Recherche dans la collection - Paulosie stands on the food box in his old boat, aptly called the "chugger." His neck strains high, and his eyes dart back and forth across the white icy seascape that suddenly engulfs us. He mutters something in Inuktitut. Standing beside me at the gunwale of the heavy old Newfoundland fishing vessel, Andy shouts me a translation: "My father says he is afraid that we might get crushed by the ice." Paulosie was a profoundly calm man, and, seeing at this moment the uncharacteristic look of grave concern on his nearly always smiling face, I know that our situation is very precarious. We are 30 miles from the nearest point of land, in the northern reaches of Foxe Basin