That night, we had dinner with two other teams that were also undertaking expeditions to the North Pole. There were incredible people on our table, and they were all experienced adventurers with so many stories.
Colin O’Brady was at the dinner and was aiming to do the Seven Summits and the two Poles in five months – otherwise known as the Explorers’ Grand Slam. He completed this feat when he reached the peak of Denali in Alaska on 27 May 2016, nearly two months after we met. He set a speed record of 139 days, which was 58 days faster than the previous record holder. This was made even more amazing by the fact that Colin had suffered second- and third-degree burns to 25 per cent of his body during an accident in Thailand at the beginning of 2008. He’d had multiple operations and, at one point, doctors thought he may never be able to walk properly again.
Then I met Dixie Dansercoer, one of the world’s most renowned polar explorers, who had completed land to land crossings at both Poles. He has achieved some extraordinary feats: he was the first to trek from Siberia to Greenland in 2007 and completed the first full circumnavigation of the Greenland ice cap in 2014. Dixie never explores just for the sake of adventure, though. All his expeditions also incorporate a scientific element, which I think is really cool.
Audun Tholfsen was there as well. He had skied and kayaked from the North Pole to his home town of Longyearbyen in 2012. The journey took more than two months, and he received the Shackleton Award, which honours outstanding expedition achievements, for his efforts.
It certainly felt weird being the only female, not to mention the only 14-year-old, among these inspiring people. They had so many stories to tell, while my story was just beginning.
During our third day in Svalbard we got out on the ice to test our systems, pulling our sleds behind us for four hours to replicate the conditions we’d encounter over the next couple of weeks. I could see that Dad, still fresh from surgery, found this tough going, but he assured me he was fine. Eric also showed us how to set up the camp and light the gas stoves. The tents were a lot bigger than I’d imagined, which was a bit of a relief since Dad and I were going to be sharing one. We’d be spending every moment of the next two weeks together, and although we were really close, being in such a confined space with anyone for so long was going to be a challenge. I knew we’d be pushed to physical extremes and I’d trained myself as hard as I could for that, but how I would cope with the emotional and psychological part of this journey, I was unsure.
I was made even more unsure when the bad news continued to roll on in. Victor Serov, the key liaison person for operations at the Barneo camp, arrived in Svalbard. Barneo is the Russian camp built each year on the sea ice, from where North Pole expeditions depart. He was there to tell the various teams that were preparing for the trip that the runway built on the floating sea ice had cracked in a couple of places. One of the fissures was 30 centimetres wide and the other 20 centimetres. He and his team were searching for a new ice floe on which to construct another runway, but he estimated that would take about a week. In fact, all the expeditions that had been booked were being reconsidered. Someone suggested that instead of the last two degrees of latitude, we just do a single degree, which is the last 112 kilometres to the Pole, in order to make sure we get there in time before the season is over. As much as I wanted to make it to the Pole in time, the double degree, 224 kilometres, was always the first plan and I wasn’t interested in taking the easy way out.
Eric was adamant this setback wouldn’t affect us at all – that the Russians would work out some way to get the season back on track. During all this craziness, I also found out that the plane that took people to Barneo last year had crashed after the landing gear failed. Luckily, no one died.
The delay of a few days meant we were going to miss some really cold weather, with temperatures dropping to below –40ºC around the Pole. As we waited, I caught up on some schoolwork. I was missing a few weeks of school to do this trip and I knew there would be a bit to catch up on when I got home. It also took my mind off the broken runway for a while. Dad was very relaxed about the delay. He saw it as a chance to slowly rebuild his strength post-surgery.
Later, we were alerted that another crack had opened up on the runway. You get yourself so hyped up and ready to go and then – boom! – something goes wrong and there’s another change of plans. By now, it was starting to become draining and, for me, quite upsetting. But I had to remind myself that everything happens for a reason, and avoid getting upset about things that were out of my control.
