Sent July 19

Dispatch 6 - Part 3 of 3
Survival depends on awareness.

I woke up at 4:00AM in a pensive mood.  This was my big day - the start of the expedition. This was the day I had planned for, trained for, prayed for and dreamt of for two years. I had helped develop an on-line education program that would follow me and, at the same time, educate those following about the Arctic region.  Many people had made commitments to me and to the project.  I carried the weight of this as I accessed my present situation. I could feel it still in my lungs although I had made improvements and my strength seemed to be coming back. I felt a little weak while laying and thinking but I felt what I needed was to just pack up and get moving!

These thoughts were replaced by the reality of my present technological black-out.  My logical mind took over and analyzed the possible problems, including all connections, batteries and even the software itself. This gave me something to concentrate on and to spend some time thinking about. 

At 7:00 I could take it no longer.  I had to get out of the sleeping bag and start the day.  After mandatory liquids and oatmeal, I dressed and went outside to start fiddling around with the transmitter.  Within an hour I started to make double and triple checks on the battery systems -  first with the transmitter and then the computer and then with the two in combination. 

By 9:00 I was able to run a check procedure on the computer and actually got a response that I had been locked out the night before. I then nervously ran a satellite pass. The connect light went on as the satellite rose above the horizon and remained steady.  Then the transmit light flickered and went on and then it blinked off.  Oh, I was happy for this was normal and it did not lock on red.  Then it came on again, this time a little longer and then blinked off. The third time the transmitter made a solid connect with the satellite, I could hear the computer making its little digestion noises in the tent  - meaning it was sending out text. 

I kept the antenna pointed at the invisible satellite as accurately as I would line up my sights on a charging bear, for it seemed like my life depended on the success of this transmission. The transmit light kept making hits and my muscles relaxed. At the end of the pass, I quickly pulled up the screen of the computer to view my upload status and, with the greatest relief, all text was uploaded and on its way to Minnesota - traveling at 17,000 miles an hour.

The problem seemed to be the batteries. I believe that the batteries for both the computer and the transmitter had died at the same time.  I then introduced to the system a new battery that turned out to be a dud.  By checking back and forth with the computer.  I slowly became suspicious of a power problem and continued doing my detective work until I ran a check with the computer and got a response. All of my technical problems were the user's fault!  The technology has remained faithful despite my worst doubts. What amazed me was my mood swings when things failed and then worked perfectly. It was a fine example of creating my own world, based on my perception.  

What was important was that I was aware of my situation, of these mood swings.  Survival depends on awareness out here.  I felt mentally very fit now for the expedition.

I now focused my attention on packing up.  It takes hours on the first day to get everything organized.  When tuned up and traveling, I break camp in less than 45 minutes. But today it took me over 5 hours before I had everything loaded.  All along I was a little tense about facing the moment of reckoning when I would first pull the fully loaded canoe-sled.  

But overall excitement was how I would describe my feelings.  I thought a lot about Ellesmere and the wonderful long days of pulling I would have and everything I would experience along the way. I thought a lot about this program and of sharing these experiences.  This was a key point for me.  I have been on solos and expeditions but I have never been able to share like this.  I finally had confidence in the technological side. I had worked 7 years now to help pioneer this kind of education and now I could not only send out unlimited text but I could send photos along my solo route.  At last I could take others with me and share these wonderful experiences!

My last procedure was to get into my Kokotak dry-suit and then put on my logging boots.  The dry-suit is made of Gore-Tex and it breathes like an outer layer of skin.  This property allows me to wear it when I am exerting and pulling the canoe and at the same time it would keep me alive if I took a spill into this super-cold, 31 degree saltwater. The spiked boots give me traction in every step I take.  This is essential because many times I put my full power into every foot when I am pulling and if my foot loses traction, I am vulnerable to injury by pulling out a muscle. 

These two important parts of my gear I have developed in the 90's with the idea of doing just such an expedition as I am now on. 

I also harness myself with another unique piece of gear that I developed with a small company back in Minnesota called Granite Gear.  This shoulder harness allows me to pull from both the waist and shoulders.  The average harness pulls too much from the stomach area and cuts your breathing! This one distributes the loads evenly.

I adjust the harness and then check the safety of my rifle, which is loaded with a bullet in the chamber, and then double-check my life preserver to make sure it is clipped into the heavy load. The life preserver holds in its mesh pocket my all-important emergency locator -  a satellite beacon device that, if activated, sends out a distress signal and my exact location. I could use this in the event of an all-out emergency. It is in a separate, waterproof bag of its own and, for safety, it is clipped into my life preserver.

I then broke the canoe loose from the small depression in the ice that it had melted itself into.  With full power ahead, I started to haul the 300-pound load south.  My favorite exercise is hauling a canoe.  It is a thorough workout that works the entire body over without strain.  However, I could feel the weakness of the last 2 weeks journey to the Pole.  In particular, I could feel it in my lungs. I stopped and re-routed myself  over a more watery route that led to the next ice block in a SW direction. This helped some but all these conditions were telling me something that was very real.  I listened to this but decided to rest and go again. 

On my second try it was the same. I felt a total loss of power. I had left Minnesota very strong and now it was different.  My mind felt calm. When it is calm, it is good at listening to and accepting reality. The reality I faced was that, because of my present situation, it was too risky to continue.  

I knew the icebreaker was scheduled to return to the Pole and that it would be possible to extract me out of here  - if they could locate me. But if I took the risk and went for Ellesmere, I could easily get myself into a situation requiring a very difficult rescue that would endanger others trying to find me.  This fact was branded in my mind.  I could risk my own well being but I would not risk others in my adventures.

I did not need any long soul-searching discussion with myself.  I would go back to my old camp and then start arranging for a pick-up evacuation by the icebreaker due in the area in about a week.

This moment was extremely disappointing. Personally, I felt I could accept my decision. But my concern was really for those who had contributed so very much to this Solo from the Pole.

My commitment is to stay with this education project until it finishes in late August. It is most important for me to continue to demonstrate the importance of the live 'touch' in an on-line program.  If it means the program takes a right turn and, in part, becomes my pick-up from the Arctic Ocean, then so be it.  I committed myself to this option later on day 5.

Accepting my present reality, as bitter as it was to swallow, allowed me to start to make plans for my extraction from this fog bank.  I set up my tent again next to the shadow melt of a pressure ridge where my tent had been pitched for the past 4  miserable days. I ate some noodles with some of the meat Victor had given me before I left the ship.  My appetite seemed to be coming back. Into the evening hours, I worked with pencil and paper to first draw up a hard copy outline of a detailed procedure that involved several back-up plans if the communication failed or I failed.

I am good with logistics and I suspected Victor would return on the icebreaker to head my pick - up. He was familiar with the radio and equipment I have and I had reviewed with him the radio frequencies of the helicopter while we had been on board the ship.  I knew the communications system that they used on the ship's bridge quite well. 

I  trust the Russians in a mission like this.  These helicopter pilots on board are some of the best in the world. They know this difficult environment intimately and they keep their machinery in top shape. 

This knowledge plus the reality of making the firm but difficult decision to leave the ice allowed me to sleep better for the first time in 2 weeks.