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Dispatch
One - Monday (I think)
Monday April 12th 2004 | Filed under: Svalbard 2004
Greetings, my lower latitudinous friends!
It finally dawned on me how the definition of the term “wiped” was
coined… because after this relay of ricochets (not
so minor even on a global scale), I feel as if someone
took me and “wiped” half of JFK airport with
me. However, although most of my body is displaying the
stiffness level and vital statistics of a wet pretzel,
I am still somehow managing to tap these keys with the
end of my plastic fork which I kept as a memento from one
of my flights.
So, what day is it anyway? Well, I think it’s what
some of the world would call Monday. The reason for my
slight confusion, aside from my partial coach-class coma,
is the fact that although it is 3:00a in the morning, the
sun is still doing its thing - namely shedding light. 22-hour
days now, until……. that very special date
- April 19th. But herein lies some additional confusion.
You see, April 19th is Sunday. I know, as you’re
taking a quick glance at your wall calendars, you’re
quietly chuckling to yourselves at my faux pas, but it’s
no mistake (my hair-color notwithstanding). So, just quit
snickering and keep up with me. It’s only my body
that’s “wiped”; the Info-Tech core is
still quite viable and blinking brightly. Therefore, to
help clear out your cranial fog about calendars within
the confines of the Arctic Circle - more specifically in
Longyearbyen, Svalbard where I am currently ensconced,
allow me to continue with my lesson. As I was saying, no
matter on which day of the week it happens to fall (even
Monday as the case may be in 2004), the 19th day of April
will always be Sun-day. Let me repeat: SUN-day. That is
the first day in the Longyearbyenean year (say THAT 10
times fast) that the sun comes up and never sets. It remains
above the horizon, yes, continuously, from April 19th to
August 23rd. Talk about a city that never sleeps! Well,
technically, or rather theoretically, they don’t
sleep until the opposite phenomenon demands equal time,
thus the 24-hour night for the same duration. That’s
plenty of time for one… big… party!
Well, that’ll be it for this episode. I’d
better make an attempt to catch some shut-eye before I
head out into the Wide White World in search of some mushin’ huskies
who won’t mind pulling me and my sled.
On that note,
WOOF!
P.S. And now, for a little homework: Who will be the first
to write back with the correct answer to the following
question:
Why does a compass - a regular plain ol’ floating/spinning
magnetized needle on a pin compass (not an electronic or
GPS one) - work less and less accurately as one approaches
the North Pole? Same question paraphrased: Why does a compass
NOT work near or at the pole itself? The answer is very
simple, straightforward, and rather unscientific, and yet
only one person I’ve asked got it correct right away.
So, get crackin’! Start your research…. while
I think up a prize.
Dispatch
Two
Monday April 12th 2004 | Filed under: Svalbard 2004
Greetings to those of you NOT experiencing minus 7 degrees
C.
I’m almost afraid to mention anything about the
local weather so as not to tempt the North Wind to return
with its fury. Apparently, the conditions here had been
so severe the last week, that most activities had been
cancelled - yes, even Easter celebrations. But as of my
arrival: all quiet on the northern front. The locals are
quick with snow removal, and had I not heard the stories,
I might never have believed how nasty the blizzards had
been. However, even with fresh snow on the ground, it is
still more than disconcerting to see so much open water.
The locations where I had walked safely on the ice last
year are black, black abysses with huge blocks of ice and
bergie bits (yes, it’s a REAL term for small icebergs)
floating freely on and beneath the surface. I’ve
already been out the better part of the morning (did about
6 or 7 kilometers of brisk hiking) scoping out things to
occupy my time with while I await Tuesday. That’s
the big day. Don’t forget that the days here are
now very long, and I begin tomorrow with a 3-hour dog-sled
ride into the mountains and up the glacier to where the
ice caves are currently open and wide enough to meander
through. I figure about 2-hours of bright blue refrigeration
within the glacier’s eerie echoing and groaning passages
might suffice, and then 3-hours back to Longyearbyen with
my dog team… Then some arctic char tartar (arctic
char should be officially classified as the most delicious
fish in the world) for lunch. Some light meditation after
the meal to keep my adrenalin in check because at 14:00,
Borge arrives (question is: how do I perform CPR on myself?).
But back at the snowy ranch, and while I wait for the
throbbing of my tired tootsies to subside, I shall tell
you the tale of my last-leg of flights late last night.
Hm, a tale of a fateful trip? Oh, Gilligan? Although THIS
island is not deserted…. But I digress…
Exhausted as I was, the excitement of this impending adventure
had managed to keep me fired up and awake enough to observe
the wonders of our planet from 37,000 feet. After leaving
Tromso (very northern Scandinavia) through a minor blizzard,
once we got above the clouds, the sky was a like a painting
awaiting a canvas. There is nothing like the light from
the never-setting sun which sits just on the horizon itself.
The sky is in a perpetual sunset mode, the pastel colors
pale and gentle as they blend one into another. It’s
almost like flying through a faint rainbow. After awhile,
the clouds below which seemed to be in dire need of some
styling mousse began to thin. Nothing but sky and water….
and then a lone island as if lost in time. Nothing on it
but snow. This is, ironically, an oasis for the travelling
polar bear - hence its name: Bear Island. Soon enough the
points of Svalbard’s mountains came into view. Well,
it’s no wonder the plane flew in a slightly lop-sided
manner, for every passenger was plastered to the left side
of it to look. Seat belts? What seat belts? Seat belts
are for sissies! So, what’s a couple of bruises if
you can treat your eyes to such a vision? But… rules
are rules, and the flight attendants insisted that we all
partake of our seats in preparation for landing - or something
resembling that…..
OK, I’ve flown on many planes. Since early childhood.
I LIKE planes. So much so that I pursued flight instructions,
and have even been seen frequenting a Navion 226’s
co-pilot’s chair with yoke in hand. But, the maneuver
I experienced (and lived through I am happy to say) as
a passenger on approach to Longyearbyen airport has prompted
me to post an APB (All Points Bulletin) on the whereabouts
of my trusty ticker. It did its own version of the tango!
