Supporting Epilepsy Action Blog

Pangnirtung Fiord to Pangnirtung - our destination!

After an early rise tents come down, we’re packed up and away by 8am.  Rich called ahead on his sat phone last night to arrange a skidoo to pick him up first thing, so he can go ahead and organise for our arrival.  We walk the remaining few miles into Pang with no stops arriving at 10.30am, where Rich comes down to meet us.  It’s a strange feeling – happy to have made it but having to leave behind such an incredibly beautiful part of the world, and head back to the politics and stresses of everyday life.

Rich welcomes us into Pang with congratulations and two bits of news – one good one bad.  The bad news, is that there’s no chance of flying out before Wednesday.  The good news, is that he’s persuaded the Auyuittuq Lodge (a fairly basic youth hostel) to accommodate 16 people at short notice (which out here means having oil delivered to provide hot water, and rounding up people from the community for cooking and cleaning).  We will have showers, beds, food that hasn’t been freeze dried and a solid roof over our heads for the first time in a week, and we’re all happy with that!

Only four others have made it through the Park this season, 3 groups failed and there’ll be no more attempts this winter.  We are the largest team to ever attempt – and succeed – a winter crossing of the Park.  We definitely had the weather on our side, but that doesn’t detract from our accomplishment – 128 km (or over 80 miles) over 7 days and 7 nights, through all types of terrain in temperatures below -40C at night and around -25C during the day.  The size of our group and our success is largely down to the preparation and team work of everyone in the group, but it must be said that the organisation and leadership of our guides – and especially Richard – played a very large part in our success.

I thought the trip would be tougher – I thought pulling the Pulk would be harder and I was braced for much worse conditions than we had.  Not to say that it was easy – every step of the way, from the moment I woke up to the moment I went to sleep, was effort.  Going to the loo, getting a cup of tea (or water for that matter) and everything in between, was effort, although after the first day you just settled into routine.

I didn’t think much about it at the time as I really enjoyed “tent life” – the banter in the evenings and mornings especially – but it was tough.  After the first few days, body perspiration at night made the sleeping bags damp, and by the end of the week the hoods of the bags were actually wet.  Having the bag in your Pulk all day meant that when it came out to sleep in, there would actually be visible ice that you had to crawl into, which was always unpleasant, although it warmed up fairly quickly.  A small hole in the tent one night caused a wind to blow through around my feet, and I quickly lost feeling and had to stuff the hole best I could until the next day when it got repaired.

On the flip side however, I was completely unprepared for the sheer scale of the scenery we encountered.  I knew it was going to be incredible but sometimes it was almost too much to take in.  Some people I think would find that kind of remoteness quite unsettling, but I love it.  It’s impossible to describe the feeling of standing in a vast glaciated valley or in the middle of a huge lake, with an hour’s walk either side just to get to the edge, and in front and behind you maybe 100 miles of Arctic wilderness to the nearest community.  Huge glaciers hanging off vast mountains, some rising a good kilometre straight out of the ground, and beneath it all, 16 tiny people inching their way along.

Would I do it again?  Definitely – although I’d rather try and different location rather than the same again.  My only gripe with this area is the dependence on incredibly unreliable airlines.  We were lucky coming out, but as if to highlight the point, when we did fly out on Wednesday, we arrived in Iqaluit to discover not one piece of our luggage had gone on the plane.  It eventually turned up in Ottawa on the day (i.e. about 1 hour) before we were due to fly back to the UK.

The barriers to launching an attempt across Baffin are probably the reason why there are so few attempts, and why we saw only one other person on a skidoo for virtually the entire crossing.  As well as the flights, fuel, skidoo transfers, contingency planning and simply getting that number of people with kit to the start line is a huge operation in itself, and dealing with the Inuits never easy.  Again this is testament to our guides with Absolute Arctic.

So what next?  At Heathrow before we left the UK, Rich asked me if I’d be interested in an attempt of the Pole next year.  Obviously my reply was, let’s wait and see how this one goes!  On reflection however it doesn’t appeal – I loved this trip mainly due to the scenery, the mountains, lakes and fiords.  On the Pole, it’s basically sea ice for 3 weeks and a very long slog.  There is no definite goal either – just co-ordinates.  So I’ve declined that offer, and think my next trip – if only for contrast – will be a summer Expedition!

