In December 2010 I noticed the opportunity to sign-up for a ski trek to the North Pole and now, at 3am (Norwegian time) on Monday 16th April 2012 I'm starting to write up the notes I've made over the last 2 weeks as I reach the conclusion of my epic journey, the trek to the Pole itself.
This is a long blog entry but I make no apologies whatsoever because, for me, this is the only chance I have to try to create the chance for you to live the experience vicariously so, get yourself a mug of your favourite hot drink, a plate of biscuits and keep the kettle full because you'll need another mug in about 35 minutes.
I, sadly, had to start writing this at 2am with a mug of hotel 'machine' coffee, a Toffee Crisp (a leftover from the sack of our trek supplies) and a pear I'd stolen from the breakfast trolley. The receptionist didn't notice; she was too busy engrossed in an on-line Norwegian newspaper that made The Sun look like Shakespeare's Sonnets (unabridged), with the simple headline of "SLAG" and something akin to a story of a polar bear eating Freddie Starr, evidently in retaliation for the hamster incident several years ago.
You might also want to know why on earth I'm up at 2am, starting this blog entry. What? You weren't wondering? Oh, okay then, I'll continue.
1. THE FINAL JOURNEY BEGINS
It's Tuesday 3rd April and I have a train to catch, from Leeds to Heathrow T3. My youngest, Lauren, has offered to drive me there - she's been driving for several months now and despite my risk assessment telling me I may be safer travelling to the Pole naked than allowing her to drive me to the station, my sentimental side wins out and I load her car with my backpack and two large travel bags.
(Actually she's a good driver - I'm very proud of her)
Before we leave, Lauren hands me a beautiful good luck card and insists I wait until the postman has been (he was just down the street). In the post is another good luck card, this time from Becky, arranged by her since her move to Canada.
Reading both of these cards brings home just how much I love and miss my girls and the reality that I may not return. A lump appears in my throat, which I fight to avoid any emotional scene with Lauren.
The train down to London is uneventful except for 4 sudden urges to go pee in less than 90 minutes. I think the reality of what I'm about to do has finally started to hit home.
All the huff'n'puff and bravado and spirit of daring-do in the past couple of months now seems so distant as I watch the train hurtle past houses and fields, yet don't take in any of the detail as my mind drifts into wondering about the true dangers of this trek.
I arrive at Heathrow and, within 30 minutes, all 8 of us are gathered ready to head to Oslo, along with the legend that is Geoff Somers, our trek lead. The obligatory group photo is taken, I accept a package from Joshua of Charity Challenge which contains a letter from Peter Huntley's family, a sachet of some of his ashes and a pair of joke 'shorts', and then we are through to check-in for our flight to Oslo.
The flight is good, the hotel is adequate but the sleep is appalling as I suffer from some self-doubt and the most sickening headache. This is the start of the nerves, a couple of bouts of self-doubt and the beginning of a decreasing appetite, a decrease which almost proved disastrous. Next morning we pile all our baggage ready for the airport bus.
The next leg of the journey is a flight from Oslo to Svalbard (via Tromso). The weather in Oslo is sunny and a crisp -2c, but the weather soon changes as we head north and land at Tromso to exchange passengers. As we begin to touch down we can see snow falling and the runway is anything but clear.
On leaving the plane for a short break, and to re-check through Customs, we see an industrial snowplough (akin to the size of a HGV tractor and trailer) racing continuously up and down the runway in a vain attempt to keep it clear. I tell you there's more white stuff falling on the floor here than at a Kate Moss house party in the late 1990's! Err 'allegedly' of course.
We are also informed that the plane will need to go to the de-icing area before it takes off again. Well that certainly got my vote, after the short walk across the tarmac to re-board the plane left most of us looking like snowmen! The plane took off successfully (obviously, doh!) and we headed to Longyearbyen, in the island archipelago of Svalbard. A place with 24-hours of daylight.
The flight itself wasn't exactly uneventful as clumsily I tried to pull my jacket out of the overhead lockers, and succeeded in also pulling out my backpack which duly fell on a glass of water. Problem was it wasn't my water, nor was it my newspaper or lap that took the impact of the spill.
Fortunately the guy and his wife (who had the most piercing squeal) were exceptionally good about it, even when we met them 2 days later in a bar on the island. We all had a good laugh about the incident and he said never had a small accident been so over-apologised for. So I shut up and he then looked disappointed.
We are met by various representatives of the Russian guide, VIKAAR and, after a few photo opportunities at the airport, were taken to a hostel which was to be our base for the next few days.
The archipelago of Svalbard advertises a population of 2500 people and 3500 polar bears and is the location for last years' tragedy where student Horatio Chapple was killed by a mauling polar bear, whilst trying to rescue his friend.
In our hostel a poster highlighted that we were less than 1/2 a mile from the 'no-go zone', unless you were carrying a high-powered rifle.
After all the travelling we all had an excellent nights sleep and so awoke on the Thursday, bright and cheerful. That soon dissipated as we found out that our departure to Camp Barneo (WHAT an amazing place that is, more of that later) was postponed, as the previous week strong winds and temperatures of -41c had hit the camp, so all flights in and out were delayed.
We'd lost at least 2 if not 3 days as a result and so set about training and getting the kit ready. This activity included checking the tents, getting our skis and poles, receiving the SACK of trek food we had to choose from and getting out on the snow and ice to try it all.
On that afternoon, one of the team, Deb, slipped and immediately called out in pain. She had twisted her leg quite badly and, for 30 minutes or more, her participation on the trek was in potential jeopardy.
She recovered enough but it was a sobering moment to think one slip and all the preparation, all the money and all the hype surrounding someone completing the adventure could be wasted.
On return to the hostel we collected our pulks and were under strict orders to pack, ready to go if we were called. Clothing, kit and food supplies were all to be carried individually with team supplies shared out. I was lucky to get the bulky items, not the heavy stuff (thank you David and Douglas, my tent buddies, for taking the fuel etc).
Saturday was a no-fly day so we knew we would again be heading out with the skis and, this time, with our fully loaded pulks. It was also a day where tempers began to rise as some of the more vocal members of the group began to express their impatience and dissatisfaction.
What happens on tour stays on tour, but I will say it was the first time my patience was tested as decisions were apparently being made about just how long 'the team' were prepared to stay to get the full 10-day ski trek in, irrespective of time and cost.
As it was, it was all taken out of our hands when we were told in no uncertain terms that we were flying out on Sunday morning and the Russians were closing the camp on Barneo by the 22nd April and they had a schedule to adhere to that only had flexibility one way; their way. No-one would be telling the Russian camp managers they were staying longer!
Saturday closed with me receiving texts from Lauren and Lucia, both of which were in response to me saying we were about to 'go dark' for up to 10 days and both of which brought tears to my eyes. The text from Lauren simply concluded with the words "Love you loads. So proud xxxxxxxxx".
