Date: 1.14.04

Darkness is the Real Challenge

Journal 14

We left Lutselk’e to the excitement of 50 young school kids. Recess brought the kids from the first through eighth grade out the front doors, flying down the hill from the school that leads to the lake. They soon swarmed the dogs and the sleds. It was a heyday. Later, time for a group photo and then off we went at 10:40. The day was uneventful until evening, when the dropping temperatures caused the ice to contract, producing deep bass rumblings from below us.

The evening was clear, with a faint yellow twilight in the western sky at 5:30 p.m. It felt good to be back in the rhythm of tent living. I bought many candles in town, and now we have the luxury of light. We are now burning four candles at a time. This gives an adequate glow, and we are even finding little use for our headlights. I could even see the noodles in my bowl last night. Darkness is by far the greatest psychological challenge of this trip so far. It has the tendency of driving the cold in deep. Cold and dark are definitely the winter shadows in January.

The return of the sun in early spring is like the resurrection. You don’t notice the effects of the darkness as you would a cut on your hand. It is subtle, always there, but once the sun comes back in the spring, its effects are obvious. With the present darkness comes a long confinement in the tents. We keep our nylon home as comfortable as possible, but it is quite cramped. It is impossible to sit up straight. But the four candles make a huge difference. There is a big difference between three and four candles, the extra light helping ward off the darkness. I have lived many winters in my log cabin in Ely, Minnesota. Light is usually rationed there too, because I light with solar, and during the long nights the battery bank nears empty. I’ve found that if I keep just one or two lights around the central activity of the kitchen table, it brings on a heavy mood.

So I always keep at least one light on in the background, behind my shoulders, so to speak. Electricity and ample light is something our generation take for granted. Because of modern lights, people today have also lost touch with the stars. The “heavens” were always central to past peoples. They would always draw spiritual energy from the night sky. Last night, for example, it seemed like you could reach out and touch the stars in the black sky, and the aurora borealis, which added mystery, was a great lift for me. The strip of yellow and green light in the darkness of the western sky at 5:30 was my first sign of spring and light and hope.

Date: 1.15.04

Cracking Open a Frozen Sleeping Bag

Journal 15

I think it dropped to nearly 50 below last night. The thermometer was dropping rapidly last night from 40 below, after dinner at 6:30. All night the lake creaked and cracked. Our tent is pitched on a fault line, and we could hear the cracks coming, almost like brittle fabric ripping. As they pass under the tent I could feel it in my spine. It wasn’t a major fault line that could have rumbled the tent, but a side track of sorts.

All night I could feel the cold penetrating the insulation of my sleeping bag. Deep cold like this stalks you. I’ve been asked the question many times if, once it gets to a certain temperature, is all cold the same. But the cold always penetrates deeper and deeper, and when it starts to stalk you, it’s near 50 below. I could feel the cold coming into my bag, especially near the shoulders. I slept well for the first half of the night, but then was restless. Hugh now is starting the stove in the morning for his ten day shift. And I awoke with every move he made. I was just comfortable enough to hope it wasn’t time to wake up.

When you are really, really freezing in the bag, you can’t wait to get up. But you are also aware what the bad night’s sleep in going to cost you on the trail. Some of the biggest hardships in my life have been sleeping in the cold, in icy sleeping bags. The North Pole in 1986 was the worst. My bag would be frozen, and I would have to crack the layers of ice to crawl in. At the time we were not getting enough to eat, and our fuel was severely rationed. I remember being up nearly every night until 3 o’clock, freezing and constantly rubbing my feet so they would not freeze. I would only fall into a deep sleep once my bag thawed from ice to mush. Moisture was warmth, and these two hours were heaven. And then getting up in the morning and doing it all over again was hell, 16 hours of travel. This went on for weeks, and gave me great compassion for the rest of the world that suffers, not as a sport, but because it is their lot. I think often of people less fortunate when I am on these trips, and this awareness is some of the greatest things I take away from these long journeys, when things are hard.

These are not, however, difficult times right now. A little cold at night is nothing when you have enough fuel in the morning to heat up by. We live in sort of a comfortable bubble right now, on the big lake, under the morning stars. The candles add a warm atmosphere to the nylon cave of our tent. I can always tell when the people in the other tents go out for their morning “chores,” because there are always a few dogs that greet them with a yawning hello. The blue flame of our stove now burns, without the teapot hogging the heat. It’s a pleasant moment, and it should be a great day as long as the wind doesn’t blow at these temperatures.

Date: 1.16.04

Blistering Wind, Harrowing Decents

Journal 16

The wind blew hard all night, causing the tent to billow through all my dreams. There were some lulls, which I hoped would lead to a better travel day. We have no way of easily looking out of the tent in the morning to determine the visibility.

