NORTH POLE 6

6 Time Travel in the Company of Strangers

Posted by Satellite Phone, April 16

The North Pole is more elusive than you’d think. We were close, within a couple of hundred metres and with just one pressure ridge remaining between us and our goal.  It was feasible, in fact, to allow ourselves to drift towards the Pole and avoid this last obstacle altogether.  We edged forward a little, GPS clutched in mittened hands, and suddenly we’d missed it.  We turned around and chased after it.

However any of us had imagined the moment, I doubt it was like this.  The party of ten ran around in a fevered dash, pursuing the Pole and checking the digital displays of a handful of GPS units.   “Left a little, right a little …” And then we had it,  just for a moment, 90° North.

Our last day of trekking had been very different in both mood and conditions. The end seemed easily within our reach but the strong North Westerly drift forced us to walk ever Eastwards to ensure we didn’t end up sailing past the Pole and missing it altogether.  The weather had changed too and it seemed fitting that our last day was shrouded in flat white light.  This light is peculiar, it delivers no discernible difference between sky and snow and no shadow, sense of depth, contrast or gradient of light with which to read the contours of the land. It’s just white.

But with the help of technology, a gifted guide who barely needs to use it and more than our fair share of good fortune, we found our way to the top of the world, arriving at a beautiful saucer of featureless ice, hemmed in by a ridge in every direction.  With numb fingers we set up our tents one more time and awaited pick up. The cloud cover made even this element of the journey uncertain and we were told to expect a delay of a day or more but there was an air of frivolity and completion among the polar trekkers and laughter rang out from tent to tent as I contemplated the prospect of rehydrating and then discarding one last freeze dried meal. No amount of relief or triumphalism could diminish the bitter cold and, of course, every small task remained unfeasibly difficult, now made more so by frost-nipped finger tips.

The General managed to mastermind a small ceremony in memory of Peter Huntley who should have been with us but had sadly died in training.  His ashes were scattered and in a poignant moment we were able to honour his memory and find a few moments of quiet to reflect upon the magnitude of the journey we’d come through together.

Then of course there was a party, a party was inevitable.  The end of each day’s walk had not lent itself naturally to anything other than making camp, cooking, boiling water, sleeping and preparing for another day of the same.  So as we neared the close of our adventure we found ourselves with several litres of fine spirits that we’d all individually hauled across the ice.  Rob’n'Roly proved themselves to be accomplished hosts.  They piled tinned cherry into meringue nests, strung streamers across their tent and produced a box of chocolates, wrapped and bowed.  (The surprise here was not their attention to detail, culinary expertise or natural artistic flair but the fact that the meringue had survived the journey intact.)  Gaffa Dave appeared with some music, Techno Doug provided cigars, there was plenty of laughter and some terrible, but heartfelt, singing.  Yes, a party was inevitable, and so too was the sudden call that the helicopter was on its way.

A party has never ended so abruptly, or been tidied away so completely.  It vanished without a trace as the helicopter approached, its mechanical roar echoing off the ice.   Regrettably Sara and I weren’t able to execute our tent disassembly with the skilled precision we had learned to adopt.  In fact we were unable to fold it away at all and probably missed out on our polar explorer’s badge as a consequence,  but in our defence, there were some insurmountable technical hitches.

The return journey passed in a blur of helicopters, a return visit to Barneo and a flight back to Longyearbyen that marked the end of a 36 hour day.  The reversal of our route allowed us to step back into a world we recognised and step out of our concocted time-zone, one that had not only allowed us to travel by night and sleep by day but one that also used polar time travel to go backwards by twelve hours, conjuring up an additional day’s trekking that somehow never needed to be paid back.

On reflection, it turns out that testosterone is a useful commodity on a trip of this scale.  Rob’n'Roly were consistently strong, focused and ahead.  Human bulldozers, they heaved large pieces of ice out of the way and frequently hurled our pulks over obstacles, only occasionally  in anger.  Given the opportunity they would have cleared a path to the Pole. They were often unexpectedly kind, particularly at times when help was absolutely necessary and this help was always thankfully received.  Techno Doug was hugely supportive of the whole group and appeared to love every life-changing second of the experience.  His technology seemed to fail him from time to time but it turns out that he is able to operate on full power without it.  The General soldiered on, swatting at the jibes from his tent-team like a man with a couple of irritating mosquitos following him.  Gaffa-Dave was extraordinary: Unflappable, diplomatic,  conscious always of everyone’s feelings and usually to be found with tears of laughter running down his face.  (I must point out, however, that before we left for the ice cap I noticed him eyeing up some of the life saving equipment I’d fashioned out of foam, gaffa tape and not much else and though he tried to disguise it, I think he secretly admired my gaffa-prowess. Clearly he still has some survival skills to master.)

And Deborah? She approached us one morning as we were taking our tent down.  She suggested we put on a fashion show ‘for the boys’ once we reached the Pole and invited us to ‘have a think about it’.  Fortunately Sara and I were both wearing face masks and busily engaged in stuffing a tent into a bag of ever decreasing proportions so we were excused, under the circumstances, from giving an immediate response.  At least three very good reasons why this was not going to happen passed through my mind in a matter of moments. Not least of all, had this happened, Deborah’s wish for anonominity  would  have been seriously compromised.

Joining an unknown group is a risky business, sharing the walk of a lifetime in one of the most hazardous landscapes Earth can offer is riskier still.  Given the lack of handsome Marines volunteering to carry our bags for us, I feel fortunate to have walked with this particular group of strangers. I am also grateful to an eclectic support team at home (largely unknown to each other) whose knowledge, humour and love combined with the determination, patience and strength of my fellow Polar Trekkers to make my Stroll to the Pole infinitely more achievable and certainly more fun than I could ever have dreamed of.