My final nights sleep before our departure was minimal, as huge doses of self-doubt arose again and I found myself asking what had I done, what had I let myself in for??? Why in hell was I actually here amongst all these hardened adventurers and sporty people, and I vowed I would never ever consider doing anything so stupid again.
Yeah, right.
2. CAMP BARNEO
Every year for about 6 weeks, a Russian team fly into the final degree within the Arctic Circle, find some thick ice that will probably last the duration, parachute in a bulldozer, clear a runway that is 1km long so an Antonov AN-74 cargo jet can land, fly in supplies and accommodation, prepare for the limited polar season and then dismantle everything, fly it out and let the bulldozer sink to the bottom of the Arctic Ocean as the ice melts.
That is the life of Camp Barneo, the most northern airport in the world (soon to be featured as a Channel 5 documentary), and that was where we were headed.
All sorts fly out to the camp, from Japanese tourists who wants to visit the Pole for an hour via helicopter, to the serious scientists who are investigating the environmental state of the North Pole region, and then people like us. Idiots.
Of course there is the argument that the people who pay to go run the North Pole marathon are even bigger idiots - an 8 hour event which essentially is in and around the Barneo camp rather than at the Pole itself.
The Barneo camp is basically on a thick piece of ice that floats and moves with the Arctic Ocean. In fact, whilst we were there the camp moved in an ellipse, at a rate of approx a mile a day, getting closer to the Pole, then swinging under it, and then back on itself again.
As we took off from Svalbard the clear sunny skies soon changed and waves of cloud appeared below us, sweeping up from the sea edge to smother all sight of the savage white icy landscape that had started below us.
Almost simultaneously, as sight of land disappeared, my mind began to wander and waves of emotion swept through me. I imagined reaching the Pole and paying a silent tearful homage to my Dad whose memory and spirit helped me make it here. Tears now emerged as I imagined just how amazed he would be that his youngest son was going to the Pole.
I looked out as the plane descended, ready to make a landing in low cloud and thick fog .... all by visual sighting, no technology is used to aide landing whatsoever.
His first attempt was flawed as he missed the beginning of the runway and would not have had time to stop the plane before it hit the wall of ice blocks thrown up by the moving ice floes, so the engines roared as the pilot climbed, just feet from the end of the runway, to circle back for a second attempt.
The second attempt was successful and he slapped the wheels down on the ice; a huge relief as a failed third attempt could have led to the landing being aborted and a return to Svalbard. We were now at Camp Barneo with just a helicopter ride between us and the start of the trek itself.
We knew we had several hours to wait at Barneo so discussions ensued between various members of different teams and kit was the topic. I sat and listened as people advised what the right kit (and the wrong kit) to bring was, and I again felt a shiver down my spine as I felt more unprepared than ever. THEY knew what they were talking about, I had no bloody idea and began to worry I was exposed and would suffer from the severe and relentless cold.
Others in the team just seemed to be taking it in their stride, eating, laughing and joking, and Douglas began to show his polar wi-fi equipment, capable of sending texts and emails from the Arctic Circle as well as making satellite phone calls.
All clever stuff from Mr Techno Guy (as his nickname was ... until it got changed to Nurse Gladys Emmanuel, due to his 'ward nurses' watch he bought for the trek) and Rob and Rowley updated their blog, sending it to their wives to update the website they'd created for the 20 schools they'd presented to prior to the trek. A 5-second data upload from this kit via a passing satellite and it was done.
More waiting ensued and, at 9pm that Sunday evening, we were told that the weather was so bad (fog remained and we had 'flat light') there would be no flights until the morning, so I went to find a spare bed in one of the heated 12-berth tents and set my mind to stop thinking about the end, and start taking it one step at a time.
Weather changes quickly at Barneo though and around midnight we were awoken by one of the Russian helicopter pilots. Our flight would now be ready to take off in an hour. Adrenalin kicked in like a bolt of electricity. This really was happening, and right now.
We checked our kit and prepared to join another group of 4 very serious and capable trekkers in a helicopter, once final flights plans and longitude co-ordinates for our drop-off were agreed.
3. THE TREK ITSELF
Sunday night/Monday morning - As the helicopter lifted off around 1am, I wasn't looking forward to wearily setting up a tent at our drop-off point, but I need not have worried as we were now on a new timetable. Crammed in to the chopper with 14 others and as many pulks, we soared over the icy landscape.
I have no idea just how long the flight was, as I kept nodding off with the hum of the engines and the smell of fuel acting like a cheap dentist's anaesthetic, but the next thing I knew we were landing. The down draft from the blades cut through our windproof clothing like cold steel razor blades - I was so cold I could have given up there and then. Is this how cold I was going to feel for the trek??
Fortunately as the chopper lifted off the temperature rose dramatically to -27c and calm descended on the group. We were alone, like never before. Silence, sheer silence once the familiar 'thuka thuka thuka' of the copter blades faded into the distance.
We were told to put our skis on and get ready to trek for 3-4 hours. Our new timetable would now typically be to stop trekking at 5:30am, set up camp, eat and drink, into sleeping bags by 10am and then sleep through the day. At 7pm, stoves on, drink, eat and out of tents ready to depart by 10pm. Every hour of trekking, we'd stop for 5 minutes to grab a drink and some trail mix.
And so we set off at about 1:40am, in full sunlight, to see just what the Arctic Circle really had in this challenge. And we weren't disappointed as "skis off" was repeatedly followed with "skis on" as we traversed some early ice fields.
Progress was good though and I was particularly pleased with how I kept up with the pace of the trio at the front. I had confidence in my ski movement and in my balance over obstacles. Dragging my pulk (which weighed 49kg) over the ice ridges and ice fields felt easier than I had expected. This was going to be a good adventure!
Monday night/Tuesday morning - After my first night in a tent at -27c I felt pretty good, although the shock of eating crap out of an aluminium pouch was only overshadowed by the thought of taking a shovel and going to the loo somewhere outside. Doing that in the somewhat mild -8c of Haugestol, on solid ground that was covered with snow was one thing, but in this temperature, on a piece of floating ice was quite another.
Clearly the trick was not to expose yourself completely and yet avoid doing a pooh on any of your clothing by accident. What a dilemma I faced !!
Suddenly I had a 'lightbulb' moment! All those hours at school learning about trigonometry in Maths lessons and angles in Technical Drawing came flooding back to me, and began to deliver value. The teachers were right, I WOULD find it useful one day!! I was right, they were just talking sh*t - I just hadn't realised what they had meant.
Deftly digging behind a snow drift I completed my task and managed to (a) avoid frostnip anywhere delicate and (b) avoid all my clothing too. Success can be defined in many ways my friend !!