Once we’re settled in the Lodge there’s a lot of admin to sort out – all our kit must be prepared for flying out, which includes ditching all the food which can’t be used (the locals are very happy to receive the chocolate and sweets we haven’t eaten), and all the remaining fuel must be disposed and fuel bottles thoroughly cleaned before going on the planes.  We have time to sit down, chat and reflect on our accomplishment as we watch the weather close in around us, and thank Rich for pushing us to get out before it got too bad.  I manage to make a call out to my parents to tell them we’ve made it and I’m surprised to find a lump in my throat when I tell them we’ve succeeded and are all out safe and well.  It’s only talking to people who weren’t on the trip that it starts to settle in what we’ve accomplished.

It was, after all, only one week.  But one of the most incredible week’s of my life, and will be fondly remembered.

Overlord Shelter to Pangnirtung Fiord

0800 – 1800 approx 27km.  An early start and another long slog today, although the going was easier after a short stint on ice rubble packed up at the mouth of the Fiord, we hit flat sea ice mostly covered with a few inches of snow.  The skis came back out and we really started to burn the miles, as the sun came out again and layers came off.  Even if sub-zero temperatures as I took off my outer thermal layers and rolled down my windsuit, I noticed my own smell today, which can’t be a good sign!

Morale high today even though many I think our thinking more of hotel rooms than tents, now we’re out of the Park – it helps that being on a huge open Fiord we can easily walk in pairs and everyone spent the day chatting.

We had one slight detour as we aimed to cross an ice boulder field this morning, but when we got there one of the guides scouted ahead for a path and found some of the boulders shifting under his weight.  This is too dangerous for us all to drag Pulks over, so we had a 1 hour detour going around the long side of the island in the middle of the Fiord, across the flat sea ice.  Nobody complained.

This evening I sewed up two big holes by the tent door.  There is wind this evening and you can really feel it taking our warmth away, and overnight would make a big difference even inside our sleeping bags.  We traded our freeze dried beef stew for lamb with another tent this evening – we’ve had beef twice already and my Colman’s mustard is a great compliment to the lamb, so everyone’s happy.  We have to dig shallow snow for water since we’re now very much on sea ice – digging deep we’d get salt in our water, but camping near the coast line I walk inland slightly to take snow from the edge.

Tomorrow we’ll be at Pang, and none of us are talking about the possibility of camping outside the community for a few nights until we can get a flight out.  With the weather closing in the chances of a Wednesday flight are looking less likely, but even with that flight we still have two more nights in sleeping bags.

Thor Shelter to Overlord Shelter

The long slog.  15 miles and bloody hard work today.  Crampons falling apart under my feet, lots of ice down the Weasel River, wind around Windy Lake Bridge and when we had to come off the river, we were pulling Pulks over rocks, gravel, ice, snow and everything in between.  A few people had falls – Lucy has injured her ankle, Rosanna her knee, a few blisters and generally morale is quite low.  We have a weather window closing behind us with cloud and wind moving up – there’s a concern that if we’re out here when it comes in, we’ll be stuck for a few days and will miss our flight from Pang.  The weather is due to be closed in completely by Wednesday, which is the day of our flight, so we’re pushing to get in for Tuesday morning, if not Monday, which will be a hard push.  We didn’t stop much today for photos or breaks generally, and once we were past Crater Lake, it was clear we were aiming for Overlord Shelter which is at the entrance to the Park itself.  We’ve basically covered two days of walking in one day.

We got around Windy Lake Bridge though to Windy Lake Shelter, which is just above the Arctic Circle at 66° 30 North.  This was where the previous attempt from the South got stuck for three days in 2006.  In that group were two of our guides – Richard and Andy – and one of us guests – Nucky.  When we sighted the Shelter, Nucky pushed ahead and by the time we all arrived and unclipped our Pulks, she was sat on the hut step, with the visitor book she’d written in two years ago.  Her entry then was “I will be back”.  Her entry today “I’m back”.  And she promptly burst into tears (although she’ll hate me for telling everyone).  When I took a photo she put her glasses back on to hide them.

Shortly after setting off we arrived at the marker for the Arctic Circle and stopped for the obligatory photos.  Being quite cold I pulled my Epilepsy Action sponsors T-Shirt over my windsuit, and had a picture taken that makes me look like the biggest pie-eater in Canada!  On reflection I think I would rather have braved the cold for what may be a once-in-a-lifetime picture!