Oh, it must still be in there somewhere because the blood
is still flowing through my veins, but it’s probably
cowering under my spleen. Whew! What a landing that was…… I
am quite certain that there was not just one pair of skivvies
in need of changing. And the pilot, whose name no doubt
is Evilsven Kenievalsjornssen, with a sparkle in his eye,
actually said, “It’s all in a day’s work.” Well,
not MY work, thank you, kind Sir. I’ll just stick
to slightly more accessible landing strips myself, such
as, oh… Broadway in downtown Manhattan! Eh, but
we are Vikings at heart, and we take this kinda stuff at
stride. Right? Damn straight!!!!
Alright, it’s parka time again! I didn’t travel
all this way to be sittin’ in front of my laptop,
you know. So, you’ll kindly excuse me while I go
work up my arctic char appetite. It’s back out of
doors for this husky (no comments from the peanut gallery,
please)! The Ice is calling…. again. “I’M
COMING!!!!!!” As you can see, I gotta teach this
Ice some proper polar etiquette…..
So, would you like some bergie bits for your Pepsi? Hey,
no prob. It’ll give me something different to do.
Over and out,
Moki
Dispatch
Three - (and answer to compass question)
Monday April 12th 2004 | Filed under: Svalbard 2004
Um… gee… shucks…. After the barrage
of Email responses I received with attempts at answering
my compass question, it’s become clear how many of
you are really actually READING my dispatches. I am truly
touched and perhaps even somewhat bemused. Then again,
there seem to be way more armchair polar weenies….
oops, no wait, I MEANT to write TRAVELLERS… in this
world than there are c-c-cold-craving creatures such as
myself. And thanks, Joanne, for your sweet heartwarming
response - which was: “I always knew ice ran through
your veins.” But to give Joanne the benefit of the
doubt, as well as time to flee the country before my return,
I shall choose not to defend myself here and now…
And I also have to disappoint my North (hm…) Salemite
neighbor whose response was somewhat peripheral: stating
that it’s because the compass was made by Iraqi insurgents,
or… by the French (tongue-in-cheek, I’m sure).
[Not to worry, Goober, your identity is labelled as “classified” so
as not to instigate any foreign retaliation.] You are,
however, funny yet wrong.
Some of the compass answers were esoteric, some zen-like,
some very educated, and still others got pretty close to
being correct, but as I said, the answer was more mechanical
- having relatively little to do with the actual physics
of Earth’s magnetism. But I will offer to carry some
of the blame for not asking the question as specifically
as perhaps I should have. Yes, ’tis true that the
geographic and magnetic poles are in two completely different
locations (Magnetic North is just north of Canada currently).
And yes, the magnetic pole does move by what is called
magnetic longitudinal deviation. But my question was: Why
does a compass become less and less accurate as you APPROACH
the pole, eventually rendering it almost unusable? A funnier
way of looking at it, too, is with the following query:
By just looking at a compass, how can you tell whether
or not it’s been used close to the magnetic North
Pole? Well…. ladies and gents, it’s all quite
as Homer Simpson would put it: “DOH!”. If you
look at a spin compass that was used near the pole, there
will be circle of paint scratched out on the bed of the
compass case. See, because the one tip of the needle which
is magnetized begins to be pulled downward more and more
toward the center of the earth as you get closer to the
magnetic pole, eventually, it just stops floating freely
altogether and literally drags itself along the bottom.
If you tilt the compass so that the needle doesn’t
scrape the case floor, it kinda defeats the purpose of
using it in the first place. So, like I said before, and
everyone in unison: “DOH!” This is why we all
rely on modern conveniences such as GPS. Right where I
am now, and as it was at the pole itself last year, my
GPS immediately hooked into at least 14 satellites!!! Not
much room for error here. Accuracy is to within one meter!
But I sure do miss my spinning needle….. Round and
round she goes…..
OK, class over! And now for a little entertainment:
Whenever I go to any unusual or far-off places, I often
get requests for unusual souvenirs - more often than not
- rocks. I, myself, have quite a collection, although not
all procured by self - one from the summit of Mt. Everest,
one from Antarctica, one from Mt. St. Helens’ caldera
rim to mention a few. But when, last year, a number of
seemingly intelligent people asked me to bring rocks back
from the North Pole, I had to do everything I could to
suppress the desire to smack them upside the head for not
paying attention in geography class that day. “Um,
hello? Unlike Antarctica, there is no land mass up at the
top of our planet. It’s just frozen ocean.” The
closest land is the very northern tip of Greenland, then
there is a small Siberian island, and of course, there
is Svalbard. So, while I am here, I can collect a rock
or two, or three or four… Actually, there isn’t
much else that I COULD bring back (sorry, Larry dear, no
snowballs - although…. nah, never mind.). However,
it’s not a simple task to locate small stones under
all this white stuff. Either you have to dig down under
the hardened snow and layers of ice, and then ice-pick
at the rock, or you have to climb halfway up some slippery
mountain side. Well, should I try? Nope…. Since
I possess a mild streak of an opportunist and scavenger,
I will not opt for testing the sound barrier with an involuntary
shoosh down a 55-degree or better slope on my proverbial
personal ’sofa’. But as luck would have it,
on my way back from the sled-dog parking area and adjoining
kennel where I carefully chose my team of huskies, BINGO!
A small handful or two of lone rocks! Yes, this’ll
do! So, the dedicated soul that I am to my wanting friends,
not even the blustery blinding wind could stop me from
collecting my prize of Svalbardian souvenirs. I quickly
obsconded with them, threw them in a little baggie which
I keep in my pocket for just such opportunities, and off
I went, happy as can be that I would please my buddies
at home. I even “stole” a few for my own shelf.
Once safely back in the lodge, and having treated myself
to some more yummy char, I decided that I should see if
I could deduce some geological phenomena from my artifacts.
I unzipped the baggie, which by this time had thawed thoroughly,
and well…. nearly fainted from the eh… shall
we call it aroma? OK, I’ll give you a minute…..
(ti-tick)
(ti-tick)
(ti-tick)
Alright, three ticks of the clock should have been plenty
of time for the light-bulbs over your heads to turn on.
Yes, you’ve put two and two together. Lone rocks.
Where there are no others. Side of the road. Sled-dogs.
Got it? Well, now I have to give you some time for those
laugh cramps in your belly to subside…. (as the
younger crowd is yelling: EEEeeewwwwww!!!!!!!!)
(ti-tick)
(ti-tick)
(ti-tick)
And I leave you with that lovely mental image….
But tomorrow, folks, I will not, and I repeat NOT be collecting
ANYTHING! For ANYBODY! I don’t care how much you
like me, or think that I like YOU, but that was one episode
I do not care to repeat! GOT THAT?!?!?!? Rock-shmocks!
