We didn’t realize until afterwards, but the thin layer of ice on top of the water was razor sharp. After we came out of the water, slapping and rubbing our cold arms and legs back to life, we saw little droplets of blood at our ankles and knees. I bled the most because I was the first into the water and had broken the ice. We looked at each other and grinned: lesson learned. Next time, we will bring a hockey stick to smash any ice before we go in, and wear long sleeves and leggings.

Over the summer of 2025, I took time for myself to swim at high tide at Apex beach in Iqaluit. I enjoyed the quiet and brisk moments so much that I decided to continue into the fall. Then I decided that it would be wonderful to share the experience of the cold water with others and to see how long we could go into the colder weather. I put a call out to friends, and now, I’ve found myself amongst a group of women in Iqaluit who like to plunge into the cold ocean water.

I am Greenlandic on my mother’s side and English on my father’s side; in Greenland, like in Scandinavia and Great Britain, cold-plunging is a common activity. I have always enjoyed it. When I was a child, I made a point of swimming in the river by our cabin on the May long weekend, whether there was still ice along the shore or not. One summer as a teen, I did not use hot water nor shampoo for the entire school break. My skin and hair were luxurious.

A couple of summers ago, my cousin and I hiked over one of the mountains next to Nuuk and got completely consumed by blackflies. We spent the entire hike flapping at the infestations in the air around us, our brows furrowed so much that we started getting headachy. At the bottom of the mountain, we pulled off all our clothes and lowered our itchy bodies into the water and, within seconds, found complete relief. The cold, salty water sucked all the nasty from our bites........

© The Walrus