It was an adventurous day yesterday. We negotiated a portage across an island that shaved 12 miles off our route. It was steep at first and difficult for the dogs, so all six of us pushed and pulled and screamed encouragement to the dogs at the top of our lungs. It was our first group adventure and we worked well as a team. After the steep section, it was a winding, narrow, ascending trail through stubs of spruce trees. It was a very cold day, and the wind picked up and visibility dropped. The decent was wild. I was surprised at the elevation we had gained, which became obvious during the harrowing decent, around curves like a roller coaster gone wild.

Aaron was with me as we took Mille’s heavy sled down. It was Aaron’s first downhill experience. On decents like this, once you get going there is no stopping. It’s a case of wild abandon. It is critical to stay focused, at one with the dogs. Any lack of confidence and you are heading for disaster. The final plunge to the lake had Aaron a little worried, because I steered the sled off course in a different, but parallel position to the dogs. This is a standard procedure, on straight plunges like this to get the sled off the track the dogs are on. This way the sled poses no danger to the dogs, if the dogs ball up or the momentum of the sled causes it to overtake the dogs.

At the bottom, we shot over a bunch of ice on the shore, sending the heavily loaded sled airborne, until we landed safely on the lake with a thud. We were now on a circular bay surrounded by cliffs called Shelter Bay. We didn’t understand the significance of its name, until we ventured out onto the lake after lunch into a 40-plus mph wind, at 33 below zero. The strength of the wind picked up all the snow on the big lake’s surface, depositing it in drifts, dispersed between long patches of glare ice. The drifts caused heavy drags on the sled, just when the dogs were scratching and clawing their way on the icy surface, trying to get traction. Many times the sled got stuck, causing frigid delays and tangled dogs. The dogs were also hard to lead into the storm. The shoreline was swept clean of any protection for camp, and after a couple of hours of struggle we decided to return to Shelter Bay, and make camp in the deep snow and give the dogs a rest.

We had a long evening in the tent, and went to bed early to kill some time, sleeping and getting rested up.

Date: 1.17.04

Caribou Games

Journal 17

Yesterday we traveled against the wind all day. In the morning it warmed up to about minus 25, with winds about 30 mph. It was not as cutting as the day before, and the good thing was that the visibility was much better. All day we encountered large snow drifts, which stopped the sled and required much effort to get things going again. Commanding the dogs in a headwind is always a challenge. Voice does not carry well, and the lead dogs are always focused on going forward, or obeying the commands.

We followed the shoreline for most of the day, mainly because that is where the dogs wanted to go. It was near the shoreline that we encountered the large drifts. Several times small bunches of caribou appeared in the storm ahead. I traveled many times in conditions like this, and have had caribou appear literally out of nowhere in a storm. They always appear ahead of us upwind, meaning they do not have our scent. They get very curious as to what we are. Their eyes betray them, because they can not make out the long line of dogs pulling sleds. It is always the first time they have seen anything like this. They stop and stare until the dogs are about 50 yards away. At this point, the dogs excitement is at a fevered pitch, and we encourage them on. For a husky, this is the greatest event of their existence. Just as it looks like they are closing in, the caribou take off, and run as though they are baiting the dogs on. Which they are, but they are not aware of it. They will run about another quarter mile and then stop, again trying to figure us out. This teases the dogs, and they are almost literally flying. This repeats itself four or five times.

When the caribou run, they prance. It looks very elegant. They don’t seem to be perturbed, just curious. After a while, they will run off to the side, trying to pick up the scent. In this case yesterday they simply veered out toward the shore, and up the steep banks in single file. They always travel through the forest on a fresh trail in single file. It is a very beautiful sight.

So the day was punctuated with some fun activity for the dogs.

Traveling against the wind in these kind of storm temperatures will freeze the face almost instantly. So we use a combination of baclavas and neck gaiters to cover our faces. I cover my entire face, leaving a very narrow slit for my eyes. In real cold conditions, the bridge of the nose will freeze. In this case, I leave only one eye exposed. Yesterday it was mild enough to keep both eyes exposed. The fur ruff is essential. This cuts the wind and gives considerable protection for the face.

Traveling like this gives an interesting perspective. There is the inside world of your body, which you are keenly aware of. You hear your heart pumping warm blood through your body. Breathing is a particularly obvious function because you are doing this through several layers of fleece, that are warm and dry next to the sky, but the outer layers are cold and frozen from eyes to neck. This ice layer provides perfect protection.

Then there is the outside view, through the narrow slit. I’m serene and calm inside, viewing the tempest of an arctic storm. The economy between the two worlds often causes me to be introspective. I’m keenly aware of my existence. I imagine what a person in outerspace might feel. It is always amazing to me how we adapt, when we live in the present.