And so we began another 7 hour trek and progress was excellent. This really WAS going to be a great adventure! In a perverse way I also felt good about myself because I survived the day whereas one of my tent buddies (David) had over-heated due to too many layers of clothing as we 'skated' out nearly 10 miles that day.
Unfortunately the sweat cooled inside his clothing; unavoidable when you stop every hour for a 5 minute break, only to find out that for the next 10 minutes you are frantically trying to heat back up again. By the time we stopped and pitched tent he was shivering with the cold, so I played 'Mum' with the hot water for drinks and food, and then we pulled the burner deeper inside the tent and raised the temperature from a shivering -20c to a simmering +32c in less than 20 minutes. We even got used to drying our frozen gloves and hats whilst eating.
The downside of that heat though was ... well do you recall the phrase 'what goes up must come down'? Once the burner was moved out, it took less than 5 minutes for +32c to -17c. Hell had just frozen over again. Still, it was going to be a great adventure ... wasn't it?
Tuesday night/Wednesday morning - Before we went to bed on Tuesday, Douglas said I could make a call or two home on his sat phone. It was great to talk to Lauren and then to Lucia, but that was the last thing that day that was great, or good, or acceptable, or bearable.
We set off for another long day on the skis but I soon found myself fading. My liquid and food intake on a daily basis had been low since Longyearbyen and today my energy levels began to reflect that.
Whilst the day before had been a great day, with me managing the tension on my pulk rope so movement was smooth and continuous, today there were a lost of 'skis off/skis on' moments and instead of skiing smoothly, my impatience to get to the end of our targeted 7 miles led to slow jerky movements as the rope attached to my harness jarred suddenly, repeatedly. Sharp arresting jolts disrupted my rhythm and my frustration grew.
At the same time I found the taste of the water in my flask, and of the trail mix I'd prepared, made me almost wretch. Instead of a handful of nuts and/or some chocolate or numerous cups of water to satiate my thirst, I nibbled and spat food out, and I sipped some water but tipped the rest away.
As we approached the final hour I was praying for the end of the day, dreaming up ideas about how I could be the first person that had failed to reach the North Pole yet be 'excused' failure, and was trying to close my eyes every other slide.
When we stopped and the tent was up, I took one look inside my pulk to decide what crap to try and eat that night. All it took was one look at a pouch of pasta bolognese and I wretched violently and loudly. Douglas was over like a shot; "Right, all I want you to do is get your sleeping bag out and get in the tent to rest" he ordered (in his soft east Scottish lilt that actually made him sound like a very confident yet sympathetic medic).
He and David firmly but patiently made me re-hydrate, covered some of the truth from Geoff the trek lead (without being AT ALL reckless I must add) and finally got chocolate and porridge into me.
I said it to them and I'll say it again here; my sincerest thanks to Douglas and David who probably saved my trek that Wednesday by helping me on a day where my intake was low and my energy output was very high, leading to dehydration, exhaustion and lack of energy.
They believe I was possibly 2 hours away from the risk of MedEvac, but their coaxing, care and determination helped me rest, re-heat, rehydrate and stop retching. I owe you guys, for without you I might not have got through that day and subsequently ski trekked to the Pole.
It's amazing how bad food can suddenly taste acceptable, how Bovril and peppermint tea can revive and how a good nights rest in a tent at -25c can turn near failure into possible success.
I'm pleased to say this ordinary guy is DEFINITELY capable of extraordinary things but, sometimes, through the experience of others, you get help to bridge a gap you couldn't have bridged yourself. I live and learn.
Wednesday night/Thursday morning - Today turned out to be another pretty good day and I enjoyed just about every minute of it. Progress was mixed because of the ice fields but overall I was just thrilled to be there, on the ice, with the group, and looking forward to another 7 miles.
It was made a little more difficult because the drift and the navigation was counter to progress so for every mile we skied north, we had to ski a mile west to compensate.
Thursday night/Friday morning - Today was the day we HAD to wear full face masks to combat the cold and today was also when we came across open water, thin ice and moving ice. Today was the day I remembered we were simply on an ice floe, not solid landmass.
The way ahead was complex from the very start and ice was forming on our faces and all around our protective facewear. What were known as 'snotcicles' were hanging down from several of the guys moustaches and we increasingly came across open leads.
My sureness of footing had gone and I paid the price as both skis slipped on an icy descent across broken blocks of snow-free ice, flipping backwards and landing square on my back.
Seeing the confident and very capable Rob start moving across thin ice and being told to get back when the ice suddenly groaned and hissed, yards of it opening up several inches to cold black water, brought the risk home a little more. The fact that it closed again a few moments later did not counter that feeling.
Skiing across a 20ft+ piece of thin ice and, in one section of it, being able to discern the water flowing underneath brought the risk home, and traversing one recently frozen lead by bridging it with a pulk to ski across was unnerving, especially when someone fell over and almost off the pulk.
And dragging your pulk, however briefly, through slushy water at the very end of another traverse brought home the dangers of thin ice and the reality that we were on a piece of ice with only 2 miles of the Arctic Sea below us.
I was pleased when the way ahead seemed blocked by hissing moving ice ridges, some blocks as big as Transit vans, and Geoff Somers said we'd camp for the night and see how things looked in the morning.
Friday night/Saturday morning - The hardest day of trekking was, for sure, this last day. With only 7 miles to go we knew we could possibly get to the Pole before we had to make camp. We were warned about being over enthusiastic and losing our focus .... but goddammit we were enthusiastic.
The night before Geoff Somers had said we'd see how things looked in the morning. David's digital barometer had showed rapidly falling pressure and at an increasing rate of knots for the last 24 hours, so although we were way short of it being storm weather, the weather was changing. The danger that we might not reach the Pole at all was tangible.
Whilst thankfully no storm developed, the low pressure brought with it cloud cover. Not only couldn't we navigate by the sun today but the cloud cover brought with it something called 'flat light'.
'Flat light' is a condition in which visibility and contrast are severely reduced: A condition of diffuse light when no shadows are cast, due to a continuous white cloud layer appearing to merge with the white snow surface. No surface irregularities of the snow are visible, but a dark object may be clearly seen. There is no visible horizon (source: Wikipedia)
Progress was slow, temperatures varied from -14c down to -19c and the difference between wearing two layers and three was discernible; overheat or feel the cold.
Seni had a nightmare 15 minutes and was MAGNIFICENT in her determination to continue, despite twice getting so stuck in unforeseen circumstances and unlikely postures that she needed to be hauled back by her tow ropes, and once falling over in a manner Jurgen Klinnsman would have been be proud of.
My legs were aching, my neck was sore, the blister on my foot was shouting at me and I too took a couple of tumbles on dips which were, quite simply, impossible to see. Even our fantastic guide fell, ripping the entire binding from the right ski he was wearing. And then we stopped.
