My Polar Dream

by Jade Hameister

  When I was in year seven, I decided to run for middle school captain. It was my big goal that year and I had my heart set on it. However, I didn’t get chosen, but my best friend did. While I was incredibly proud of my friend (and she did an amazing job in the role), I was also quietly really upset at the time. It seems like such a small thing now, but it fired me up and made me determined to find something else to work towards – something that was important to me but which wasn’t related to school. Adventure was second nature to me so that was where my focus naturally turned. I decided I wanted to ski to the South Pole, just like Villa had done.

  I mentioned the idea to Dad first, and the two of us agreed we should do some more research into it as I really had no idea what I was asking for. Dad spoke to an expedition company he had used many times before, and they assured him it was possible to ski to the South Pole at 14 years of age if one was properly prepared. Armed with that knowledge, we sat down with Mum and Kane and told them what I wanted to attempt to do.

  Mum and Dad were, in principle, in support, but with the condition that Dad would have to go with me given my age.

  But before I was given the go-ahead, Dad said I had to prove that this was something I was really passionate about and committed to doing. He devised a rigorous training program and my goal was to stick to it. I didn’t miss a session.

  But life in the suburbs of Melbourne hadn’t exactly given me the skills I’d need to ski for weeks on end while dragging a sled in some of the coldest parts of the world. In fact, I had never really skiied before – however, I was willing and excited to learn.

  Dad and I organised a trip to New Zealand so we could both learn how to cross-country ski at a place called Snow Farm. Honestly, I hated it at first. I loved the snow, but I felt incredibly uncoordinated the first time I put on skis, and my muscles ached in ways I never expected. I remember watching the experienced skiers and feeling so out of place, but for some reason that only motivated me more.

  We then flew by helicopter to the Tasman Glacier in the middle of one of New Zealand’s coldest winters. There, Dean Staples – a good friend of Dad’s, who had been his guide on Everest (Dean has summitted Everest nine times) – taught me all sorts of polar expedition skills. Dad wanted to see if this really was something I was going to enjoy. He told me later that he’d half expected me to say it was a lot harder than I’d thought it would be, and to give up on the journey to the South Pole.

  In temperatures as low as –20ºC, I learned to walk on icy slopes in crampons, harness a huge sled to myself and, wearing skis, drag it across the snow for hours. I also learned how to get myself out of a crevasse. Crevasses are dark, seemingly bottomless cracks in the ice that are mostly hidden beneath thin layers of snow. Falling into a crevasse was one of my greatest fears from the beginning; I knew I’d have to learn how to deal with it myself if that was to happen, though, and I was dreading it.

  After teaching me some theory and showing me how to tie various knots, Dean created an anchor at the top edge of the biggest crevasse we could find and lowered me in. I was then left in mid-air, dangling off the side of a crevasse in the middle of nowhere. I had to use two small loops of rope called prusiks, which were attached to the main safety rope on my harness, to slowly inch my way up the ice wall to the ground above me.

  Dad walked away at this point. He told me later that it wasn’t because he didn’t care, but because he knew it was going to be really difficult and frustrating and I needed to find a way to work through it on my own.

  It took me almost an hour to get out. I was in tears and shaking the whole time. My hands were numb and aching from the cold. I kept creating scenarios in my head where the rope would snap or the anchor would break loose. I felt like giving up multiple times and yelling to Dean to just lift me out, but I couldn’t let myself; I made it out on my own and when I reached the surface, I received the most incredible thrill.

  I was hooked.

  Everything we did during our time in New Zealand was completely new to me, but it made me really hyped for the future. I was ready to train hard and do anything else necessary to get to the South Pole at the end of the year.

  Back in Melbourne, while we were driving to the gym for another gruelling training session one day, Dad hit me with some bad news. He’d received a phone call from the owner of the expedition company we were going to use for my South Pole trip. The logistics company in Antarctica had advised them they wouldn’t allow me to ski to the South Pole at the age of 14 – it was a long-standing rule that the company would not support expeditions for anyone under sixteen. Dad told me he had tried everything he could think of to find a way around it, but their decision was final.

