It’s been such a long day and we’re all dog-tired. I know, totally lame pun, and it’s kind of ridiculous for me to try to hide my feelings with sorry attempts at humor, so I’ll just come right out and confess: I’m really scared. It sounds like the Arctic’s about to hit us with everything it’s got and that’s a pretty frightening prospect. I mean, I really don’t care to see everything the Arctic’s got. If we do, it might just be the last thing we ever see!
WYATT
APRIL 15, 10:23 AM
77° 57′ N 52° 14′ W
-12° FAHRENHEIT, -24° CELSIUS
SNOW, 20-30 MPH WINDS
As bad as this storm is, we are safe inside a sturdy igloo. When we checked on the dogs they were all curled up and sleeping. Most of them are completely buried in the snow, only their noses showing. Unaaq explained that the snow actually insulates them from the cold and assured us they are comfortable. I wish I could say the same for myself. My thermometer inside the igloo reads 30°F. It is even warmer under my blanket, but I have a nagging chill that I cannot shake.
We radioed Suunia for the extended forecast. Unfortunately, it is not promising. The blizzard shows no signs of letting up. In weather like this, Unaaq says it would be a challenge to go a single mile in a day, and storms up here can last a long time. We are all so anxious to get to the Inughuit and we’re very close. However, we have no choice but to stay hunkered down in the igloo until conditions improve.
GANNON
AFTERNOON, I THINK
The weather settled just enough for us to pack up and make a short run on the sleds. That’s not to say the weather is good. Not even close. It’s still snowing like crazy and the wind is charging over the ice, building up snowdrifts so high the dogs are having a hard time getting through them.
I have to admit, I’ve been tempted at times to exaggerate my bravery in this journal so that one day I could look back and say, “Wow, G-Man. You were one tough hombre!” Right now, though, I can’t even pretend to be tough. Honest truth, I’m on the verge of weeping like a baby.
What hurts most is the bitter cold. Running the sled, the pain always starts in my fingertips and toes and then moves inward until both of my hands and feet are aching like they’re being crushed by some invisible force. When I took off my face mask to break away the ice that had formed around the mouth, my skin started to sting like someone was holding a match to it. Within a matter of minutes it was so numb that my face muscles stopped functioning properly and I literally couldn’t speak without slurring my words. I’m not even sure what the temperature is, but it’s cold enough to freeze spit mid-air! I’m not kidding, before it hits the ground! Now, that’s frostbite cold!
My muscles are cramping and I have all these open cuts on my hands that just won’t heal. Worst of all, I’ve developed this strange sounding cough. Kind of like a hyena might sound after a tonsillectomy. And it burns, which I know is not a good thing.
That’s right, I’m complaining again. Sorry, but given our situation, I really don’t have much of an option.
We’ve stopped again and dug out a small cave in a snow-drift to block the wind and are boiling noodles. Not sure how much further we’ll get today.
WYATT
APRIL 15, 2:19 PM
78° 14′ N 51° 09′ W
-11° FAHRENHEIT, -24° CELSIUS
ELEVATION: 7,371 FEET
BLIZZARD CONDITIONS
If my calculations are correct, we’re just over 20 miles from the Inughuit.
Other than that, I’m afraid we have no real positive news to report. My left foot is starting to go numb. Both hands, as well. Gannon has a serious cough and a burning in his chest. Could be a sign of bronchitis, or worse. He started taking antibiotics as a precaution. I think Unaaq and Nuka are struggling, too. Both are moving slower and Nuka has the beginnings of a cough, but neither has made a single complaint.
Just as Unaaq feared, we are in the grips of a super storm. Can’t even get a radio call though to Suunia. The storm must be blocking the transmission.
Our progress has slowed to a pace of about 2-3 mph. Hard to do much better than that in 30-40 mph winds. Despite these challenges, we must continue to move on the best we can. We must move to keep the blood flowing and get closer to the Inughuit.
