in other words, is open for business.
For most of human history, the world above
66 degrees latitude has remained largely out of
play for large-scale commerce. Explorers, specu-
lators, and scientists long believed rich resources
and shipping routes lay hidden beneath the
Arctic’s ice and snow, but the true nature of its
wealth was obscured by the same deadly cold,
debilitating darkness, and enormous distances
that blocked its exploitation.
Today the Arctic landscape is greener than
you are probably comfortable imagining, with
fewer caribou and reindeer, more mosquitoes,
warmer summers. The most visible and disturb-
ing change has come at sea, where summer sea
ice—the floating expanse that covers much of the
Arctic Ocean during the region’s brief thaw—has
been disappearing at an astonishing rate.
While this floating sheet always shrinks in
warm months and grows again with the return
of the cold, the scale of ice loss has been unprec-
edented, and some researchers believe it’s speed-
ing up. NASA scientists estimate that on averageAround the time of my visit, though, the Cana-
dian government had been reappraising the rang-
ers. Rumblings about an international scramble
to stake new claims in the warming Arctic and
on its vast trove of untapped resources had
prompted politicians in Ottawa to promise the
rangers better gear and funds to recruit more
volunteers. Meanwhile U.S. military officials
also were interested in the program, with an eye
toward creating something similar in Alaska.
Atqittuq welcomed the attention. He was
raised in the Arctic and was now raising his own
son there, so he understood the different ways
the far-off government could go from friendly to
fickle to forgetful. But this time it wasn’t hard to
guess what was on politicians’ minds: After years
spent ignoring the fact that the Arctic is warm-
ing faster than any other place on the planet,
Canada was finally coming around.
“We Inuit have been talking about this climate
change stuff for a long time,” Atqittuq told me
before we headed out onto the tundra. “Now the
government’s catching up, and they want us to
keep a lookout. Well, OK. We’re proud Canadi-
ans.” Then he grinned. “Just wish we were Cana-
dian enough to get good phone service, eh?”
N EARLY MAY, U.S. SECRE-
tary of State Mike Pompeo
traveled to Rovaniemi,
the capital of Finland’s
northernmost province,
to deliver a speech to the
Arctic Council, a group
made up of the eight
nations that border the Arctic, plus representa-
tives of the region’s indigenous peoples. For about
20 years the council has encouraged collegial
debate, cooperation, and a progressive perspec-
tive on climate change. Pompeo’s appearance, as
the emissary of an administration that is opposed
to that approach, made for an awkward moment.
“This is America’s moment to stand up as an
Arctic nation and for the Arctic’s future,” Pompeo
declared at an event the night before the official
meeting. “Because far from the barren backcoun-
try that many thought it to be ... the Arctic is at
the forefront of opportunity and abundance.”
The speech signaled the end of a truly bizarre
rebranding of the Arctic that has been under
way for more than a decade. What was once
considered a frozen wasteland is now routinely
described as an emerging frontier. The Arctic,
64 NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC