Backstory: Greenland or bust

Tourists visiting the Masonic Temple on its hilltop overlooking this Washington suburb have sometimes been treated to more than the beautiful view. They've seen a lithe woman running up and down the steep steps holding a kayak over her graying head. This is Alison Sigethy's idea of simulating a portage along the rocky coast of Greenland – just as working out in a commercial walk-in freezer, she hopes, will acclimate her to Arctic water temperatures.

Ostensibly, Ms. Sigethy is training to compete alongside some 200 other kayakers in the Greenland National Kayak Championships next month in Sisimiut, 60 miles north of the Arctic Circle.

In reality, she's fulfilling a commitment made five years ago when she faced an all too common midlife crisis: the realization that professional success does not guarantee happiness. She reacted by listing the things she loved to do: art, theater, and kayaking. Not listed was her well-paid graphic design job. But could she trade it in to pursue a pipe dream?

"We're pretty clever," says Sigethy, "and there are all sorts of ways we convince ourselves that we could or would do what we wanted if it weren't for something in the way. The fact is we're not doing it because we're scared to." Yes, there were bills and a mortgage, but mainly, she says, "It's safe and easy to think 'I can be a great artist,' but once you commit, you lose that cushion. You can fail."

Fear, she resolved, could not win. She quit corporate life and, with her husband's blessing, stitched together a crazy quilt of jobs – kayak teacher and guide, theater light techie, artist, and wilderness medicine expert – and still had time for pleasure kayaking.

Then, at a paddlers' retreat last October, Sigethy tried a style of kayaking developed over the course of 700 years by Greenland's indigenous Inuit. Their boats are narrower, sit low in the water, and are propelled by slim, sharp-edged paddles. "By the end of the weekend we're talking [the] Greenland [championship], and," Sigethy recalls, her inflection rising as though she still can't quite believe it, "I'm telling people I'm going. And I meant it."

Almost immediately, Sigethy determined to compete in all events – races, harpooning, rolling, and ropes. In the still predominantly male competition, this is a rarity, particularly in the 35-years-and-older category, according to Qajaq USA, active supporters of the Greenland Kayak Association.

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On a recent morning, the Potomac shimmers with sunlight as Sigethy pulls into the Belle Haven Marina. Over her wet suit, she dons a shapeless, hooded spray skirt that seals her into the cockpit of the kayak. "It's called a tuiliq," she explains, pronouncing the Greenlandic word "too-lick," "and in Greenland it's traditionally made of sealskin." Hers is neoprene, about as warm but more flexible – and a tad less smelly.

Tuiliqs haven't always been in vogue in Greenland. When warmer waters forced seals north in the 1920s, Greenlanders traded in seal-hunting for fishing, and kayaks for boats. Only when the Netherlands loaned the National Museum of Greenland three 400-year-old kayaks in 1983 did many young Greenlanders discover this part of their heritage and begin to form kayak clubs. Soon, the Greenland Kayak Association started staging competitions.

These evolved into National Championships where, by all accounts, the atmosphere is more celebratory than competitive, and the 4- to 6-year-olds get as many cheers as the top-notch athletes. Foreigners have been participating in small but growing numbers since 2000.

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