With Richard – normally bring up the rear – out in front driving us on we made Overlord Shelter at the entrance to the Park around 6pm by which time everyone was shattered, having put on a hard pace with few stops all day.  At dinner Andrew surprised us by producing a bag of dried cranberries, which were an absolute God-send.  We’re now ahead of schedule and only have 2 days on the Fiord ahead of us – weather permitting.  The Fiord should be flat and quite fast going assuming we don’t have lots of ice, so we can afford to burn extra fuel this evening, which is a welcome relief for me since I’m feeling dehydrated and am drinking lots of water.  This evening I cut twice the amount of snow blocks we would normally for melting.  This last day there hasn’t been much decent snow to mix with thermos water so my two litres didn’t go as far as usual.

There’s a strange feeling in the group – we have now walked from the North to the South of the Auyuittuq National Park, and all that stands between us and getting out of here, is 31km of Pang Fiord.  It feels a bit like the Expedition is now over, which is slightly dangerous – a bit like getting to the top of a mountain and feeling that you’ve achieved your goal.  Of course, the Expedition – like being on top of a mountain – is not over until we’re all safely home, and it’s important not to let basic admin go out the window or to start slacking off.  We still have a least one night on the ice and a good 2 days walking ahead of us.  We have to stay hydrated, fed and look after our tents, ration our fuel and supplies as if an Arctic storm were coming in and we were going to be out here another 3-4 nights.  There’s also a possibility that when we get to Pang we could end up sleeping out on the sea ice until we can get a flight out – a sobering thought!

It’s a nice feeling though, to think that our challenge was to walk this National Park in Baffin Island from the North to South, and that we’ve achieved that.  I’ll allow myself a bit of self-congratulation as I nestle into my (cold, wet) sleeping bag this evening.  Today for the first time I allowed myself to talk to Mark about what I’ll do when I get to Ottawa – I’m thinking a barber, some new clean clothes and an Italian restaurant with a good bottle of red wine!  I know we’ve only been out here a week, but one hell of a week and it feels a lot longer!

I’ve just been told we’ll be breaking camp at 8am tomorrow morning – Rich I think is aiming to get us to Pang – or very close to it – in one day.  That’s 31 km and will be tough going.

Summit Lake to Thor Shelter

0900 – 1700.  We set off and clear Summit Lake, Summit Lake Shelter and the Warden Hut at the SW entrance to Weasel River before our first break – quite a long first slog.  It felt like a long slog today since we constantly had our destination – Thor Shelter at the base of Thor Peak – in view but never seemed to quite get there, right until the end!  We covered around 10 miles as we start the descent, which means we’re well and truly past the half way point and there’s only one way out, which has definitely boosted morale.

Weather turned slightly today but threatening high winds – we could see on the tops of mountains – and a cloud front never fully materialised, although a noticeable drop in temperature with sun trying to break through cloud.  We’re moving better with less stops – probably also to do with less sun and lower temperatures, but with less stops it’s important to take on more water when we do stop to prevent dehydration.  This evening the wind has picked up and the tent is being knocked about, but we’re a long way off a proper Arctic storm so despite a few small tears in the tent, nothing to worry about.

Our main problem today was a section of river that we were concerned wasn’t strong enough to support us.  We came off the river onto the bank but there was limited snow cover which made pulling the Pulks hard work over rough terrain.  We had a surprise pass on the way down of a skidoo coming up, which was a welcome sight – if he can make it up, we can make it down!  Our other problem were the crampons – it’s hard work keeping them on the larger sized boots (which includes my size 12’s) and I only managed to keep one on consistently, making best use of both poles when the other foot went down.  Walking across pure ice though was incredible, and I’ve some amazing pictures.  The Pulks skid around on the slightest gradient and you have to second guess where it’s going next so you can brace your footing without risking a twisted knee or ankle.  The Pulks are connected from an upper body strap with two lengths of rope, connected with a bungee.  The bungee acts as a spring and really comes into it’s own when the Pulk starts sliding around, so there’s no sharp pulls – just gentle tugs.

Our total descent today from 420m on Summit Lake to 150m at Thor Shelter, but as we continue the descent down Weasel River tomorrow we’ll hit the last of the big concerns at Windy Lake Bridge, where the valley acts as a funnel and we’re guaranteed strong winds.  Two years ago they spent 3 days stuck there, rebuilding snow walls to protect the tents every 3 hours.  However, on that aborted attempt they were travelling south-north, and since we’re coming from the north and will be way beyond our halfway point, even if we get stuck there a few days, we’re still going to Pang!  That’s reassuring to know.

