13 June 2005
I'm safely back in London and struggling to get back into the swing of meetings, email, voicemail, traffic, eating with a knife and fork, using a keyboard and sitting down to go to the loo. I'll write a big post-Greenland update soon, but for now, I'll leave you with a link to the coolest thing I've seen since my return – the Xtracycle SUB (Sports Utility Bicycle). I've already started scouring eBay for a cheapo mountain bike so I can build one up…
— Filed under Greenland
9 June 2005
We've spent the day trying to organise how exactly we're going to get home and, aided enormously by David Jensen (more on DJ in a second) it all seems to be working. We're currently lying here with our fingers crossed, waiting for the plane to buzz over the horizon tomorrow morning. We're flying back to London from Reykjavik on Saturday morning now, but we're still driving there from Isafjordur in a hire car – although at a much more leisurely pace. I'm quite looking forward to our road trip across Iceland, and we'll have mobile phone reception for bits of it so we might be able to send some photos back…
Partly to pass the time, partly to vent my frustration that we're temporarily stuck here, and partly inspired by Apsley Cherry-Garrard's description of how Campbell and five of Scott's team spent an Antarctic winter ('The stranded men… sank a shaft 6 feet deep into a large snow drift and thence, with pick and shovel, excavated a passage and at the end of it a cave, 12 feet by 9 feet and 5 feet 6 inches high…) I decided to dig a snow hole today. The shaft bit was easy enough, but the tunnel/passage took ages as the deeper snow was compressed to a rock-hard density and I was digging sideways. It took three hours to get to a 'one person' size and I toyed with the idea of sleeping in it (the last time I did that was with the Army in Norway) but decided to fill it in again in case the plane caught us off guard in the morning. I always loved digging holes as a kid and this was no less satisfying.
Anyway, I mentioned David Jensen briefly just now – David is the Managing Director of Brooklands Executives, the company that have made this entire trip possible. I met David at the TED conference in Monterey, California in February, and he made my day a couple of months later by offering to back this essential training expedition in its entirety. When organising expeditions, it's not necessarily the sponsors with the most money that are most important, but the ones that believe in you first. Brooklands is a small but growing company; it doesn't have a million-pound marketing budget, but they didn't sponsor us to create huge publicity, but because David (and Brooklands) believed in us, and ultimately in the power of human potential. I'd like to think he spotted a spark of potential in us and, by enabling us to hone our skills and test new ideas, set us on the path to something truly great. Our only regret is that David and a few of his team are currently in Reykjavik with a cold beer, and we're still here in our tent.
Thanks David.
— Filed under Greenland
9 June 2005
Apologies for the late update – we've been busy on the satellite phone again, this time trying to sort out our journey from deepest Greenland back to London (or more specifically the Cheltenham Science Festival, where I'm due to give two presentations on Saturday afternoon). It seems the recent inclement weather has delayed the Twin Otter flights in and out of Greenland, and there's a bit of a backlog. We've just heard that we're likely to be picked up from the ice early on Friday morning and the 'Twin' will fly us to Isafjordur, in north west Iceland, landing at 0930(ish). We're currently booked on the 1610 IcelandAir flight from Reykjavik to London Heathrow on Friday afternoon, and our current plan is to rent the biggest car we can find, tie the sledges to the roof and floor it to Reykjavik in time for the flight home. Failing that, there's a chance that we can leave the sledges in the aircraft hangar at Isafjordur, to be forwarded on as freight later and hire a smaller car.
We haven't quite figured out how or where we're going to wash before getting on the 1610 to Heathrow (it's been nearly four weeks now) but thankfully we have some clean clothes waiting in Isafjordur.
All that remains then (between Friday night and Saturday morning) is to Bluetooth the talk I've written on my iPAQ over to my Powerbook, turn it into a Powerpoint presentation, burn it to CD-ROM and I'm all set.
Arranging the above left Tony and I a bit frazzled, and I've just been for a walk in the midnight sun (see pic) to chill out. And I've come to the conclusion that there can't be many nicer places in the world to be waiting for a flight. Last night's blizzard turned into a howling storm in the early hours of the morning, but our ability to sleep through what at times sounded like a Harrier jump jet hovering over our tent seems to be increasing. The storm left huge 'blizz tails' – deep banks of drifted snow – on either side of the tent and we had to dig out our sledges this morning. One strange phenomenon is that the wind has 'extruded' yesterday's ski tracks – instead of inch-deep grooves in the snow, they now look like railway tracks, leading to our tent door. My guess is that our weight compacted the snow under the skis, which then froze hard, before the wind blasted away the softer snow around our tracks. I've never seen anything like it before, but it looks very cool.
On an entirely different note, you'll be pleased to know that the star of this expedition, Barnaby Bear, is indeed alive and well. He's sat in the tent pocket as I write this and he hasn't complained about the cold once.
— Filed under Greenland
7 June 2005
Blizzards are deceptive things – from inside the tent, they almost always sound worse than they actually are. Quiet, expectant, still spells followed by sudden, whistling gusts of wind, the rumbling shake of the tent as it stands firm, the tinkling of zips, and the fizz of wind-blown snow hitting taut fabric. Our tent feels bombproof and it's happily shrugging off Greenland's worst as I write this. I have a feeling we'll be encountering more of this kind of weather in Antarctica.
