August 3

Dispatch 12 - Part 1 of 2
Helsinki

I arrived in Murmansk yesterday and I am finally back on the computer again.  I will explain shortly why there was the 10 day "blackout" but first I want to pick up where I last left off and that was July 24th - the day of my rescue.

Those who are following on-line for the first time may be interested in going back over the July entries to obtain a background of this solo expedition and why I made the decision to abort and call in a rescue. On my last entry of July 23 I wrote "when I send up this journal entry I will most likely receive the location of the icebreaker." On July 24th, at 1500 GMT, I transmitted the previous day's journal along with my current weather information. At the same time, I downloaded a message from Minnesota that was titled in bold capital letters URGENT. I quickly maneuvered my mouse to get the cursor over the bold, black type. With careful aim, I squeezed my right thumb on the plastic button to pull up the news. Appearing center-spaced across the top in capital letters was the following:

"IMMEDIATE MESSAGE.

ST. PETERSBURG REPORTS THAT SHIP IS APPROACHING 89 DEGREES:

'In two hours from now (at 13:00 GMT) they are starting with a helicopter to Will's camp. As soon as Will hears a helicopter sound, he has to shoot a flare and start a smoke to show his position to the helicopter.'

KEEP ALERT FOR THE HELICOPTER. IT IS ON ITS WAY!

God be with you and Victor."

The past week I had laid out a meticulous rescue plan and communicated via satellite to my home base in St. Paul, MN. Briefly, this is a glimpse, behind the scenes, to show you what was involved and precisely how we reached the point of making this rendezvous. The problem we faced was that I was drifting on the pack ice of the Arctic Ocean at a rate that varied from 3 to 9 miles a day in often thick, foggy conditions. The challenge was how to pinpoint my present location and communicate back in a fairly instantaneous

fashion to an icebreaker that was on its way to the North Pole with a group of tourists. Once located,  a Russian ME-8 helicopter could then fetch me in possibly thick, ground fog. The entire plan was based around the HealthSat communications satellite. This is a polar-orbiting satellite used by the medical

profession, particularly in Africa.  For example, an x-ray might be taken in a remote area and then be sent to an urban area for a further diagnosis. The satellite enables two-way text and images to be transmitted.  I believe that it is the only non-military satellite available in the polar regions that enables both text and photo transmission. We had worked with the HealthSat in our educational project during the '95 expedition on our way down from the Pole to Canada and at that time we were able to send out the first photo from the Pole to go on the Internet.

My first concern was to lay out immediate steps in case my telecommunications systems failed. My life depended on getting out this plan. I first notified Minnesota of the situation and that I had made a final

decision that I would return via the icebreaker. I emphasized that this decision would not change and "I would return, repeat return, on the icebreaker." I had known, of course, that the icebreaker was coming back and my original plan was to "hover" near the pole around 89 degrees for the first week or ten days in order to get into shape. This would give me the option to return in case I encountered the problems I did.  In this area, near the North Pole, it is very tricky to be rescued by land-based helicopter at this time of year

due to fog and it being such a remote area. I had anticipated that thick fogs would be the problem, but that once off and hauling I would be closer to Canada and the fogs would lift some when the weather cooled in August. So, my concern for rescue was near the pole itself and it was not so much a concern for my life but rather the lives of those who might have to rescue me.  On the ship to the Pole, my long-time expedition partner Victor Boyarsky traveled with me. Victor is from St. Petersburg and one of his

specialties is Russian polar logistics. As we pounded our way to the pole on the icebreaker we spent long hours studying the communications of both the ship ad the ME-8 helicopter on board. Victor was on the returning icebreaker now. The icebreaker and the helicopter were my passage ticket out, but how would they find me?

The most important message that I sent out was one that read "if all systems fail I will position myself on midnight GMT (Greenwich Mean Time was used because we were communicating with many in different time zones and needed a universal time) July 23-24 at 89.25N and 30E." This was along the path that the icebreaker would take to the pole. But my transmitter had jammed (user error - all my problems that I had with technology was user based) and for almost 24 hours I was sweating and panicking trying to correct

the problem. But, once I figured out the ailment (power problem), I managed to set up the whole plan.