Our camp site is simply stunning – we’re camped next to Thor Shelter, which is a tiny hut with solar powered emergency radio, and a tiny toilet block.  The toilet block is an oil drum with a hole cut in the top, and smells so bad I’d prefer our usual snow hole in the ground!  However, a break from the wind is a light relief.  The shelter hut also has a visitor’s book in which we have added all our names to.  I walked up the bank behind our tents to try and get a shot of the tents with Thor towering above.  I ended up walking for over 20 minutes before I was far enough away to get the huge piece of glaciated rock in one picture – it’s an incredible sight.  It’s as if a massive ice-cream scoop has just chopped half the mountain away in one go.  Given the wind that usually plagues this valley, there’s not a lot of snow on the ground and finding places to get a secure footing for the tents was hard work.  More so finding suitable snow to melt for water.  After a few days of intermittent use my ipod battery has virtually died, but the Power Monkey I brought along is doing a good job of recharging the battery.  We did a lot of single-file walking today since with Pulks skidding around it’s not safe to be close together, and the ipod was a welcome companion.

Owl River/June Valley to Summit Lake

0900-1730.  Blue skies most of the day, gentle breeze picked up to wind on lake in afternoon and felt the cold.  Some put wind-mits on and a number of people really felt knackered by the end of the day.

After finishing the walk down the valley we climbed up to Glacier Lake which is the only steep climb of the trip.  Slow going and on a number of occasions 2 people dragged one sledge up, and returned to pull the other up.  Real team effort as some struggled more than most, but all made it up without incident.  At the entrance to Glacier Lake we’re standing at the bottom of Norman, Highway and Rundle Glacier, all snaking their ways back up into the mountains around us.  Quvneq Glacier bulges like a huge ice blister from the top of Mount Alvit above us.  There are lots of pressure fractures on the lake and where the ice is exposed you can see thousands of tiny air bubbles frozen into the ice.  As we rounded the moraine field at the bottom of Turner Glacier onto Summit Lake, we got our first glimpse of Mount Thor in the distance, and the vast expanse of Summit Lake was simply breathtaking.  I had to stop for a few minutes to take it all in – took a picture but it barely seems enough to do the scale of the sight in front of us any justice.  We also saw the edge of the Penny Ice Cap today – I’d love to get up there.

We found a slightly sheltered spot in the moraine field of Branstock Glacier since we’re lightly to have winds tonight down the Lake.  We’ve built a small snow wall in front of the tent in case the winds pick up, and with high mountains close either side, we lose direct sunlight fairly early and the temperature drops quickly.

Putting up the tent a pole snaps – fortunately this is one thing we have spares for but with only one tent’s worth of poles, we can’t afford many more breaks.  I also felt quite dizzy when we stopped today, and realised I hadn’t taken on enough water through the climb.  It’s so easy to forget what a dry environment we’re in and how easy it is to dehydrate.  I’ve decided that every morning and evening I’ll have 2 cups of water before doing anything else.

This evening using the temperature gauge with a remote sensor, without wind-chill we record -24C outside the tent, while inside with burners on, the temperature is up to +32C!

Our position puts us 37km to Overlord which we could reach on Sunday if the weather holds out, then another 2 days to Pang hence 29th, which would give us a 1 day margin, which is very reassuring.

June Valley to Owl River

09:20 strike camp to 17:00 – around 9 miles

We’re walking gradually uphill along the Owl River through June Valley, and I’m getting a sense of how difficult it is to judge distance.  I think it’s the clarity of the air – last night I thought we camped about half an hour from a turn in the valley.  3 hours after setting off, we finally reached it!  Still have beautiful weather – unfortunately it’s not due to last but generally we have a light wind, blue skies and sunshine.  Since we’re walking South we have the sun on our faces all day and despite 2 layers of sun screen I still caught the sun.

Looking at the map this evening I notice there are very few names for the mountains we pass.  According to my map “Feature names are uncommon in the northern part of the Pass, a testament to its relative isolation and as a deliberate contrast to the busy naming period of the 1950/60’s for the southern part.”  We did get our first glimpse of Mt Asgard today though – a strange sight like a huge rock table top that has been dumped in the middle of the mountains.  At 2010m high it apparently has the highest pure vertical cliff face in the world, and was the scene of the James Bond sequence at the beginning of “The Spy Who Loved Me”.

