Date: 1.5.04

Coaxing the Stove

Journal 6

I work in the narrow beam of my headlamp. Next, I take one of the fuel bottles filled with white gas. I unscrew the cap and spill several tablespoons of fuel on the stove burner as a primer. The metal bottle, filled with super-cool fuel, is like handling dry ice with bare hands. As the bottle burns my hands, I concentrate to get just the right amount of fuel on the burner. Too little and it will mean a five minute wait to try again. Too much would mean an explosion and a tent fire. This done I tightly screw the threaded top of the fuel bottle back on and place it to the side. Next, I take one farmer match from our four ounce plastic bottle, which serves as our match safe. This is a match that can be struck anywhere to light. I drag it across the stove box, it snaps and flashes, a blue-white flame lights the tent, and sulfur fills my nose. A sign that soon there will be warmth. I hold the lit match to the pool of fuel, and probe it to heat it up, coaxing it to light. This fuel is extremely combustible at room temperature, but is reluctant at 40 below. I tell that it is this temperature, because the wooden match burns my fingers but still does not light the fuel. A second match is struck, and this one works, a tiny blue flame flickers. It bursts into a string of ringlets. They dance continuously around the ringlets until they form a circle. The fire burns for almost a minute. Just when it is about to go out, I turn the knob that releases a fine mist of blue fuel. Pop! The blowtorch-blue flame ignites.

Date: 1.5.04

Out of the Sleeping Bag, Into Reality

Journal 7

It starts a 6 o'clock a.m. My body is already in rhythm, and I automatically wake up at 5:45. I lie in my sleeping bag, pondering the snapping of the tent's nylon walls. The wind is almost as strong as a blizzard, and for a brief moment I ponder that perhaps we will not be able to travel today, and how nice it would be to sleep in for another six hours. But I know better, today is a travel day. So I begin fumbling with my fingers on the frozen zippers of my sleeping bag. I pop out into reality, and my shoulders knock frost of the wall of the tent, casting a blanket of lime-frost over me and my warm sleeping bag.

The average person gives off two pounds of moisture a night through breathing, which is four pounds between my tentmate Hugh and myself. Some of this moisture is retained in the sleeping bag, the rest is water vapor that freezes against the tent wall as soon as it makes contact. It is this frost that makes life miserable. Managing it is the key to staying comfortable. Once out of the sleeping bag I zip my outer bivy bag shut. The bivy bag is made of Event fabric, a waterproof, breathable material that protect our sleeping bags. Once zipped shut, the sleeping bag is protected, and it is time to brush down the frosted tent walls with a small hand brush.

Date: 1.6.04

Wind Actually Makes for Good Travel Surface

Journal 8

A warm, comfortable day. The temperature rose to plus 7 Fahrenheit, probably the warmest temperature we will see until April. The pale gray stayed with us all day, with only the faintest hint of sunshine. The dogs ran well all day; little wind.

The friction surfaces on the snow vary greatly on temperature, from plus 10 to minus 50. For the most part, we travel on windswept surfaces, meaning the snow has been battered to tiny pieces by the strong wind. The wind forms drifts that can be almost hard as concrete. When we left Yellowknife, we were in the shelter of a large bay, and encounted lots of snow, which made it hard on the dogs. Once we headed out onto the lake we encountered the wind, and better travel surfaces. The wind is actually our ally in certain ways. It packs the snow hard, allowing us to travel easier with these heavy loads. The winds have been in the 20 mph range, giving us reasonably good travel surfaces. During a previous trip, on the Antarctic peninsula, we had 50 mph winds, but also lots of snow. The first night we left the dog lines out, and the next morning it took us almost two hours to chip out each line with our shovels.

On the other side of the equation is cold. The colder it is, the more friction there is on the surface. Our sled are very close in design the the ones the Inuit used in the past, with one exception: the plastic runners. The Inuit used to ice their sleds, a long, painstaking process that had to be repeated if the ran over even the smallest pebble. In the north, plastic is now used universally for sled runner shoeing, as it is called. The plastic is ultra-high molecular weight plastic. This is like super compressed plastic.