  I was gutted. I’d already done so much preparation. Fortunately, we’d kept my plans very secret, so I didn’t have to explain to everyone what had happened and could work through my hurt without a thousand questions.

  After feeling sorry for myself for a few days, I decided I wasn’t going to let this setback wreck my dream. With Mum and Dad’s encouragement, I began to consider what other trips I might be able to do before I turned 16 to help me prepare for Antarctica.

  After a lot of research, I came up with a new plan for us. First, I would like to ski to the North Pole, which I could do at 14, but at this early stage I hadn’t really considered or understood the decisions that needed to be made around starting points for this trip. Then I would like to try to cross Greenland, the second-largest ice cap on the planet. This was a common preparatory expedition for a full-length South Pole trip, so it seemed to make sense before I headed to Antarctica. And if I managed to complete all three expeditions, I would have achieved what is known as the Big Three polar expeditions, or the ‘Polar Hat-Trick’.

  I now had a new polar dream, and it proved to me once again that everything happens for a reason – that setbacks can be transformed into opportunities.

  Having revised my goals, we only had about nine months in which to try to put all the pieces in place to make the North Pole a reality. The North Pole expedition season starts in April each year and it’s short – there are only a few weeks when it’s considered safe to attempt the journey.

  To start with, we needed a guide.

  After a few emails and phone calls, we found Eric Philips, the first Australian to ski to the North and South Poles. He had been guiding polar expeditions for 25 years, lived in Tasmania and owned a company called Ice Trek. Eric flew to Melbourne to meet me and get comfortable that a 14-year-old would be up to the task. He signed up to be our guide on the expedition.

  We then needed to confirm funding for the expedition.

  When Dad had summitted Everest, he and Dean, who was also a cinematographer, had filmed their journey. The resulting documentary, Everest: The Promise, was distributed by a Melbourne film production company, WTFN, and it aired on the Discovery Channel. Dad mentioned my quest to complete the Polar Hat-Trick to the CEO of WTFN, Daryl Talbot, and Daryl asked if I would be interested in allowing a cameraperson to accompany me on my journey. WTFN then took the idea to a few different organisations they thought would be interested in helping with finance and logistics, and National Geographic said yes, and made a significant financial commitment.

  Having the financial support of Nat Geo was unbelievable, but, looking back now, I realise that the money was the least valuable piece of my partnership with them – it opened up so many new opportunities for me. I am so grateful to have had such an incredible organisation involved with my journeys.

  For the following months, getting to the North Pole was my focus. I would go to school and continue to do everything a normal 14-year-old would do, but I was also planning to ski more than 150 kilometres over a new and harsh environment. I had to get used to juggling the two worlds I now lived in.

  Dad and I would go the gym four or five times a week to work on strength training, plus we’d do another two sessions to improve our aerobic conditioning. That could involve anything from dragging tyres on
the beach using a harness (the closest we could get to pulling a sled on snow) to hours of stair climbs. Each of these sessions lasted anything from 90 minutes to two hours and they were as much about pushing on when you felt like giving up as they were about building fitness. As physically strong as I needed to be to take on this expedition, it was going to be the mental side that would really test my limits.

  THE

  NORTH

  POLE

  EXPEDITION 1

  Destination: The North Pole

  Distance: A 150-kilometre journey from outside the last degree, starting at 88’40

  Duration: 11 days, May 2016

  Goal: To be the youngest person in history to make the trip

  Team: Me, Dad, guide Eric Philips, cameraman Petter Nyquist

  Big challenges: Dad’s kidney stone, delays from cracks in the ice runway, danger of falling into the freezing Arctic Ocean, open water leads, compression zones, polar bears, a race to beat the end of the season

  Everyday challenges: Skiing, homesickness, wondering if Dad was okay

  3

  FALSE STARTS AND

  MIDNIGHT EMERGENCIES

  Just when you think everything is going to plan, things can change in an instant.

