April 10, 2018
I'm Back
I woke up this morning feeling a bit antsy. Camping just 8 miles from Longyearbyen, I had originally planned on spending one more night in the tent before coming into town. In the end, it wasn't thoughts of a shower, bed or warm meal that changed my plan, rather catching up on some office work and gearing up for the North Pole (which if you remember is the real reason why I'm here).
Prior to changing my itinerary, I was thimble deep in some sewing projects. Earlier in the trip, I did a much needed (and much put off) fix job on the velcro of an old Outdoor Research over boot. Now, it was sewing a nose beak on some new goggles and adjusting the fur ruff on my jacket. Both are critical pieces of polar gear and to have either off kilter even just a little bit means day long discomfort and most likely frostbite.
On any of my extended polar travels, I bring a fairly extensive repair kit that contains (among other things) nuts, bolts, screws, drill bits, webbing, buckles, super glue, duct tape (although it's fairly useless in the cold) and dental floss. Put simply, in these long journeys gear wears out. And it's not because the gear we're using isn't tough. It is. It's just that the cold, exposure and repetitive use breaks down any tough materials. There is an exponential intensity to the cold, too. How materials respond at -35 is a factor of 10 worse than how those same substances withstand -15. In 2014, Ryan's ski delaminated from continuously jamming into ice blocks so we had to screw and bolt it together - in six places. We called it the Franken-ski and it wasn't pretty but it worked. On expeditions I've cobbled together ski poles, tent poles, straps, sewed tents, sled covers, boots, fixed bindings, bags, stoves, and nearly everything else.
I used to bring a few different types of thread but after fixing and sewing nearly everything imaginable with dental floss, that's all I bring now. Waxed. Mint. You know, because it makes everything you sew smell so nice. And it's tough. Repairs that I have done over three years ago are still held in tact.
My morning routine was a bit slower because of another not-so-funny (but funny if it hadn't happened to me) thing that happened today. I usually leave a bit of water in my MSR cook pot when I go to sleep at night. With the 24-hour daylight, it most often remains ice free in the morning and I can quickly light the XGK and have a hot drink in no time. This morning when I looked in the pot, there was one small round piece of caribou poop floating in the water. It must have been in the middle of one of the snow blocks I had shoveled into the vestibule for drinking water. Worse, I only discovered it AFTER I had drank water from the pot last night before going to sleep!?! It was definitely a first for me. So I dumped out all the water and started again with new snow, trying to block the image from my mind. Put frankly, there is definitely worse poop than caribou's to have in your drinking water - which is the story that I am choosing to tell myself right now.
Periodically through the night it was windy and calm. Getting out of the tent, two snow drifts angled perfectly around my tent. In windy open terrain, I will either build a small snow wall or place my sled a foot or two in front of the windward vestibule. This vertical surface creates a bit of turbulence, which then nicely deflects wind and snow outward. It's a good way to keep the tent snow free and extra protected in the wind. One winter working Antarctica, I built a similar wall around my tent in our Union Glacier base camp where staff tents are placed in neat rows. While it did an excellent job of deflecting snow from my tent, the eddied drifts deposited significant snow on my neighbors' tents one row behind and to either side.
Quietly, and without talking (like the past eight days), I packed up my gear and started skiing. Of course, I could see Longyearbyen after one short twist in the valley - which considering the clarity of the air here, is a bit annoying. Town looked so close, but I knew it would take nearly four hours of skiing.
Jaco, one of my North Pole clients arrived today and I sent him a quick message to see if he wanted to meet me for a late dinner. He agreed and we had a nice conversation talking about ice, the North Pole and the subtitles of North Pole logistics which are somehow simultaneously analog and technical achievement, logical process and complete mystery.
Now, it's now and I'm sitting in a chair, typing. You and I have circled around the banalities (and depths) of my day for long enough and I am tired.
Image: me in an almost white-out
Prior to changing my itinerary, I was thimble deep in some sewing projects. Earlier in the trip, I did a much needed (and much put off) fix job on the velcro of an old Outdoor Research over boot. Now, it was sewing a nose beak on some new goggles and adjusting the fur ruff on my jacket. Both are critical pieces of polar gear and to have either off kilter even just a little bit means day long discomfort and most likely frostbite.
On any of my extended polar travels, I bring a fairly extensive repair kit that contains (among other things) nuts, bolts, screws, drill bits, webbing, buckles, super glue, duct tape (although it's fairly useless in the cold) and dental floss. Put simply, in these long journeys gear wears out. And it's not because the gear we're using isn't tough. It is. It's just that the cold, exposure and repetitive use breaks down any tough materials. There is an exponential intensity to the cold, too. How materials respond at -35 is a factor of 10 worse than how those same substances withstand -15. In 2014, Ryan's ski delaminated from continuously jamming into ice blocks so we had to screw and bolt it together - in six places. We called it the Franken-ski and it wasn't pretty but it worked. On expeditions I've cobbled together ski poles, tent poles, straps, sewed tents, sled covers, boots, fixed bindings, bags, stoves, and nearly everything else.
I used to bring a few different types of thread but after fixing and sewing nearly everything imaginable with dental floss, that's all I bring now. Waxed. Mint. You know, because it makes everything you sew smell so nice. And it's tough. Repairs that I have done over three years ago are still held in tact.
My morning routine was a bit slower because of another not-so-funny (but funny if it hadn't happened to me) thing that happened today. I usually leave a bit of water in my MSR cook pot when I go to sleep at night. With the 24-hour daylight, it most often remains ice free in the morning and I can quickly light the XGK and have a hot drink in no time. This morning when I looked in the pot, there was one small round piece of caribou poop floating in the water. It must have been in the middle of one of the snow blocks I had shoveled into the vestibule for drinking water. Worse, I only discovered it AFTER I had drank water from the pot last night before going to sleep!?! It was definitely a first for me. So I dumped out all the water and started again with new snow, trying to block the image from my mind. Put frankly, there is definitely worse poop than caribou's to have in your drinking water - which is the story that I am choosing to tell myself right now.
Periodically through the night it was windy and calm. Getting out of the tent, two snow drifts angled perfectly around my tent. In windy open terrain, I will either build a small snow wall or place my sled a foot or two in front of the windward vestibule. This vertical surface creates a bit of turbulence, which then nicely deflects wind and snow outward. It's a good way to keep the tent snow free and extra protected in the wind. One winter working Antarctica, I built a similar wall around my tent in our Union Glacier base camp where staff tents are placed in neat rows. While it did an excellent job of deflecting snow from my tent, the eddied drifts deposited significant snow on my neighbors' tents one row behind and to either side.
Quietly, and without talking (like the past eight days), I packed up my gear and started skiing. Of course, I could see Longyearbyen after one short twist in the valley - which considering the clarity of the air here, is a bit annoying. Town looked so close, but I knew it would take nearly four hours of skiing.
Jaco, one of my North Pole clients arrived today and I sent him a quick message to see if he wanted to meet me for a late dinner. He agreed and we had a nice conversation talking about ice, the North Pole and the subtitles of North Pole logistics which are somehow simultaneously analog and technical achievement, logical process and complete mystery.
Now, it's now and I'm sitting in a chair, typing. You and I have circled around the banalities (and depths) of my day for long enough and I am tired.
Image: me in an almost white-out