Finding my Pulk much easier to pull than I’d anticipated, I’ve off-loaded some of Andy’s gear into mine – spare tent poles and a meal box.  May well regret it tomorrow when we do the big climb up to Summit Lake at 420m.  What I am noticing however is how everything is an effort out here – from the moment we wake up in the morning and starting pumping the fuel bottles, to digging out Pulks and trying to de-ice the tent poles (being careful not to touch them with bare hands) without breaking them so we can collapse the tent and all the rest of the admin, before we even start walking.  Then throughout the day it’s a fine line between making good progress and trying not to sweat, which will make the few clothes we have wet and prone to freezing while we’re wearing them.  In the evenings, there is no such thing as just having a cup of tea – snow must be cut, fuel bottles filled and pumped, snow melted, water sieved and only then are we ready for a drink.  But we’re getting into the routine and despite the work we don’t really notice it as an effort.

North Pangnirtung Fiord to June Valley

I wake up around 04:30 desperate for a pee.  I quickly resign myself to the fact I’ve just got to get the first one over with and force myself up to a kneeling position in my bag, grab my pee bottle (a plastic 1 litre flask) and have my first pee in the Arctic.  All the time I’m in my sleeping bag, one finger just inside the bottle to make sure I don’t overfill – peeing inside a sleeping bag would not be pleasant.  Fortunately it transpires I’m not in the “1 Litre” club but have a 7-800ml bladder.  Being in the middle I now have to reach over one tent mate, unzip the inner fly sheet and poor the contents carefully into the snow, being sure not to hit any of our outer boots.  Doing this very slowly – spilling urine in the tent is a nightmare since drying anything in the Arctic virtually impossible – by the time I’ve finished I’ve started to lose feeling in my fingers and ears.  Once back in the bag I’m quickly warming up, but the reality of Arctic life is settling in.

I wake up again around 6am.  I have cold water dripping onto my face.  As I open my eyes I can see ice crystals all around the hood of my sleeping bag – only my mouth and nose are exposed as I sleep, and the condensation quickly freezes to the bag in elaborate formations.  As I’m breathing out, the warm air is melting some of the ice and it’s dripping back onto me.  With most of my clothes inside my bag I start to feel restricted and frustrated I have so little movement, and quickly decide I’ve got to get up and out of the tent.

I start pulling out clothes and putting them on – inner thermal layer, outer thermal layer, inner gloves, two layers of socks, fleece, full body windsuit, inner thermal boots, outer gloves, windproof hat, face mask, Arctic sunglasses, thermal Rab jacket, and then I attempt to get over Treve without waking him (not very successful) open the inner door and in a hunched position pull on two outer “Baffin” boots that have almost totally frozen solid.  Through all of this every brush with the tent brings down flakes of ice, some hitting my neck and running down my back.  Doing up the frozen laces with cold hands is a challenge beyond me at this point and I’m desperate just to get out.  I unzip the outer fly sheet, zipping both doors closed behind me, and just walk quickly away from the tents for a few minutes, taking some deep breaths which sting the back of my throat.  All I can think is we’ve got 8 nights of this – and I’m wondering what the hell I’m doing here.

And then I stopped to look at the view – a vast glaciated valley with dawn breaking over the mountains stretching as far as I could see in both directions, and in the middle, 4 green tents, and aside from last nights’ skidoo tracks, not a single other person or man-made object in sight.

I can honestly say from that point onwards, there was no other point on the entire trip when I regretted being there, or wished to be anywhere else.  I documented the moment with a picture and panoramic video, and went back to the tent for breakfast.

Daily Routine

Since our days followed a very similar format, I’ll run through it here:

6-6.30am – MSR Stoves on, warm up tent, boil water for day, breakfast of water, tea, hot Alpen then around 8-8.30 stoves off, kit on and tent down, packed into Pulks (the proper name for a sledge towed behind you as I discovered), and off we set.  At breakfast I would also take a few multi-vitamins and cod liver oil to compliment my diet, which was mostly dry food high in calories.

8.30-5/6pm – we walk throughout the day stopping every hour for around 5 minutes when everyone takes on water and food from their day bags.  Water, day bags and thermal Rab jackets are stored in the front of the Pulk for quick access, and the usual format – especially with skies on – is to give the Pulk a quick tug and slide it between your legs so you can sit down and pull out everything you need easily.  In those temperatures long stops would get too cold, even with the extra thermal layer on.  Water is a scoop of snow in the thermos flask cup, melted with boiled water from the thermos.  It’s very dehydrating being in such a dry climate, so melting snow on the way stretches two 1 Litre thermos flasks to 3 or 4 Litres.  Day bags are large freezer bags – one for each day of the 8 day trip plus 4 emergency bags each – full of boiled sweets, chocolate, biscuits, raisin bars and an assortment of other goodies.  I say goodies, but can honestly say that by the end of the trip, I never wanted to touch chocolate ever again.

