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ARCTIC FIRST

Brian Cunningham

INTRODUCTION

In August 1999 Christine and I spent eleven glorious days hiking through the Auyuittuq National Park across Baffin Island’s Cumberland Peninsula. This spectacular glacial valley is lined on either side by some of the world’s most imposing granite walls, riven by glaciers which spill chaotically from the Penny Icecap. It was the most awe-inspiring scenery we’d ever seen.

Half-way through the trek I’d made up my mind to return and attempt to complete the route as a solo run in under 24hrs.

Our hike through Auyuittuq in1999 was led by Paul Landry who along with his long time partner Matty McNair run NorthWinds Arctic Adventures from their delightful home in Iqaluit. Both are vastly experienced arctic travellers who have made many remarkable journeys in the arctic. Most notably, in 1997 Matty led the British Woman’s Relay Expedition to the North Pole. Her book "On Thin Ice" brilliantly recounts this epic achievement. This year Paul and a friend from Iqaluit, Paul Crowley, became the first to retrace Peary’s route to the North Pole. In stark contrast to the typical British sledge-hauling expedition, they did it in style. No drama, no frostbite, no starvation, no epic personality clashes – the two Pauls had fun and their friendship grew stronger during the 51days they spent together on the polar ice.

Initially I think Paul viewed my idea of running through Auyuittuq with a degree of scepticism. However, by the end of the trek we’d become friends and the seeds of a joint run had been sowed. A month later Paul, Matty and their daughter Sarah spent a weekend with us in Bolton. Paul and I did a long hour run together on the South Pennine Moors on an unforgettable autumn day. A thin, cool breeze sighed through the stiff reeds and riffled the flaxen grass. Long brush strokes of blackness painted the landscape with contrast. There was magic everywhere. By the end of the run we were a team and the run was on.

Paul went back to Baffin to prepare for his epic dog-sledge trip to the North Pole and I began to grind out the miles on the moors with a light heart.


THE RUN

A huge weight lifted from our shoulders as we leapt ashore on to the shingle beach at the end of North Pangnirtung Fiord.Paul Landry at the Start (Auyuittuq) (2586 bytes) After the uncertainties of the previous two days, it was a considerable relief to take the first step on the run that had occupied my thoughts for almost 12 months. At last we were in control of our own destiny. It was 7:30pm and the evening shadows were warmly illuminating the huge granite walls which towered above us. A delicious moment, full of excitement and anticipation. By the time we’d shouldered our KIMM sacks, the Inuit hunting canoe and its skipper had already started on its long and lonely journey back to Broughton Island. We had the world to ourselves.

Paul led off along the vestigial track which followed the eastern edge of the Owl River. The pace was fast but we were full of energy and excitement. The track soon faded and we took a direct line up a gentle ascent over some rough terrain. The early flush of energy was quickly gone and within a few minutes I began to feel the pace.

"Paul, I think we’re going too fast. Perhaps we should eat our ‘Cudahy Butties’ and settle down a bit." I said, hoping he wouldn’t notice my heavy breathing.

(The Mike Cudahy recipe for a high energy butty is mashed bananas and honey. He swears by them. My version didn’t look right so Paul suggested enriching the unappealing brown slurry with peanut butter. A large dollop was added and henceforth the mixture took on the consistency and texture of diarrhea. We made up two sandwiches and stored them in airtight ziplock bags where they festered for about 48hrs before we consumed them.)

Paul looked at me a little incredulously. I knew what he was thinking. Only a short time ago on the boat we had consumed a huge pasta meal, a thermos of hot chocolate, a couple of inches of heavy duty salami, a large chunk of cheese and two bananas.

"I’m worried that we might run out of gas later in the run and we might as well stoke up early." I continued lamely. The truth was that I was finding the pace too fast and I knew that my best chance of slowing Paul down was by getting him to eat the huge leaden doorstep of a sandwich.

We walked in silence for five minutes while we chewed. Having downed our sandwiches I deliberately took the lead and set off at a measured pace. Five minutes later it was all too much for Paul. He pulled out of my slipstream and glided past on the pretext that he probably knew the route better than I did. The pace quickened significantly and I spent the next hour trying to work out alternative strategies to slow him up.

 

We made good progress on a perfect evening.Paul Landry at night (Ascard) (1450 bytes) The sun played peek-a-boo behind the mountains to our west as a gentle southerly kept us from overheating. Darkness crept over us and the head-wind gradually strengthened. For a while I busied myself doing the arithmetic. 10% reduction in speed for every 10mph of headwind. The wind was about 20mph so the run could take about 20% longer. I still reckoned we could do it in under the 24hrs but if the weather closed in and we had rain on the wind, then it would be nip-and-tuck.