Just get your own next time!
Tomorrow, I shall be following a team of depositors of
said “rocks”, and as the dog mushers’ saying
goes: “Unless you’re the lead dog, the view
never changes.”
In Tigger’s words: TTFN (Ta Ta For Now)
the “rock” collector
Potpourri anyone?
Dispatch
Four - Lasts and Firsts
Tuesday April 13th 2004 | Filed under: Svalbard 2004
(it’s a looooooong one… mainly because I
made the mistake of having chocolate cake with coffee filling)
Well, this will be my last Email from Svalbard. Tomorrow
I fly back to Reykjavik. Oh, quit feeling sorry for me.
It’s not ALL bad… Yes, mind you, I would love
to stay for weeks more, or even months, but there are those
pesky things in life which we call responsibilities. And
all good things must come to an end, even for dreamers
such as I who has thusly been booked, charged and found
guilty. Just in the last 24 hours, I’ve had so many
ups and downs that I am feeling downright woozie. Some
of them REALLY good, and some of them a bit frightening.
But out here, fear gives us cause to have much more respect
for the elements and the power of nature itself. We are,
afterall, puny little visitors on this planet, and while
we are here, we are at its mercy - like it or not… It
matters not how famous one is in social circles, Mother
Nature will never be accused of favoritism. Allow me to
briefly wax sentimental. Just as Borge Ousland is a polar
god to me, there is another man whom I have equally admired
since I learned of him and his feats only a few years ago.
He is one of the, if not THE most prominent explorer in
the world today. As a matter of fact, in order to immerse
myself as much as possible into this adventure of mine,
I purchased a copy of his book to read before I left home.
It is called “Mind Over Matter”. It is an autobiographical
volume about his expedition across Antarctica. This man
is more than an expert on the subject of polar travel and
discovery and firsts. He has done more than Borge, but
only because he has more years under his belt than Borge,
at least a dozen, I’d say. In any case, I have followed
his latest exploits to varying degrees, and even display
an autographed photo of him on my “polar shelf”.
It’s inspirational to me in all matters of life,
not just in Arctic and Antarctic exploration. Mind….
Over….. Matter……..
Last evening, as I was enjoying my dinner of….
yup, char - yet again… I was deep in thought contemplating
the scope of madness required for the Last Degree Expedition
this year, the room rather full of people, and I sitting
at a table of four - alone. I was in somewhat of a daze
when someone tapped my shoulder to ask if they could “share” my
table as there was no other place for them to sit. Naturally,
I agreed with nary a thought to the contrary. I collected
my things from the chair next to me, and one of the two
English-accented chaps sat down beside me. Well…….
it didn’t take long for me to be literally BESIDE
myself as well. It was practically an out of body experience!!!!
I had to have pinched myself at least 30 times to make
sure I wasn’t dreaming. I’m not even sure if
I hadn’t made a fool of myself during those first
few minutes that my heart stopped! No, it wasn’t
Borge. It was Ranulph Fiennes. More correctly, SIR Ranulph
Fiennes. The very man whom I had described in the previous
paragraph above!!!!!!!!! Ohmigoshohmigoshohmigosh!!!!!!
I knew from a former North Pole fellow expeditioner that
Sir Fiennes was planning on running in the second North
Pole Marathon which was to be held on the 10th (at the
pole, obviously), but what were the chances of meeting
up with him in Longyearbyen, and on the the same day that
I happened to be here myself? (here’s a link so that
you, too, can be in awe of Sir Ran - http://www.januarymagazine.com/profiles/rfiennes.html
)
This was not to be believed. I mean, how lucky could I
get? Ranulph had finished the marathon at the pole ( http://www.npmarathon.com
) 2 days before - in second place I might add, after having
had by-pass surgery only months ago - and had just returned
to Svalbard from where he’d continue on to Great
Britain the following day. I don’t remember much
of the conversation because I was barely able to contain
myself. It’s a good thing I have good bladder control….
In any case, the discussion eventually meandered its way
to the conditions of the Ice. Ranulph knew about many of
the expeditions which had been out for the last month and
a half, and he knew about the ones leaving imminently.
When I asked him for his opinion on what the future holds,
specifically expeditions leaving in the next day or two,
he did not say much at all. But what he did was hold up
his left hand. You see, even someone as experienced as
Sir Fiennes has fallen victim to polar conditions. Even
he is not immune to frostbite severe enough to have lost
fingers (years before). Well, his silent answer was more
than clear….. A few members of Borge’s team
had already opted out yesterday. What the rest will do
shall be decided tonight. Of a Polish team, one man will
never return. He is gone forever. As is a woman attempting
to be the first female to accomplish Borge’s feat
of 1994. She, Dominick Arduin, is missing and presumed
dead as of March 5-th. Wave Vidmar is still dragging himself
to the pole with a broken ankle because he doesn’t
want to quit, but success for him is questionable. Frederic
fell into a lead and needed to be rescued. That occurred
at the beginning of March. He is still in the hospital.
Ben Saunders, as far as I know, is still trudging along
the route of his 1,240 mile “hike”, but having
to actually swim across many leads in a dry suit! This
is no joke out here. And believe it or not, the reason
for the heightened danger this year is the fact that it
is too WARM. For expeditions to be safest, the temperatures
should hover near and around minus 30. It has been minus
10 on the average, and here in Svalbard, even though it
didn’t last long, it briefly hit minus 3 early this
morning. Hence all the open water, the cracking ice, and
the widening leads. Global warming be damned! There are
no complimentary miniature Swiss chocolates on pillows
out here. Heck, there aren’t even any pillows. It’s
only each one of us for ourselves. No one here makes decisions
lightly, for if they do, they deserve the demise with which
they will likely be faced. So much is beyond our control,
and all we can do is make educated judgements and take
necessary precautions to minimize risk. Trust me when I
tell you that few people back out without some very heavy
weighing of the pros and cons. Maybe it is fortunate that
the days are as long as they are because when it comes
to this type of thinking, every minute is important.
How’s that for sentimental waxing? Had enough? Yeah,
me too. I’m done… Off my soapbox now.
So, back to my “One Day in the Life of a Polar Addict” (sounds
like a soap opera in the making, eh?).
This is where I will get to the part which I described
earlier as frightening. No, no, don’t worry, there
were no polar bears harmed in the making of this story.
