GPS training, military-style target practice,
search-and-rescue scenarios, and plenty of hunt-
ing and ice fishing.
I stood at the edge of the circle, rubbing ice
from my eyelashes. It was too cold to take notes,
so I watched faces and read the frostbite scars,
little badges of honor that told of lives spent
outdoors on one of the planet’s most unyielding
landscapes. The group soon broke up and began
smoking last cigarettes before the long ride into
darkness. Atqittuq walked over to ask whether I
was warm enough. He was tall, broad shouldered,
laughed easily. He’d been a ranger for many years
before the others had voted him their new com-
mander. In a friendly way, he warned me not to
fall asleep on the journey ahead.
It happened, he said. Sometimes people tum-
bled off their snowmobiles and went missing.
He reminded me that there was currently no cell
service on the island or anywhere else in the ter-
ritory of Nunavut—three times the size of Texas.
“If anything happens and you get separated, just
sit tight till someone comes back for you,” he said.
“And try not to meet any polar bears.”
The rangers are called “Canada’s eyes and
ears in the north,” and their units have been
patrolling the country’s outermost regions
since the 1940s. Most rangers in the far north
are indigenous volunteers, and over the years
they’ve acted as scouts, participated in war
games, and helped regular troops learn to build
igloos, navigate the tundra, and generally stay
alive in the cold. Their role, like the far north
itself, isn’t well-known, and the rangers have
always managed to keep going on shoestring
budgets and hand-me-down equipment, includ-
ing government-issued bolt-action rifles made
in the 1940s and stamped with the British crown.THE NEW COLD WAR 57