A Peary interacts with wind currents very much as an airplane or hang-glider does, encouraging lift and float.
So they’re in the air. But now comes a curious thing: If a bird species can fly, all members can fly. Same for bats—there are no earthbound bats. But among Peary, only certain ones can take off and fly for any length of time. Why?”
He waits for the guess, which doesn’t come. He offers it: “Because at a hundred-fifty, two hundred pounds, they’re a pretty large bird, a pretty big bat. And, apparently, only one pattern of antler allows for extended flight. This one complex configuration creates a vortex of wind at high speeds. The perfect rack acts as a big main sail, lifting the beast heavenward. With nine sails out and a takeoff speed of about eight hundred miles an hour at the end of the runway, Santa’s team would have liftoff power equivalent to several jet planes—and it would be about a hundredth the size of a Boeing 747.
“You see what I mean?”
There is incidental testimony concerning how many Peary are good fliers. Adventurers who have traveled across Ellesmere Island have said that a huge herd of migrating reindeer will have perhaps one or two deer floating above it, with others occasionally springing into the air for brief flights. (Gilbert is in possession of an old, presumably top-secret U.S. government photograph that seems to confirm this rarely witnessed phenomenon.) Wendy Williams, who runs a reindeer ranch outside Anchorage, Alaska, claims to know the ratio of fliers to non-fliers with some precision and relates an amazing tale. “Santa told us one in a thousand Peary can really fly,” Williams says, stating that she was visited by Claus in 1989 when he was on a scouting trip. “He was looking for athletic deer to add to his stable. He selected one of our young Peary named Turbo. He said the kid had potential and might be a flier one day.”
Williams says that it was painful to part with Turbo, one of her cutest deer. “But it was for Santa, and for such a good cause. When Santa asks, what can you say? Of course you say yes. By all means—Yes! I mean, we were so shocked at even seeing him here, all we could say was, ‘Yessir, yessir.’ I suppose in the lower forty-eight the shock would’ve been even greater. Up here we hear of him coming ’round, and we know about elves. But still, I was pretty surprised.
“You know,” she adds, “I should mention, Santa looks great in the summer. That’s when he does these recruiting missions, in the summer, because in the spring he’s exhausted and in the fall and winter he’s simply too busy. He told us that summer is his only downtime all year.
The tine on a Peary acts as a shovel, as a sail and, just as importantly, as a pair of ski goggles.
“But as I was saying, he looked great—trimmer than you’d expect and very fit. He even had a bit of a tan, though his cheeks were certainly still rosy. I felt the same way you feel whenever you see a famous person, that he’s not nearly as big as you think he’s going to be. In fact, I’d say Santa’s tiny. A little guy, but an awfully nice man.
“There’s one thing I regret not asking. To this day, I can’t figure out how he got here. Then, before I knew it, he was gone. I’d love to know if he flew in, or if maybe one of his reindeer brought him over, and landed in the highlands. He’s a mysterious little fellow, that’s for sure. But nice. Very nice. And he does such a good job. Amazing, when you think about it.”
WILLIAMS, speaking from experience, says the food you give a reindeer is crucial to its performance. Zookeeper Vecchio of Providence concurs, and says timing would be just as important for Santa Claus: He must put out certain foods at certain times of the year. “Most reindeer breeders wouldn’t have to worry about things like that, they could just keep their animals on a normal diet all year,” says Vecchio. “Because it really doesn’t matter if the animals perform better on December 24th or on the Fourth of July, right? But Santa’s got a different problem. His reindeer have to peak like an Olympic swimmer, and therefore they must bulk up and taper down—just like an Olympic swimmer.”
Without being clued, Vecchio correctly surmises that the traveling squad does no heavy work until summer. “An effort like they have to put forth,” he says as he inspects the cheetah cage at Roger Williams Park Zoo, “I’d bet they just about hibernate all spring. Maybe they limber up every now and then, but no muscle building. If they move a muscle at all, it’s probably in their jaws—they’re yawning, snoring, eating or telling tales about the big night. ‘You shoulda seen the quicksand Dasher almost landed us in!’ That kinda thing.
“They’re gettin’ fat, is what I mean.”