But as I had written previously, today was my big day.
A teensie bit bigger than I had planned on, but I can take
a joke. So, as the North Wind began to flex its muscles
once again at the crack of… wait, it’s pretty
much 24-hour dawn at this point. Let’s just say,
from the moment I cracked open my eyes, I threw one quick
glance at all my equipment and said, “OK, what did
I drag all of this gear and garb for if I’m not gonna
test it to the limits? Off your bum, Ice Queen! Think dogs!
Think glaciers! Think ice caves!” Alrighty then.
A nice cup o’ high-test (not that I need it around
here), a slice of 37.5-grain bread and a thick slab of
butter (mmm, buuuutteeer) & jam, a cookie (alright,
two cookies), pockets laden with clean tissues, camera
in bag, the heavy duty Michelin-man-esque clothing donned,
a rifle on my shoulder, and I’m off. Yes, to all
of those who are simply horrified at the mere premise of
Moki carrying a rifle, listen up. I am not a gun proponent
by any means, but I’m also not a proponent of being
one of the entrees in a polar bear smorgasbord. Got that?
Luckily, I’ve never had to shoot except for practice,
and as soon as I am back, the weapon is out of sight AND
mind. It is actually Svalbardian law that no one can leave
the outskirts of town alone without one - or they get thrown
in jail. There you are.
A 2 kilometer hop and skip down the road to the Hundeshut
(hounds hut) office. Uh, it was more like a broom closet,
but who am I to judge? Then into the Land Rover and off
to the cabins where the sleds and dogs are awaiting a decent
day’s challenge. Road? Did YOU see a road? Well,
it’s that flat bit of snow between the skinny orange
sticks sticking out of the ground every 100 meters or so
- which is, incidentally, identical to the flat expanse
of snow on the outside of the skinny orange sticks sticking
out of the ground. It’s not unlike coloring inside
the lines with your crayon set. Color outside of the lines,
and you wind up like that unfortunate bulldozer half-submerged
in what is glacier run-off in the dead of summer - now
frozen still. It’ll probably be there when Geraldo
Rivera decides to run for the presidency. Notice how I’m
purposely avoiding discussion about the 350 mph winds which
are making our vehicle feel more like a Cuisinart with
every passing kilometer. Wind? I don’t see any wind,
do you? Doesn’t snow typically fall horizontally?
Come to think of it, I can’t even see the hood of
the car. There are 3 other people with me, the driver who
is also the guide and dog-sled company manager (newly relocated
from Poland - of his own volition in case anyone is dying
to know), and two older fellows from mainland Norway. It
felt like the United Nations in many ways except for the
itty-bitty hitch that the Norwegians did not speak Polish,
nor much of English, and Mr. Dogsledski, not much English
or Norwegian. I, being Ukrainian, could easily communicate
with Jacek Svientohovski (his real name) because both are
Slavic languages, but neither of us were much good with
the two Scandinavian gentlemen. So they talked with each
other, and Jacek and I discussed former Soviet regime politics.
But, it was quite evident that the Norwegians were becoming
somewhat anxious about this adventure. By the time we arrived
at a bunch of huts which were half buried under the snow
by now, there was no backing out for any of us. We were
committed. In more ways than one. More like fit to be committed
and institutionalized. 17 dogs at our disposal, two sleds.
The Norwegians watched as Jacek and I harnessed the dogs,
some not so mute malamutes, a few huskies, the rest mean
ol’ Greenlandic expedition dogs. Whoah, these sure
aren’t couch dogs with those shredded ears, but there’s
no breed of dog that’ll work harder. However, I don’t
know what the heck Jacek was thinking. He must have assumed
that all of us were seasoned mushers because there was
little instruction on how to use the brake, the anchor,
the belts, etc. Had I not done some dog-sledding in Sweden’s
Lapland years ago, there is no way I would’ve been
able to figure it out on my own. I felt sorry for the two
men left completely in the dark, and not just because of
the language barrier. But there’s no time to waste
here. It is 19 kilometers to the mouth of the glacier which
we will then need to crampon our way up just to get to
the opening of the cave. “And what was that you said,
Jacek? You want us to do all of this in 6 hours or less?
No way, Jose… I mean, Jacek.” But, Moki’s
game to try pretty much anything, and Jacek is ‘testing’ me.
Boy, he doesn’t know me, does he? Before we knew
it, I had one of the Norwegians inside my sled as a weight,
Jacek had the other, and we were racing…. In the
wind which had worked its way up to about 450 mph by this
time (OK, I’m exaggerating slightly for a bit more
spice). We turn into the void of the fjord, and suddenly
the wind just stops! And it stops completely! It’s
almost as if someone had turned the machines off. Now,
we’re in blue sky with a few cotton-candy clouds,
the snow a radioactive white…. Heaven on earth,
I say. Off with the furry hat! Unzip that jacket, and just
feel the light breeze on your face as you shoosh along
the squeaky snow… Ahhh…. and the smell of
those darn ‘rocks’ again…. Mmm…..
…. and now for a brief intermission…. of
mad-dash packing, attempting to stuff more than I came
with into an already screaming for mercy duffle, a 1/2-hour
nap, and back to that dang airstrip for a 3:45a flight.
Yes, quarter to four in the morning - because this is the
town that never sleeps, remember? You just take the first
flight that becomes available because there are so few.
I will continue my dog-sled story, and the part about
the ice caves we never reached, once I get to Iceland (via
Tromso and Oslo)…. Oy….. But I tell ya, folks,
there ain’t no energy-producing vitamins like the
Arctic air and aura.
Until next time…. try to figure out why you should
never squat with your crampons on…
Have no fear, I shall be back with more drool-inducing
(an assumption on my part, naturally) trivia.
Oh, and yeah…
by the way…
I MET BORGE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
(thud)
Dispatch
Five - Cell Phones Photos
Svalbard 2004
cool-berg.jpgice-chunk.jpgice-lead-at-the-np.jpgice-lead.jpgwide-crack.jpgWell,
I have to say, as much as I hate certain examples of technology,
my new cell phone is not to be believed.
It’s hard to fathom that not only do I get a signal
all the way up on and near Svalbard, which is only 600 short
miles south of the North Pole, but I can also Email photos!
Of course, I Email them to my own laptop instead of sending
them to each of you individually, and then I attach them
to my dispatches. KOOL, huh?
