Ranulph Fiennes' EXEL North Pole - Part 3

I pressed on over the fissure dividing land from sea and into a broad belt of rubble. I took my skis off. For a few hundred yards I would have to haul each sledge over a vista similar to that of post-war Berlin. Between each ice slab, soft deep snow covered the fissures. I often fell into traps, sinking waist deep.

Testing sledge pulley system devised by Max Adventure

came to a wall of slabs 15 feet high and decided to test the simple pulley system devised by Mac and Geoff Gwyther of Max Adventure. I attached it to the big sledge and tugged it jerkily up the 45° slope. With the 300lb sledge at the top of the wall, I detached the tiny grapnel hook and rolled up the pulley line. Too late I heard a movement, and leapt towards the sledge, which quickly gathered momentum in its slide over the edge of the wall. I managed to grab the rear end, but my 200lb body weight was not enough. The far side of the wall was a sheer 15-foot drop on to sharp ice blocks. I landed hard and was winded but unhurt.

At first the sledge looked undamaged, but closer inspection revealed a 16 inch tear under the bow, where the sharp edge of an ice block had made contact with the falling hull. I tried pulling the sledge, but snow was caught in the damaged section and dragging it became difficult. Also, the floatability of the sledge's hull, designed to be completely watertight, was compromised.

There was no alternative but to head back to some huts on Ward Hunt Island. Back in the mid-1980's we had erected canvas covers over the steel skeletons of huts, long abandoned by scientists and installed a couple of wind-powered generators to provide electricity. There I hoped to find suitable materials to effect a repair.

With minimal safety gear, I skied for 2 hours back up my own outward trail. The old huts looked like a ghost camp, unchanged over the 12 years since my last visit. After an hour spent digging out the door, I gained entry. There were a few tools and canvas materials, so I decided to bring the sledge back to make it watertight and capable of towing in all conditions. I skied back to the sledges, loaded minimal camping gear on the smaller one lashed the damaged sledge on top. Uphill through soft snow was slow going, some seven hours back to the hut.

I put my tent up inside the hut. The temperature outside had fallen to -49°C with a bitter breeze. With the cooker on, a hot drink inside me and fully clothed, I began the repairs. Some hours later I was back at the ice edge, happy that my work had made the sledge easy to tow, even in soft snow and pretty much watertight.

I found my previous trail easily enough to the island's coastline. I camped on the thin ice but woke to hear all manner of noises: cracking and rumbling, then silence. Then, a nearby and frightening roar that galvanised me into movement from the depths of my four-layer sleeping bag.

Fearful of imminent upheaval due to the tidal influence of the full Moon fracturing the floes and the notoriety of the first four miles of ice to the north of Ward Hunt Island, I pressed on northwards. I dared not take either sledge too far, because the surface between the rubble fields consisted of very thin ice through which my probing ski-stick passed with ease into the dark waters below. After 8 hours I had moved both sledges more than a mile to the north.

Pulling the sledge by moonlight

I had been travelling for well over the intended 10 hours and was making good progress. I ate a chocolate bar every 2 hours to ward off hypothermia, but was beginning to tire so I decided to camp on any flat surface that looked solid. The Moon had vanished, but whenever I stopped I heard the grumble of ice on the move. To avoid a trench of black water, I mounted a bridge of 12-inch thick slabs, buckled by floe pressure. I had the small sledge with me and the big one 500 yards to the south. I clambered over the slabs with my skis on. The sledge followed easily in my wake.

There was no warning, a slab tilted suddenly under the sledge, unbalancing me and pulling me backwards. I fell on my back and slid down the slab. The noise that followed was the one I most hate to hear in the Arctic, a splash as the sledge fell into the sea.

Related Images