knew I was in big trouble. Even Grandpa Corky had more of the “right stuff” than I had.
He was calm and ready. I was nervous and uncertain.
• Paul Pfau, Los Angeles County Assistant Attorney. Paul was the last to join the expedition. He’d helped run base camps on Mount Everest for numerous expeditions. He was very calm and focused. I took the calm as the sign of a real expert.
Paul Pfau
That night, Paul Schurke called us together to talk about the week ahead and about the trip to the North Pole. “You’ll be training at the lodge for a day or two, then we’ll head out on a camping trip with dogs, sleds, and skis. At the end of the week Bill and I will meet with each of you to discuss your suitability for the expedition, your role on the trip, and what you have to do to be more prepared.”
Then he asked for our questions. Craig, never timid about plunging forward, broke the ice with the most obvious one.
How cold will it be in the Arctic?
“Hopefully, very cold,” Paul said. “I’m hoping for minus 30, which will keep the ice fairly firm. As conditions warm, the ice breaks up and makes it a lot tougher to reach the pole. During my ‘95 trip, we had to make a dash to the pole because the ice was breaking up. And on my last trip in ‘97, we didn’t make it because of open water.”
I suddenly realized that reaching the pole was not a given. Even if I overcame my lack of physical fitness, even if I overcame my fear, circumstances beyond our control could prevent me from standing on top of the earth. It was not a happy moment.
More questions followed rapid fire. Paul’s answers were direct and honest. He should never run for public office.
How far will we be going?
“We’ll start about 130 miles from the pole as the crow flies. But since we can’t fly like a crow, we’ll end up walking two hundred miles when you add 25 percent for detours and three to four miles a day for the southerly ice drift. Remember, we’ll be traveling on a sheet of ice that historically floats south as we travel north.”
This is the portion of Peary’s trip known as the “last dash.” It was here that Peary decided to send back Captain Bob Bartlett, a white man, and to take Matthew Henson, a black man, with him to the pole. In 1909 a black man was not considered a reliable witness. Peary’s choice of Henson was made for many reasons, as I’ll explain later. However, to many who still harbored deep prejudices it was clear evidence that Peary had something to hide.
How dangerous is it?
“Safety will be our paramount consideration. But I do not consider a North Pole expedition to be a life-threatening or even a significantly dangerous endeavor. To my knowledge, only one casualty has resulted from North Pole expeditions in this century and that was a member of Peary’s support team who was allegedly bumped off by a couple of severely disgruntled teammates. None of our treks from 88 to the pole have resulted in injuries. The only significant situations we’ve had to deal with were a few unexpected dips in the drink. In each case, team members were dried off, warmed up, and back on track within an hour or two.”
How many dogs will we take?
“I’m guessing eighteen—two teams of nine each.”
How many people will we have on the team?
Looking around the room he said, “This is it. It looks like we’ll have eleven.”
As Paul talked I did some quick math. Although this trip is extreme, it is nothing compared to the admiral’s 1909 trip. We will be traveling from 88 degrees. He started from land, which is at 83.7 degrees, traveling over three times farther. We will be flown up to 88 degrees, then travel on foot to the pole where planes pick us up.
What if someone gets hurt?
“We’ll have to handle it on the ice. We’ll be sixteen-hundred miles north of Alaska. It can take as long as a week before a plane can get to us.”
A week? Jeez.
How do we get there?
“We’ll meet in Edmonton, Canada, then fly to Resolute, a small Inuit town well inside the Arctic Circle. From there, we’ll take Twin Otter planes to 88 degrees. We’ll stop along the way at the Eureka weather station and possibly at a fuel cache that’s been set up on the ice. If all goes well, we’ll be flown back from the pole a couple weeks later.”
What’s the biggest danger?
“Water. Not enough and too much. You can easily get dehydrated because the air in the Arctic is very dry and we’ll be sweating a lot. We’ll make water by melting snow. But while we need to stay hydrated, it’s important to get the water out of our systems. As you sweat, the water needs to be wicked away from your body. If it seals in, you’ll freeze when you stop moving. Water transfers your body heat twenty-five times faster than air.”
What about polar bears?
“Polar bears are known to travel the polar realm, but none have been sighted on our North Pole treks and the few I’ve seen elsewhere in the Arctic are always in a hasty retreat. They’re notoriously shy of dog teams. Of course there’s not much risk, as long as you’re not the slowest runner.”
As Paul chuckled at his little joke, I looked at the folks around me and sized up their running skills. I decided I would in no way be fastest, but I’d probably be two up from the slowest.
“There’s actually little risk,” Paul continued. “The dogs’ barking tends to keep bears away. On the ice, only eighteen deaths from polar bears have ever been reported.”
At first I felt comforted by such a low number, but then considered the ridiculously low number of humans who ever go on the polar ice. The probability of dying from a bear attack was considerably higher than dying in a traffic accident less than ten miles from your home. As Paul talked for a few minutes about bears, I imagined trying to fight off two of them—an eight-hundred-pound female and an eleven-hundred-pound male. Then I imagined myself being eaten.
What about falling into the ocean?
David Golibersuch was quick with an answer based on his statistical analysis of past Arctic treks: “Roughly one in four people who travel to the far north go for a swim.”
A shiver shimmied up my spine. Craig’s face showed the same fear. I did the math: eleven people on the trip meant that Craig and I would probably both go for a swim. Or, I’d go swimming two or three times.
Paul sensed our apprehension. He said, “Don’t worry. At the end of this week we’ll all go for an icy swim. You’ll learn what it’s like and how to get out.”
I looked for a sign that he was kidding. He offered none. I asked if he’d ever fallen in.
“Nope,” he said with a big, unabashed grin.
So how would he know what it’s like to fall in at 30 below with no lodge nearby offering warmth and dry clothes?
The
