As we crawled out of our tents on day 10, I was confronted with my first true Arctic blizzard. But, far from daunted, I actually felt it was one of the coolest things I’d ever seen. The clouds merged with the horizon and there was no visible sun. Everything was white. The wind was strong and the snow was heavy, but the temperature was still quite warm. Unfortunately, though, the conditions quickly deteriorated.
During our journey so far, I’d seen many indications of how climate change is affecting Greenland – ice melts, the recessed snowline at our starting point – but what was happening now was the ultimate proof. We were walking straight into a howling blizzard, high on the second largest ice cap on the planet, but it wasn’t blustering snow anymore – it was pelting rain.
8
BLIZZARD DAYS
As we pushed through the storm, the layers of our clothes became drenched. Polar gear is traditionally designed to keep you warm and shield against snow, but heavy rain is a completely different story. We hadn’t contemplated this scenario when we were composing our gear list.
We had to make camp early when the rain became too intense, working together to get the tents up one at a time so nothing blew away into the endless horizon. Once the tent was up, Dad and I threw everything from our sleds into it from one side, then jumped in and sat in silence in our soaking gear until we had enough energy to speak and eventually strip off our saturated clothes. Once stripped off, we hung up our cold and wet clothes, which hadn’t seen a washing machine in almost two weeks, on the makeshift clothes line inside. The fur ruffs on our polar shells shielded our faces from the wind like magic, but when they became wet, they reeked like the stench from a wet dog.
With all our wet clothes hanging above our heads, there was a rich aroma from the damp socks, musty thermals and polar outerwear just inches from my face as I ate my freeze-dried lamb fettuccine and hot Milo for dinner. It wasn’t exactly pleasant. But for now, it was home and we were protected from the storm raging outside the thin walls of the tent.
We woke up the next day at the normal time of 6 am to the wind smashing the tent all around us and to find our sleds buried in snowdrift. Eric described the conditions as ‘diabolically worse’ than the day before and, by yelling between the tents, he told us to get comfy – it was too dangerous to go anywhere.
The big question, of course, was how to pass hours and hours trapped inside a tent. I’d never been stuck in a tent on an expedition before, so this was another level again. It was actually pretty exciting and surreal. I could have been at home doing schoolwork in my room, but instead I was in the middle of the Greenland ice cap, snowed in.
I had a Kindle, my diary, phone and music with me, so I had plenty of distractions, but I decided to take a nap instead.
I woke up to Eric yelling another update. If it was a couple of degrees colder, the rain would turn into snow and we’d be able to push on, since it wouldn’t make our clothes wet. The outsides of the tents were now soaked, which meant our clothes would be too if we tried to keep moving. And we hadn’t brought wet weather gear because in all his years of polar travel Eric had never needed it. It felt more than a little bizarre to be in Greenland hoping for the temperatures to drop.
Eric had heard over the satellite phone that the other team who’d started at the same time as us had already made it a fair way further than we had, but were also sitting tight in their tents for the time being. They had apparently only brought 25 days’ worth of food and fuel for the crossing, while we had brought enough for 30, so they were under extra time pressure. They’d also called for an evacuation when the weather cleared and were sending a few people who weren’t coping with the conditions back to civilisation. When Eric enquired over the satellite phone what the issue was, he was told they had ‘cold feet’ – this is apparently the code that the guides use to describe clients who had minor issues like blisters but wanted to quit. Eric seemed to think we were in far better shape than them and he didn’t seem even a bit worried that we’d had to take an enforced break.
I was actually feeling pretty positive about where we were at. It made me quite proud to know that I was pushing through while adults doing the same job were calling it quits. Of course, it was tough and I was feeling totally exhausted, but I knew this was the perfect training, physically and emotionally, for our South Pole expedition, which was now just seven months away.
We needed a decent break in the storm before we could pack up the camp and move on and we finally got that at about 2 pm. Everyone was settled into their sleeping bags, resting, reading or listening to music. Dad was outside building a toilet for me as a surprise – one with walls made from blocks of ice for privacy. After an hour or so I could hear him talking to Eric through the walls of the tent. I poked my head outside to find the weather had cleared and I could now see the horizon. Eric thought we should stay put and Dad was trying to convince him to get out of his comfy sleeping bag and come outside to take a look. Heath emerged first and confirmed Dad’s assessment. Then Eric came out and agreed the weather seemed to have cleared, so we pulled everything down, packed up the sleds and moved on.
One thing that I learned is crucial in these conditions is knowing how to be comfortable with being uncomfortable. I do this by trying to focus on one thing in the present specifically. If I’m feeling cold or some part of my body is in pain, I direct all my thoughts to moving one foot in front of the other. I watch the skis moving in front of me and observe where my ski poles are breaking the surface of the ice. While it doesn’t stop the cold or the pain, it shifts most of the focus. It also means we push on even when the conditions are far from perfect. We managed to get five hours of skiing in that day and covered 11 kilometres before we had to stop and set up camp. By 10 pm, we were back in our tents again, ready for another night.
