Northwest Passage Expedition – daily update 9 August 2024

Beautiful sunrise when I got up for my morning shift at 5am.

ALMOST A MURMURATION

A large group of birds, that at times almost looked like a (non-existent, up here) murmuration of starlings with their intricate group flying patterns (which I didn’t catch on camera, only caught the straight-forward flying patterns), made their brief appearance.

YOU HAVE REACHED YOUR DAILY GOAL OF 100 STEPS

My sports watch put a smile on my face, when I realised it indicates 109 steps. Gone are those days when I clocked 10,000 before work.

DEAD POET SOCIETY ON A ROWING BOAT: KARTS

I had known for some time that Karts was planning on finishing and publishing his memoirs next year. He already has a publisher lined up. No doubt his book will do well. It’s not just that this dude has gone on so many crazy adventures like the Yukon, the Amazon, Death Valley, Denali (and several Latin American six-thousanders, as I found out today), and many others. He did all those things in his 60s and 70s, and he’s still going bigger and better. What an inspiration.

It only occurred to me recently, that this daredevil is almost 50% older than I am, one and a half times my age. And to be honest, I’d rather have him on my expedition than myself, well, I guess both of us would be ideal. Me, to appeal to a younger audience of middled-aged men. Karts for the skills, knowledge, and wisdom only experience can get you.

THE BORN OLD-SCHOOL STORYTELLER

If ever I met a born storyteller, it must be Leven. He’s the type that crowds gather around in the corner of a seafarers tavern next to the pier in Old Batavia. For another quart of rum he’ll tell you how he lost his other leg, too. Leven’ still has both his legs, but you know what I mean. He is of course a distinguished public speaker who gathers much bigger crowds than any seaman in any tavern.

Not only has he himself been on so many perilous adventures and seen so many things few other men have seen, but he also manages to effortlessly combine his own stories with the threads of the many famous and lesser-known explorers and swashbucklers he met on his travels around the world.

THE POET

Without any doubt, by far the biggest writing talent is Mike, though, who recently gave me a manuscript to read (at my insistence, he even only mentioned the book when I asked him if he considered writing about the Passage). It blew my mind from the first sentence. I’m very much looking forward to continuing with the read once I’m done with this silly update here.

FROM EREBUS AND TERROR TO FIGHTING TERRORISTS

Mike has an interesting background, just like Leven and Art, but in a different way. He is a direct descendant of Sir John Franklin with at least one other knighted ancestor. His closest family include archaeologists and farmers. The good man himself has been on some interesting adventures apart from the 1st and 2nd leg of the Northwest Passage Expedition, such as a gap year that involved travelling 3,500 miles through West Africa to places like Timbuktu or Ougadougou. All while he was 18. Not least of all, Mike, I’m sure, would have a story or two to tell about his time with the Royal Marines, when he spent time in Afghanistan, Somalia, and completing training in Arctic Warfare in Northern Norway.

MY OWN EFFORTS

Talking about my own attempts at writing, I had been hoping that these daily updates will hopefully end up being half the job for my book about the expedition. But the more of these updates I write, the more I realise they’ll be 5% of the effort, at best. More like an insignificant aide-memoire than anything else. I’ve also started to take extensive separate notes.

TWO COPIES – SOLD!

Luckily I already secured most of the market for my scribblings. My parents, who have also given generously to cover some of the cost of my share in this expedition, are bound to buy a copy for themselves and one for the odd occasion where a book might come in handy as a gift. Say, if Uncle Werner should be prescribed two days bedrest for the common flu or one of my lovely nieces or my nephew would catch a bad cold.

NO BARBIE WITH SIMON & MAXIME

Through social media we learned that the kayakers had made the best use of their tail (our head) winds and had decided to cross Wellington Bay without stopping by our anchoring place. Fair enough. We probably would have done the same.

“QUITE CLOSE” MY ASS

I spent about an hour checking all our flares, rockets, flare guns, thermal blankets, fire blankets, and other safety gear. The bear spray manual in particular amused me with the wording of the following warning message: [in case of strong side winds or rain] “you may have to wait until the bear is quite close.” Imagine reading that while a 800kg/1760lbs white killing machine is charging towards you. “Quite close” my ass.

SIGNALLING DISTRESS

I also learned about new ways of signalling distress. I bet no one told Red Bull that the flapping arms movement doesn’t just mean that you’ve been given wings. No one told Churchill that V doesn’t just stand for ‘Victory.’

 

GREEN FOR DANGER

Why on earth you would choose green dye to signal distress will always remain a  mystery to me. And good luck to the first person who will ever alert the crew of a rescue helicopter hovering 50ft above a stormy sea with, of all things, a whistle. Truly well done there.

CALLING FOR HELP IN FRENCH

Mayday would probably be ruled out by most self-respecting Englishmen, if they were aware that it’s the French “M’aidez” dumbed down for non-native speakers.

SAVE OUR SOULS

The good old Morse code dot-dot-dot dash-dash-dash dot-dot-dot for Save Our Souls would work just fine. Again, I found it funny that during my Sea Survival course pretty much every other code had been given more prominence, including dash-dash-dash-dash-dash-dash-dash, for example.

ANOTHER ONE FOR THE TO-DO-LIST: LIFE JACKET

My little exercise reminded me that I still need to insert my Personal Locator Beacon (PLB) into the designated pocket of my life jacket. I should also check again if my auto-inflatable life jacket is folded correctly inside its zipped-up wrapping. I had to unfold it before boarding a plane, in order to remove an electric hand torch that had been placed there by the manufacturer.