With the wind blasting away and the snow piling up on the windward side of our sledges (positioned in a V-shape to give the tent some protection), we've had a surreal mobile office on the go today. Tony has been catching up on the next expedition's sponsorship situation on the Iridium phone, I've been tapping away on my iPAQ, drafting two presentations I'm giving at the Cheltenham Festival of Science this weekend and we've been writing up notes on kit modifications we're going to make once we're back home.
The blizzard has grown stronger as I've been writing this, as if my earlier words have somehow wound it up. Tony described the tent's movements as 'an angry goose preparing for lift off'. Both he and I are professing an unalloyed calm, but there is always an electric undercurrent when mother nature reasserts her dominance and you are this far from home…
— Filed under Greenland
7 June 2005
A quick update (before I tuck into my freeze-dried beef stew) to let you all know that we've had another long and challenging day (10.5 hours) but we're both now safely tucked up in our sleeping bags.
Today's challenge was principally weather-related – whiteout. I've skied through many days of whiteout on the Arctic Ocean, but I've never before had to do it with crevasses (we saw a whopper today, looming out of the mist) and mountains thrown into the equation. The sun put in an appearance at times, and it wasn't as bad as what I'm sure Antarctica will be throwing at us this winter, but it certainly made things tougher today.
Whiteout is essentially a combination of low cloud (or even mist/fog) and snow. There's no sun, no shadow, no contrast and you lose all sense of perspective and distance. We navigated today using compass and GPS (satellite navigation) and our tracks from a few days ago were entirely blown over. In a fitting end to the day, the sun came out as we were putting the tent up, and we were rewarded with one of the most incredible views I've ever seen. I'll post that picture tomorrow…
— Filed under Greenland
6 June 2005
Well, it's ten to midnight and we've just put the tent up. Our day wasn't quite as long as it sounds – there's 24-hour sunlight here at the moment and we tend to start later in the day and ski on into the evening, enjoying cooler temperatures and the glorious, low, evening sun.
We cranked out nigh on 20 miles today, with rucksacks rather than sledges, and Tony was back on fine form. The weather was perfect, but the ice was, for the latter half of the day at least, awful. We've had a couple of very windy nights recently, and the surface is worse than ever – crusty, crunchy sheets of wind-blown snow, whipped up into crazy jagged edges and deep ruts. We have to mark out an airstrip on Thursday, which could prove a bit of a challenge.
We were visited by an unexpected flight of a different kind last night; a pair of beautiful white birds (I've no idea what they were – they looked like small gulls) spent a few minutes wheeling gracefully around our tent, making excited whistling calls to each other. We threw some crumbs of energy bar out of the tent door, but they didn't seem particularly interested. I'm not sure if the photo will do it justice, but it was a fantastic moment.
If any more proof were needed that Tony is back to his usual self, I've just asked for his thoughts on how best to wrap up today's dispatch. His reply? 'I'm looking forward to seeing more beautiful birds in Reykjavik…'
— Filed under Greenland
4 June 2005
With a bit of self-timer experimentation, I've managed to capture a stove's eye view of the tent. Seeing as it's been a fairly uneventful day (filming for the next expedition's educational programme, taking photos for sponsors) I thought I'd show you round.
Our palatial Hilleberg Saivo dome tent has two doors, and two porches (sometimes known as vestibules if you're posh, or bell ends if you're American (I kid you not!)) – we use one door/porch for getting in and out, storing our boots and tipping away our pee bottle, and the other end as a kitchen.
Once you're in the inner tent, the thing that looks like a giant bra hanging from the ceiling is actually the Saivo's rather nifty 'chimney' air vents. We poke the cable for the solar panel that's slung over the roof through the air vent on my side and you can see the wire dangling down (it's currently plugged into the satellite phone charger which, along with my socks, is hanging from the 'washing line' on my side of the tent).
In between our sleeping bags are all manner of things – flasks, food bags, the camera bag, the 'tech box' that contains all the communications gear, battery charger, blank SD cards, video camera, etc, and right at the very end lies the pee bottle itself.
The inner tent has twelve pockets sewn into it, six on each side, and I'm not sure how I ever managed without them. Mine contain my diary, a pencil, my iPAQ, my hat, the tent brush (used for brushing snow off when we come in and for clearing ice from the 'kitchen' in the morning), my book, my sunglasses, a tube of lipsalve, my Garmin eTrex GPS and none other than Barnaby Bear himself. I haven't ventured into Tony's side, but from where I'm lying, I can see a tube of toothpaste and a giant hardback book.
We both use our jackets and bags of spare clothes as pillows and we each lie on two 'Z-Rests'. At the foot of our sleeping bags lie our rucksacks and our inner boots, and dangling from the very highest point of the ceiling is our alarm clock (Tony's digital watch) – positioned there because it's impossible to turn it off without leaving the warm, soporific comfort of our sleeping bags.