Anyway, here are a couple more pictures for you to see the
ethereal beauty of where I am, but so that you can also witness
the wrath of global warming.
Such conditions don’t normally occur until mid or
late May, and here we are just ending the second week of
April, and many places are already impassable.
And not that the depth would make much of a difference if
you partook of an involuntary dunking, but keep in mind that
the Arctic Ocean floor is about 14,000 ft below the area
of the pole. That’s a pretty long way to sink….
Regardless, there is no denying that we’ve had a hand
in climate changes, but since I, myself, am not worthy of
being the anti-fossil-fuel poster child, I won’t begin
that lecture.
Well, here you are:
Dispatch
Six - (pix were #5)
Wednesday April 14th 2004 | Filed under: Svalbard 2004
So, where did we place the bookmark in my story? If memory
serves, it was somewhere in the middle of my dog-sledding
excursion chapter. Right?
…and the next episode continues where we left off
with silent shooshing on squeaky snow toward some glacier
in the far reaches of the Arctic in search of the origins
of the color blue.
We are about 3/4 of the way there, when suddenly Jacek brings
his dogs to a screaming halt, and begins to pound the ground.
Naturally, I must do the same but sans the ground-pounding.
The dogs are no less confused than are the rest of us two-legged
participants of this particular adventure. I anchor my sled
and inch over to the Polish whirling dervish, and softly
inquire about the reason for his sudden affliction. Well,
it turns out that Jacek had left the whole duffle with our
gear behind…. the duffle which had the crampons, ropes,
axes, head-lamps, and… lunch. He knew we’d have
to turn back, but we were about 2+ hours into the 3-hour
drive, so to turn around now would give us only two choices:
bag the rest of the excursion skipping the ice caves altogether,
or going back to the kennels, unharnessing the dogs and coming
back on snow-mobiles. I gotta tell you, it’s not easy
having a meeting with people whom you can’t communicate
with in a common language, but we somehow managed by drawing
heiroglyphics in the snow. We opted for returning to camp,
and to drive to the glacier on snow-scooters.
Back to the dogs. The trip back was perfect, and way faster
because it was down the mountain, meaning that there was
no need to push the sled (gratefully), but I don’t
think I took my foot off the brake at all. It’s really
tough holding onto a sled pulled by 11 dogs, but I managed
albeit not always in Baryshnikov fashion. I did fall off
twice, performing my own rendition of that Wide World of
Sports “Agony of Defeat” film-snippet of an unfortunate
skier hurtling out of control off the ski-jump launch as
onlookers inhaled through their clenched teeth. But nobody
gets really hurt doing a faceplant in deep snow. More souvenirs,
but these will heal.
Then….. we round that bend, and what we see causes
all of us to take in a good deep gulp of Arctic air. An oncoming
storm, the likes of which I have never seen. It wasn’t
quite as fast as an avalanche, but it sure resembled one.
I took my last photos before I had to hide the cameras away.
Within minutes we were in a white out! And I mean WHITE OUT!
I’ve attached a photo of my dog-team just minutes before
it hit, but in the midst of this white out, I could not see
anything but the faint ghosts of the last pair’s tails!!!!
Unreal….. And how do we know where the granite outcroppings
are? Well, we don’t! The wind was howling INSIDE my
parka hood, packing it full of snow even though it was pulled
tight! And the dogs couldn’t hear my commands….
But because they were headed home, they weren’t about
to stop. Jacek told me to simply trust them. “Uh….
but they’re DOGS, Jacek!!!” And then it dawned
on me - yes, they are indeed dogs. If you can’t trust
your own dogs, you can’t trust anyone. My eyelashes
began to develop icicles, my exposed cheeks and nose taking
the brunt of the snow needles blasting my skin at what had
to have been a good 40 or 45 mph wind, not even adding to
that our own velocity which was what felt like a speed approaching
Mach 1. My much elder passenger was not handling this well,
but he had little choice. None of us had much choice. If
we stopped, we could sustain some serious damage. An hour
more of such thrills and chills, and the dogs found home.
I tell you, I don’t think I have EVER been more relieved
in all my life! With the dogs unleashed and inside their
pens, the humans huddled in a cabin lit with candles, the
wind actually shaking the building. Ahhhhhhh…… a
thermos of hot chocolate, which was probably the best hot
cocoa I’ve ever tasted… Well, at that point,
drinking warm curdled milk would’ve been fine. The
Norwegian men sat and regained their composure while Jacek
and I laughed at our misfortune, or was it really? He looked
at me and asked if I’d go do it again. And what do
you think my answer was? Now that we have our necessary ice-caving
gear, I’m game to going back out. These dogs know way
more than any of us do, so let’s go! But… the
Norwegians shook their heads which meant that we all had
to go back to town since there was only one car. Poor Jacek
started to feel guilty that I had not seen the ice caves,
and offered that I return the next day for a private tour,
but I already had my flights all set up, so there was no
way I could fit it in. And after dinner, I was to meet with
Borge and the remaining members of the Last Degree team,
who were, afterall, the reason for my trip up here. I tried
to set Jacek’s mind at ease as much as I could because
he made an honest mistake in forgetting our equipment. The
Norwegians weren’t quite as understanding and took
half their money back, while I insisted that for the experience
I received I wouldn’t take a kroner from him, especially
since he is collecting them in order to continue with his
veterinary studies. See, here was yet another reason why
we had so much to talk about. I had told him of my wildlife
rehabilitation license, of my skull and bone collection,
and of the many dogs which had blessed my life, most of them
wolfhounds. And just before we all packed up to leave and
return to town, Jacek ran to his own cabin, and came back
with a gift for me. How could I turn it down? I couldn’t.
Nor did I want to. But, how the heck would I fit this massive
reindeer antler into my duffle-bag? Well, it took about 2
hours of careful clothing origami, and putting my heavy-duty
insulated gloves over the sharpest points, my boots over
the large end. However, I will be amazed and astonished if
my duffle returns to New York without at least some holes
poked through it. But what a prize!!!! From one of my favorite
places in the world. And from a newly made friend whom I
am certain to visit again.