Walking was on average (including stops) a leisurely 2 mph.  We usually walked either in pairs or single file – with full thermal kit on it’s not easy to have conversations hence the iPods.  iPods and cameras have to be stored close to the body to prevent the batteries freezing up – in my case they were zipped into my inner thermal layer.

5/6pm – depending on how everyone was feeling and our mileage, we’d aim to have tents up while the sun was still on us.  I tried to get my body into a routine of going for a Number 2 (sorry but I know you were thinking about it) at this point since it was much warming generally than the mornings.  Hygiene is paramount in such a remote location so toilet spots are quickly defined well away from where we cut snow for melting into water, and the two different shovels are colour coded, clearly marked and carried on separate sledges to avoid contamination.

With tents up one person goes into the tent and starts arranging the two layers of thermal flooring – one layer of carry mats with a further crossed layer of therma-rests over the top.  While this is going on, one person sorts out the fuel bottles and stoves – refilling if necessary – while the other two secure the tent, pile snow up around the perimeter to stop wind getting under the fly sheets, and then pass all the other personnel kit and food into the tent, finally arranging and securing the sledges around the perimeter.  Stoves are put on once the tent is secure, and the long process of snow melting for water carries on for the few hours it takes to have dinner, repair any kit, wash (usually a baby wipe defrosted over the stove), sterilise hands, look after feet, dry gloves and socks if necessary, then around 8.30pm, stoves off and quickly into sleeping bags.  Once the stoves are turned off, the temperature falls quickly inside the tent.

It was also around this time I would write my log.  Dinner was usually a few cups of water, a cup of soup, and a freeze dried meal complimented often with my Colmans Mustard (especially good with the lamb and pilaf!).  We had a lot of pork scratchings in our rations which were a real God-send.  The high burn rate during the day would leave my body desperate for salt.

Our first day was very warm – starting around -20C with a real feel with the sun out of probably not much less than -10C, with no wind, which made it a good opportunity to get the Epilepsy Action “Out in the Open” T-Shirt on for a photo!  We only managed about 6 miles today as people got used to their kit and found their pace, but by the afternoon – after a fair bit of messing around in the morning – we’re moving quite well.  The biggest problem today was the sun needing lots of sun screen for our faces.  The surface we’re walking over has a light level of snow with the occasional bit of grass poking through, but on the whole it’s a lot easier pulling the Pulk along than I thought it would be.

The sheer scale and feeling of remoteness exceeds any of the expectations I had for the trip – it truly is astounding being out here.

I spoke to Rich today who says now we’re moving, and with weather reports as they stand, he’s 70% confident we’ll be walking into Pangnirtung (“Pang”) in 7-8 days, which would obviously be great.  I really hope we get another few days of this weather, but we will need to step up the pace to 8-10 miles per day minimum if we’re going to make it.  We’d need to be at Summit Lake by 25th to guarantee we’d only be heading south on the way out, rather than turning around.

We stopped to camp at around 5pm to get tents up while we still had the sun on us, and I found a perfect rock for taking a dump – never had such good views we’ll on the loo!  Had my first Arctic crap and don’t think I’ll ever get used to it, although after 24 hours now on Arctic rations, I was relieved not to have diarrhoea.  It’s true what they say though – the best way to take a dump in the Arctic, is quickly.

After everyone was in their tents getting dinner on, I walked up to a small ridge above the camp site and took some pictures and video.  It’s an incredible feeling to be so remote with such stunning scenery, in the knowledge that you’d have to go about 100 miles in either direction to get to the nearest settlement.  The air is so clear that mountains miles away are sharply defined, and it makes it difficult to judge distance.  It’s so quiet it’s difficult to imagine there’s anything else going on in the world.

Having got a few miles under our belts and with everyone that bit more confident in putting up tents and using stoves, morale is noticeably improved.

Iqaluit to Pangnirtung to Qikiqtarjuaq (Broughton Island)

We’re off!  And despite all the horror stories all our kit along with 16 intrepid Arctic Explorers make both the flights and are ready for the final leg to the start point.  On our last flight over the park we have our first views of the terrain we’ll be walking across – a vast expansive Arctic Wilderness of mountains and glaciated valleys.  The air is excited but slightly anxious.  Nervous laughter greets the odd joke.  Our last duty as we arrive in Broughton Island is to pick up our white fuel for the stoves, decant the cans into fuel bottles and load up into skidoo trailers for the transfer into the Park.  I’m pleased to hear that due to Polar Bear activity, we’re being taken in further from the sea ice than we’d planned.  Losing the distance we’ll accomplish is annoying, but after all the local stories and conversations I’ve had, my mother will be happy we’re erring on the side of caution.  I’m sure she wants her fur collar back unstained.