The old reliable Argos satellite beacon was my technical back-up. This system is used to transmit out weather data and is proven and as trustworthy as technology can be. I have used the Argos since the Greenland crossing in '88. It transmits out my location on a regular basis - 24 hours a day. I also had

special software that allowed me the capacity to send out four lines of text and 15 coded messages.  I decided that the Argos would be used only to report my position and that I would leave it on 24 hours a day. We were able to plot out my drift pattern with the Argos and that could help predict where I might be

at a certain date if the systems failed. The Argos is a one-way communications system, in other words, my location is sent out but there is no communication back to me. However, if Argos failed, perhaps a power  problem. I might not be aware that it was malfunctioning. To check the Argos we used the HealthSat to confirm the received positions. I regularly received from Minnesota updates as to its performance.

I also had a GPS (global positioning system that I have described in past entries) which gave me my exact location within 20 meters. On all HealthSat transmissions, I gave my time and location in case the Argos failed. Our communication was numbered, brief and exact. It had the appearance of a military operation.  Since a number of people had access to me by my e-mail address, I set up very strict rules as to our communication. I received all the "outside" information only from Barbara Horlbeck, the project's director

in St. Paul.  I requested that no news, no greetings, no best wishes or concerns be sent to me during that time. It was important to concentrate fully. Also, Mark Camarata from SpaceQuest, the company which developed the transmitter, was on-line to monitor my incoming messages and help me with technical questions and problems. Mark and his colleagues at SpaceQuest built the transmitter and the antenna for me. Mark had patiently trained me in the spring to use the system and the software.

Barb would communicate the information I sent on the weather and position to Victor Boyarsky's office in St. Petersburg. This would then be forwarded to Murmansk where it was sent by short wave to the icebreaker.  Likewise, Victor, on the ship, would send the ship's location and other pertinent information back to St. Petersburg, from there to Barb and then from Barb to me. The round trip messages took only several hours once we had everything coordinated but it took a 24-hour standby for everyone in order for it to work. Mark and Barb both were up for the better part of the week. Rescues are sleepless times.

I had with me two very important emergency satellite beacons. My primary one was a German made Sat-find 406 which is called a Personal Locator Beacon. This sends out an international distress signal at 406.025 MHz and 121.5 MHz. This beacon-signal is similar to those that all aircraft carry in case there is a crash. This unit weighs about a pound with a battery capacity of 72 hours. The second unit was a smaller version of the above which weighs a half pound and is the size of a pack of cigarettes. These systems are usually only used during full-blown emergencies. This was not the case for me, for I had 60 days of food and fuel, but if all the systems failed and there was a blackout, I had initially laid out the plan that I would activate the German system for 10 minutes at midnight July 25-26, and repeat it at 6:00AM, noon and 6:00PM. My system was coded so if my signal was activated they would know it was me and Barb would contact the company to be on the alert for the signal. My concern here was I did not want to cause an international distress problem. The signal was omni-directional - going every direction - and could only be used in an all-out emergency. I saved this system as a last resort - a potential polar bear attack, fire in the tent or ice breakup of the camp. 

I spent a lot of time on the ice working over and over the HealthSat system so that I could operate almost instinctively with it. The communication was the key. I did not want to cause any problems by diverting the ship and altering the scheduled cruise of the people on board. Also, an icebreaker like this costs

$65,000 per day to run and helicopter time is $1,800 per hour - which I would have to pay - so it was in the best interest of all that we pull this off as cleanly and quickly as possible.

I tracked the icebreaker as it departed from Murmansk, Russia and steamed north into the Arctic Ocean pack ice. I knew its speed and the ice conditions and could predict accurately its positions. I felt all along that the rescue would be July 24. I had plenty of time on my hands and my "toy" was the GPS. Every hour I watched and noted my position and predicted my location fairly accurately for the 24th.