  For more than a year I’d been training hard to tackle my first polar expedition. I was feeling physically ready for the North Pole trip, but I had some concerns too.

  I remember one specific night at the gym, where I had a major episode of self-doubt and fear. I wondered just what we thought we were doing even attempting this expedition. Here I was, a 14-year-old girl from Melbourne who had barely even seen snow, attempting to set a world record on skis. Who did I think I was?

  I was also starting to dwell on the dangers we could encounter along the way. There was the real possibility of plunging through the thin floating sea ice on which we would be travelling, into the freezing Arctic Ocean below. There were also polar bears, who can smell humans from up to 20 kilometres away and have been known to stalk polar adventurers for days. But because the actual trip still seemed like a dream, these hazards did too.

  The night before we were due to fly to Oslo and then on to Svalbard, Dad and I went through all of our gear one more time, just to make sure we weren’t leaving anything behind and that everything was working as it should be. All that was left to do was pack it all into our bags. To keep things calm and at least semi-normal, Kane and I decided to play a game of cards after Mum had dished up one of Dad’s and my last home-cooked meal for a while. Dad told us he didn’t feel very well and he went up to bed early.

  I’d only been asleep for about an hour when I woke to the sound of Dad’s voice.

  ‘I’m going to go downstairs to sleep, so I don’t keep you awake,’ he said to Mum.

  It was only about half an hour later when I woke again. This time the voices were louder, more anxious.

  ‘Do you want me to call an ambulance?’ Mum asked.

  What? Ambulance!

  I went downstairs to find Dad doubled over in pain on the floor. He’d been busy all week with work and organising the final details for the trip, and had been ignoring some abdominal issues. But this was bad – I could tell immediately from the grimace on his face.

  Mum called emergency services, but when the ambulance hadn’t turned up 20 minutes later, Dad decided he was going to drive himself to the hospital even though he was in excruciating pain. Mum was trying to help him, but he kept saying he could look after himself.

  The situation quickly became very chaotic. We had no idea what was wrong with Dad and he was starting to make less sense as his pain intensified. What if Dad was seriously ill? What if we had to abandon everything we’d worked towards?

  The next morning, Mum told me that Dad had a large kidney stone and would soon be going into surgery – the day of our departure – to have it removed. I was almost convinced that our big adventure was going to be over before it even began. But Dad being Dad, he’d told Mum before he went into surgery that he was going to get on the flight, even though the surgeon was strongly recommending that he shouldn’t travel so soon after his operation.

  I tried to believe it was possible, even though as the hours ticked away, we had no news from the hospital. I fought hard to keep in the flow as if everything was proceeding as normal. Thankfully the day was full of distractions – a blur of interviews and filming with National Geographic. I didn’t love having a camera shoved in my face to capture my raw emotions, but my polar journey was now being filmed for a documentary, so it was necessary. My two best friends Zoe and Mia came over after school to say goodbye and it all became very real.

  Dad arrived home from hospital at 6 pm – after only waking up from his general anaesthetic at around 4 pm! He was very groggy and we worked together to finalise the packing and zip up our bags. Our taxi was picking us up at 7 pm to head to the airport, so we ate a rushed meal together and said our final farewells. It was obvious Mum was more than a little worried.

  The travel was incredibly long. Melbourne to Dubai was a 14-hour flight, and from there, another seven-hour flight to Oslo. We then had a nine-hour stopover before the final leg of just over two and a half hours of flying to Longyearbyen in Svalbard. I spent most of the journey worrying about Dad. He now had a plastic stent between his kidney and bladder to help him pee – unfortunately he was peeing lots of blood – and his forearm was bleeding from the hole left behind when a nurse had pulled the IV drip out in the car park. (He’d left the hospital in such a hurry the nurses forgot to remove it, and he was halfway home before he realised and had to turn around. A nurse met him in the car park to take it out.) He was wearing special circulation socks on the plane to stop the blood from clotting after the surgery, and seeing them kept reminding me of what had just happened.