Now, to end this chapter with something quite amusing, I
must tell you how Jacek reprimands his occasionally misbehaving
canines. I was told that his dogs are the best behaved on
Svalbard. Why, you ask? Well, I needed to know myself. When
I asked at the start of our excursion, he just laughed and
told me that I might get to see for myself, as there’s
usually at least one teeth-baring incident between the Greenlandic
members of the canidae family. Well, sure enough, during
the more serene chapter of our run a fight ensued over something
as trivial as trespassed dog airspace, and Jacek bolted into
action. He halted the dogs, anchored the sled, ran over to
the one accused of the alleged crime, and then…. Jacek
actually got on his knees and….. BIT THE DOG! Yes,
he bit it so hard that the dog yelped from the pain, and
rolled over submissively. While Jacek angrily walked back
to the sled, he was taking hairs out of his teeth. I was
a bit shocked, but hey, it makes sense. That’s what
dogs understand best. That is canine discipline, and if Jacek
wants to remain the alpha, he must punish the lower-statured
ones via the same M.O. that an alpha dog would use, namely
biting. I have to say, that turned out to be the one and
only incident for the rest of the trip. And had I been asked
to write an article about it, the headline would have read: “Man
Bites Dog”.
Now, if only I had met Jacek when my son, George, was a
toddler….. (just joshin’, George)
Dispatch
Seven
Thursday April 15th 2004 | Filed under: Svalbard 2004
Dipsatch #7……..
Taht is not msitake - jsut poorf of how exhuasted I raelly
am…. Pehraps I shuold get myslef some cofefe? Yes,
indeedy…
(be back momnetrarily…)
OK, THAT’S BETTER. I HAD NOT ONE BUT TWO CAP-P-PUC-C-CIN-N-NOS!
Oh, sorry… Didn’t realize I was yelling….
My humblest of apologies…
Alright, back to the show:
Have you ever gone to a new place only to discover that
the place doesn’t really want you there? Well, it doesn’t
happen to me often, however…. this might just be the
one which shall be at the top of that short list. It’s
ironic because of its name. It’s ICELAND. What? But
how is that possible? Any word containing the letters I,
C, and E should be friendly to the Polar Princess, don’t
you think? Alas….. ’tis not so. Allow me to
explain.
First I arrive at Keflavik airport, which is approximately
a 20 minute drive from Reykjavik where my itty-bitty hotel
is (some 45 kilometers or so), and it’s pouring rain.
Not just a light shower, I’m talkin’ the second
coming of the legendary Noah flood. However, I am not one
to complain about the elements (except for HHH summer weather),
so I’ll be fine. But as we are about to exit the plane,
something appears to be wrong with the airport gate gangway,and
they have to bring the rolling stairs - which means that….
I will be one wet kitty! Rain jacket? Um, it’s kinda
like packed in my duffle, which is kinda like in the cargo
space? So, you guessed it. MeeeeooOOOoooOOooow…..
Some welcome, Iceland! Gee, thanks! No sooner do I walk inside,
that the sun comes out!!!!! That’s, apparently, normal
for Iceland. They have a saying here that goes something
like this: “If you don’t like the weather in
Iceland, just wait an hour”. Oh, yeah? Well, I shall
put that to the test….
Then it’s taxi time. A whole line of them just outside
the terminal. I get into the first one, and am feeling lucky
that the driver speaks English. I start asking questions
about “things Iceland”, and he…. as immediately
becomes evident, has no “off” switch. By the
time I got to my hotel, I had enough information about Iceland
to qualify for an honorary Master’s Degree on the subject…. “That’ll
be 9000 ISK (Islandik Kroners).” I pay the nice (talkative)
gentleman, and check in with hotel reception. While I’m
waiting for my room key, I do the foreign exchange math.
The amount hadn’t bothered me because it sounded right,
by Norwegian Kroner standards. By Icelandic ones, I had just
paid the nice talkative gentleman a whopping $130! Too late
now… Moki’s been had for not paying attention.
But just to assure myself, I ask the reception person what
the typical cab fare for the airport to hotel should be,
and she says it’s somewhere between 8500 and 9000.
Alright, I haven’t been had afterall, but it’s
now clear that we have a whole different ballgame here. A
very EXPENSIVE ballgame.
The hotel room is fine, albeit about the size of pizza box,
but it’ll do. I never spend any time in my room anyway.
The bed is also OK, but if I stretch out, my feet hang off
the end, as do my elbows. For a brief moment, I thought I
had walked into the House of the Seventh Dwarf. AND it is
so hot in the room that I have to open the window! But it’s
basically free heat because all of Iceland is heated with
the natural steam lying beneath its volcanic crust surface.
Oh, and I forgot to mention that there is a distinct odor
of sulphur hanging in the air all through the countryside
from the constant underground volcanic activity. So, back
to the bed size, which again, would have been just fine IF…… I
hadn’t fallen out of it about an hour after I fell
asleep. And do you wanna know WHY I fell out of this lilliputian
bed? Well, because ICELAND decided, in my honor I suppose,
to have an earthquake! It was small, but it sure was plenty
exciting to make me roll off onto the floor….. Darned
lava (there had been a volcanic eruption somewhere offshore)!
But once again, par for the course in Iceland….
Today, I booked myself on an all day mountain taxi tour,
which was supposed to have been an “Iceland in a nutshell” type
of excursion. All of the natural sites and phenomena, plus
a dog-sled shoosh on the glacier (no, I have NOT had enough
of the dog thing! And never you mind that I am so sore I
can barely move…). But first, a bunch of waterfalls.
And wow! What waterfalls… The only problem was the
breeze. A literally 80 kph BREEZE…. which caused the
waterfalls to flow…. horizontally, bedeckling all
of us brave enough to venture close to them with a crispy
crust of ice. Hmmm. ICE-land, eh? OooOOOoh, I get it now… The
teeth of the 3 twenty-something young women also with me
for this tour are chattering loudly as the 3 ladies run back
to our monster truck vehicle which resembled a small building
on B-52 wheels. I tell you, I’d love to have one of
those trucks if for no other reason than to be able to drive
over the tops of all of the other cars stuck in rush-hour
traffic on the FDR in New York city! You would not have believed
what that thing went over! Even I, who is not easily impressed,
definitively was.