Geoff S said Rob had a proposition. Rob (in far kinder words than this, that AGAIN brought tears to my eyes) said "There's one person for whom this trek has been hard, a brand new challenge they've never faced before and they've done really well to get here (the fat old ginger git - my words, NOT his) - so I propose we let Geoff Major lead us the last 700 out of 800 metres to the Pole".
I kid you not, the emotions were running so high and energy was running so low, I found myself fighting back some sobs of joy and relief at the recognition .... of how old, fat and ginger I am. No no, sorry, of the recognition that it hadn't been easy for me. Only 4 weeks earlier I had camped out in a tent for the first time in my life and yet, here I was on the cusp of joining a small group of people who had actually made it to the Pole.
I thought again of my Dad and how he would simply be gasping in amazement that his youngest son had made it to one of the most inhospitable places on earth. Not quite as inhospitable as the restaurant in Longyearbyen we visited one night, but close.
And so I led the team the wrong way several times but, under Rob's guidance, he helped me get us within 70 metres of the geographic North Pole, but wait .... a large rift in the ice lay ahead. Progress was halted for sure, but then nature continued to play its part in this awesome adventure and, quite literally, the drift of the ice floe under our feet brought the Pole to us.
Fifty metres, forty, thirty, twenty. The people with GPS's frantically started calling out coordinates; ten metres, five, four .... oh bugger it had disappeared !! No-one could find the precise 90 00 00 reading.
Like rabbits looking for a way out of a headlight factory, we raced around trying to get a GPS to register and then ... suddenly .... Mikhail, our Russian support skier said "I have 90".
The flare gun was fired, people cheered and I simply leaned on my ski poles and ... yes ... cried silently in jubilation. Sara came to give me a hug and said I looked absolutely drained. I was, mainly emotionally. We were here; I had made it to the top of the fucking world !!!!!
Then we were suddenly silent. It was as if someone had just walked into the best party in the world, turned the music off, the lights on and said "Everybody out of my bloody house, now". It wasn't anti-climax but I think we suddenly didn't know what to do, but within 30 minutes that all changed.
Tents up, alcohol out and Rob and Rowley's tent became party capitol of the Arctic Circle. Sat phone calls were made to people; some answered even though it was 4am GMT and some didn't.
More songs were sung (Techno Man had brought a speaker to plug iPod's in to) and Rob and Rowley's party tent rocked for 3 whole hours. I made some more calls as it was now after 8:30am GMT. I rang Lucia again having woken her at 4am, but she was now at work; my Mum almost cried with relief when we spoke; my friend Al squealed with shock and delight; a sleepy sounding Pam woke up with a start when I said who it was and where I was, and my most favourite person in the world within my extended family didn't answer the phone but he did text this reply later that day: -
"Well done Geoff, fantastic achievement. Sorry I didn't answer my phone but what a great voicemail message to keep forever. Jay" .............. followed later that day by ...............
"Played my voicemail to my mates tonight (yes I do have some); so proud of you".
After some partying it was time to do two things; take the photographs we all promised for our supporters (my two are below) and then pay tribute to Peter Huntley, a trekker who sadly died and never made it to the Pole except in spirit.
I read the letter out from his family, we sprinkled the ashes and then I put on the 'fun shorts' we were sent and ran around the camp site. A video is being sent to his family and we hope they find some joy and solace in the respectful celebration.
In the middle of this melee, Douglas tried to stake claim to the Pole on behalf of Scotland but it didn't work; not least because we'd drifted over 2 miles away from the Pole by then.
Oh yes, if you're #ontheflag, here is the photo of it at the North Pole. One of you will win the flag and be presented with it before the end of April. Thank you SO much for your excellent support!
And here is another flag I was delighted to take in return for a generous charitable donation.
And so the adventure ended with the call that the helicopter was unexpectedly coming to pick us up and the AN-74 could fly us back to Svalbard that same day.
The rest, as they say, is history but people have started to ask how has this life-changing experience changed me? How am I doing?
Well I'm still coming to terms with what I've achieved .... sometimes I want to cry in amazement and other times I simply can't believe it, so I imagine maybe I've just been stuck on a snowy hillside in Watford in a bit of a daze, having a bad day.
Actually, on second thoughts, that's enough to make ANYONE shed a tear.
Seriously though the answer is I just don't know yet. I signed up for the polar trek thinking it was because I wanted to do something challenging after the Cuba cycle ride. I finished the trek wondering, for better or for worse, whether it has released something in me or simply buried other things deeper so I can enjoy the simplicity of life rather than the material complexity.
As the quote on my Twitter page says, "Everyone dies, but not everyone lives". I guess time will tell if this helps me achieve both, not just one.
4. CREDITS
Thank you to my Mum for writing the sweetest well done letter EVER in the world. I'm glad I make you proud Mum, every day, just as my girls make me proud. Next time though you don't need to ring all your friends at 4am to tell them the news.
Thank you Howard and Kathryn; your time, skill, creativity and friendship was priceless !!
To the 'Don', Mr Geoff Shepherd of the Yorkshire Mafia, your support has been nothing short of magnificent and unending.
To Lucia, yes I am a bit bonkers but as you say, "Love me as I am ....." ha ha. The bonkers bit DOESN'T get any worse, I don't think.
To my girls, you are my reason for so many good things and your support and the pride you express is fuel for my heart and soul.
To every single person and company who helped me, supported me, donated, re-tweeted and/or encouraged me; thank you.
To you, the reader of this blog (whether you got here accidentally or on purpose), thank you. To see so many people intrigued by what I write is encouragement enough, whether you are known to me or a complete stranger.
To Geoff Somers and my fellow trekkers, and to Alan Chambers; you offered me endless support and reasons to get to the bloody Pole.
To the winners of the North Pole Trek BAFTA Awards I say well done: -
- for best lead role, Rob, for showing us the way.
- for best use of technology and SFX, Douglas, but bring the clothes dryer next time too please
- for best dramatic performance (known locally as a Patsy Award), you-know-who, for making us laugh even if unintentionally
- for best foreign language film, Deb; Pet we had no f-ing idea what you were saying some of the time, but you played the role of the broad geordie beautifully.
- the lifetime achievement award goes to Geoff Somers, because being with us lot for 2 weeks must have felt like a bloody lifetime !!
- best film goes to Rowley for "Hercules, who smashes his way through ice, stomps over hills and drags everyone's sleds through solid blocks when the going gets rough"
And finally, to my Dad. You helped me through some tough times training and on this trek and yes, I surprised me too. Sleep well and be at peace. x
This is a long blog entry but I make no apologies whatsoever because, for me, this is the only chance I have to try to create the chance for you to live the experience vicariously so, get yourself a mug of your favourite hot drink, a plate of biscuits and keep the kettle full because you'll need another mug in about 35 minutes.
