As Terry Noah navigates his snowmobile across the sea ice near Grise Fiord, Nunavut, he sends electric-blue meltwater splashing up around him. Grise Fiord, a small hamlet of just 144 residents, is situated closer to Murmansk in Russia than to Toronto, Canada. As he travels towards his destination, the towering cliffs of the bay rise like massive stone icebergs.
Carefully maneuvering over a seal’s breathing hole the size of a basketball, Noah employs a specialized winch to lower a submersible device into the frigid waters beneath the ice. The data collected will eventually be sent back to his mobile laboratory housed in a shipping container, where his colleague, research scientist Andrew Hamilton from the University of Alberta, will analyze the findings.
Amid the ongoing climate crisis, which is causing ice to thin, seasons to become erratic, and forcing long-standing Inuit traditions to adapt, Noah is engaged in a broader scientific initiative that extends well beyond Grise Fiord. He remarks, “This scientific work is the initial step towards preparation.”
The information Noah gathers will aid both him and Hamilton in monitoring the transformations occurring in Jones Sound, which flows into Baffin Bay to the east. This region, one of the Arctic’s vital ecosystems, is currently experiencing significant political and environmental challenges. Together with Hamilton and a network of scientists, Noah aims to gain insights into the evolving conditions of these waters before they become unrecognizable.
Spanning 85,000 square kilometers (33,000 square miles)—an area larger than Austria—this region is known by multiple names. Nineteenth-century whalers referred to it as the North Water, the Kalaallit people in Greenland call it Pikialasorsuaq, meaning “the great upwelling,” and the Inuit of Nunavut know it as Sarvarjuaq, or “the place that never freezes.”
This area features a year-round open water section called a polynya, which supports a diverse range of life, from summer-blooming algae that sustain a complex food web to whales that require access to air during the winter months. The presence of whales attracts polar bears, seals, and walruses, while millions of seabirds have flocked to the region over centuries.
Due to this rich biodiversity, there is a proposal for the polynya to be designated as an internationally protected area jointly managed by Greenland and Canada. A report from the Pikialasorsuaq commission in 2017 recommended that both nations create an Inuit-managed protected zone. In March of this year, Canada established the Sarvarjuaq marine protected area on its side of the region, which stretches 1,000 kilometers from just south of the Arctic Ocean to northern Baffin Island.
However, Greenland has not yet fulfilled its commitments to protect the area. Sara Olsvig, a member of the Greenlandic parliament and chair of the Inuit Circumpolar Council, cautions against rushing the process, emphasizing the importance of safeguarding the cultural rights of the Inuit people. “While some commendable conservation initiatives exist, they have sometimes led to the infringement of Indigenous rights,” she states.
As negotiations progress slowly, environmental changes continue at an accelerated pace, prompting increased urgency to study the polynya. The size and shape of the polynya fluctuate with the seasons, influenced in part by an “ice arch” that forms across its northern boundary in Nares Strait. This arch, a robust crescent-shaped ice structure, blocks the flow of sea ice from the Arctic Ocean, keeping the polynya exposed to sunlight and air, which fosters algae growth and attracts seabirds and whales.
For nearly two decades, the ice arch has failed to form consistently. In years when it does not materialize, the polynya struggles to remain open throughout the spring, as sea ice drifts in to cover the water’s surface. Ironically, this warming trend could lead to increased ice cover, exacerbating the situation. “If the ice bridge vanishes completely, it could result in a significant decline in productivity and potentially a collapse of the polynya,” warns David Harning, a climate scientist at the University of Colorado, Boulder.
Understanding the changes occurring beneath the ice has become increasingly vital as global temperatures rise, with the Inuit experiencing these shifts directly. In the fall of 2025, researchers convened in Nuuk to initiate discussions about developing what Hamilton describes as an “observatory” to monitor the polynya comprehensively.
This initiative would necessitate the participation of more individuals like Noah from both sides of Baffin Bay. However, many Inuit do not possess passports, complicating efforts to bring communities together. “It is essential to connect the knowledge of these communities in Canada and Greenland to fully grasp how the environment is changing, as they are present there year-round,” Hamilton emphasizes.
While the scientific aspects of the research are crucial for measuring ocean temperature changes at depths of 300 meters, Hamilton insists that the observations from local communities are equally important for a holistic understanding of the situation. After deploying his submersible to collect data, Noah prepares for the return journey. Although today’s expedition was near Grise Fiord, he often travels farther afield, occasionally accompanied by his 13-year-old daughter, Madison, but more frequently alone, moving from one research station to another like a hunter checking traps.
Noah’s network is expanding; equipped with smart glasses that transmit images to social media via satellite internet, he embodies a globally connected Inuk, part of a new generation that shares hunting stories online.