While it seemed that nothing was going according to plan, it was still overwhelming to be in such a unique environment. To fill in the time, Dad and I went on a few mini adventures. We went dog sledding and ice caving, took a cruise to an old Russian town, and practised pulling our sleds and getting used to our skis, considering we were both still very uncoordinated. So, while the delays were a disappointment, Longyearbyen had provided me with some of the greatest experiences of my life so far and I would definitely be back.
A week later, the Russians still hadn’t managed to create a new runway. Eric and the other polar guides were told there might not be any expeditions at all to the North Pole that year. This was unprecedented and really opened my eyes to the changing climate, which I would have otherwise been oblivious to. If the season had been cancelled completely, I would have been devastated. When Eric briefed us that this was a real possibility, it was an emotional low point, especially for a 14-year-old who didn’t know better.
The North Pole Marathon, which is run in multiple laps around a short course at Barneo (not at the North Pole), was supposed to start at about the same time as our expedition, so the whole town was full of competitors, all of them waiting for their flight onto the sea ice and trying to shuffle around hotels as their check-out dates came and went with no departure for Barneo. We were all wandering around in a state of limbo.
Just when I’d almost convinced myself we’d be heading back to Melbourne without even beginning, the Russians managed to finish building their fourth runway this season. Overnight, no less! We were told we’d be on the first flight to Barneo, departing at midnight, with the other longer-distance North Pole expedition teams.
Finally, we were packing our sleds for real and on our way to the airport.
SOME COOL
FACTS ABOUT . . .
The North Pole
• The Geographic North Pole, the goal of our expedition, is the northernmost point on the planet and is the top of the axis on which Earth is spinning. It’s a fixed point and is diametrically opposite to the Geographic South Pole.
• The location of the Magnetic North Pole changes daily based on the planet’s magnetic field. When you use a compass, it points to the Magnetic North Pole, not the Geographic North Pole.
• The North Pole is located in the middle of the Arctic Ocean on a massive ice floe, a floating piece of Arctic sea ice, that can shrink to half its size in the summer.
• The nearest land is about 800 kilometres away.
• An expedition from land to the North Pole is considered almost impossible these days, given the extent of sea-ice melt from global warming.
• On 4 May 1990, Børge Ousland and Erling Kagge reached the North Pole on skis without resupply, after a journey lasting 58 days, making them the first people to reach the North Pole from land unsupported.
• The Soviet Union built the first North Pole ice station, about 20 kilometres from the actual North Pole, in 1937. Four men conducted scientific research for the following 274 days before they were collected by an ice breaker ship. By then, the station had drifted 2850 kilometres towards Greenland.
• Planes first reached the North Pole in 1948. Since then, expeditions by ship, skidoo, dog sled, submarine and car have all reached the Pole.
• In 1987, Australian Dick Smith became the first person to fly a helicopter there.
• About 30 per cent of the world’s untapped oil reserves are located beneath the ice of the Arc
tic Circle, and a number of countries lay claim to them.
• Each year, about 250 people from around the world run the 42 kilometres of the North Pole Marathon around Barneo Ice Camp.
• The Arctic is warming faster than any other part of the world. Some scientists predict the sea ice will completely disappear during Arctic summer within a generation, and it will then be possible to sail all the way to the North Pole.
4
GOING NORTH
Finally boarding the Antonov An-74 aircraft for the two-hour flight to the floating ice runway at Barneo was a huge relief. At last, we were on our way to the starting point. I was in awe as I looked out the window. In all directions, as far as I could see was white. Peering closely, though, I could see little lines of blue, known as open water leads, and as we got lower, darker lines, which were the shadows from compression ridges buckling the surface.
Barneo is a temporary camp set up each year by the Russian Geographical Society for the summer season. Scientists, pilots, engineers and explorers all use it as their base.
The Russians look for a good area of sea ice, then a team of people jump out of the back of a plane with parachutes. A couple of tractors and all the tents and gear they will need are dropped onto the ice with them. Their job is then to establish the base and construct the runway. At the end of the season, everything they can’t fly out again sinks to the bottom of the ocean as temperatures warm and the sea ice melts.