I, sadly, had to start writing this at 2am with a mug of hotel 'machine' coffee, a Toffee Crisp (a leftover from the sack of our trek supplies) and a pear I'd stolen from the breakfast trolley. The receptionist didn't notice; she was too busy engrossed in an on-line Norwegian newspaper that made The Sun look like Shakespeare's Sonnets (unabridged), with the simple headline of "SLAG" and something akin to a story of a polar bear eating Freddie Starr, evidently in retaliation for the hamster incident several years ago.
You might also want to know why on earth I'm up at 2am, starting this blog entry. What? You weren't wondering? Oh, okay then, I'll continue.
1. THE FINAL JOURNEY BEGINS
It's Tuesday 3rd April and I have a train to catch, from Leeds to Heathrow T3. My youngest, Lauren, has offered to drive me there - she's been driving for several months now and despite my risk assessment telling me I may be safer travelling to the Pole naked than allowing her to drive me to the station, my sentimental side wins out and I load her car with my backpack and two large travel bags.
(Actually she's a good driver - I'm very proud of her)
Before we leave, Lauren hands me a beautiful good luck card and insists I wait until the postman has been (he was just down the street). In the post is another good luck card, this time from Becky, arranged by her since her move to Canada.
Reading both of these cards brings home just how much I love and miss my girls and the reality that I may not return. A lump appears in my throat, which I fight to avoid any emotional scene with Lauren.
The train down to London is uneventful except for 4 sudden urges to go pee in less than 90 minutes. I think the reality of what I'm about to do has finally started to hit home.
All the huff'n'puff and bravado and spirit of daring-do in the past couple of months now seems so distant as I watch the train hurtle past houses and fields, yet don't take in any of the detail as my mind drifts into wondering about the true dangers of this trek.
I arrive at Heathrow and, within 30 minutes, all 8 of us are gathered ready to head to Oslo, along with the legend that is Geoff Somers, our trek lead. The obligatory group photo is taken, I accept a package from Joshua of Charity Challenge which contains a letter from Peter Huntley's family, a sachet of some of his ashes and a pair of joke 'shorts', and then we are through to check-in for our flight to Oslo.
The flight is good, the hotel is adequate but the sleep is appalling as I suffer from some self-doubt and the most sickening headache. This is the start of the nerves, a couple of bouts of self-doubt and the beginning of a decreasing appetite, a decrease which almost proved disastrous. Next morning we pile all our baggage ready for the airport bus.
The next leg of the journey is a flight from Oslo to Svalbard (via Tromso). The weather in Oslo is sunny and a crisp -2c, but the weather soon changes as we head north and land at Tromso to exchange passengers. As we begin to touch down we can see snow falling and the runway is anything but clear.
On leaving the plane for a short break, and to re-check through Customs, we see an industrial snowplough (akin to the size of a HGV tractor and trailer) racing continuously up and down the runway in a vain attempt to keep it clear. I tell you there's more white stuff falling on the floor here than at a Kate Moss house party in the late 1990's! Err 'allegedly' of course.
We are also informed that the plane will need to go to the de-icing area before it takes off again. Well that certainly got my vote, after the short walk across the tarmac to re-board the plane left most of us looking like snowmen! The plane took off successfully (obviously, doh!) and we headed to Longyearbyen, in the island archipelago of Svalbard. A place with 24-hours of daylight.
The flight itself wasn't exactly uneventful as clumsily I tried to pull my jacket out of the overhead lockers, and succeeded in also pulling out my backpack which duly fell on a glass of water. Problem was it wasn't my water, nor was it my newspaper or lap that took the impact of the spill.
Fortunately the guy and his wife (who had the most piercing squeal) were exceptionally good about it, even when we met them 2 days later in a bar on the island. We all had a good laugh about the incident and he said never had a small accident been so over-apologised for. So I shut up and he then looked disappointed.
We are met by various representatives of the Russian guide, VIKAAR and, after a few photo opportunities at the airport, were taken to a hostel which was to be our base for the next few days.
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| The spectacular view from Svalbard airport |
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| A signpost to 'everywhere' at the airport |
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| The view down to Longyearbyen from our hostel |
The archipelago of Svalbard advertises a population of 2500 people and 3500 polar bears and is the location for last years' tragedy where student Horatio Chapple was killed by a mauling polar bear, whilst trying to rescue his friend.
In our hostel a poster highlighted that we were less than 1/2 a mile from the 'no-go zone', unless you were carrying a high-powered rifle.
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We'd lost at least 2 if not 3 days as a result and so set about training and getting the kit ready. This activity included checking the tents, getting our skis and poles, receiving the SACK of trek food we had to choose from and getting out on the snow and ice to try it all.
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| This location gave us the first BAFTA moment; watch this space |
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| New skis, new boots, new bindings, all tried on the frozen fjord ice |
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| For only the 4th day EVER on skis in her life, Sara shows all the poise of a table lamp (just teasing - actually she did BRILLIANTLY) |
She recovered enough but it was a sobering moment to think one slip and all the preparation, all the money and all the hype surrounding someone completing the adventure could be wasted.
On return to the hostel we collected our pulks and were under strict orders to pack, ready to go if we were called. Clothing, kit and food supplies were all to be carried individually with team supplies shared out. I was lucky to get the bulky items, not the heavy stuff (thank you David and Douglas, my tent buddies, for taking the fuel etc).
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| This is just MY allocated food pile, being sorted into days |
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| This poor sod clearly had NO idea what was about to hit him |
Saturday was a no-fly day so we knew we would again be heading out with the skis and, this time, with our fully loaded pulks. It was also a day where tempers began to rise as some of the more vocal members of the group began to express their impatience and dissatisfaction.
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| Fortunately the weekly meeting of the Longyearbyen Sewing Circle always calms things down |
What happens on tour stays on tour, but I will say it was the first time my patience was tested as decisions were apparently being made about just how long 'the team' were prepared to stay to get the full 10-day ski trek in, irrespective of time and cost.
As it was, it was all taken out of our hands when we were told in no uncertain terms that we were flying out on Sunday morning and the Russians were closing the camp on Barneo by the 22nd April and they had a schedule to adhere to that only had flexibility one way; their way. No-one would be telling the Russian camp managers they were staying longer!
Saturday closed with me receiving texts from Lauren and Lucia, both of which were in response to me saying we were about to 'go dark' for up to 10 days and both of which brought tears to my eyes. The text from Lauren simply concluded with the words "Love you loads. So proud xxxxxxxxx".
My final nights sleep before our departure was minimal, as huge doses of self-doubt arose again and I found myself asking what had I done, what had I let myself in for??? Why in hell was I actually here amongst all these hardened adventurers and sporty people, and I vowed I would never ever consider doing anything so stupid again.