Now the storm seemed to have gone, but dark clouds still threatened on the horizon, almost like some apocalypse slowly chasing us. We were well on our way to reaching DYE-2, one of the early-warning spy stations built by the USA on the Greenland ice cap during the Cold War to detect Russian missiles. Despite the less-than-ideal conditions, we still planned to reach the decommissioned site the next day, our eleventh on the trip. Then, according to our estimations, it would be another four days to reach the peak of the ice cap at about 2500 metres above sea level. The thought of heading downhill was pretty enticing. I was really looking forward to this – even some flat ground was much more appealing than the constant uphill slog.
One thing that became very clear to me during those tough days was the strength of my friendship with Heath Jamieson, the assistant to the camerawoman on our trip. A former special forces soldier in the Australian army, Heath had been through much more in his life than most of us could ever imagine and endured much tougher battles than skiing across this frozen island. He’d completed three tours of Afghanistan and had been shot through the neck, the bullet severing part of his spine and leaving him unable to walk. In 2013, he was part of the Walking with the Wounded expedition to the South Pole with Prince Harry. The fact that he was here with us and dragging the heaviest sled of all, full of all the camera gear we needed to make the documentary, was beyond extraordinary and it motivated me every day. I 100 per cent wanted him to come with us on the South Pole journey, no matter what.
I had very quickly discovered how much of a legend Heath is – he seems to have no issues with anything and has a knack for lightening the mood when it’s required. He’s the sort of person you are incredibly lucky to have alongside you on an expedition like this – selfless, knowledgeable and with a good sense of humour. He’d already taught me things I didn’t even know were possible, like mind tricks he used to push through tough situations. When I got frustrated or cold and was at a low point, one of the first things he suggested was just to smile or laugh to myself. I soon realised that you can’t feel bad when you do this! Another way he suggested to fight the pain was to take myself to another place, and focus only on the movement of skiing in my sub
conscious. He also taught me to clear my mind of any thoughts. I found this really hard to do, but once I nailed it, it made it so much easier to clear my mind of negative thoughts. It was almost like a meditation, and it was great to practise it out there, considering I often don’t have time at home.
Good posture helped too, he said, and it worked. Standing tall and strong made my body believe that I was winning over the pain I was fighting. I felt as though I was growing and learning something new and priceless every day I spent with Heath. Eric was my guide and he was very professional, but Heath, without ever being asked, became my mentor. I learned more from him on my polar journeys than anyone or anything else. I will be forever grateful that I had Heath by my side on my toughest days.
In planning this trip, I had aimed to arrive in Tasiilaq on Greenland’s East coast with enough time to interview some of the Inuit people, whose families have lived here for generations, as I was curious to learn about and understand their views on climate change. The weather continued to play havoc with our schedule, jeopardising this unique opportunity – especially when we woke to another ‘Guys, we’re not moving this morning’ from Eric. Again, he had assessed the conditions and found them to be inhospitable and unsafe.
Sitting in the tent once more and knowing that we still had over 400 kilometres to go was frustrating beyond belief, and for a moment the thought did enter my mind that we might not get to the other side. To fail to make it to the east coast after two weeks of hard work and years of preparation earlier, would have been heartbreaking, so I was really keen to get moving as soon as we could.
Dad and I used the time to talk about the plans we’d made and what alternative plans might be required. Our projected arrival day became 4 June, the day before my sixteenth birthday. We had enough food to last until 7 June, but that was the day after Dad and I were due to fly home. It would probably mean I wouldn’t get to conduct any interviews in Tasiilaq, but my main priority was getting there.
I had everything crossed that the wind would drop off and we could get out of the tents and continue our journey, so I was overjoyed when the weather cleared slightly at 4 pm. We could see DYE-2 in the distance, about 17.5 kilometres away, and I just wanted to get moving.
Slowly, we were chipping away at our goals, both the short-term goals and the ultimate one. In the end, we didn’t make DYE-2 that night – we only had four hours of skiing time, during which we covered almost 13 kilometres – but I had new hope that we could get back on track.
Heath taught me that the human brain is lazy. It wants to find any way to get out of hard work or being uncomfortable. I just needed to control my thoughts. It came in handy when I woke up feeling a little unwell.
The first hour of the day was a massive struggle for me mentally for a reason I couldn’t grasp. It took all the tricks I’d learned from Heath to get myself back on track.
At some stage later in the session my nose started to bleed again. Some days out on the ice were better than others, and this was not shaping up to be a good one. Dad and I were skiing together behind, and everyone else was a long way in front. We had to pause and look for toilet paper to deal with the blood gushing from my nose. The guys in front stopped and waited. They were so far in front they couldn’t see what we were doing. When we finally got moving again and caught up at the next break, they didn’t bother to ask what had happened and why we’d stopped. I guess everyone was dealing with their own suffering at that point.
During the second session of the day, we made it to DYE-2. It was a really cool place, with a huge geodesic dome on its roof. It reminded me of the set of a science-fiction horror movie. The whole place had been trashed; all the windows had been smashed, there were drifts of snow inside and there was frozen leftover food everywhere. Apparently, when the US military abandoned the site in 1988, the workers just left most things where they were. Now, it was an interesting diversion for anyone skiing across the plateau and it looked as though plenty of people had stopped and sheltered here. We spent a couple of hours exploring the place with our head torches and Heath took the opportunity to sneak up on me through a side passage. I almost ended up with frozen pee pants again.