Worthy of note is Unaaq’s good nature, which remains in tact. I don’t think I’ve ever met a more compassionate and caring man. When we stop to rest, he tends to us first and regularly makes jokes to lift our spirits. Here’s one that got a laugh from all of us:
“Once, three friends got together at the tavern in northern Greenland,” Unaaq began. “Naturally, their conversation turned to how cold it was outside and how uncomfortable their igloos were. All three claimed theirs was the coldest, so they decided to go check out each and see who, in fact, had the coldest igloo.
“They went to the first man’s house and he said, ‘Check this out!’ and poured out a glass of water, which froze solid before it hit the ground.
“‘That’s cold,’ said the second man, ‘but my igloo is colder.’ They went to the second man’s igloo and he said, ‘Wait until you see this!’ and exhaled a deep breath which froze solid in the air and fell to the ground in an icy clump.
“‘Wow,’ said the third man. ‘That is cold, but my igloo is even colder.’
“So they went to the third man’s igloo and watched as he pulled back his blanket and picked up a single ball of ice.
“‘What is that?’ one of the other men asked.
“‘I will show you,’ he said, and lit a match under the ice. “‘Listen closely.’ As it warmed to just the right temperature the ice went, ‘Faaaaaaart!’ ”
Maybe we’re a bit delirious, but we all laughed like it was the funniest thing we’d ever heard.
“Is that a joke that was passed down from your ancestors?” Gannon asked.
“No,” Unaaq said, still laughing. “My brother found it on the internet.”
That made us all laugh even harder. Gannon’s eyes were watering.
“Oh, jeez,” Gannon said, “The tears are freezing to my cheeks.”
“I’m sorry,” Unaaq continued, “I know it is immature to tell such a joke, but a wise man once said, laughter is the best medicine.”
So true.
GANNON
Oh, man, we just can’t catch a break. I mean, come on, Mother Nature! Enough already, okay? Hello? Can you hear me?
Ah, she’s not listening.
Unaaq says the Inughuit people are not far, but when the weather overpowers us like it’s doing right now, we have no choice but to take shelter and get a small fire going to thaw our hands and feet and face and warm some frozen meat to eat. Facing this weather on a sled is harder than I could have ever imagined. We never experienced anything even close to this when we trained in Colorado. If we stop moving while we’re outside, even for a minute, our clothes stiff en and become hard as cement. I have to warm my pen over the blubber lamp for a good ten minutes to thaw the ink before I can even write in my journal. Our supply cases freeze like they’ve been sealed with a padlock. Even with my goggles on, the humidity from my breath worked its way inside and froze my right eye shut during the last run, which was just crazy. I had to steer the dogs with one eye until I couldn’t take the pain and asked Unaaq to stop so we could melt the ice away.
Walls of an ice cave
Not to be a downer or anything, but all the beauty of the Arctic disappears in weather like this. The cold is just vicious, attacking with relentless force. I now understand why so many explorers called this place “inhospitable.” No beating around the bush, this is the kind of weather that puts explorers in an icy grave.
The wind has died down some since I started writing and Unaaq went out to check the conditions. If he gives us the thumbs up, we’ll try to log some extra miles. Really not sure where I’m going to find the strength, but I have to be ready, just in case.
Okay, Unaaq came back and we all agreed to cover as much distance
as we can before nightfall.
Well, here we go …
WYATT
APRIL 15, 11:23 PM
78° 31′ N 53° 58′ W
-14° FAHRENHEIT, -26° CELSIUS
BLIZZARD CONDITIONS
We were in a white out when I lost sight of everyone. I shouted their names. Again and again, I shouted. There was no response. None that I could hear over the screaming wind, at least. It’s likely they were no more than ten feet away, but there was zero visibility.
I was trying to clear the snow from my goggles when the dogs made a sharp left. Suddenly, I felt the sled leaning hard to one side. It was being pulled, tipping over. Quickly, I leaned in the opposite direction, but it was too late. As the sled toppled over, I instinctively locked my arms around the wooden handrails, knowing that if the dogs ran off without me I wouldn’t have a chance. There was a crash and everything came to a jolting halt. Several pieces of important gear were jarred loose and I found myself hanging on for dear life. On either side of me were sheer cliffs of ice. Nervously, I looked down. Below my feet, the blue ice faded into a dark abyss. I was hanging over a massive crevasse.