Anyway, the driver, who no doubt was guffawing to himself
sitting in this mountain truck while the stupid tourists
were out experiencing typical Icelandic “weather”,
gave us the rundown of the itinerary for the rest of the
day. All the while, from the time we left city limits, my
eyes were trained on the mountain tops. I know my mountains,
as I know my mountain weather. I don’t want to be an
alarmist, so I kept quiet. But as the conditions got more
apparent, I felt obligated to point it out. I asked our guide/driver
if he was sure we’d be doing the dog-sledding on the
glacier as I gently gestured toward the peaks, which by now
were mimicking Everest in a cranky mood. There was such wind
up there in these ICE-landic mountains that in my own mind,
I was convinced that there was no way that we wouldn’t
get a free yet involuntary flying lesson, never to be heard
from again. This was no joke. Our driver insisted that the
dog-sled guy typically goes out in pretty much any kind of
weather…. Well, okie-dokie, who am I to say? It looked
like 60-70mph winds to me, but hey, maybe we’d be sledding
in some protected glacier valley.
When we stopped for lunch, the driver received a call from
the dog-sled contractor. Yup, you guessed it. Cancelled,
because all the sleds literally blew away (yes, really),
as would have the dogs huddling in their doghouses had their
houses not been chained to the ground!!!! The man had clocked
the wind to be 130 kph! I was right…. ICE-land. So,
what was that saying about Icelandic weather? It’s
a lie!!! Because the wind machine never turned itself off.
It got windier and colder, and by the time we got to the
geyser, nobody but wacko, cold-lover, yours truly here got
out of the truck to go look at it. Honestly, though, I really
had great difficulty standing upright. But it was well worth
the trudge-against-the-harsh-elements to have the sheer delight
of getting soaked by putrid sulphuric steam… ICELAND!
(you can all quit laughing now….)
Our driver was feeling very badly about the fact that we
couldn’t do what we had signed up for, so he offered
to take us to a different glacier, after a stop at yet another
waterfall, which he insisted experiences less wind due to
a more protected location. But….. it’s another
2 hours further. Whatever. We all vote “yes”.
Skogafoss first (that’s the waterfall). Well, I am
not often speechless, but this waterfall…. well…..
you’ll see the photo at the end. No explanations necessary…..
By then, back on the “road”, the wind was whipping
the truck around pretty good, but our driver is a very determined
fellow, so we continued on. He turned deeper into the mountain
range, and we were soon facing a raging river. The rest of
us figure, oh well, time to head back, but before we knew
it, this dude had the truck halfway across it, driving in
what had to have been a good 5 feet of churning foaming water!
AAARRRRGH!!!!!!!! But hey… No prob. I offered our
driver an inquisitive glance, and from him, came that line
I had heard a few times before: “It’s all in
a day’s work”. I tell ya, most of us in the States
must hold very boring jobs if this is all in a day’s
work elsewhere…. About 6 or 7 more river crossings,
with bouldered grassy expanses in-between made us all feel
as if we were on that amusement ride I like to call the “Happy-Go-Pukey”.
But in the end, we found ourselves at the tongue of the glacier….
Ahhhhhh……… Wind? What wind? I no longer
felt anything. I spotted that perfect turquoise streak poking
through the white snow, and I was in paradise. I sling-shot
myself out of the truck and bolted up that mountain. The
3 ladies-in-waiting looked at each other, shrugged, stopped
waiting, and decided to follow (yes, the driver sat in the
truck - laughing loudly, I’m sure. And he gets paid
for this?). Well, OK, maybe the day isn’t all bad….
Then a deep, deep canyon above sea level, at the end of
which, we were told by our both amusing as well as amused
tour guide, sits another waterfall. I took one look at the
small river meandering through it, and opted out of walking
to see this enigmatic waterfall. “The rest of them
are on their own,” I thought, “It’s not
as if I can’t find something with which to occupy my
time while they are out chasing wet shoes. Ah, to be young
again…..” So, the four of them begin their trek,
while I head up into the narrow slices through the rock.
The height of both sides of this canyon through which I am
walking were about 200 feet, its width about 30. Next thing
I know, it’s a re-make of Alfred Hitchcock’s “The
Birds”. Well, I’m sorry, but I didn’t see
any signs which read: CAUTION - Seagull nesting area! And
lemme tell you, these things were one mad bunch! Naturally,
I can’t run down cattle-sized boulders, wet ones at
that, so while I’m trying hard not to break my leg,
I am being bombarded by angry swooping flying things….
When I finally got back to the truck, I noticed the “wayward
four” returning as well, and nobody is talking - not
the guide, nor either of his troupe of three young trekkers.
Uh-oh. This can’t be good…. As they get closer,
I see that they are….. dripping wet…. They
all fell into the white glacier river…. Had I even
snickered, I’da been dead! But in my head, I’m
repeating,”Toldja so, toldja so, toldja so….”
On the way back to our respective hotels, the guide made
one more stop, but I was the only one to get out and walk
to the bottom of this canyon. I mean, c’mon, ladies
and gents, I ask you, which of you could resist being able
to have one foot in Europe and the other in America (while
still alive, of course)? See, Iceland lies directly on the
Atlantic Ridge rift which separates the American from the
European continental shelf. At the split, which is above
sea-level here in Iceland, the European plate continuously
moves away from the American by about an inch a year. This
is from whence Iceland came to exist, and from where all
the volcanic geothermal activity comes. This is where the
epicenter of the earthquake was as well. The newly created
land between the two sides is called no-man’s land.
So, naturally, as would be obvious to all of you who know
me well, I had to try to stand with one leg here, the other
there, as well as to stand in no-man’s land (no particular
reference to gender here at all). So I find all of this geology/geography
stuff really kool. So what!?!? Sue me! Such places are the
ones from where I collect my rocks. What better souvenirs
to have than from no-man’s land?
So, pockets filled with rocks (no, THESE are real), we headed
back for Reykjavik. And here I am at my trusty laptop again…
It’s all in a day’s work………..
Dispatch
Last - Confessions of an Ice Geek
Dispatch Last - Confessions of an Ice Geek
Friday April 16th 2004 | Filed under: Svalbard 2004
5.jpgWell, game’s just about over, folks. This afternoon,
I return stateside. Reluctantly so…. It’s been
great for the most part, with few misgivings, and with hopes
to return as soon as time and greenbacks allow.
To those of you who have faithfully followed in my footsteps
(from your comfy chairs), I thank you for your time and concerns
and worries, good wishes and warm responses. To the school
kids who’ve also been reading these dispatches as a
daily treat (and hopefully inspiration of some kind) if you
will, I hope that you’ve learned a tidbit or two. As
Michaelangelo said: I never stop learning. I, myself, live
by the same motto. No matter what you are doing or living,
good or bad, there is always a lesson in the experience.