On July 24, when the urgent message came, I immediately climbed up on my pressure ridge observation post with my 10 watt VHF air band transceiver. This is a small, hand held radio that has a range from air to ground of about 20 miles. The VHF was the only radio that I carried since it is essential in bringing in a rescue or re supply plane or helicopter. The main purpose of this radio was to give my exact location. I turned up the volume until the static crackled loudly and repeated over and over "Victor. Victor. Victor. Do you  copy? Victor. Victor. Victor." After a few minutes of this, I listened in silence for a helicopter engine. Then "Victor. Victor. Victor....Victor. Victor. Victor."  In one of the lulls through the heavy static, I heard "Wheel. Wheel. I copy. Wheel. Wheel. I copy you!" The radio than crackled in static as the polar silence surrounded me again. It was incredible to hear my good friend's voice. I can't describe the words.  But what happened next was incredible: a seagull appeared out of nowhere and soared around me. I took this as a good sign. I had only seen one seagull and that was when I had said good-bye to Victor on the morning of the 13th. I had heard a seagull only once before and that was on the 4th day, when the sun came out after my being very sick. I can't attach a significance to it but the fact was established that Victor was on his way. (It turned out that Victor was on the bridge of the icebreaker coordinating his plans with the captain when he heard my voice).

I went to my tent and started to pack my gear. Luck was really with me. My weather report at 1500 had been polar gray fog. But the skies were starting to lift and visibility improved remarkably. The sun came out. As I packed, I kept working the radio. My friend Dave Houston from Ely, Minnesota had rigged up a system so I could hook the VHF radio into my 12 volt computer batteries. They gave me ample power.  Twenty minutes later I heard a Russian conversation on the radio followed my Victor's voice that was clearer and sharper than most telephones.  I had been repeating my position over and over and he came in saying "Wheel, Wheel. How do you read me, over?" I said "Strength 10, strength 10 - over." He then repeated my position which was slightly off. I corrected him, "that is eight, nine, two, six  North that is eight, nine, two, six point two, three North and one, four, one, seven East, that is one, four, one seven point zero, eight East. I asked him to repeat my position and he gave it back correctly meaning he knew my location to within 20 meters. There are two very accurate GPS units onboard and, with the sun coming out, I felt my rescue pick-up was "in the bag." Victor then said that they were going to go to the Pole first to scout a route from the ship and would be back in about 30 minutes to pick me up.  This was great news because it meant that the helicopter would only have to go about 10 miles out of its way to pick me up. I then leisurely packed and got my flares and smoke (orange smoke bombs) ready. Flares and smoke are another piece of equipment. Often it is difficult for a helicopter or plane to spot a camp on the ice in the fog or, worse yet, if the radio is not working. In low fog, it is sometimes possible to shoot a flare straight up and into the clear skies above. This would be visible from an aircraft.

On July 24th, luck was with me as the skies cleared thus my flares and smoke were mostly for celebration.  At 1615 GMT I hear the chopper loud and clear from the north. I then saw it about 10 miles away making a beeline for me. They spotted me about 3 miles out and did not have to change direction. I prepared my gear for the violent back wash of the helicopter blades. The Russians always drop down from straight overhead which reduces the wind. Holding down my gear from helicopter winds always reminds me of  Antarctica and the unbelievable storms we were in. As the helicopter touched ground I was curious as to  how Victor would react to all of this. I thought with all of this inconvenience that he had to go through for  me, he might be a little serious. As the door opened Victor popped out yelling "Hurrah! Hurrah"!  Both of  his arms were shooting upwards as he yelled "Hurrah! Hurrah"!  Then he gave me the biggest bear hug that nearly popped my back. He kept hugging me and the "Hurrah's" changed to "my brother, my brother." Victor is naturally affectionate, as everyone who has ever met him knows, but I have never seen him like this! He is such a good friend. He also likes the excitement of ships and helicopters and rescues.

About 10 people piled out with smiles and greetings - ample help to get my bags and canoe-sled into the helicopter. It was like a big party and no one was uptight. This made me feel good. I knew the pilots and some of the passengers from the trip to the Pole. As we took off, a bottle of vodka quickly made an appearance and vanished in toasts. Then a pineapple upside-down cake was passed around. My reality had quickly changed and how happy I was that everything had gone so smoothly without creating a large hassle.