HEADING TO GREENER PASTURES MORE GREY ROCK

Around lunchtime we pulled anchor and moved about 300m further into our cove to have better protection against the winds. My first time pulling anchor (or, in fact: three anchors, as that is the number of main anchors we use on the bow (plus occasionally another single one from stern).

GETTING TO KNOW LAST YEAR’S CREW

The longer we are at sea, the more stories transpire about last year’s trip. All, of course, told with empathy and in a respectful manner. I found it hugely interesting to learn that one member of last year’s team had clearly realised that the expedition was not for him, when it had already been too late to pull out. Throughout the whole trip he spoke no more than a handful of words to the rest of the team beyond the necessary, like responding to orders or answering questions.

GOING ON EXPEDITIONS CAN BE TIRING

Another unnamed expeditioner regularly fell asleep while rowing. His stroke gradually got a bit slower and out of tune, before it stopped entirely. I’m certainly not laughing. I’m yet to have my first hardcore rowing session, 12h plus, with no breaks longer than 5mins, fighting against waves, winds, and currents at extremely low temperatures. No end in sight. I’m half curious to find out how I’ll do, half perfectly happy to wait quite a lot longer before I find out.

FAMOUS FAROESE FOLK

The stories about Livar Nysted always make me chuckle. Mike, and even more so Leven, who has done a lot more rowing with Livar, make him out to be this bigger-than-life swashbuckling seabear of Jack Sparrow calibre.

BUSH FIRES

Now that Leven finished all the cigars he had bought in Cambridge Bay, the mozzies are constantly having a field day. We are half hoping that the ever-thickening smoke here up North from the bushfires hundreds of miles to the South is going to rein those pests in. At times it’s so bad I’ve got to take 10 or 20 pics in order to get one without several black blurry insecty swirls in it.

MOZZIE MASSACRES

Every time you make a random swat movement half a dozen of dead insect bodies drop onto the deck where they stay for a few moments until the wind makes place for the next delivery.

DEATH BY DEET VS MURDER BY MOSQUITOES

I’m not even talking about the dozens of pound-coin sized, super-itchy bites all over my body, especially the face and hands. All of us here on board feel like regularly spraying poisonous DEET all over ourselves would be too unhealthy. Mozzie head nets are an option kind of as last resort. But you’ll still suffer a few bites, your vision will be seriously impaired, and every time you take a sip of water or a bite, you’ll have to lift the lid.

THE ENDLESS WAITING TAKES ITS TOLL

The waiting game is starting to take a toll on all of us. We’d much prefer to be out there, rowing, rather than spending yet another day here at Wellington Bay, doing nothing. With every day of waiting and not rowing, the risk of having to abort our expedition early to avoid getting mauled by the autumn storms, is growing.

DOUBLE-GUESSERS AND ARMCHAIR EXPERTS

It must be hardest on Leven. So many armchair experts and even some reasonably skilled outdoors folk who simply have no clue about the needs of a 44ft long, 2m wide rowing boat, are double-guessing, criticising, questioning Leven’s decision to sit the headwinds out.

SIX MILES VS SIX MILES

It was in this context, that Leven mentioned how it annoys him when people ask why Scott and his men all died a mere 6 miles from the next supply post. Why didn’t they push themselves and get those few miles behind them. Well, there’s six miles and there’s six miles. In headwinds and adverse currents, six miles can be an insurmountable obstacle. Of course, on a good day it’s a piece of cake.

SUPPORT FROM SCOTLAND

It clearly cheered our skipper up, when he found a recent message from his father on the messaging system of our tracker, “don’t you dare put your nose up before Tuesday.” Leven’s dad is a seasoned navigator and has crossed the Atlantic in a yacht, among others.

GUNSHOT

I hadn’t heard anything, but Art swears on his life that he heard a single gunshot from around five miles away at around midnight. We are guessing some Inuit hunters.

A STRANGE NIGHT

There were plenty of other strange sounds all night. Animals signalling each other over huge distances. Bird sounds we had not heard before. At some stage some four-legged mammal darted across the grassy patch just behind the pebble beach, about 30 yards from our boat, faster than lightening. A fox. Possibly a wolf. There was also a light fog settling down, making it harder to see much.

NEWS OF DEADLY POLAR BEAR ATTACK

Just before my evening 4h rest period, news reached us of a deadly polar bear attack. In the Southeast of ‘our’ province, Nunavut, two radar station workers had been attacked yesterday. One died. A reminder for us to take those polar bear watch shifts seriously. Those predators are great at stalking their prey or, sometimes, unsuspecting human intruders. If they manage to evade the heightened sensors of their animal prey, humans can’t hope to spot them by simply “having a good look around” every five or ten minutes. We need to be vigilant.

THE GOOD WIFE

Spoke with Ellie again before going to bed on my night rest period, like most days. So pleased with how well she’s taking it all. Couldn’t ask for a better wife. Was it a good idea to promise her that she’ll always get whatever she wants, going forward, now that she let me go on this expedition. Time will be the judge of that.

NO FEEDBACK ON NEW ANCHORING LOCATION YET

I just hope she likes our new anchoring location. New flat grey pebble beaches, grey rocks and boulders, a few spots of pale green weeds. She had been complaining that all pictures look the same.