Camped just outside the site was Bjorn, the guide for the other Norwegian group, and three of his team members. They’d made camp and were waiting to be evacuated. Another guide from the same team who had gone ahead was now heading back to join them with two additional people who also wanted to leave the expedition. It was disappointing for those who weren’t going to make it, but it was an extra dose of motivation for me. I was still going.
As we left DYE-2 we encountered a nearby US military training camp called Camp Raven. Ski-equipped Hercules planes land and take off there on the ice runways as practice for when the American pilots have to fly scientists and other workers to and from Antarctica. There were also scientists working there, which led to a chance meeting with a German woman called Regine Hock, from the University of Alaska Fairbanks, who walked out of their camp to greet us as we skied past. She was studying glacier mass change and climate change, and was generous enough to spend some time telling me all about her findings and her thoughts on the changing climate.
Until I’d been on the ground in the North Pole and Greenland, I was slightly reluctant to believe that global warming was really happening and that it was having the kind of rapid effect on our world that scientists were claiming. But my first-hand experiences certainly opened my eyes to the truth. It is impossible to deny it when you’re seeing it through your own eyes. In Greenland, the obliteration of the snowline back at Kangerlussuaq, the melt ponds and the blizzard in which snow was replaced by rain, added to what I had learned from speaking to John at DMI and now Regine. This was all proof of just how much trouble these pristine and fragile environments are in. It made me want to learn as much as I can about the environmental impact of humans and what we can do to protect our planet and these amazing environments for future generations.
Eric was starting to get worried, and his frustration was beginning to show – he felt we were travelling too slowly and was keen for us to push harder.
According to him, being high up on the ice cap – we were at about 2000 metres at this stage – was excellent preparation and a great test for Antarctica. Our current trip was around 30 days and 550 kilometres; the new route we were planning from the coast to the South Pole would be close to 40 days out on the ice to cover around 600 kilometres in much tougher conditions.
Eric had already told me a bit about what we could expect in Antarctica. Much of the plateau there sits at about 3000 metres above sea level and it is a brutal and unforgiving place. The altitude combined with very low temperatures can make it extremely dangerous. Having that as my next goal helped me push through any doubts in Greenland. I had to completely conquer this otherwise our December trip would not be looking good.
At the end of day 14, we had only covered around 200 kilometres. We were halfway through our food and fuel and we still had 354 kilometres to go according to the GPS.
Dad and I redid the sums after dinner in our tent and came to the realisation that we were going to have to smash about 25 kilometres a day for the rest of the trip, assuming no more weather delays, to make the coast by the day before I turned 16 – this would be day 27.
That night, Dad and I made a commitment to each other that we would make this happen. We would give it everything, no matter how tough it got and even though I had a list of complaints and injuries as long as my aching arms. We had our goal.
The self-imposed pressure was good; we skied faster and added an extra hour to the next two days and managed to cover 24.5 kilometres and 25.5 kilometres. The extra hour of skiing a day meant getting the eight hours’ sleep each night (generally from 10 pm to 6 am) required to recover properly was a real challenge. I usually wasn’t getting to sleep before 11 pm each night anyway. We spent that extra hour of skiing moving closer to our goal, but there were lots of other things to be done every day too –
setting up camp, melting ice for water, having dinner, writing in my journal and filming video diaries for the Nat Geo documentary – and time just always seemed to get away.
The halfway point was approaching so quickly. For the most part, I was spending quite a bit of time skiing on my own. At other times, particularly when frustration was kicking in, I’d ski with Heath. Seemingly small things tended to get on my nerves (and everyone else’s) in these conditions. One of the main culprits, again, was going to the toilet. Back home, I take it for granted, but when the landscape becomes flat, there’s nowhere to hide.
We tried stacking a couple of the sleds for me to shelter behind, but that also took extra time, and the delays were driving Eric crazy. He was mad and after one stop gave me a lecture about how I needed to speed up my toilet breaks. This really frustrated me and so I decided to head off in front with Heath, who was leading during the next session.
There’s nothing like keeping up with a speed demon to work out the negative emotions. Each time Heath turned around I was right on his tail. I kept up with him, despite him being 190 centimetres tall and standing head and shoulders above me.
When the two of us stopped for a quick break, Heath turned to me and said, ‘Frustrations are sometimes good.’ I felt as though he understood what I was feeling. We certainly think many of the same things. I told him about what had happened at the last break and why I was angry, and he pointed to his chest and told me that was where I found my strength. I felt myself thriving when he gave me motivation, even if it was only a few words. It made me take a deep breath and have a chat to Dad later that day after we’d set up camp. We decided between ourselves to focus only on what we needed to do to achieve our goal – not to be distracted by others – to be ourselves and, importantly, to move at our own pace and not worry so much about the pressure to ski faster. If it meant long days, we didn’t mind.
My Polar Dream Page 7