Speaking of alarm clocks, we're aiming for an early night, in order to be up bright and early for a second go at the 20-mile 'depot journey' tomorrow. I'll let you know how it goes tomorrow night.
Last up, many many get well soon wishes to Teresa. You'll be in my thoughts as I'm skiing along tomorrow…
(And Rhys 'Armstrong', you didn't fool us for a minute (well, actually you did, you git!) I hope the Ironman training's going well – hopefully we'll get to join you for a few Cornish hill reps before the summer's out.)
— Filed under Greenland
3 June 2005
I mentioned a book called Icetrek a few days ago; there's a great bit where Eric Philips talks about following Jon Muir's sledge for hours (and indeed weeks) at a time, trying to make anagrams out of the word 'Australia' – the sticker on the back of Jon's sledge. About half way through today, Tony decided that he'd like the letters 'WWLD' on the back of my sledge – 'What Would Lance Do?' It probably goes without saying that the Lance in question is six-time Tour de France winner and cancer survivor Lance Armstrong – someone that has inspired us both immensely.
Speaking of Tony, he's very much back in the saddle and was sledge-hauling like a Trojan today. I'm going to hand over to him to tell you how he's getting on…
"I've probably never been lower than the previous few days. I didn't have a clue why i was suddenly so much weaker than Ben. All through the day I would ski along with my stomach doing somersaults; our breaks when we stop to eat an energy bar became more tortuous than the marches themselves as each bite threatened a return appearance. The only way to keep break times down was for me surreptitously not to eat, which doesn't help when you are burning 5000+ calories a day. I could see Ben getting more and more frustrated with our progress, and though he never voiced it, I could see he was thinking about how much easier life would be if he was solo once again.
Usually Ben and I chatter non-stop about any number of bizarre things in the tent, but those nights were filled with an opressive silence as I tried to run through what could be the matter. I began to question whether I had what it takes, mentally and physically, to be equal to this task. Ben was always positive, but I noticed that the times he reached to write in his diary increased by a factor of ten.
The only thing that we could come up with was some kind of stomach bug. Ben recommended that we take a day off and see what the next day would bring.
This morning I had trouble getting down the protein shake and started to feel that familiar sickly feeling welling up. We started out and for the first ten minutes I felt I would let Ben down again, but as I pushed on, I began to feel stronger and stronger. I led for the second hour and as we brought our sledges together for the second break Ben quietly said 'good hauling, sir'. From then on I was flying and by the sixth hour was feeling so good that I began to up the pace beyond the economical 'polar plod' that is physiologically ideal for manhauling. It was stupid, but it felt so good to have power back in my legs again.
Now all that's left for me to do is to take that depot journey and rip it apart. After all, that's what Lance would do."
— Filed under Greenland
2 June 2005
The last few days have been some of the most challenging of any expedition I've been on, yet the weather's been perfect, there are no polar bears, no crevasses, there's no open water or drifting sea ice. I've always prided myself on being able to deal with any situation a polar environment might throw at me. I've sewn up torn clothing with dental floss, I've reinforced a broken ski boot with metal hacksawed from a stove and I've soldered a broken satphone charger with the red-hot tip of a knife. Improvise, adapt, overcome. But I didn't see this one coming, and it's had both Tony and I stumped for a while.
Four days ago, we set out on what I'd hoped would be a challenging but 'do-able' journey – roughly 23 miles cross-country on skis, with 22kg (50lb) rucksacks. About 12 or 13 miles into it, Tony was some way behind me and I decided we should call it a day and get the tent up.
We cruised down to our depot the day after and I secretly hoped that after a bit of rest, we could at least make the return journey in one push. It ended up taking us two days. The first we stopped short as Tony was struggling to keep food down and was becoming exhausted. We only had a day's food left in our rucksacks and we knew we had to get back to the sledges (some 14 miles away) the day after. That journey happened yesterday. We made it back by skiing one hour on, 30 minutes off (ie a half-hour break every hour). Tony spent most of those 30 minutes alternating between dry retching and trying to force down mouthfuls of food.
The thing we're trying to work out is why Tony's performance dropped so markedly. These have been the only days so far that have approached what I'd call expedition duration and intensity, and I was hoping that they'd prove (as everything else about our three-year working relationship has) that Tony is the perfect team mate for the next expedition. Instead, we're both struggling with a big question mark. I'm guessing (and I think we're both hoping) that it's some kind of stomach bug and we've had an easy day today in the hope that it'll blow over and Tony will have the chance to shine before we're picked up by Twin Otter on the 9th.
Tony called the last three days 'the most depressing of his life' and it's been patently clear that he's been digging very deep both physically and mentally. The ability to dig deep, and to keep digging, is what really matters on the ice. I'm sure Tony will have both hands and one foot on the shovel tomorrow morning.
— Filed under Greenland
1 June 2005
We've just got the tent up after what turned into rather a long day (it's 2315 here right now). Tony's fine, but I'm going to postpone writing a proper dispatch until we've had some hot food and a few hours of sleep…
— Filed under Greenland
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