Yeah, right.
2. CAMP BARNEO
Every year for about 6 weeks, a Russian team fly into the final degree within the Arctic Circle, find some thick ice that will probably last the duration, parachute in a bulldozer, clear a runway that is 1km long so an Antonov AN-74 cargo jet can land, fly in supplies and accommodation, prepare for the limited polar season and then dismantle everything, fly it out and let the bulldozer sink to the bottom of the Arctic Ocean as the ice melts.
That is the life of Camp Barneo, the most northern airport in the world (soon to be featured as a Channel 5 documentary), and that was where we were headed.
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| The AN-74 awaits us at Longyearbyen |
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| Business class seats, of course. So funny that during the flight one of the caged Husky dogs broke loose. |
All sorts fly out to the camp, from Japanese tourists who wants to visit the Pole for an hour via helicopter, to the serious scientists who are investigating the environmental state of the North Pole region, and then people like us. Idiots.
Of course there is the argument that the people who pay to go run the North Pole marathon are even bigger idiots - an 8 hour event which essentially is in and around the Barneo camp rather than at the Pole itself.
The Barneo camp is basically on a thick piece of ice that floats and moves with the Arctic Ocean. In fact, whilst we were there the camp moved in an ellipse, at a rate of approx a mile a day, getting closer to the Pole, then swinging under it, and then back on itself again.
As we took off from Svalbard the clear sunny skies soon changed and waves of cloud appeared below us, sweeping up from the sea edge to smother all sight of the savage white icy landscape that had started below us.
Almost simultaneously, as sight of land disappeared, my mind began to wander and waves of emotion swept through me. I imagined reaching the Pole and paying a silent tearful homage to my Dad whose memory and spirit helped me make it here. Tears now emerged as I imagined just how amazed he would be that his youngest son was going to the Pole.
I looked out as the plane descended, ready to make a landing in low cloud and thick fog .... all by visual sighting, no technology is used to aide landing whatsoever.
His first attempt was flawed as he missed the beginning of the runway and would not have had time to stop the plane before it hit the wall of ice blocks thrown up by the moving ice floes, so the engines roared as the pilot climbed, just feet from the end of the runway, to circle back for a second attempt.
The second attempt was successful and he slapped the wheels down on the ice; a huge relief as a failed third attempt could have led to the landing being aborted and a return to Svalbard. We were now at Camp Barneo with just a helicopter ride between us and the start of the trek itself.
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| The fool is STILL smiling, clearly blissfully unaware of what happens next |
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| The 'Mess Tent' at Barneo |
Others in the team just seemed to be taking it in their stride, eating, laughing and joking, and Douglas began to show his polar wi-fi equipment, capable of sending texts and emails from the Arctic Circle as well as making satellite phone calls.
All clever stuff from Mr Techno Guy (as his nickname was ... until it got changed to Nurse Gladys Emmanuel, due to his 'ward nurses' watch he bought for the trek) and Rob and Rowley updated their blog, sending it to their wives to update the website they'd created for the 20 schools they'd presented to prior to the trek. A 5-second data upload from this kit via a passing satellite and it was done.
More waiting ensued and, at 9pm that Sunday evening, we were told that the weather was so bad (fog remained and we had 'flat light') there would be no flights until the morning, so I went to find a spare bed in one of the heated 12-berth tents and set my mind to stop thinking about the end, and start taking it one step at a time.
Weather changes quickly at Barneo though and around midnight we were awoken by one of the Russian helicopter pilots. Our flight would now be ready to take off in an hour. Adrenalin kicked in like a bolt of electricity. This really was happening, and right now.
We checked our kit and prepared to join another group of 4 very serious and capable trekkers in a helicopter, once final flights plans and longitude co-ordinates for our drop-off were agreed.
3. THE TREK ITSELF
Sunday night/Monday morning - As the helicopter lifted off around 1am, I wasn't looking forward to wearily setting up a tent at our drop-off point, but I need not have worried as we were now on a new timetable. Crammed in to the chopper with 14 others and as many pulks, we soared over the icy landscape.
I have no idea just how long the flight was, as I kept nodding off with the hum of the engines and the smell of fuel acting like a cheap dentist's anaesthetic, but the next thing I knew we were landing. The down draft from the blades cut through our windproof clothing like cold steel razor blades - I was so cold I could have given up there and then. Is this how cold I was going to feel for the trek??
Fortunately as the chopper lifted off the temperature rose dramatically to -27c and calm descended on the group. We were alone, like never before. Silence, sheer silence once the familiar 'thuka thuka thuka' of the copter blades faded into the distance.
We were told to put our skis on and get ready to trek for 3-4 hours. Our new timetable would now typically be to stop trekking at 5:30am, set up camp, eat and drink, into sleeping bags by 10am and then sleep through the day. At 7pm, stoves on, drink, eat and out of tents ready to depart by 10pm. Every hour of trekking, we'd stop for 5 minutes to grab a drink and some trail mix.
And so we set off at about 1:40am, in full sunlight, to see just what the Arctic Circle really had in this challenge. And we weren't disappointed as "skis off" was repeatedly followed with "skis on" as we traversed some early ice fields.
Progress was good though and I was particularly pleased with how I kept up with the pace of the trio at the front. I had confidence in my ski movement and in my balance over obstacles. Dragging my pulk (which weighed 49kg) over the ice ridges and ice fields felt easier than I had expected. This was going to be a good adventure!
Monday night/Tuesday morning - After my first night in a tent at -27c I felt pretty good, although the shock of eating crap out of an aluminium pouch was only overshadowed by the thought of taking a shovel and going to the loo somewhere outside. Doing that in the somewhat mild -8c of Haugestol, on solid ground that was covered with snow was one thing, but in this temperature, on a piece of floating ice was quite another.
Clearly the trick was not to expose yourself completely and yet avoid doing a pooh on any of your clothing by accident. What a dilemma I faced !!
Suddenly I had a 'lightbulb' moment! All those hours at school learning about trigonometry in Maths lessons and angles in Technical Drawing came flooding back to me, and began to deliver value. The teachers were right, I WOULD find it useful one day!! I was right, they were just talking sh*t - I just hadn't realised what they had meant.
Deftly digging behind a snow drift I completed my task and managed to (a) avoid frostnip anywhere delicate and (b) avoid all my clothing too. Success can be defined in many ways my friend !!
And so we began another 7 hour trek and progress was excellent. This really WAS going to be a great adventure! In a perverse way I also felt good about myself because I survived the day whereas one of my tent buddies (David) had over-heated due to too many layers of clothing as we 'skated' out nearly 10 miles that day.