I could feel the dogs tugging at the sled, trying to pull it out of the crevasse, but it was no use. Judging by the width of the crevasse, I knew the sled was too wide to fall any deeper. It was wedged securely. If I were to lose my grip, though, I’d fall beneath the ice. There would be no way to climb out. I’d be stuck in the crevasse and freeze to death. That would be it. The end of everything.
I needed to get myself out of the crevasse. Snow was swirling in my face as I struggled to hold on. With my feet, I pushed against one side of the ice, pressing my back onto the other side. Bracing myself with my legs, and keeping one arm on the sled, I moved slowly up the ice, eventually making my way to the top of the crevasse where I pulled myself back into the raging storm.
I was out of breath and could have rolled over and passed out from exhaustion, but fear kept me going. I jumped to my feet and shouted at the top of my lungs for help.
“Gannon! Unaaq! Nuka!”
When I turned into the wind, my goggles were immediately plastered with snow. I wiped them clean, but even then I could not see more than a foot in front of my face. I reached out with my hands and found the edge of a sled runner. Holding the runner tightly, I knelt back down. I could not risk making a wrong step and falling back into the crevasse. Inching forward on my hands and knees I found the dogs and checked each of them for injury. They were all safe, and once I had them settled down they curled up in the snow and buried their noses under their tails.
Remembering what Unaaq and Nuka had taught us, I knew I had to build a shelter and quick. Carefully, I crawled back to the crevasse and was relieved to find my backpack with the snow shovel still strapped to the sled. Bracing myself so I wouldn’t fall into the crevasse, I reached underneath and loosened the strap, taking great care not to drop the backpack. Once I had it securely in hand, I removed the shovel and began clearing a hole in a drift. When I was done digging a small cave, I crawled back outside and yelled into the wind once more.
“Gannon! Unaaq! Nuka!”
I may as well be on another planet.
No one can hear me.
No one is going to find me.
I am on my own.
The snow cave will keep me safe for now, but I don’t have much in my backpack. Only my journal, a map, matches, a couple weather gauges, and three small dishes of seal fat, one of which I am already burning for warmth. The radio was in another bag and I don’t know if it fell into the crevasse or not, but I was not able to find it. When the storm settles enough, I will see if any other equipment can be salvaged.
GANNON
TAKING SHELTER INSIDE CAVE
This is bad! Seriously, it’s worse than bad! I’m trying so hard to hold it together, but Wyatt is lost out there in this Arctic blizzard and I’m just freaking out!
One minute he’s right behind us and then out of nowhere this gale hits us dead in the face and the visibility goes to nothing and next thing I know he’s gone, swept away by the storm. I would’ve been lost, too, if Unaaq and Nuka hadn’t pulled along side of me and tied our sleds together with a rope. Now we’re holed up in a cave Unaaq found in a rock ledge, and thank goodness for that, because I’m not sure how much longer we would have survived out there.
Wyatt’s not responding to any of our radio calls, which makes me want to charge back into the storm and find him, but that’s just too dangerous. Basically, I have no choice but to wait until the storm dies down, and the waiting part is the absolute worst torture I can imagine!
Staring through this narrow opening in the cave wall and seeing all that white flying by out there, it’s like some kind of evil spirit has unleashed his wrath upon us. Now I understand what Papik meant when he said, “Beware the blinding light.”
This storm, it’s the blinding light!
WYATT
APRIL 16, 9:44 AM
-19° FAHRENHEIT, -28° CELSIUS
FOGGY, LIGHT SNOW, 15-25 MPH WINDS
The storm let up just enough to inspect my sled. As I suspected, it is badly damaged, wedged and frozen into the crevasse. The left runner is split in two places. Without tools and new wood for repair, the sled is of no use. I was able to retrieve one blanket. It was still tied to the deck. Everything else fell into the crevasse. Most critical, my radio and food supply. There is no food for the dogs either. Our only hope is rescue.