We chose the strongest of the northern dogs, which are the Canadian and Greenland Eskimo dogs. The length in the legs is that of the Canadian husky, and the spirit that of the Coho racing dogs. This spirit is innate in most northern breeds, but it is necessary to get consistency. 95% of my breed are keepers, the other part of the equation lots of care, training, and Science Diet dog food.

The cruelest thing you can do to these dogs is take them away from their family unit and not run them. Like humans, then can get content and lazy if overfed and inactive. But when you see the dogs break the sled free in the morning and run, they do what their were born to do. The little fur balls are outside right now, bedding down for the night, after their meal.

Date: 1.6.04

Wind Actually Makes for Good Travel Surface

Journal 9

A warm, comfortable day. The temperature rose to plus 7 Fahrenheit, probably the warmest temperature we will see until April. The pale gray stayed with us all day, with only the faintest hint of sunshine. The dogs ran well all day; little wind.

The friction surfaces on the snow vary greatly on temperature, from plus 10 to minus 50. For the most part, we travel on windswept surfaces, meaning the snow has been battered to tiny pieces by the strong wind. The wind forms drifts that can be almost hard as concrete. When we left Yellowknife, we were in the shelter of a large bay, and encounted lots of snow, which made it hard on the dogs. Once we headed out onto the lake we encountered the wind, and better travel surfaces. The wind is actually our ally in certain ways. It packs the snow hard, allowing us to travel easier with these heavy loads. The winds have been in the 20 mph range, giving us reasonably good travel surfaces. During a previous trip, on the Antarctic peninsula, we had 50 mph winds, but also lots of snow. The first night we left the dog lines out, and the next morning it took us almost two hours to chip out each line with our shovels.

On the other side of the equation is cold. The colder it is, the more friction there is on the surface. Our sled are very close in design the the ones the Inuit used in the past, with one exception: the plastic runners. The Inuit used to ice their sleds, a long, painstaking process that had to be repeated if the ran over even the smallest pebble. In the north, plastic is now used universally for sled runner “shoeing”, as it is called. The plastic is ultra-high molecular weight plastic. This is like super compressed plastic.

We chose the strongest of the northern dogs, which are the Canadian and Greenland Eskimo dogs. The length in the legs is that of the Canadian husky, and the spirit that of the Coho racing dogs. This spirit is innate in most northern breeds, but it is necessary to get consistency. 95% of my breed are “keepers,” the other part of the equation lots of care, training, and Science Diet dog food.

The cruelest thing you can do to these dogs is take them away from their family unit and not run them. Like humans, then can get content and lazy if overfed and inactive. But when you see the dogs break the sled free in the morning and run, they do what their were born to do. The little fur balls are outside right now, bedding down for the night, after their meal.

Date: 1.7.04

Tent Life

Journal 10

We decided to take a day off, to rest the dogs. Actually, I think the people needed the rest more than the dogs. But with a day off, the dogs will perform miracles again. The great thing about a rest day is that you can sleep in. Hugh and I put in an easy 13 hours of sleep, from 8:30 p.m. to 9:30 a.m. We haven’t been going that hard, putting in five hour days, put there is a period of adjustment, acclimatization that takes place at the beginning of an expedition, which takes added energy.

This has been the easiest that I’ve ever adjusted to the cold, and the tight quarters we live in. I can film with the video camera at 25 degrees below, without much problem. And I keep my body temperature at a constant during the day, never getting chilled, and when I start overheating I zip down to vent.

More difficult than the adjustment to the cold is the adjustment to the long, dark hours in the tent. We light by candles, the other two tents use Coleman lanterns, which I find too harsh a light and too many fumes. The tent is quite cramped. Our only personal living space is the top of our sleeping bags, which are often cluttered with gear. Getting the gear organized is what the first week of the expedition is all about. Right now I know where everything is, and even in the darkness of the tent I can dig through the stuff sacks in my duffle bag and find the small item I was looking for, be it a toothbrush, spare batteries, or a pen for my journal.

