Greenland Science Week: Making Science Matter

As the small propeller plane begins its final descent, I look out the window: the city’s small network of lights illuminates the early morning, sharp snow-covered mountains stretching back as far as the eye can see. Parts of the bay are completely frozen over, but I still see boats gliding along the calm waters. The lady sitting next to me points out a pair of lonely headlights trundling inland away from the city – an ATV driving along the newly-made track. 

It is 7th November 2025, and I am landing in Sisimiut, Greenland’s second-largest city. I have already been in Greenland for two months working as an intern at Arctic Hub, the Greenlandic research secretariat based in Nuuk. Now, everything we have been working towards is about to begin: it is time for Greenland Science Week. 

Greenland Science Week (GSW) is a science festival held every other year across the country. Its aims are to show the local population the diverse range of research carried out in Greenland and to help foster collaborations between researchers and organisations from across the world. At Arctic Hub, we are in charge of organising GSW for the very first time, and I am here in Sisimiut with my colleague Kulunnguaq to attend the local events over the next few days. 

And there is no time to waste. After a beautiful taxi ride under an orange-pink sunrise, we arrive at the joint campus of Arctic DTU (Technical University of Denmark) and KTI (Tech College Greenland) for a guided tour of their facilities. The highlight is exploring the Greenland School of Minerals and Petroleum – not only do we learn about how some of their students go on to build Sisimiut’s own infrastructure, but one of the workshops has been spookily decorated in preparation for a haunted house later this evening. Seeing a skeleton hanging off a skidoo is a welcome surprise. 

In the evening we head to Taseralik, Sisimiut’s Cultural Centre. In the summer, small ducks slowly traverse the lake next to Taseralik, gently rippling the reflection of its black and yellow panelling; Kulunnguaq and I take turns sliding across the frozen water under a cold and cloudless night sky, the full moon lighting up the snow on the peak of the mountain Nasaasaaq just behind the lake. 

Jumping on the frozen lake by Taseralik.

Once inside, we attend a panel discussion on how research can work together with local businesses to strengthen innovation. Many Greenlandic entrepreneurs are in attendance, and it is clear that there is a strong will for more collaboration so that the positive influence of research can be more tangibly felt in Greenlandic society. 

One such entrepreneur is Ulloriaq. He runs a sled dog food business and is currently working with researchers to explore how more sustainable dog food can be produced all year round. After a brief conversation, he kindly invites me and Kulunnguaq to meet his own sled dogs; early the next morning we cram ourselves into his truck and make our way out of the city to sled dog town. As soon as we arrive, the dogs know feeding time is here; they begin to bark and dance around, though those older than six months are tethered to a chain at least three metres long by law. After all, they are not pets – they are working dogs used by hunters in the winter. I timidly approach an adult dog sat patiently on top of a rock. He looks more wolf than dog, presiding over his clan with his back turned to the icy mountains, his weathered white fur keeping him warm in the Arctic air. He eagerly devours his breakfast of leftover seal and fish before resuming surveillance of his territory. After fighting our way through a river of excited puppies, we clamber into the truck and head back to the city.

Ulloriaq feeding his sled dogs.

We return to Taseralik welcomed by TIU, a Greenlandic singer-songwriter duo. The husband-and-wife team are perched on two chairs in the corner of the foyer; huge windows behind them overlook the frozen lake, colourful houses in the distance and Nasaasaaq further still, almost tall enough to penetrate the cloudy, grey sky. As soon as I hear the soft guitar melody of their first song, Aputsiaq (snowflake), I know this is going to be another band to add to my ever-growing Greenlandic playlist. I gaze out of the window and think about where I am: above the Arctic Circle, thousands of miles from the UK, here to try and raise awareness of science to a people I don’t know, in a country I’m not from, in a language not my own. And yet, hearing a beautiful song about the feeling of snowflakes falling on one’s skin, I feel incredibly lucky to be where I am right now. I feel, strangely, at home. 

Kulunnguaq and I spend the afternoon at a stand explaining Arctic Hub’s work in building bridges between research and society – our slogan, after all, is Making Science Matter. There are other booths and workshops on the northern lights, permafrost and wireless communication on the Arctic Circle Road. Scientific presentations fill the rest of the program, with topics ranging from critical minerals in the Arctic to marine archaeology.