GANNON
STILL INSIDE CAVE
DON’T KNOW THE DATE ANYMORE
Unaaq took my sled and set out into the storm alone to try to find Wyatt. Even though I begged and pleaded, he wouldn’t let me go with him. Some of my fingers and the tip of my nose are practically frostbitten so Unaaq insisted I stay with Nuka and make a run for the Inughuit as soon as the snow lets up.
When Unaaq was getting ready to leave, he gave us the coordinates of the Inughuit and told us how to administer the remedy to the dogs.
“Give each dog two spoonfuls,” he said. “Use the handle of your whip to keep their mouths open so they don’t bite down on your hand. Stick the remedy deep into their mouths, near the back of their tongue. That way they are forced to swallow it.”
Nuka and I both nodded, but I was a total wreck and desperately needed some kind of reassurance. I needed to hear Unaaq tell me not to worry, that everything would be okay, that he would definitely be able to find Wyatt. Being the great leader that he is, Unaaq gave me that reassurance.
“Wyatt is a smart boy and knows what to do,” Unaaq said. “He will build a shelter and stay there so that I can find him. We will meet up again very soon, and once we’re all safely in Siorapaluk we will have a great celebration.”
Oh, man, I hope so.
Before he left, we all hugged.
“Make sure to save some food for me and Wyatt,” Unaaq said with a smile. “I think we will have worked up quite an appetite by the time we get there.”
“We’ll save you all the best strips of jerky,” Nuka said.
Unaaq chuckled and pulled his hood over his head. Calmly, he turned and walked from the cave, vanishing like a ghost into the driving snow.
WYATT
APRIL 16, 11:56 AM
-21° FAHRENHEIT, -29° CELSIUS
BLOWING SNOW, 20 MPH WINDS, GUSTS to 30 MPH
I stuck a long metal pole into the ground and am flying the Youth Exploration Society flag that I brought to plant at the northern most point of our journey. Though visibility is no more than 15 feet, I’m hoping that they will see it. A hard cold is coming from the north and the storm shows no sign of letting up.
I dug my cave approximately two feet deeper, putting more distance between myself and the storm. I cannot dig any further, as I’ve hit a wall of ice. Now I must keep my blood flowing to prevent frostbite. When my extremities go numb, I stomp my feet on the ground and smack my hands against my chest until the feeling comes back.
My thoughts continue t
o drift to my parents, my brother, my home. So much on my mind, but that is all I can write for now.
GANNON
INUGHUIT IGLOO CAMP
Okay, I have no idea how he did it. Maybe the dogs sniffed this place out somehow, but whatever the case, I have to give Nuka a huge amount of credit. He’s like some kind of teenage superhero the way he found the Inughuit in this crazy storm.
The agony of being out in that blizzard, taking that hurricane force wind dead in the face, it’s pretty much impossible to put it into words. We couldn’t see more than ten feet ahead of us the whole way, and we got here just in time. Another hour or so in that cold and we would have lost a few body parts to frostbite.
Some of the Inughuit came out of their igloos to greet us when they heard the dogs. They were smiling and definitely happy to see us, but the snow was blowing hard and few words were spoken as they helped us tie down the dogs and remove our gear from the sleds. We dragged our stock of food into the igloo and made hot tea and handed out a ration of jerky and biscuits to everyone.
There are fourteen Inughuit people here. A few women and a couple of boys around my age. The rest are men. My guess is that our food can last three days if we do a good job rationing. The remedy Unaaq made for the dogs is frozen solid and we’re trying to warm it enough so that we can give each of the dogs a dose. The sooner we can do that the better, because we need to leave for Siorapaluk before we’re out of food. If the dogs don’t improve, we’ll make a run with Nuka’s dogs, but our sled will only hold a few people, at most. So even if we’re able to make it all the way there, we’ll have to come back with lots of help to get everyone else out. No matter what happens, restoring the health of these dogs is critical. If the remedy doesn’t work, a lot of us will starve.
Greenland Page 7