HE MOVES on to the tiger cage, and continues with the scenario. “I would assume that on a two-hundred-pound animal who’s gonna have to do what these guys are gonna have to do, the layer of fat gets up to about four inches. Easy. So they’re plump little Peary by the time summer rolls around. I’ll bet they get some ribbing about that, when they come outta the stables.
When Gilbert found this photograph buried in U.S. Agriculture Department files, he wondered why he—or anyone else—had never seen it before.
“Anyway, they’re overweight—fat and happy.
“So now, Santa cracks the whip. Except I assume he’s the kinda guy that doesn’t use a whip, so he probably says, like a football coach, ‘Okay you sluggos, the party’s over!’ And now the drills start.
“I’m sure the workouts are different for different deer. The fast ones do wind sprints, the big lugs do distance—that sort of thing. I’m equally sure that the nine hotshots don’t work out by themselves. I’ll bet Santa’s got a huge support system, a big team of reindeer that’s always pushing the superstars. It’s like anything, right? You need competition to stay on top.
“So I’m guessing, July, these guys are doing maybe ten thousand miles in the air, twenty thousand on the ground, with takeoff and hopping exercises intermixed. August, those figures are tripled. September, the big guys are training on their own, ’cause the others just can’t keep up. They’re doing phenomenal mileage now—a million miles a month. They’re taking off on solo California-and-back training runs, just for practice. They probably spend a week at the equator, getting used to heat again. Santa’s very lucky that reindeer are his thing. They’ve got this blood-circulation system that’s ideal for a cold-adapted animal. I’ll give you some science stuff—the system’s similar to the rete mirabile system which means ‘miraculous bundles,’ and in this system the small arteries and veins are intertwined so that cool blood from the appendages—the legs, I mean—is warmed by the arterial flow—the blood from the heart. Deep-diving whales have got rete mirabile, and reindeer have something similar. Lucky for Mr. Claus.
Wildlife photographer Jim Brandenburg spent a summer watching young Peary train on Ellesmere Island. These cousins of Claus’s deer are still waiting for their antlers to grow.
“But anyway, here’s the cool part. The miracle bundles work as a heater at a hundred-below, or as an air conditioner at a hundred-above. Why? Because the heart itself doesn’t overheat! I’ll tell you, the only two animals in the wide, wide world that could pull that sleigh are a reindeer or a great big blubbery flying Blue Whale!”
VECCHIO FINDS HIMSELF at the reindeer cage. In the ninety-degree-heat of a Rhode Island summer, the animal inside looks serene.
“See this guy?” says Vecchio. “He’s got maybe an inch of fat on him. That’s about where the Super Eight are in maybe October. Well, the Super Nine. Whatever.
“They’re down to an inch of fat, but they’re even heavier than they were in spring! Pure muscle. They’ve been eating like hogs, and it’s all going to muscle—exactly where three inches of the spring roll has already gone. If reindeer were mean by nature, I’d say at this point—Stay clear! But they’re not, they’re just serious. They’re focused. No nonsense now, no reminiscing, no past glories. They sleep, they get up, they eat, they work out, they eat, they nap, they work out, they eat, they work out, they eat, they go to bed. All day they see the elves carting the toys around—they get inspired. Santa looks out on the whole thing and
he smiles.
“November—serious crunch time. I would guess that, by now, they’ve got their distance training all set. They’ve got their miles in. Did you ever think about The Christmas Mission? I have. Flying’s just the half of it. There’s the big long glide to start, and the big expanses from Australia to Asia, California to Hawaii, Ireland to Canada and so forth. But, really, most of the night is spent hopping. Bouncing from house to house in the same neighborhood, or maybe going from, like, Providence to Pawtucket—which is, of course, nothing for them.
“So my guess is, November is spent doing agility drills. I’ll bet they’re bouncin’ off the ice all month like they were just big Jack Russell terriers. Did you know reindeer have the most elastic tendons in the animal kingdom? It’s true. You can look it up.”
NOW IT’S December,” Vecchio continues. “It’s December, and it’s a pretty exciting time for these guys. They’re trying to sleep, but they can’t. They’re rarin’ to go, but they can’t—not yet. Their fat content is minimal, and their muscle mass is enormous. They are there.
