At first glance, Greenland, the largest island on the planet, seems like a paradise for travelers seeking solitude and natural beauty. According to the World Bank, Greenland has the lowest population density of any nation in the world. One might dream of kayaking through the winding fjords of Scoresby Sund or hiking in valleys adorned with neon purple dwarf fireweed. As an animal lover, I carefully planned my itinerary to include East Greenland, home to Northeast Greenland National Park, the largest park in the world, to maximize my chances of seeing polar bears, Arctic foxes, and ringed seals.
Admittedly, I fell for the marketing hype and glossy photos of pristine blue glaciers. The cruise line promised “teeming wildlife, including great colonies of Atlantic puffin and other seabirds.” Reindeer, beluga whales, narwhals, and polar bears were also on the itinerary. In reality, we saw none of these creatures. (My Instagram followers might recall my excitement over spotting a single seagull).
In the end, we were fortunate to see a few humpback and fin whales through binoculars from a distance, as we scanned the horizon, hoping for something—anything—to emerge from the oppressive fog. Greenland may be one of the most stunning places you’ll ever visit, but it’s also one of the emptiest.
There’s a reason behind Greenland’s lack of wildlife. Overhunting has plagued the island for centuries, so much so that historians believe the overexploitation of walrus tusks led to the abandonment of Greenland’s Norse colonies in the 15th century. Humans haven’t learned much in the last 600 years. Despite international efforts from organizations like NAMMCO (North Atlantic Marine Mammal Commission) and the United Nations Environmental Programme, Greenland’s narwhals and belugas are expected to disappear within the decade due to lenient hunting quotas, cruise ship strikes, and marine noise pollution. (The irony is not lost on me).
What was sold to me as an Arctic safari through untouched tundra filled with frolicking muskoxen turned out to be a dystopian horror show. Instead of eco-friendly polar bear sightings guided by the ancient wisdom of Greenlandic Inuit guides, we were offered the chance to buy claws and watch hunters skin a freshly killed bear in Aappilattoq. While it’s important to respect cultural traditions—many Greenlandic Inuits have been hunting polar bear, narwhal, and beluga for thousands of years for sustenance in harsh Arctic conditions—I believe in the power of ecotourism to reshape harmful practices. Countries like Rwanda show how conservation success stories, like that of mountain gorillas, can fuel community projects and economic growth.
Responsible action is needed now more than ever. Greenland’s ice sheet, covering 80 percent of the country’s surface and the second largest body of ice in the world, makes the island particularly vulnerable to climate change. Greenland’s ice loss over the past 30 years equals roughly 36 times the size of New York City. In addition to rising sea levels, scientists have observed a cascading effect on the environment, including a troubling decline in plant and animal life.
During my voyage, the signs of global warming were everywhere. Perched in a zodiac, we watched a waterfall pour off the once-frozen ice sheet from the height of a three-story building. Warming temperatures brought out bigger and hungrier mosquitoes, which, deprived of animal blood, attacked us in furious droves. Another day, we couldn’t reach Ittoqqortoormiit, one of the most isolated settlements on Earth, because the fjord was blocked by chunks of melting ice. There’s something about hearing the sonic boom of glaciers calving while eating caviar on a cruise that makes you question your life choices.