The wooden skidoo trailer is uncomfortable to say the least.  We are togged up with every bit of kit we have available for a journey across the sea ice and take it in turns to be in the middle – the warmest place to be.  We sit 3 or 4 per trailer all facing backwards with sledges packed on the front and rear.  One person takes a turn at absorbing the bumps against the wooden back board, while the last person as the most exposed has the hardest job staying warm.  Wedged in the middle is light relief.  I also take a turn riding on the back of the skidoo, but find trying to hang on with three layers of gloves virtually impossible and by the time my hour is up, my thighs are aching.  The skidoo is constantly dipping into deep snow on alternate sides which the driver skilfully rides out of, but the effect for the passenger reminds me of sidecar riders in professional motorbike racing, without the handholds.  Every hour we stop to get out, run around, warm up and have a breather before carrying on.  Progress at 20mph max is painfully slow and after a 2.30pm start we finally reach our drop off point 6 hours later.  Some are feeling motion sickness not helped by diesel fumes, but not long after we have tents up and are cooking our first meal on the ice.

We’ve also had our first problem – during the skidoo transfer one bundle of skis flipped off a sledge, breaking two skis beyond repair.  The guides assure us this is not a problem, but someone will have to go without.

My first meal of soup, water and freeze dried beef bourguignon goes down well, but moral amongst the group is low.  It’s cold, the reality of what we’re doing has hit everyone, a number are feeling sick from the skidoo transfer, and of course on the first night few people other than the guides are sure about what they’re doing.  One of the tents has a problem with the valve on their fuel bottle causing flames to shoot up – quick thinking gets the fuel board out before any damage is done to the tent but the fear now is in everyone’s mind – we’re not carrying any spare tents, it’s very cold and they’re our only means of shelter.  I also realise just how incredibly dehydrated I am from 6 hours on the skidoos without a drink and kick myself for making such a basic error so early on.  After boiling up enough water to fill 2 flasks for each person in the tent and after meals are eaten, stoves are turned off and immediately I feel the temperature start to drop.  Sleeping bags are quickly gotten into and at 10.30pm, exhausted after a long day, I’m quickly asleep.

Iqaluit - final thoughts...

23:00 – this is it.  Last night in a bed, last chance for a shower, and last food that’s not been freeze dried.  Everyone is making last minute adjustments to kit, deciding what little luxuries to take with them (books are heavy to pull but sitting in a tent for 3 days in an Arctic storm could get pretty tedious).  We fill two thermos flasks each with boiled water and set alarms for 4.30am.  We’re told the current temperature in North Pangnirtung Fiord – our start point – is -39C with windchill.  I double check the stitching of mum’s fur collar I’ve sewn into the hood of my windsuit – it’s obscenely large compared to anyone else’s but I don’t care, and I’m rather proud of the job I’ve done!  In my personal kit I’ve got a 7 day pill pot with a small cocktail of vitamins, a small tube of Colman’s mustard, a sewing kit, power monkey, iPod, spare camera batteries and memory stick, Leatherman, baby wipes, vaseline, deck of cards and a book.  I also take a tourist map of the park, waterproof notebook and printout of all my sponsors with their comments – I have a quick last read before going to bed.

Iqaluit - Training and Prep Day

What’s the coldest I’ve ever been?  A few years back I was skiing in the Monashee Area of Canadian British Columbia, when the temperature dropped suddenly from around minus 30C to minus 40C.  The guides made a quick decision to helicopter us off – it wasn’t an immediate danger, but the danger of someone injuring themselves and lying in the snow while others hang around in the bitter cold.  I remember seeing an exposed piece of cheek on one of the skiers turn white in front of my eyes, and remember my gloves going as stiff as cardboard, and feeling a cold that seemed to penetrate my bones.  I had a full body thermal layer on, windproofs, fleece and ski jacket, with two layers of gloves, hat and facemask, and I remember feeling incredibly exposed.