“Santa tries to calm them. He probably visits them nightly. Let’s face it, there’s no coach in the world better than he is—not at this stuff.
“So he tells them, ‘Well, gang, here we go again. We’ve. . . .’ Well, I won’t try to guess what he’d say. He’d be sure to say the perfect thing. I’m a zoo guy, I should stick to the animals.”
Vecchio concludes: “But I was saying, about the deer—the deer are bulked, pumped and ready to go. And since the Pole is dark all day long on December 24th, I envision this amazing midnight-black sendoff, with a solemn prayer maybe, then Santa climbing aboard, then a whistle, fifty thousand cheering—not to mention exhausted—elves, and then a snort from Dasher and—bang, zoooooom!—the team is out of sight, a fireball disappearing to the southeast.
“So that’s my reindeer year. I’d love to run it by Santa, see what he thinks, see if I got it right. I’d love to know.”
Santa Claus, of course, is not available for queries. But while Claus isn’t answering questions, Will Steger is. Presented with Vecchio’s scenario, which touches on many points Steger put to the elf himself, he says simply, “Impressive.” After rubbing his rough beard a few times, he adds, “I’d say that’s just about right.”
PEARY CARIBOU, while ferociously hardy, are not indefatigable. Not even Vecchio’s “hotshots” can go all night without replenishment. Like any animal, they need some rest and food when engaged in extended exercise. On their big night, Santa’s team requires near-constant attention, and much of the succor comes at home. During each of their 1,756 returns to the North Pole, the reindeer are unhitched by a crack team of elves and they are fed and washed. While other elves refill the sleigh with gifts, the deer’s legs are rubbed, their hooves checked. Santa, too, takes in food during the lightning-fast stopovers, and he changes red suits between 500 and 600 times each Christmas Eve. If he’s returning from Africa, the sweat is a problem. If he’s coming in from London, it’s the soot.
Even with the Polar pit stops, the reindeer do tire. “Santa told me he has rest areas all around the world,” says Steger. “Now, understand, a rest for these guys is about ten seconds—they bounce back so quickly it’s amazing. But they do have these places set up, usually at the highest altitudes, where they have stashed food and water. The elves go out in late autumn to stock these caches. It’s a very orderly, sophisticated operation.” According to Steger, it was long, long ago—in the very first years of the annual Mission—that Claus determined his team could not service the great expanse of Asia, for instance, or the distant continents of the Southern Hemisphere, without replenishment. Each November for nearly 2,000 years, reconnaissance missions of elves on reindeerback have flown the far-flung skies, readying the world to receive its gift-giver. Their cargo is mostly slow-burning, high-fat foods. It includes exotica like muktuk from North Atlantic whales and jerky from Lapland elk, as well as the reindeer staples: cracked barley, fishmeal, cottonwood sawdust for fiber, molasses for fast-twitch energy, salt. The elves secure these things in wood-and-metal casks that are buried in snow near the summits of mountains. These peaks are the prominent ones, instantly recognizable from on high. Any pilot can pick these singular mountains out of a dense range, and Santa Claus is not just any pilot.
Steger’s testimony serves to confirm many reports brought back from mountaineering expeditions through the years—reports of strange findings on summits that had never before been visited by man. In a famous incident involving Antoine de St. Exupery’s storied Aeropostale service of the early 1930s, the young pilot Henri Guillaumet crash-landed on a frozen lake during a storm in
Argentina’s Andes Cordillera Range, where some mountains are higher than 21,000 feet. Guillaumet trekked for days, defying the wisdom that “the Andes don’t give men back.” He was finally found in the foothills by a group of Argentine gauchos. He was ravaged by cold and exhaustion, and was in a delirium. But he was alive.
Upon returning to Buenos Aires, the flyer Henri Guillaumet (center) explained to the press that he had survived in the Andes on “found food.”
“Impossible,” St. Exupery thought, when told of Guillaumet’s survival. “C’est incroyable!” Guillaumet claimed to have found food in the highest heights of the Andes. “Food from heaven!” he told his friend. “I thought you had dropped the crate for me, Saint Ex!” His assertion was seen as the raving of an unstabilized man, yet even after he fully recovered, Guillaumet clung stubbornly to his story. His colleagues began to wonder, What did he find up there?
