Mac's LRM Article - 'The Bering Waits'

Steve and Dan sat down and drew up the design for the amphibious Defender. As the months rolled by, the hours of hard work and sweat slowly started to materialise, Dan became more and more obsessed with the project. His business was booming, having had to move to a larger premises yet again, so the idea of taking off for a year’s round the world trip wasn’t an option. However, to be part of the first team to cross the Bering Strait – now that did appeal.

Their first test of the vehicle was on Consiton water back in 2002, achieving a remarkable 5 knots on its first outing. The propeller was not producing enough thrust as it could, so a lager 12” blade was fitted. Next test was in the sea off Bridlington and tested in reasonably choppy waters, where yet again the design had been proved to work. What they needed though was a real test of sea-worthiness, power and endurance.

No amphibious vehicle had crossed the Irish Sea before, so the team set out to prove to potential sponsors and the press that they were serious (and capable) of crossing the Bering Strait. Driving onto the beach in Donaghadee, Northern Ireland they powered their way into the gentle surf, lapping up against the sandy beach. Five hours later the small sea-side town of Portpatrick homed into view and with a thud of the prop striking the rocks below, the wheels were re-engaged as they climbed out of the water and onto dry land. It was a total success.

Even with this achievement under his belt, Steve still could not get anyone interested in his expedition. A few small sponsors came on board and large corporate companies had time for a chat with him, but no one put their hand in their pocket to back him. At this point, most seasoned adventurers would pull the plug on the whole thing. If they weren’t going to have the trip paid for, they certainly weren’t going to bother with it, not so Steve.

Steve doesn’t seek adventure because it’s going to make him famous, he doesn’t do it so that he can join the lecture circuit and charge thousands of pounds for people to listen to him talk, he does it because it’s in his blood. If no one was going to help him, then he would just do it alone.

For most people who don’t own a home and were left one by a departed relative, they would take the sensible option of either living in it or selling it on to buy their own property. As a farm manager, Steve lives in a beautiful country house, surrounded by rolling fields and idyllic woodlands. There was no reason why he should move from there and he didn’t need the house he was left, so decided to use the money to pay for the expedition. The project was now well into six figures, the cost of crossing Russia alone hitting the £100,000 mark. Taking into account the purchase and modification of the Defender, he was in territory that would normally only be considered by multi-million pound businesses. True to his ambitions and his thirst for adventure though, he carried on.

With his own snow-tracks built, the amphibious gear tested and proved, there was only one thing left to do - get going!

On the 29th January 2008, Steve, along with his partner Nicky left their farm in Yorkshire and headed east. Nicky would drive with Steve to Moscow, from where a new co-driver, Simon Dedman would accompany him across Siberia to the edge of the Bering Strait. Dan Evans would then take over for the actual crossing.

For four long months the Defender battled its way across Europe and Siberia, coping with temperatures down to -50°C. With the many rivers of eastern Siberia frozen like icy motorways, the Land Rover, acxcompanied by a Ural support truck drove along them. Wide and flat they may have been, but there was always the ever present danger of falling through. The chances of surviving such were virtually nil.

The condition of the ice along the Arctic coast was worse than anticipated, but this didn’t stop the Land Rover being the first vehicle to ever cross Russia from east to west in its entirety. From the tiny outclave of Kaliningrad in the west, nestled between Poland and Lithuania, to the eastern shores of Uelen, perched on the edge of the Arctic circle, a massive distance of 9,000 miles.

It was here though, in the desolate town, where descendants of Stalin’s gulags live an isolated life, cut off from the rich pleasures of western Russia, that the expedition started to go wrong. No tourists visit this remote outpost of Russia and the only people to travel in and out of the region are the military - the threat from capitalist America is only 55 miles away.

With no trade or tourism between Russia and Alaska in that region, there are no Customs and Immigration officials. They would have to be especially flown in to clear Steve and Dan before allowing them to set sail for the United States.

For days the pair waited, cooped up in a tiny shack, sheltering from the onslaught of the fierce Arctic storms. On a couple of occasions when the winds subsided enough to bring the wind chill factor within safe limits, they ventured outside to wander amongst the ruins that made up the town. It was a god-forsaken place to be, but surprisingly the local people were still cheerful and welcoming as they went about their business.

After 10 days of inaction, the Customs officers finally arrived and said that Steve and Dan were to leave. There was no question of waiting for a clear weather window before embarking on the 55 mile sea crossing to Alaska, they were to leave immediately.

The weather was not good, with a storm brewing from the west, but the intrepid adventurers had no choice. After nine years in the planning, it was now or never. With lumps in their throats, they checked over the Defender one more time and scrambled aboard. The Tdi engine was fired into life, the gearbox engaged and with intrepidation they slowly lowered themselves into the freezing waters of the Bering Strait. Moored off shore was the safety boat, a tiny fishing vessel that was no more sea-worthy than the modified Land Rover.

