Archive for the ‘North Pole 2009 Peary-Henson Centennial’ Category

Three days of training in the cold served most of its purpose. Testing
the gear, refining systems and helping to get us acclimated to
operating in adverse conditions. After contemplating joining another
team, Rick and I discuss that I will lead my own.

Keith will join me and I feel good about that. In the back of my mind,
I am contemplating soloing it; it is still a possibility. Makes it
tough to film and photograph… Much to think about as the plane takes
off from cold and grey Duluth, Minnesota: the dog sled capital of the
America… Back in LA, the countdown has begun. Keith and I will set of
on March 23rd.

February training in Minnesota. Nothing like the lake district inMinnesota in the middle of winter to test systems and get in the mindframe to face the harsh conditions of the Polar North. Months ofrigorous diet, physical and mental training are mandatory to make the pole. If you like camping in the snow, pulling a 200 lbs sled for 8hours a day and jumping in a hole in the ice, then this is a great wayto spend a holiday. If you don’t, not so much!

The Boundary Waters area in Minnesota are, surprisingly, easiest to
travel in the winter. The many lakes are frozen and the surrounding
forest is cut though by skidoo and dog sleds trails where marshes take
over in the summer. After a hearty breakfast by the campfire we set off
for a full day of skiing, pulling the mammoth sledge. By and large, I
am relieved that I feel fit for the challenge. But the hours roll by at
a snail’s pace. The conditions are mild but very humid. My body
temperature rises rapidly and while the outside temperatures hover
around freezing, and it snows for much of the day, I find that shedding
my jacket, hat, and gloves is plenty warm while pulling the heavy
sledge. Even with a short day, I sense the challenge of the Great North
where the hours drag on with no end in sight and the brutal cold
imposes total protection from frostbite. The skiing is, in fact
solitary and leaves plenty of time to reflect. A permeating thought
invades my mind as I contemplate what type of individuals subject
themselves to this painful exercise. Is it escapism? Is it fear? Is it
a “mal de vivre” or a disenchantment with the world. I ponder these
thoughts as my legs burn; my back aches; and while I breath heavily,
filling my lungs with the cold air, I visualize the endless white
desert of the Great North roll before me.

Five and a half hours and we have traveled 7.4 miles, which is a
reasonable speed considering the weight I am pulling. The moist climate
penetrates every stitch of clothing, and when we break to make camp at
the edge of a small lake, I am too spent to fully take in the beauty of
the surroundings. Heavy snowflakes cover the tent where the four of us
will sleep tonight. The cooking stove quickly warms up our tent, but
the intense humidity is taxing. My body aches, and as I lay to rest I
am contemplative of my limitations which silently scream from the
depths of my soul: What type of man are you to think you will succeed
at this?”

Up early to feed the kennel of sled dogs, we find unusually mild
temperatures. And rain. We won’t set off on the lake before early
afternoon, after a careful review of all of our equipment and
clothing–what is appropriately referred to as “ systems”. The idea is
to refine the systems to the extent that only what is needed is packed
to save both weight and space. Even after careful edits of my checklist
before leaving, it turns out that I still have brought too much. An
extra pairs of underwear can add unnecessary weight. Keith impresses on
me the value of a carefully tuned and minimal pack. The same top and
bottom base layer will be worn for more than one month! I carefully
pack my newly purchased pulka or sledge, which in this case—and to
justify the five thousand dollar price tag–is the Rolls Royce of
sleds!  Not much to it as it turns out, except for a fiberglass bucket,
but in this rarified business, options and competition are scarce. This
sledge will be my lifeline for the forty days or so on the ice.

The mild temps and the rain make for very heavy conditions and I have
some trepidation pulling my 200 pounds of weight. As we set out, the
sledge starts gliding in the slush and before long my body temperature
rises to a steady sweat. This will be the biggest challenge in the
great North. Sweat can be deadly. The game hinges on how to regulate
the systems to maximize performance while minimizing body heat. After
two hours of skiing around the lake, we set up camp, build a fire in
the snow, and tell stories of polar travel around dinner. By 10:30 p.m.
it is lights out. Tomorrow will be the first test of endurance with
eight full hours of skiing. Outside, light flakes are falling and the
temperature slowly drops below freezing.

This morning Keith picks me up on his way to the airport to get two
more confused souls also intent on self-abuse on the ice. They will be
joining us on the “shakedown” trip, as they are called. After a two
hour drive north, we stop in the small town of Ely to pick up a few
specialty items. This includes such items as over glove mittens that
can only have been designed by people who are sick of losing to very
cold temperatures.

Minnesota, it turns out, can produce conditions that approximate the
Arctic environment. The “Land of 10,000 Lakes” is ideally suited–within
the continental United States–to train for polar expeditions. Rick,
the owner of Polar Explorers later tells me that the “shakedown” is
designed to dissuade all but the most committed adventurers to embark
on this mission in self punishment. In a flat matter of fact tone, he
announces that the week had been designed to “shakedown” the less than
super fit. Of the five others participating in this week’s training,
three will engage to travel for the last degree to the Pole (or 60
miles). The weight of the sledge is proportional to the distance
traveled. I am the only one here to plan for the five to six weeks
needed to cover over 300 nautical miles or the last five degrees North.
In the years since Peary, less than 200 people have traveled that
distance. Within the next few years, no one will likely be able to
travel that distance–any longer–unless they are willing to travel partly by night…

It is difficult to pin point the beginning of this journey.
Was it the childhood  dream to follow in the steps of the supermen who
chartered the maps of our world with their bravery, instinct and
natural connection with the land? Was it the day the thought entered my
mind that to make the poles could in fact be within my reach? Was it a
year ago when I began articulating the thought, first mentally, then
vocally, that I would undertake the Everest of polar expeditions—one of
the toughest on Earth? Was it six months ago when I stepped up both my
training and diet to increase strength and mass so that I could endure
the brutal cold and harsh conditions of six to eight weeks on the ice?
Was it when, low and behold, amidst a failing economy, minimal funding
came through to green light a two-member expedition to the North Pole
to commemorate the centennial of Robert Peary’s reach in 1909?  Or is
it just now, as I sit in the middle row of a fully booked flight to
Minnesota to undergo a week of “shakedown” training to test the
equipment, the systems and my capabilities.

Conditions here can simulate the arctic environment, and spending a
week on a frozen lake, sleeping in snow and dropping into a hole in the
ice for survival tests can wake you to the realities ahead.

I do not know what Duluth, Minnesota looks like any other time of the
year. But in early February it probably does not figure on many top ten
destinations, short of dogsled and Outward Bound training programs. The
approach by plane spelled out the grey, grim and frigid environment.
What kind of individual volunteers to fly from sunny California to this
dull outpost near the Canadian border at this time of the year?

Part of me came here to find out.

On the taxi drive from the airport to the Econolodge, where I will be
spending the rest of the night, my driver susses me out by assessing
the slew of sponsor badges that adorn my expedition jacket and
concludes accurately that I am not from these parts. After I share with
him the purpose of my trip, he tells me that two months ago, he saw the
coldest temperatures ever recorded here: minus fifty degrees! Minus
fifty? To this he adds that an ice storm will come in the morning…