“I sometimes wonder what happened to the offering that Tenzing made at the top of Everest. ”
– SIR EDMUND HILLARY, mountain climber and living legend
I ASKED SANTA about the Everest rumors,” says Steger. “He smiled, and said, ‘Yes, sure—that was the first stop I ever used. I’ve been using it for years.’ ”
There had been stories and legends about this for decades: That something strange was going on at the top of the world’s highest mountain. Tibetans and Nepalese who live in the shadow of the great peak have long felt that someone—or something—was at work up there, particularly in late autumn and early winter. In fact, for four decades rumors have circulated in the mountaineering community that the most famous climber in history actually found evidence of a Claus cache on Everest. Even now, all these years after his monumental achievement, Sir Edmund Hillary will not confirm the stories.
But he will not quite deny them, either.
Speaking from his home in Auckland, New Zealand, Sir Edmund, who is today 77 years old and still in fine fettle, talks guardedly but warmly about those dramatic days in 1953 when he and his Sherpa climbing companion, Tenzing Norgay—who died in India in 1987 at the age of 72—thrilled the world by becoming the first men to successfully climb Everest. Adding new information to the Everest story for the first time in forty years, Sir Edmund addresses the Santa Claus questions squarely, while emphasizing that evidence has always remained elusive.
“The Buddhist monks in the Tengboche Monestery at the foot of Mount Everest gave us their blessing for the success of our climb,” says Sir Edmund, who in the decades after that climb became a hero to those Buddhists by founding schools and hospitals throughout the region. “The Head Lama pointed out his belief that some of their gods often spent a little time on the summit of the mountain, and asked us not to disturb them.”
Sir Edmund pauses, then recalls the climactic day. “Six weeks later, Sherpa Tenzing and I labored up the last steep slopes and emerged on the summit of the mountain. What an exciting moment that was!
“I looked carefully around—no sign of humans and no sign of gods. But Tenzing was placing some small cookies and some chocolate in a small hole in the snow. Was it food for his gods or maybe Santa himself?
“I never did ask him that question!”
NED GILLETTE, an adventurer who lives in Sun Valley, Idaho, and reached Everest’s 29,028-foot summit himself
in 1992, says he found what Hillary and Tenzing must have missed by inches. “I literally stumbled onto the box,” says Gillette. “I was the last one on our team as we made our way over the Hillary Step and up towards the peak. The guy in front of me on the rope kicked some snow away, and there it was. It wasn’t all that big. Maybe three feet by two, I would guess. I didn’t know what it was, though of course I’d heard the rumors about Hillary and Norgay and Santa. I thought, ‘Maybe this is the food storage. Maybe it’s true!’
After Tenzing (above, left) and Hillary made their final push to the peak in 1953, Tenzing posed, then proceeded to bury this big metal canister filled with Nepalese chocolates.
“I looked around, and I’ll tell you something interesting. Just below the Step, just southwest of the summit, there’s a little hollow—a half-moon crescent of flat rock tucked in against the cliff. You could stand there, four or five men could stand there. It wouldn’t be a bad place for a rest. And then I imagined it—the sleigh coming through the night sky, Santa seeing the highest peak on earth, banking his sleigh gently and circling down toward the mountain. The whole great team, taking a rest as the stars in the heavens create a firestorm in the black sky. It was a lovely vision.”
A LOVELY VISION, TO BE SURE—and lovely thoughts must be in Claus’s head each year as he descends toward Everest. But he would not be floating out of the sky in quite so lyrical a fashion as Gillette describes. Perhaps if you saw him during a leisurely training run in early August you might be able to discern the sleigh and reindeer, or perhaps if you captured him in freeze-frame you could see a calmly sailing Santa Claus. But if you saw him on Christmas Eve, you would see nothing but a blur. He zooms, zooms, all night long. If you’ve seen a shooting star on December 24th, it might not have been a shooting star. It might have been Santa Claus, zooming.
Flight of the Reindeer Page 6