The most important thing that I have learned in recent years,
these expeditions definitely having the biggest impact, is
that there is very little in this world which we as individuals
cannot accomplish IF we set our sights and work hard to reach
those goals. Were it not for my undying hopes and steadfast
tenacity, I would never have believed that I would one day
set foot on THE geographic North Pole.
Another lesson learned is that we also have to allow for
eventualities and unforseen circumstances which can and will,
on occasion, change our master plan - but we should not allow
those set-backs to pull the rug out from under our feet.
There is always a solution, a way to get around it. Go with
the flow. The moral of the story here is: focus, focus, focus.
And just because conditions and my own restrictions forced
me to choose not to join Borge this year, it does in no way
mean that I will never have another opportunity. There is
undeniably tremendous disappointment, but there also is that
focus toward another chance. I pay my gray hairs no mind.
The pangs and discomforts of arthritic bones won’t
stop me either. When I am out there on the Ice, on MY Ice,
in my own paradise (parad-ice), I feel no pain. There is
only beauty. There is a serene and spiritual awakening in
that deafening silence. As I have dubbed it, this is polar
nirvana. I return with renewed hope, with a new energy from
which I shall draw my strength for as long as I can.
And…. I will try again. I am already first on Borge’s
list for his next one. That will give me time to train properly,
and get into the best condition of my life. This time, I
wasn’t nearly as prepared as perhaps I shoud’ve
been, and the fact that the conditions in the Arctic this
year are as severe as they are, was a message from my polar
gods. I have learned to listen to them, and to… go
with the flow (or as the case here may be, to go with the
ice floe). Many of those who are “professional expeditioners” such
as Borge and Ben and Marcus, plan out their challenges years
in advance, and not just 3 months as I had done. I found
out about Borge’s Last Degree expedition only in mid
December - which truthfully was not enough time for me to
prepare as I should. Borge insisted that I could still manage,
but I was apprehensive at best although I wanted to do it
so much that my teeth hurt. There were ‘yes’ days,
there were ‘no’ days, and in the end, it came
to be that my decision had to be the ‘no’….
But that’s ONLY for this year, for season 2004. It
is NOT forevermore. So…… I WILL be back! And
now, after having met with and connected with Borge on a
metaphysical level, there is no way that he himself will
let me back out now. We talked for hours, and he seems to
be more than positive that I have the right stuff… The
right POLAR stuff. I have what it takes to take on such a
challenge and more. I can’t even begin to figure out
why he was so adamant, but he’s the expert, and….
I will go with his flow. Because of my skeptical nature,
I place my trust in very few people as a rule, but here we
have someone whom I’ve admired and worshipped for years
now, who, after meeting lil’ ol’ insignificant
me, was himself inspired by MY words…. by MY feelings
of closeness to the Ice. He and I, as most of us who come
this far North, feel a reverence for this realm. This is
our shrine. This is a religion of sorts. Yet, it has no specific
rules, no boundaries. Each of us has true and deep feelings
and a connection with this surreal world just as the Inuit
has for the aurora borealis, or for the seasons of light
and darkness. Everything here is ethereal. I feel beyond
fortunate and beyond lucky to have found my center. It is
here, at degree 90 or as close to it as I can get. And joking
aside, I honestly took my friend, Joanne’s, words as
a compliment. Yes, I really do have proverbial ice running
through my veins. I am not a cold person by any means, but
the ice crystals in my heart are what give it its heat. The
Ice makes my heart beat stronger…. The Ice stokes
its fire. Here, standing alone - I am whole.
Having gotten that out of my system, let me give all of
you some anecdotes, some quotes which are meaningful to me,
and some non-sequitur remarks which have been brought forth
during this trip of mine:
The next time I see Borge, I will be compelled to genuflect
to him for his words of encouragement to me. There have been
few people who have given me what he has…. He is,
unequivocally, THE man! And now, also a friend. How lucky
could I get? Huh?
Next, the focus now is Last Degree 2006. (Borge is not guiding
it next year because he has planned yet another personal
challenge and endeavour for himself. Go, Borge!) But….
2006 will also be the year I reach the big “five-oh”.
When I turned 40, I chose to climb to the summit of Mt. Parnassos,
so in the year that I turn 50, I ask you, what better way
to celebrate that benchmark than with a week on the Ice alongside
Borge and his 2006 team? See? It might have been for the
best that I didn’t go this year afterall…..
What’s a mere 60 miles out on the open Ice at the tender
age of 50, huh? Piece o’cake! As Steven Wright says: “Everywhere
is walking distance if you have the time”. Heck, yeah!
I WILL hopefully be back on Svalbard next April, to race
yet again with Jacek on that dog-sled to the ice cave! What
a bunch of friends I’ve got, eh? Just a bit out of
the ordinary, I’d say… And for a little comic
relief here as well, in Greenland there is a saying: “God
forgives priests and dog-mushers if they are cursing.” I
intend to put that to the test (the musher part, anyway)…..
You know you’re on the right plane when your sugar
packet has the following words printed on it:
“Imagine if it snowed sugar. It would look like snow, but a lot more
people would be eating out.”
…and now to end on a slightly sappy note….
These following quotes are more meaningful to me now than
they had ever been before, and I, once again, set my sights
on the future and upon what it holds for me on my Ice. Yes,
MY Ice! Last Degree, here I come! Now read, ingest, digest,
and absorb:
“Success is not measured purely by what you accomplish,
but by the opposition you have encountered, and the courage
with which you have maintained the struggle against overwhelming
odds.”
“Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist
in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience
it. Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright
exposure. Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at
all.” - Helen Keller
“Only those who will risk going too far can possibly
find out how far one can go.” - T.S. Eliot
“I’d rather attempt to do something
great and fail than to attempt to do nothing and succeed.” -
Robert Schuller
Polarly yours,
Moki of the North
April 19, 2004
Who me? Happy? Naaaah..... I was just being polite to Borge (see below).
Uhuh, suuUUUuuuUUuure. And now, if any of you would like to purchase ocean-front
property in Oklahoma.....
I got my pictures today!!!! If anyone is interested in seeing a few more from
my travels, put your name on the list while I transfer the better ones into jpeg
format. Ah, if only I could turn the clock back one week........ and then stop
it.....
Polar hugs,
TT*
*Tundra Tootsie
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