Probably the biggest hardship is that you cannot sit upright, and if you try, the frosted walls of the tent will rain moisture down on you. It’s this frost on the internal walls that define our existence right now. In the darkness of January, we spend at least an extra three hours in the tent. And since it is always dark when we are inside, the frost accumulates thicker and thicker. Once the sun comes back in March, this will radically improve our living situation. The sun’s heat greatly keeps the frost down.

When I think of tent travel in the Arctic in January, think of: Blackness, cold, and thick frost on the interior walls. We spend at least three and a half hours a night in the tent, melting ice for water from the stove, and this robs the tent from the heat that might help keep the frost down. Also, when we cook, this also cuts down on the overall heat. We have to melt and cook inside, because it is simply too cold to do so outside, or even in the tent vestibule. So we get added moisture from melting and cooking. We do vent the tent, and this manages most of the moisture, but with the venting comes the cold. I know Eric and especially Aaron are having trouble with this right now. Aaron has never lived in this situation, but he is very smart, and will adapt quickly.

This all sounds quite bleak, our tent existence. But once we get organized and in union with our tentmate, it isn’t that bad. You do have comforts, but getting up to light the stove at minus 30 can be miserable. Hugh and I are like two bugs in a rug right now, on our day off. Hugh is frying up some pancakes and sausages. Pancakes are the breakfast of choice on days off, because they take time to make, which gives you something to do. And the warm smell brings back memories of being around a wood stove. The sausages are a luxury item that will run out. Rather than rationing luxury items, I am one to just use them up as you will, and enjoy them while they are still around. This life here has always given me a keen perspective of my “civilized” life back in Minnesota. I am not one to take anything for granted, and I can also adapt to almost any situation. Right now I don’t deal with money, credit cards, or cell phones. I have no idea of the latest news, or the political campaigns. And I couldn’t tell you what day of the week it is. So fussing with tent walls is not all that bad. Also, outside our tent are 31 sleeping dogs, and the most beautiful wilderness view, which photos are not capable of capturing.

The country we are traveling in is of such grand proportions. Yesterday we traveled along the north coastline of the Great Slave Lake, through the 80 mile long Turn Channel. The far side of the channel came into view yesterday when the weather cleared and lifted around noon. By 2:30, the route would have taken us across the 50 mile open stretch, so we decided to stay along the north coast for the day off. We were on McKinley Point at this time, and found a secluded bay with high cliffs and trees, giving us total protection from the wind. It gives us a sense of security for the first time, and is the only protected cove for the next 100 miles.

We made camp under a spectacular full moon, rising in the purple shadow of the earth. Looking east was the limitless, vast horizon of the Great Slave Lake. The earth met sky on a dime’s edge, where the stars popped up in the crystal clear atmosphere. The trees around us gave us a sense of the wooded north, although 70 miles to the east the trees will give way to the merciless winds of The Barrens. The trees are arrow-straight spruce, stunted yet thriving on a bedrock of granite.

It’s a slow morning. Nothing moving. Pancakes smell fantastic, the dogs are snoring in the snow. The only thing missing on this day off is that my muscles are not sore and drained, for the five hour days on smooth surfaces have not been much of a challenge. My last big expedition was the crossing of the Arctic Ocean, and this was physically very demanding. Extremely rough ice, heavy sleds, constantly getting stuck and tipping, muscles strained. On this expedition, the worst is first: extreme cold, darkness, the horrible ice. We are starting out right, slow at first, and then gradually working into the longer days when the light comes back, and the promising hope of milder weather.

The dogs like where we are, in the high walls of the cliffs that surround us. They enjoy projecting their voices, giving them the illusion - or perhaps delusion - of being power and authority. Some of the males feel so tough, with their amplified barks. And then there are the group howls, which makes each one of us so proud of the dogs, and to be part of this expedition. This is truly the call of the wild.