  Eric met us at the airport in Longyearbyen and checked us into the hotel, where we called Mum and Kane before falling asleep.

  The next day, Eric (who was staying across town) was due to pick us up at midday to explore a bit of the town. I sat in the hotel foyer writing in my diary and admiring the unique landscape out the window. I became more and more nervous. It was so cold outside and I knew it would be about 20 times colder out on the ice – and we were going to be out there for the next couple of weeks.

  I was already homesick and missing Mum and Kane like crazy. Mum sent me a thought to consider over the coming days, and it really rang true: ‘If I quit now, I will soon be back where I started. And where I started I was desperately wishing to be where I am now.’

  I knew right then that if I decided to quit, I’d regret it forever. I had to keep at it.

  I knew this in my heart, but my head was still loud with doubt.

  Longyearbyen is the largest town in Svalbard, Norway – though with a population of about 2500 people it’s not really large at all. It started out as a coal-mining town in the early 1900s, but these days it’s the centre of the tourism industry for the Arctic. Cruise ships leave from here to explore the fjords, icebergs and wildlife of the ice-bound north and it’s where anyone like us, preparing to ski to the North Pole, does their final preparations. The town consists of heaps of colourful houses and buildings, a few shops, some restaurants, a bar and a museum. Not that we had much time to explore. Our second day was all about making the final preparations before heading off.

  We were doing this journey ‘unsupported and unassisted’ – that was our plan for all three expeditions. These are technical terms used in the adventure community to help classify expeditions. ‘Unsupported’ means no support is received via using dogs, kites, vehicles, etc. – you can only use human power to progress. ‘Unassisted’ means that you carry all your needs in your own sled – you cannot receive any resupplies along the journey, either by way of air drop or depots. Unsupported and unassisted is obviously the hardest way to undertake these expeditions, but also the purest – that’s what appealed to me – the risk of failure would be higher, but the feeling of achievement would be s
o much greater if we could pull it off.

  Amongst the contents of our sled was all our food rations. Breakfast would be Eric’s ‘breakfast bomb’ (protein powder, powdered milk and pecans and shredded coconut for flavour). Lunch would consist of a chunk of salami and a chunk of cheese, a packet of two-minute noodles and a few dried biscuits, but I’d never eat everything because my hands would get too cold and eventually be too painful to function. Dinner would be dehydrated packeted meals and Dad and I’d share a double serve in the tent at night. We’d also have a hot drink in the morning (chai latte) and a hot drink at night (Milo). We needed to eat about three times as many calories as we normally would to ensure we had enough energy. The only thing we wouldn’t be carrying was water. We’d be travelling across ice, so there’d be no shortage of it to melt. The only issue was that, because the ice we’d be moving across was frozen sea, it might be hard to find water that wasn’t slightly salty. The older the sea ice, the less salt it contains. In multi-year ice, nearly all the salt has drained away and it makes fresh water that is fine for drinking when melted – such ice is a different colour and not too hard to identify with a bit of coaching.

  Eric showed us how to pack the sleds for while we were out on the ice. Everything we needed during the day had to be placed at the front of the sled, because the last thing you’d want to be doing is unzipping and unpacking the sled to find something while your body is very quickly cooling down as you’ve stopped moving. We didn’t know what the weather would be like, and we needed to prepare for the worst.

  We first met our cameraman, Petter Nyquist, in Longyearbyen too. I became really good friends with him over the course of the expedition. This North Pole expedition was my first experience with the camera in my face and I hated it to start with, but after becoming quite close with Petter, I would just pretend as though I was having a conversation with a friend when he asked me questions on camera. He was the perfect personality for a novice like me – Petter was patient, funny and really cared about how I was feeling. He would prove to be an expert skier and the hardest-working member of our expedition. Petter carried all the camera equipment himself in his sled – the camera people for Greenland and the South Pole would have an assistant to drag these heavier loads.