Unfortunately the sweat cooled inside his clothing; unavoidable when you stop every hour for a 5 minute break, only to find out that for the next 10 minutes you are frantically trying to heat back up again. By the time we stopped and pitched tent he was shivering with the cold, so I played 'Mum' with the hot water for drinks and food, and then we pulled the burner deeper inside the tent and raised the temperature from a shivering -20c to a simmering +32c in less than 20 minutes. We even got used to drying our frozen gloves and hats whilst eating.
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| Luxury redefined |
Tuesday night/Wednesday morning - Before we went to bed on Tuesday, Douglas said I could make a call or two home on his sat phone. It was great to talk to Lauren and then to Lucia, but that was the last thing that day that was great, or good, or acceptable, or bearable.
We set off for another long day on the skis but I soon found myself fading. My liquid and food intake on a daily basis had been low since Longyearbyen and today my energy levels began to reflect that.
Whilst the day before had been a great day, with me managing the tension on my pulk rope so movement was smooth and continuous, today there were a lost of 'skis off/skis on' moments and instead of skiing smoothly, my impatience to get to the end of our targeted 7 miles led to slow jerky movements as the rope attached to my harness jarred suddenly, repeatedly. Sharp arresting jolts disrupted my rhythm and my frustration grew.
At the same time I found the taste of the water in my flask, and of the trail mix I'd prepared, made me almost wretch. Instead of a handful of nuts and/or some chocolate or numerous cups of water to satiate my thirst, I nibbled and spat food out, and I sipped some water but tipped the rest away.
As we approached the final hour I was praying for the end of the day, dreaming up ideas about how I could be the first person that had failed to reach the North Pole yet be 'excused' failure, and was trying to close my eyes every other slide.
When we stopped and the tent was up, I took one look inside my pulk to decide what crap to try and eat that night. All it took was one look at a pouch of pasta bolognese and I wretched violently and loudly. Douglas was over like a shot; "Right, all I want you to do is get your sleeping bag out and get in the tent to rest" he ordered (in his soft east Scottish lilt that actually made him sound like a very confident yet sympathetic medic).
He and David firmly but patiently made me re-hydrate, covered some of the truth from Geoff the trek lead (without being AT ALL reckless I must add) and finally got chocolate and porridge into me.
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| You want to know why I look so satisfied at my food (with Nurse Gladys Emmanuel looking on)? |
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| Ham, scrambled egg and potato .... evidently ! |
I said it to them and I'll say it again here; my sincerest thanks to Douglas and David who probably saved my trek that Wednesday by helping me on a day where my intake was low and my energy output was very high, leading to dehydration, exhaustion and lack of energy.
They believe I was possibly 2 hours away from the risk of MedEvac, but their coaxing, care and determination helped me rest, re-heat, rehydrate and stop retching. I owe you guys, for without you I might not have got through that day and subsequently ski trekked to the Pole.
It's amazing how bad food can suddenly taste acceptable, how Bovril and peppermint tea can revive and how a good nights rest in a tent at -25c can turn near failure into possible success.
I'm pleased to say this ordinary guy is DEFINITELY capable of extraordinary things but, sometimes, through the experience of others, you get help to bridge a gap you couldn't have bridged yourself. I live and learn.
Wednesday night/Thursday morning - Today turned out to be another pretty good day and I enjoyed just about every minute of it. Progress was mixed because of the ice fields but overall I was just thrilled to be there, on the ice, with the group, and looking forward to another 7 miles.
It was made a little more difficult because the drift and the navigation was counter to progress so for every mile we skied north, we had to ski a mile west to compensate.
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| Photograph courtesy of Alan Chambers |
Thursday night/Friday morning - Today was the day we HAD to wear full face masks to combat the cold and today was also when we came across open water, thin ice and moving ice. Today was the day I remembered we were simply on an ice floe, not solid landmass.
The way ahead was complex from the very start and ice was forming on our faces and all around our protective facewear. What were known as 'snotcicles' were hanging down from several of the guys moustaches and we increasingly came across open leads.
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| Rowley scoffs at the tiny crack in the ice. Not sure him shouting "Is that the best you can do?" was a good omen. |
My sureness of footing had gone and I paid the price as both skis slipped on an icy descent across broken blocks of snow-free ice, flipping backwards and landing square on my back.
Seeing the confident and very capable Rob start moving across thin ice and being told to get back when the ice suddenly groaned and hissed, yards of it opening up several inches to cold black water, brought the risk home a little more. The fact that it closed again a few moments later did not counter that feeling.
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| Photograph courtesy of Alan Chambers |
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| Even the seasoned pro's have trouble keeping their pulks upright |
Skiing across a 20ft+ piece of thin ice and, in one section of it, being able to discern the water flowing underneath brought the risk home, and traversing one recently frozen lead by bridging it with a pulk to ski across was unnerving, especially when someone fell over and almost off the pulk.
And dragging your pulk, however briefly, through slushy water at the very end of another traverse brought home the dangers of thin ice and the reality that we were on a piece of ice with only 2 miles of the Arctic Sea below us.
I was pleased when the way ahead seemed blocked by hissing moving ice ridges, some blocks as big as Transit vans, and Geoff Somers said we'd camp for the night and see how things looked in the morning.
Friday night/Saturday morning - The hardest day of trekking was, for sure, this last day. With only 7 miles to go we knew we could possibly get to the Pole before we had to make camp. We were warned about being over enthusiastic and losing our focus .... but goddammit we were enthusiastic.
The night before Geoff Somers had said we'd see how things looked in the morning. David's digital barometer had showed rapidly falling pressure and at an increasing rate of knots for the last 24 hours, so although we were way short of it being storm weather, the weather was changing. The danger that we might not reach the Pole at all was tangible.
Whilst thankfully no storm developed, the low pressure brought with it cloud cover. Not only couldn't we navigate by the sun today but the cloud cover brought with it something called 'flat light'.
'Flat light' is a condition in which visibility and contrast are severely reduced: A condition of diffuse light when no shadows are cast, due to a continuous white cloud layer appearing to merge with the white snow surface. No surface irregularities of the snow are visible, but a dark object may be clearly seen. There is no visible horizon (source: Wikipedia)
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| A 'flat light'/whiteout photo from Wikipedia. Spot the horizon .... not! |
Seni had a nightmare 15 minutes and was MAGNIFICENT in her determination to continue, despite twice getting so stuck in unforeseen circumstances and unlikely postures that she needed to be hauled back by her tow ropes, and once falling over in a manner Jurgen Klinnsman would have been be proud of.
My legs were aching, my neck was sore, the blister on my foot was shouting at me and I too took a couple of tumbles on dips which were, quite simply, impossible to see. Even our fantastic guide fell, ripping the entire binding from the right ski he was wearing. And then we stopped.