Two nights ago, and Inuit hunter and his sun came by snowmobile in the dark. They stopped for half and hour and Hugh and I talked with them. They were of course impressed with the dogs. Our dogs are our great equalized with the native people. They are our way of introduction and acceptance. I’ve always had a bond with Indian men my age, it’s almost like being brother, speaking the same language, without actually knowing the language. I’ve traveled this land for 42 years, and it’s almost like home, living in a tent, with dogs.

Date: 1.8.04

Beware of Great Escapes

Journal 11

Several times in the past, while traveling in The Barrens with just one team and one partner, we had the dogs bolt. They would take off, literally over the horizon, with us in hot, angry pursuit. They problem is that the gangline could break, separating the dogs from the sled. In a whiteout, one could lose the team. So we would watch carefully in caribou country to spot the animals before the dogs could see them. Our eyes are better than the dogs, but in the 1980’s I had a dog named Blackie [from the same genetic stock as our present dogs] who had eyes like humans. He was constantly on the lookout for game. It was he who instigate the cases I just mentioned. He was our trail leader at the time, so he had plenty of opportunity to search for animals, which would often appear in whiteouts just in front of us. We make lots of extra miles thanks to Blackie’s enthusiasm.

We are three days away from our first village, Lutselk’e. It used to be called Snowdrift, but we recently changed back to its native name, which means something like “bay of the small fishes.” It is a protected site of about 300 Indians. As we approach, the trail will get better and better, and it won’t take long for the dogs to realize there is a settlement ahead. This to them means other dogs, meat, and rest.

The rest day yesterday was a quiet affair. We mostly stayed in our own tents. I straightened out the gear on the sled in the afternoon, took a little walk, and then did a little filming. At seven o’clock we all congregated in Hugh’s and my tent to celebrate a grant we had just received on the education side. It was extremely cramped with all six of us in the tent, and it reminded me of what it might be like to be trapped in an underground mining accident. Cheer was good, and it lasted one and a half hours until our legs couldn’t take it anymore, and the party adjourned. People stretched and returned to their own tents.

Hugh and I talked over steaming noodles and cheese. The food is good, but I often turn off my headlamp because I don’t like looking at it. Our meals are not something they would talk about on NPR’s The Splendid Table. First of all, there is no table. We each eat off our laps, with a cotton tablecloth on our laps to keep the grease from soiling our clothing. Appetite is the key to our meals, and we enjoy everything, regardless of how basic it is.

These last windless camp days have been rare and pleasant. The tent heats easily if there is not a wind pulling the warmth out of it. The frosted walls are much more manageable, and breaking camp is a breeze.

Date: 1.9.04

A Cold Day, Changing Weather

Journal 12

A cold day, we got out of our tents in the sheltered cove believing it was minus 30. I told Eric it was minus 30 and he thought I was pulling his leg. In the calm it seemed almost balmy. But by the time we broke camp and hooked up the dogs, the wind came up against us from the southeast. Once out on the big lake the windchills dropped, and most of us discovered that we were dressed too lightly for the 60 below windchills. Lunch was a cold ordeal, but we changed into warmer mitts, which helped in the afternoon. We made the 20 mile open crossing, and found good protection and deep snow for the dogs on the leeward side of an island with steep banks.

Setting up camp was easy, as the temperature warmed up to minus 18. Being out of the wind really helped.

We travel on skis everyday, and skiing is second nature to me. Strapping on my Atomic cross country skis feels like starting the car on my way to work. I have traveled tens of thousands of miles on skis, many of these miles alongside dogs. We use a special binding called a Berwin binding. which accommodates a mukluk. It wouldn’t be possible to ski with ski boots in these conditions, but with the Berwin bindings our feet stay warm in the standard Steger mukluk.