The sea was rough, much rougher than they had encountered before and they had no idea as to whether or not she was capable of withstanding the violent waves that smashed into the bow or the large swells that had her rocking from side to side. Huddled in the cramped cabin, Steve kept his foot on the gas pedal with an indicated 1800 rpm on the tacho. Dan rigged up his waterproof laptop and GPS and dialled in their destination, the tiny Inuit village of Wales.

The currents were strong, the winds ferocious, the swell tossed them about, while the waves relentlessly crashed into the vehicle risking the engine being flooded and stranding them adrift in the Arctic Ocean. But they battled on, there was no option for turning back.

Hour after hour went by, the engine fighting against the elements, desperately trying to push them closer to Wales. For every hour they spent in the water, the more dangerous the situation became. If they didn’t reach landfall before the weather closed in, there was the risk of losing the safety boat and becoming helplessly lost.

Finally, there was a glimmer of hope and they knew they were making progress as the barren island of Big Diomede, the most easterly point of Russia homed into view. Amazingly this 2000’ high lump of rock is inhabited by Inuits, who share their home with Russian soldiers, paranoid about the ever constant threat from the west. It would only be half a mile before they crossed the International Dateline and into American territory and only half a mile further before passing the island of Little Diomede.

As they crossed the Dateline and into US waters, a new safety boat took over from Little Diomede. It guided the Land Rover around the smaller rock’s jagged shoreline and out into open water where they hit the fastest currents of the straights, slowing them down dramatically. The weather ahead was getting worse, low cloud was moving in and rain started to fall heavily on the already drenched vehicle. They battled on. Wales was just 22 miles away.

Although Steve and Dan remained calm, confident that their vehicle could make it all the way, the safety boat skipper got nervous. He knew the waters well and unlike the crew of the Land Rover was not wearing a full immersion suit. Life expectancy for anyone who falls into the Bering Strait is measured in minutes, not hours. He called Steve and told him that he was returning to Little Diomede.

Steve and Dan had no choice. To continue alone without any means of help was nigh on suicidal. Even with a suit to protect them from an initial dunking, their lives would be in grave danger should the Land Rover capsize. They had no option but to follow the safety boat back to Little Diomede.

There was no slipway to speak of. Although Steve had carried out a reconnaissance of the island to check the possibility of landing the Land Rover there, the promise that a proper slipway would be built had not materialised. Instead, they found themselves faced with a narrow gorge between the rocks, filled with small fishing boats and no clear way of the Land Rover getting ashore.

As they edged towards the ‘slipway’, the boats were frantically dragged out of the way. The loose pebbles beneath gave no traction for them to climb ashore and the rocks scraped against the vulnerable floatation bags on either side of the Land Rover. With a winch cable secured to a rock, they managed to drag their way between the jagged rocks, the width was just enough to let them pass through.

After removing the floats due to the risk of flying jagged rocks tossed ashore by the waves, all they had to do now was sit out the storm. When the weather was good they would make the final leg to mainland Alaska. For seven days the tiny island was battered by strong winds, the seas raged and Steve and Dan sat patiently waiting for things to subside.

Finally after a week of boredom, the weather lifted and it was time to get back on the open water. They hurriedly reassembled the vehicle and checked all the systems. All was good. Jerry, the boat captain was ushered into action and within two hours, they were on open water once more. They had swam for no more than an hour when the safety boat swung around and headed back to the tiny island. Jerry wasn’t happy again, the weather didn’t look good.

A day later the weather lifted and they were ready to try again. All they needed now was the safety boat. They hunted high and low, only to find its Captain suffering from a heavy night session the night before. He was in no fit state to go anywhere. The weather windows were short and each time they were ready to launch, the boat crew weren’t ready. No matter what they did, they just couldn’t get them to commit to escorting them.

Dan had now been away from home for a month, an expedition that should only have taken two weeks. His wife was heavily pregnant and his company was suffering without his leadership at hand, he had to go home. Steve was running out of money and also needed to return to the UK to try and drum up much needed funds. There was no option for them. Things were not going well and they were getting more and more frustrated stuck on the island.

They couldn’t leave the Land Rover where it was and had to find more substantial shelter for it. She had already taken a hammering from the waves and if any larger storms hit the island, there was the risk of her being damaged beyond repair. When the weather turns really bad, the seas are violent enough to drag boats into the water, smashing them against the massive rocks until they resemble nothing more than matchsticks. To leave the Land Rover so close to the sea would mean a certain end to the expedition, it had to be moved higher, away from the snarling waves and protected in some way.

During the height of the Cold War, the American military had shipped heavy equipment out to the island with the intension of constructing a dock for Naval vessels, but with the fall of the Soviet Union, the plan was cancelled. Diggers and cranes were left rusting at the end of make-shift ramps, forever at the mercy of the elements. These though were the perfect place for the Land Rover to shelter behind.

With much skill, the two worked for hours, inching their way up the makeshift track, before crawling under the boom of the large crane and behind a couple of 40 foot containers that offered some protection from the elements. Exhausted and frustrated they clambered aboard one of the fishing boats and headed back to the UK.

My phone rang.

“Mac, it’s Steve Burgess. I need your help”

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