Geoff S said Rob had a proposition. Rob (in far kinder words than this, that AGAIN brought tears to my eyes) said "There's one person for whom this trek has been hard, a brand new challenge they've never faced before and they've done really well to get here (the fat old ginger git - my words, NOT his) - so I propose we let Geoff Major lead us the last 700 out of 800 metres to the Pole".
I kid you not, the emotions were running so high and energy was running so low, I found myself fighting back some sobs of joy and relief at the recognition .... of how old, fat and ginger I am. No no, sorry, of the recognition that it hadn't been easy for me. Only 4 weeks earlier I had camped out in a tent for the first time in my life and yet, here I was on the cusp of joining a small group of people who had actually made it to the Pole.
I thought again of my Dad and how he would simply be gasping in amazement that his youngest son had made it to one of the most inhospitable places on earth. Not quite as inhospitable as the restaurant in Longyearbyen we visited one night, but close.
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| Yes that's me, the little dot right at the front .... heading in the wrong direction |
And so I led the team the wrong way several times but, under Rob's guidance, he helped me get us within 70 metres of the geographic North Pole, but wait .... a large rift in the ice lay ahead. Progress was halted for sure, but then nature continued to play its part in this awesome adventure and, quite literally, the drift of the ice floe under our feet brought the Pole to us.
Fifty metres, forty, thirty, twenty. The people with GPS's frantically started calling out coordinates; ten metres, five, four .... oh bugger it had disappeared !! No-one could find the precise 90 00 00 reading.
Like rabbits looking for a way out of a headlight factory, we raced around trying to get a GPS to register and then ... suddenly .... Mikhail, our Russian support skier said "I have 90".
The flare gun was fired, people cheered and I simply leaned on my ski poles and ... yes ... cried silently in jubilation. Sara came to give me a hug and said I looked absolutely drained. I was, mainly emotionally. We were here; I had made it to the top of the fucking world !!!!!
AND SO, AT 4AM ON 14TH APRIL 2012, I REACHED THE NORTH POLE
Then we were suddenly silent. It was as if someone had just walked into the best party in the world, turned the music off, the lights on and said "Everybody out of my bloody house, now". It wasn't anti-climax but I think we suddenly didn't know what to do, but within 30 minutes that all changed.
Tents up, alcohol out and Rob and Rowley's tent became party capitol of the Arctic Circle. Sat phone calls were made to people; some answered even though it was 4am GMT and some didn't.
More songs were sung (Techno Man had brought a speaker to plug iPod's in to) and Rob and Rowley's party tent rocked for 3 whole hours. I made some more calls as it was now after 8:30am GMT. I rang Lucia again having woken her at 4am, but she was now at work; my Mum almost cried with relief when we spoke; my friend Al squealed with shock and delight; a sleepy sounding Pam woke up with a start when I said who it was and where I was, and my most favourite person in the world within my extended family didn't answer the phone but he did text this reply later that day: -
"Well done Geoff, fantastic achievement. Sorry I didn't answer my phone but what a great voicemail message to keep forever. Jay" .............. followed later that day by ...............
"Played my voicemail to my mates tonight (yes I do have some); so proud of you".
After some partying it was time to do two things; take the photographs we all promised for our supporters (my two are below) and then pay tribute to Peter Huntley, a trekker who sadly died and never made it to the Pole except in spirit.
I read the letter out from his family, we sprinkled the ashes and then I put on the 'fun shorts' we were sent and ran around the camp site. A video is being sent to his family and we hope they find some joy and solace in the respectful celebration.
In the middle of this melee, Douglas tried to stake claim to the Pole on behalf of Scotland but it didn't work; not least because we'd drifted over 2 miles away from the Pole by then.
Oh yes, if you're #ontheflag, here is the photo of it at the North Pole. One of you will win the flag and be presented with it before the end of April. Thank you SO much for your excellent support!
And here is another flag I was delighted to take in return for a generous charitable donation.
And so the adventure ended with the call that the helicopter was unexpectedly coming to pick us up and the AN-74 could fly us back to Svalbard that same day.
The rest, as they say, is history but people have started to ask how has this life-changing experience changed me? How am I doing?
Well I'm still coming to terms with what I've achieved .... sometimes I want to cry in amazement and other times I simply can't believe it, so I imagine maybe I've just been stuck on a snowy hillside in Watford in a bit of a daze, having a bad day.
Actually, on second thoughts, that's enough to make ANYONE shed a tear.
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| And of course my tiny bit of frostbite could still leave me with a permanent reminder of the trek |
Seriously though the answer is I just don't know yet. I signed up for the polar trek thinking it was because I wanted to do something challenging after the Cuba cycle ride. I finished the trek wondering, for better or for worse, whether it has released something in me or simply buried other things deeper so I can enjoy the simplicity of life rather than the material complexity.
As the quote on my Twitter page says, "Everyone dies, but not everyone lives". I guess time will tell if this helps me achieve both, not just one.
4. CREDITS
Thank you to my Mum for writing the sweetest well done letter EVER in the world. I'm glad I make you proud Mum, every day, just as my girls make me proud. Next time though you don't need to ring all your friends at 4am to tell them the news.
Thank you Howard and Kathryn; your time, skill, creativity and friendship was priceless !!
To the 'Don', Mr Geoff Shepherd of the Yorkshire Mafia, your support has been nothing short of magnificent and unending.
To Lucia, yes I am a bit bonkers but as you say, "Love me as I am ....." ha ha. The bonkers bit DOESN'T get any worse, I don't think.
To my girls, you are my reason for so many good things and your support and the pride you express is fuel for my heart and soul.
To every single person and company who helped me, supported me, donated, re-tweeted and/or encouraged me; thank you.
To you, the reader of this blog (whether you got here accidentally or on purpose), thank you. To see so many people intrigued by what I write is encouragement enough, whether you are known to me or a complete stranger.
To Geoff Somers and my fellow trekkers, and to Alan Chambers; you offered me endless support and reasons to get to the bloody Pole.
To the winners of the North Pole Trek BAFTA Awards I say well done: -
- for best lead role, Rob, for showing us the way.
- for best use of technology and SFX, Douglas, but bring the clothes dryer next time too please
- for best dramatic performance (known locally as a Patsy Award), you-know-who, for making us laugh even if unintentionally
- for best foreign language film, Deb; Pet we had no f-ing idea what you were saying some of the time, but you played the role of the broad geordie beautifully.
- the lifetime achievement award goes to Geoff Somers, because being with us lot for 2 weeks must have felt like a bloody lifetime !!
- best film goes to Rowley for "Hercules, who smashes his way through ice, stomps over hills and drags everyone's sleds through solid blocks when the going gets rough"
And finally, to my Dad. You helped me through some tough times training and on this trek and yes, I surprised me too. Sleep well and be at peace. x
So folks, let's see what happens next shall we? Thanks for being there for me; please hang around for the ride; it could just get more exciting !!