Our normal formation is two skiers per sled, one on each side, holding the handlebar with one had, while the other hand holds a waterski-type rope. This rope has a handle on one end and is attached to the front of the sled with the other. Skiing like this is fairly easy. It takes a little upper body strength and a little concentration on the ski tips, being careful not to slide under the rudder or over the fresh dog droppings that are frequent in the morning.

It was too cold today for any extended conversation. Our heads were bundles with an assortment of hats, baclavas and neck warmers. The travel day was short, about two and a half hours. I watched some high cumulus clouds come in this morning, a sign of a weather change. With the clouds, the wind came up from the southeast. At first, the wind stirred the cold from the high pressure that had been over us, and this dropped the windchill. By afternoon it had started to warm. If this was The Barrens, it would mean a large storm, but I am hoping that we will get by with just a blow.

I watch the weather closely. For one, it is an occupation, and it is the only thing out here that continues to change. But slight clues, like wind speed or direction, signal change. Often, travel decisions are made on the weather, or weather that is coming in. Once I get immersed in the weather, my intuition kicks in. I’ve never traveled in The Barrens in January or February, and some of the natives say it is not as stormy as it is in March, and I am curious to see if that is the case. Right now we are hoping to reach Lutselk’e tomorrow if the weather holds.

Date: 1.10.04

Water Only Comes From Snow & Ice

Journal 13

This visibility was limited, due to the low ceiling, canceling out any chance of seeing the sun. I had a good day, plenty of energy all day, with a good appetite at quitting time. Thoughts pleasant.

We melt snow or ice each morning for water. Ice is preferred, because it melts faster and tastes better than snow. It has been a luxury being on the Great Slave Lake these last 11 days, because the ice has been right beneath us. Mining ice from a fracture-free surface does take some time with our axes. For this reason, I look for fractures. Or, for example, yesterday there was some ice piled up by the shore, which made for easy pickings. Big lakes like the Great Slave Lake often freeze up in the bays in the fall, only to have that ice broken up by storms. This will pile up plates of ice from a foot to a yard in diameter near the shore. These plates have a consistent two inch thickness, which means there was a freeze-up in the fall followed by a storm.

Water is an item that we do not take for granted out here. It does not flow from a tap from some unknown source. It first comes in a solid state, snow or ice, and has to be melted. Our life in the tent is dominated by the large stainless steel tea kettle that hogs the light and heat of the stove. Melting snow or ice is the centerpiece of life in the tent. Tonight blocks of ice sit in the ice bag, which is far enough from the stove that it will not be contaminated by fuel when we fill the stove. We can tell when the water in the pot is getting hot by the sound of it coming to a boil. This is the sign to fill up our teacups or thermoses or to add more ice. The ice is cut small enough to fit into the 8-inch diameter of the opening of the teapot. I like the sound of super cold, dense ice hitting boiling water. It instantly cracks into a multiple of fractures, the sound echoing inside the pot. This instantly silences the boiling of the water, extinguishing all the sound and heat.

On a normal day, we are able to have an open flame warm the tent about ten percent of the time. The rest of the time the gallon and a half tea pot sits squat on the flame, making valuable water. Our candles are rationed down to two stubs a couple of inches high. We use the headlights for writing, and other detailed tasks. Darkness is always over our shoulder, and it is black from the moment we enter the tent until we leave 14 hours later the next morning. The inside of the tent is the hallmark of the expedition to this point, rather than the travel. When we set up the tent, I find myself lingering outside in the cold, rather than anxiously entering the tent.

The six a.m. alarm is especially unwanted, but by 6:15 we are ready to start the day, again in the dark. Tonight is it warm, minus 10, and very comfortable in the tent. It was the most comfortable day in the tent so far. Later in the evening, the water chores were finished, and Hugh and I kicked back in the candlelight and talked. I was barefooted, a true rarity. I told Hugh people would pay a lot to be where we are at this moment. Comfortable and content after a long day on the trail and a good meal. No wants, no hassles, just the endless wilderness outside, and the dogs sleeping peacefully.