A Weekend in the Life of Åge Hammeken Danielsen
In the crisp fall of 2001, a young Åge Hammeken Danielsen took part in a cherished family tradition: hunting with his father in the small town of Ittoqqortoormiit. Like clockwork, every weekend when school allowed, Åge, alongside his cousins and friends, set sail to hunt seals.
“I remember we were the only boat out hunting,” Åge reflects, as he stood at the bow, keenly watching the waters ahead while his father skillfully navigated the boat.
Then, like a scene from an adventure story, something shimmering caught Åge’s eye. He initially thought it was a cluster of seals surfacing for air, but as they drew closer, the revelation sent chills down his spine—the shimmering figures were three polar bears: a mother and her two cubs.
“For a moment, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I was in shock,” Åge recalls. When he turned to see his father beaming and cheering with excitement, the gravity of the moment began to sink in. “I realized how vital this catch was for our way of life—it was enormous, both financially and emotionally,” he shares.
That day, Åge’s life changed significantly, steeped in a sense of adventure that would etch itself into his memories. He was just 13 then, but he looks back on those days with a tender nostalgia. “It was a wonderful time to be part of this life. Everything seemed to be going well,” he reminisces.
Today, at 37 years old, Åge stands as one of the few full-time trappers in Ittoqqortoormiit. He has managed to catch 92 polar bears since that seminal experience, alongside his wife, Mona Danielsen. Their lives revolve around seasonal hunting—and amidst this challenging existence, Åge also serves as the chairman of the local trappers’ association.
The couple has four children: three sons and one daughter. For Åge, becoming a trapper was not just a career—it was a lifelong dream. “As a child, whenever adults asked what I aspired to be, I would say, without hesitation, that I wanted to be a trapper,” he admits.
In class, he would often gaze out the window, enviously watching the town’s trappers setting off with their dog sleds or boats. “I recalled feeling such envy. When narwhals came to town, I couldn’t bear the thought of being in school while I could have been out hunting,” he says wistfully.
Áge’s path to becoming a trapper seemed almost preordained, given his family lineage; his father, grandfather, and four uncles had all been trappers. After completing elementary school in 2005, he marched into the trappers’ association to acquire his catch certificate. “The chairman didn’t ask me any questions about my experience or if I had dogs; he simply handed me the proof,” he recalls. His moment of passage was punctuated by the chairman’s words: “Then you are a trapper. When you see a polar bear, catch it.” These words have echoed in his mind ever since.
A City at a Crossroads
Founded in 1925, Ittoqqortoormiit has relied heavily on the trapping industry, yet the town faces significant challenges today. It lacks essential services such as restaurants and bars, and its isolated status is stark; residents must rely on snowmobiles, ATVs, dog sleds, or boats to travel anywhere. The only link to the outside world is through a helicopter to the nearest airport, located about 40 kilometers northwest.
In September, however, optimism surged as the regional government signed a multi-million dollar agreement with Denmark to construct a new runway in Ittoqqortoormiit. “It looks promising for the future,” said local business owner Dines Hammeken, reflecting the hope that has enveloped the community.
As the people of Ittoqqortoormiit await news of improved access, Åge and his family continue the age-old traditions of their Inuit ancestors. The dog sled remains an essential tool, allowing locals to traverse the long snowy winters. This season, Åge and Mona have been sledding for nearly ten months, as ice settled in early October and lingered until July.
“I love hunting with my dogs, especially for the larger game,” Åge expresses, illustrating the thrill that surges through him. “Be it polar bears, musk oxen, or narwhals, achieving a catch brings immense joy.” Yet, when he goes too long without hitting the trails, restlessness creeps in. “I feel it in my body. I need to drive a dog sled, and once I do, a calm washes over me,” he explains.
Facing New Realities
However, the pressures on Åge’s trade are mounting. “It has become increasingly difficult to be a trapper compared to when I started,” he laments. More than a decade ago, 20 trappers worked in Ittoqqortoormiit; now, only nine remain. Over the past ten years, the population dwindled from approximately 400 to just 313.
Much of this downward trend can be attributed to strict quotas on hunting. “When I first became a trapper, there were no limits on polar bears or walruses. There were plenty of hunters,” Åge explains. Following the classification of polar bears as a vulnerable species, quotas were introduced in 2006 to ensure sustainable hunting practices.
While the intention behind these quotas is to protect animal populations, they have severely restricted the ability to make a living from trapping. In Ittoqqortoormiit, the polar bear quota has remained fixed at 35 bears a year, with this year’s allotment exhausted within just four months.
Facing increased pressure, Åge and the trappers’ association have persistently voiced concerns to local politicians, advocating for a review of the hunting quotas. This year, their pleas bore fruit; both the polar bear and narwhal quotas were reviewed, resulting in a slight increase that will allow for 48 polar bears next year.
“The hunting business is collapsing in Ittoqqortoormiit,” Åge recalls, recalling a headline from earlier this summer. With many local youth veering away from traditional trapping, Åge finds it challenging to foresee a future where trapping remains viable.
“I can’t imagine that young people today could become full-time trappers; most have to turn to paid work to survive,” he admits somberly.
The Future Uncertain
Åge’s two oldest sons now live in West Greenland for their education, abandoning the dream of becoming trappers like their father—something that brings him mixed feelings. “Part of me is relieved; it’s hard to make a living this way,” he admits. Yet, his youngest son still exhibits the same passions for trapping that Åge once felt, raising a bittersweet dilemma.
“I would prefer he didn’t pursue that path,” he reflects. “It feels strange to come from such a long line of trappers, yet watch my children seek out education. On one hand, I’m glad for their choices, but on the other, I worry about the future of our way of life.”
As he looks toward the horizon, Åge cannot shake the feeling that soon, few traces of the traditional life he cherished will remain. “You can sense it—before long, there may be no trappers left at all.”