement, everyone clearly feeling the cumulative effect of days on the ice. After lunch, Elaine moved into the lead. She hadn’t slept well and was having an off day, but, true to form, she pushed on without complaint. Late in the afternoon, when it was clear the effort was costing her more than it needed to, I stepped forward and took over the front. It wasn’t about strength so much as timing. Sometimes the best help is simply removing one more decision from someone else’s plate.

We’re close now to Windy Camp, marked on the map, where our 2018 trip ended under far worse conditions. Knowing it’s only a few miles away makes today feel heavier than it otherwise would. We’ll both be glad to put distance between that place and us.

By evening, camp went up efficiently. The wind eased slightly, the light softened, and the icecap stretched away in every direction. We’re tired, but moving well. Some days are about momentum. Others are about restraint. Today was about holding the line.