When we arrived, we headed by helicopter straight to our starting point, which we had decided would be at 88ºN 40’. The Russians had told us and all other teams that because of the delays and how thin the sea ice was this year, they had a fixed end date for all expeditions. If we weren’t at the Pole by that date, they would be picking us up by helicopter regardless of where we were and taking us back to Barneo. It meant we effectively had only around 12 days to get to the Pole. We did our maths and, after much discussion, decided to make our starting point around 150 kilometres from the Pole, which meant we had to cover greater distances each day than we had originally planned. Importantly, though, we would have air support for evacuation if something went wrong.
At Barneo, I couldn’t find anything resembling a female toilet, and there were big Russian military guys carrying guns everywhere, so I figured it was time to try using a pee funnel for the first time, so that I could pee standing up and not worry too much about privacy. I walked over to the area where all the men were standing up to pee in a couple of barrels in the snow, in full sight of everyone, and tried to act confident, like I’d done it a hundred times before. In fact, Dad had been hassling me to practise using the funnel for weeks before we left, and I’d only pretended to listen.
My first attempt failed miserably. My thermal pants under my shell were soaked in my own pee and I tried to downplay it as people walked past me. But I was in tears behind my sunglasses, and I privately decided I wouldn’t be using the funnel for the rest of the trip – I was a girl and I was going to pee like one.
Our transport from Barneo to our drop-off was in an Mi-8 helicopter, a huge beast commonly used by the military. It was about 3 am when we took off, but it was approaching summer at the North Pole so the sun was still shining, as it’s 24-hour daylight at that time of year.
We shared the Mi-8 with two other teams heading to drop-off points near our own. These would be the longest journeys attempted that season because most other teams had decided to attempt the last degree to the Pole only. I was the only woman on the helicopter and I was surrounded by big men who all had vast expedition experience. One of the teams even had three serious-faced British ex-special forces soldiers. I can only imagine how I must have looked to them: a little 14-year-old girl in her brand-new pink polar shell (sitting in wet pee pants). It was super intimidating.
The Arctic landscape is beyond words and no image online or created in my mind could have prepared me for the real thing. It was also impossible to prepare for the cold. When we landed it was –29ºC and, coming from training on Victorian beaches, it was a completely new kind of cold to me. It seemed insane to think that we had been dropped right in the middle of the frozen Arctic Ocean. There was nothing but white as far as the eye could see and the sun was low in the sky.
By the time we’d stepped out onto the ice, I’d already thought a lot about the challenges we’d face over the coming days. We needed to cover an average of 12.4 kilometres each day to make it to the Pole on time. It doesn’t sound like much, but in cold conditions and on rugged terrain, progress is slow. You are almost never skiing in a straight line. The surface is like a maze of cracks and compression zones that have to be negotiated. We all knew this had to be a tightly run expedition.
But the biggest challenge, I thought, would be for sure the mental one. I knew there’d be times when I’d really want to give up, but I remembered what Mum had said, that if I quit I would regret it forever. I wasn’t planning on it.
By the time we were dropped off, it had been more than 24 hours since we’d slept. Everyone was tired. Nevertheless, we decided to get moving rather than make camp and rest at the drop-off point. We got off to a good start and it didn’t feel as hard as I’d thought it might be. As the day progressed, though, the wind picked up and the going got harder.
We hadn’t been skiing long before the rough landscape became more obvious. On the horizon, the ice was cracked and folded. We needed to pick a path that headed north, but it was like an obstacle course. It’s difficult enough pulling a 60-kilogram sled across flat ice, when you only weigh about the same, but once we started to encounter ridges of crumbled ice it really became tough. I had to get my ski poles behind me, bury them solidly in the ice and use them to push myself up and over the ridges, hauling the weight of the sled behind me. Pressure ridges are caused by two masses of sea ice colliding with great force, creating rugged ice shards above (and below) the water level. In some cases, they rise about eight metres above the surface. It’s not as if they are smooth either – they’re bumpy and cracked, sometimes making it hard to find a spot where you can place your skis flat and grip the ice. Sometimes, we had to take off our skis and strap them to the sled while we hauled individual sleds up and over as a team.