In time we came to one of the emergency shelters which have been built by the park authorities as a safety precaution. These shelters are designed to keep out the polar bears which occasionally wander into the valley. On his previous hike through the valley Paul had stashed small caches of granola and chocolate bars at several of the shelters. As Paul fumbled around the eaves of the for the hidden food, an obviously alarmed face appeared at the tiny window. The door creaked open and a still-scared German gawked at us in amazement. The situation was bizarre and he displayed a strange mixture of relief – that we weren’t a couple of Polar Bears snuffling around the hut; guilt – because he knew well enough that he shouldn’t be spending the night in the shelter; and utter bewilderment at the sight of two lightly clad runners who had appeared from nowhere and were now heading off into the night.

Fortified by the snack we carefully picked our way across the boulder-strewn terrain in the gathering gloom. A full moon briefly peeped over the Eastern wall of the Pass before dipping beneath it again. Soon we were running silently across small sand-dunes which glistened like snow in the moon’s ghostly afterglow. Ahead lay Mt Asgard, it’s white icing cap gleaming bright in the night. For a while time stood still and the magic of the arctic filled my senses. We moved to the rhythm of land, playing our part in nature’s orchestra. And our friendship grew in the silence.

The head-wind slowed us and we fretted a little. Then to my surprise, there was a tiny lull – a moment of near stillness, hardly long enough to notice but a lull nonetheless. I moved up to Paul’s shoulder and said:

"Paul, I think the wind is going to die away. While lying a-hull to a gale we always used to listen out for the first lull. After that the wind always faded."

He looked at me quizzically. We were a long way from the ocean. Ten minutes later there was another, longer lull and in a further half hour only a faint zephyr lingered.

Eight hours into the run we arrived at the Rundle River. Already the darkness was giving way to the new day. Exactly one year previously and three days into our hike I’d first broached the subject of a run through the Pass.

"How long do you think you’d take to get to the Rundle?" Paul asked.

"About seven and a half hours." I replied.

 

Considering we’d been running in near darkness for several hours, I was well pleased with our time of eight hours. Paul’s pace had been spot-on and mine would have been too slow. Without a moment’s hesitation Paul grabbed my arm and plunged into the foaming torrent. The Rundle was the first of the Pass’s two rivers which needed respect. On this occasion it presented no difficulties and in a few minutes we were making our way up the overgrown moraine towards Glacier Lake. Paul Landry at Summit Lake (2245 bytes)I’d hoped for a brief rest but Paul was on a mission so we pushed hard. The going became rougher underfoot as we crossed the moraines which bounded the Highway Glacier. Despite the nagging feeling that the pace was still too hot I was feeling no discomfort whatsoever. Clearly Paul’s pace was spot on. In the twelve preceding weeks I’d done six ultras between 40 and 60 miles in length. Five of them had been solo and the 60 miler was done overnight. I concluded that I could trust the miles that were in my legs and the mental strength I’d developed during those long lonely runs. By contrast, Paul continued to give every indication of being completely "bonk" proof. It was hardly surprising. For 51 days on his epic polar journey he had run behind his dog sledge for about six hours every day.

The next three hours were very tough as we traversed the shores of Glacier and then Summit Lakes. This tortuous route entailed traversing beneath the Norman, the Turner and the Caribou Glaciers, each with it’s pair of unstable lateral moraines and each with a freezing torrent issuing from it’s snout. The weather teased us for a while before settling down to a dull day with the wind kindly from behind. We were very glad to get to the end of Summit Lake. This stretch from the Rundle was the crux of the run. From here to the end at Mt Overlord was relatively straightforward and slightly downhill.

We called Christine on the Iridium phone and gave her an ETA or between 2:30 and 3:00pm at Overlord. I let Paul do the talking. She immediately set about arranging the boat while we sat in the lee of the Ranger’s hut, contentedly eating our chocolate bars. We rested at Summit for 30 minutes. About twelve hours into the run and we’d probably not stopped for much more than 5 minutes at any one time. The rest did us good and when we set off along the track we were still remarkably fresh.

When we set off again, I took the lead for the first time for hours. We made good progress and quickly arrived at the second of the two worrying rivers. It looked low. In 1999 we’d had to wait until the following morning before we could safely cross. Without hesitating Paul grabbed my hand and we safely worked our way across. Mt Thor’s magnificent overhanging wall was now dominating the view and our minds drifted to the solo climber that was ensconced on the face. He’d already been there for several weeks and had the prospect of several more before he would gain the summit. What a grind that must be! By contrast we flowed lightly down the gently descending track with the prospect of finishing our run in a few short hours. The rain arrived along with a strengthening northerly wind so we donned our waterproofs, got our hoods up and settled down to a steady jog.

