I have a Granite Gear stuff sack that I wrote my daughter's name on and every time I grab it, I am reminded of her sweet three-year old smile. I actually have another GG stuff sack with my son's name on it too, but for some reason I couldn't find it for this trip.

I had originally used both as panniers on a bike packing scouting mission in Mongolia and I liked having the little reminders of home each time I looked at them.

After 17 days on the ice, I am at that point of the trip where I am comfortable with most things. In the beginning, thinking about my family (and being gone) was brutally painful. Now I can think about them fondly and spend hours (while skiing) dreaming of building playgrounds, going biking and fishing and taking family camping trips with fondness. I also feel strong which is nice after a busy spring in Canada and the Arctic. 17 days is a far cry from my longest time on the ice (72 days) but it's still long enough that we have to be careful on every front - both physically and mentally. This is a slow moving chess game.

Still, it's a delicate balance. Wishing for things that you don't have out here is a futile energy-sapping endeavor. One of the beautiful lessons of polar travel is that it teaches you to love exactly what you have. Nothing more or nothing less.

After 17 days, our lives are also fairly utilitarian as well. This is the point where we start to shed anything unnecessary in our hearts or minds. Our focus is on this moment. We can see the finish line a little over a week away, but there is still enough hard work between now and then where we can't focus on it.

Today was a struggle and as I navigated through milky whiteout and soft snow. Each step was a strain on my harness as the sled dragged once again anchor-like. Not being able to see anything is an additional and annoying problem. Looking down at the compass for hours on end is uncomfortable. When I do look up, not being able to see the horizon line, I often lose my balance. Fun times.

We cycled through navigation shifts with visibility coming in and out through the afternoon. By the last ski shift it was a near whiteout which turned, ironically as we stopped skiing, into clear skies.