It wasn’t just exhausting and time-consuming; it was dangerous. The sled hovered at the top of the ridge before tumbling over the edge and down the other side. If you were already on the other side, you had to move quickly as it hurtled down towards you.
It didn’t take too long to get used to the conditions, but Dad was struggling with the constant pain from his stent. Not that he told me, of course – the last thing he wanted me to do was worry about him.
To drag our sleds, we attached them to harnesses on our backs that mainly pull from the hips. With every step, the harness was pulling on Dad’s stomach and sending a stabbing pain through his groin. Not only that, but his pee was bright red. If that was happening at home, anyone would freak and go straight to the doctor. But I couldn’t even guess how far away the nearest doctor was now. If the rough terrain was hard on me, it was even more so on Dad (after arriving home, he confessed it had been like torture).
Surrounding us, though, was a white wonderland. Blocks of blue ice with sheer sides erupted from the landscape, and the ice sometimes formed unusual shapes, like beautiful ice sculptures. While the bigger-picture view was astonishing, we also got down closer to the sea ice to look at some of the crystals. They were like delicate feathers that disintegrated when you touched them.
One of the most bizarre things I discovered in the early part of our journey was the path of the sun. Because we were at the top of Earth, the sun continued to move around us at the same distance above the horizon, never rising, never setting. At home, you can tell roughly where east and west are by tracking the movement of the sun. But it is so different in the Arctic and almost impossible to imagine what it would be like in the Northern Hemisphere winter, when the sun is at the opposite end of the planet and the North Pole is plunged into 24
-hour darkness.
Our first day was a success, in my eyes. We only managed to cover 10 kilometres but I’d enjoyed every second of this new lifestyle. By the time we were ready to set up camp, though, I was completely exhausted. I fell asleep on my sleeping mat in its chair position inside the tent, fully clothed in my polar shell, while Dad made our first dehydrated dinner.
One of my favourite things about life on the ice is the silence. I will never be able to properly explain this, but when there is an absence of wind, the only sound is the noise that you make. The ever-changing ocean currents cause the ice to shift, so occasionally the stillness is broken by what is almost a symphony of groaning and wailing made by the movement of the ice. It was a constant reminder that we were skiing on frozen water and, if we ever misjudged our path, we could possibly plunge through the ice into the freezing ocean below. On average the ice is no more than two metres thick. In some places, it was incredibly thin and we were careful to avoid the darker-looking ice that indicated water was not far beneath us.
We came to a few spots where an open water lead exposed the ocean. Falling into that water would have certainly been the end of the trip, but it was also extremely cool to get this perspective. It looked a bit like a river, with thick crusts of ice forming the banks. There are a few options when you come across a lead. One is to change course and follow it to see if it closes up again, but that might have taken us kilometres off course and we were already on a tight schedule. Another was to make a small floating bridge from the sleds and carefully move across to the other side. The final option is a bit more extreme – and to keep us on course, at one point Eric decided that this was what we would do. First, he would swim across, then pull Dad, Petter and myself across by rope on a raft made from our sleds. He put on a dry suit (otherwise known as an immersion suit), which is both buoyant and waterproof, and slid carefully into the water. He had to be sure to keep his face out of the icy water, as the suit’s opening for his face was the only place water could get in. He managed the manoeuvre successfully and stroked across the 10 or so metres of ocean, pulling his sled behind him. There was a little ledge of ice on the other side of the lead and Eric pulled himself and the sled out of the water. Dad and I roped our sleds together and I carefully climbed aboard, one knee and one hand on either sled, then Eric slowly pulled me across the open ocean. Dad yelled jokingly across to us just before he climbed onto the sleds: ‘If I get this wrong, Jade, your North Pole dream could be over.’ He was just stirring though and, thankfully, the crossing went without any mishaps.
My Polar Dream Page 3