 

In time we saw a party of hikers ahead. As usual my pace began to increase. Propelled by pride we steamed past them with only the briefest of greetings. Only fear is a more powerful motivator. They were burdened down with huge packs and wore full waterproofs which gleamed wetly in the rain. They would still have another overnight camp before getting to Mt Overlord. The contrast couldn’t have been greater. With luck we would be having a hot shower in the Auyuittuq Lodge at Pangnirtung by mid-afternoon. I maintained the tempo until we crested a low rise and then immediately throttled back to a walk. Paul nearly collided with me from behind.

"What are you doing?" he asked "We were going so well."

"Thought we could walk for a bit" I replied with a smile.

Paul strode off and was soon 100m ahead. I had arrived at that pleasant state where it was clear we would complete the run in less than 20hrs irrespective of how fast we chose to run. Somehow the urgency that had been our constant companion for so long had vanished.Auyuittuq Sunset (1933 bytes) There didn’t seem to be any point in pushing hard for the final three or four hours. This could well be my last visit to Auyuittuq and I wanted to savour what remained of it. It was the sublime time of the run. Success was assured but a part of me didn’t want it to end. Paul would have preferred to have continued running but he kept the lid on his frustration. For a while I was alone with my thoughts. Soon my mind was drifting serenely amongst treasured memories of other big runs. I concluded that this was probably the best.

Paul waited for me at the footbridge across the Weasel narrows before hurrying on again. The rain pattered on my hood. I was glad of the big anorak’s protection. For a while the weather looked very threatening but once again it surprised us by lifting and thinning. Soon a watery sun was brightening the day. After a while, Paul suggested I take the lead. He’d spotted the fact that I tended to dawdle when he was ahead. We set off again at a brisker pace which met with Paul’s approval. Soon we were back to a respectable run/walk tempo which made short work of the final three hours. As we approached the emergency shelter at Overlord, Paul tentatively suggested we finish with a flourish. Chest out, knees up, we ran strongly for the final stretch. On reaching the deserted hut we hugged each other, grinning broadly with the satisfaction that we had done it in style.

 

EPILOGUE

An hour later Christine arrived with the boat. She was full of energy and life and her smile was more beautiful than ever.

We endured a further 24hrs delay at Pangnirtung before the weather finally allowed us to fly back to Iqaluit. On our second evening in the Auyuittuq Lodge in Pangnirtung the party we’d overtaken in such style arrived at the lodge. After we’d gone through they had been overtaken by a party of British climbers who had been on Mt Asgard. They had walked together for a while, exchanging experiences. Suddenly one of the Brits dried up in mid-sentence. He was staring at our footprints in the sand.

"Christ!" he said "I don’t know who those guys were but I sure as hell know they’re Brits. Those are Walsh tracks!"

Apart from bruised feet from the rough going, neither of us had any problems either on or after the run. Although it was a tough 19 hours, neither of us experienced a "low". There was no doubt that both of us could have continued more or less indefinitely – we’d reached the flat portion of the performance curve where our form no longer seemed to deteriorate with time.

Back in Iqaluit we were interviewed about our run by The Canadian Broadcasting Corporation. When asked by the interviewer what was next, Paul replied that he and I were going to do the Greenland Icecap together in 2001. The interviewer looked stunned. "Not running – with dogs!" Paul quickly added. Mount Thor (2480 bytes)

 

LOGISTICS

In some respects the logistics of this run were more complicated hazardous than the run itself. In order to get to the start we had to fly from Iqaluit, the capital of Baffin, to Broughton Island via Pangnirtung and then take a small boat up the North Pangnirtung Fiord to the start of the run. Although it all sounds straightforward, the arctic weather is always a problem and flights are notoriously unreliable. Ice in the fiord can also be a problem.

This year our flight from Iqaluit was delayed for 24hrs. When we landed at Pangnirtung en route to Broughton Island the weather closed in and it was touch and go getting off again. The captain informed us that if the weather was bad at Broughton Island we would turn around and go back to Iqaluit. Despite his gloomy announcement we did manage to land, now 28hrs behind our original schedule. The plan was to start the run around 7pm, thereby ensuring we arrived at the worst river crossings in the middle of the night when they were at their least dangerous. To try and get back on schedule, albeit a day late, we managed to get a small hunting canoe with a large outboard motor to take us to the start. This cut the journey time to 2hrs 15mins but traded speed for comfort.

On completing the run we needed to arrange another boat to take us back to Pangnirtung. Should anything delay us on the run it might be too late for the boat to pick us up. If this looked like being the case, Christine was loaded up with two massive rucksacks containing camping gear, food and spare clothing. The plan was for her to set up camp and wait until we arrived. As it happened we didn’t need this contingency support but it would be foolhardy to undertake such a long and exposed run without a back-up plan.

We carried an Iridium phone for emergency communications. Shortly afterwards, Iridium terminated operations and shut the entire system down. They had been insolvent for some time.

 

 

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