Today we don full kit and practice skiing out on the sea ice with our touring skis.  They’re very light, and have a toe-only binding allowing a heel lift for a walking motion, and scallop-shaped cuts in the wax base which allow the ski to glide forward, then bite the snow to provide traction when you pull back.  They’re excellent for our use – they’ll stop us sinking into soft snow and allow a glide on flat or slightly downhill terrain.  After a few laps most are happily taking confident strides – this is the one thing we weren’t able to properly practice in the UK.

Ottawa to Iqaluit

The next morning we’re on the first of three First Air flights – the local and incredibly unreliable local airline which services the Northern parts of Canada – which will take us to Iqaluit – the capital of the Nunavut region which encompasses Baffin Island.  Despite the horror stories of previous expeditions we arrive with only one sledge missing – which thankfully arrives on the evening flight.  We get our first taste of the cold weather and the incredibly deprived level of living in the Inuit communities – the local newspaper has 8 Alcoholic Anonymous meetings advertised (even though it’s supposed to be a dry community), and very little evidence of industry, aside from major outside companies setting up mining camps.  There’s even a picture diagram of how to wash hands, counsellors offering help on home abuse, and a story about a shooting they think was part of an escalation of shootings designed to get the best headlines.  The biggest concern on my mind were the two Canadian women on the plane next to me who didn’t ask me if we were taking guns, but how many.

That evening we have a meeting with the National Park Office to register, which we have to do before entering the park.  Part of the questionnaire includes questions such as “would you be prepared to assist in a rescue”.  We’re reminded a skidoo rescue would take minimum 2-3 days, and that would be weather dependent.  We’re briefed on the use of radios in the few shelters in the Park, and told there has been 1 successful attempt this year, another 2 groups have been pulled out, and we will be 1 day behind a team of 2.  5 attempts and no others planned.  Most of the 500 annual visitors to the park – well over 400 – are summer visitors, and most hike the summer trail, which of course excludes any sea ice.  The bulk of the meeting however is taken up with advice on dealing with Polar Bears – the usual useful stuff about not running, sticking together in large groups and trying to make yourself look larger and louder, and oh, don’t look a polar bear in the eyes.  I wonder just how close you’d need to be to look into a polar bears eyes, and if I was that close, just how big and loud I’d have to make myself to intimidate the beast.  Call me selfish, but I work on the Safari principle – you don’t have to be the fastest man in the jungle, just faster than the slowest.  Firearms are not allowed in the park – the principle being that shooting Polar Bears is only allowed in self defence, and there seemed to be an awful lot of ‘defence’ going on.  Hence we’re carrying a small arsenal of other kit – flares and so on.  Polar Bears appear to dislike large groups, and 16 is a large group by any stretch – that’s what I console myself with as I try to get to sleep that night, and pledge never to be the last man in the group.

Apparently alcohol and drugs are not just a big problem for Inuits out here due to social reasons, but also as their bodies simply can’t cope with it.  Everywhere seems to have its own by-laws and Iqaluit does have limited alcohol available.  As I leave the bar opposite the hotel, the Inuit in front of me walks straight into the door frame, as if to prove the point.

Heathrow to Ottawa

We all arrive at Heathrow amidst a pile of red and blue sledges, black bags and our own carry-on luggage, quickly sort the confusion into a more organised form of chaos, and successfully manage to check in all kit for the first of four flights that will – hopefully – get all 16 of us with all our expedition kit to the start line on Baffin Island for Monday afternoon.  All checked-in luggage must weigh no more than 23kg and a few items are thrown around the hall before all bags are accepted.  “Did you pack the bag yourself” - “well, define ‘yourself’ – yes of course I did, with 15 others who I kept eyes on all the time”.  “Has the bag been left unattended at any time” – “you mean since I drove to the Cotswolds 2 weeks ago for the packing weekend and left 16 sledges and 16 other large bags with Andy and Richard – I’m sure they had them in their bedrooms every night….”.  A few hundred quid later for some excess weight and we’re on.

There’s something horribly intimidating about any immigration officer, in particular those working in North America – America or Canada.  “Are you here on business or pleasure” – it’s definitely not business so I chose the latter.  “And what is your final destination in Canada” – “Baffin Island” – “and what are you planning on doing there” – “we’re going to walk across it”.  He stops staring at his screen and stares straight at me – “you’re what?!”.  “We’re going to try and walk across the National Park from North Pangnirtung Fiord”.  He pauses - “are you bringing firearms into Canada” – “no, just expedition equipment”.  “Why not?”.

We’re in Canada, all kit accounted for and checked into the Lord Elgin Hotel and smugly I take a dip in the pool, being the only one who remembered to pack a swimming costume.