the explorers journal the global adventure issue - The Explorers Club

a pioneering journey: Sir wally herbert in his own wordsFour men, four teams of dogsIn this extract from The Polar World, Sir Wally describedthe tensions on the eve of setting out on the first surfacecrossing of the Arctic Ocean.On 20th February l968: “I signalled the pilot of the Dakotawith a nod. Our mission was to find a way onto the driftingpack ice, and our position at that time was about 80 miles[129 km] of ENE of Barrow. He eased the plane into a turnand took one last look to the north. The vast expanse ofdrifting ice was awesome—limitless. To the south, weak raysof sunlight pierced the clouds and scattered the ice withpatches of light. Cracks and open leads caught the sun likemolten silver and darted around on the surface of the packbefore turning into jet black scars that marked the blue-greyskin of the frozen sea. It was a moment of profound relief—the moment of decision. Tomorrow, four men and four teamsof dogs would set out on a journey from which there couldbe no turning back.Our proposed journey along the longest axis of the ArcticOcean would be a pioneer journey—a horizontal Everest thatwould mark each one of us for life. Our beds, most nights,would be on ice no more than two meters thick (and oftenvery much thinner); ice which might at any time split orstart to pressure. There would not be a day during the next16 months when the floes over which we were travelling,or sleeping off our fatigue, would not be drifting with thecurrents or driven by the winds. There would be no end tothe movement; no rest, no landfall, no sense of achievement,no peace of mind, until we reached Spitsbergen. Most importantly:there was no possibility whatsoever of rescue.By midnight on the eve of our departure the pace of preparationhad slackened, and on that day I received a parcel fromhome containing the Union Jack and a note from my father,which simply read: ‘You forgot your flag—good luck.’ I was sotouched by this correction that I took it on the journey. Thatlast night at Barrow I remember very well—it felt like the eveof a battle—still, clear, cold, silent, with no one sleeping; anatmosphere heavy with private thoughts. I felt as though I wasin a trench in the First World War along with the others—wefixed our bayonets and just waited for the first weak light ofdawn and for the young lieutenant to blow his whistle, whereupon,almost numb, we would all scramble out to face our fate.I was physically sick with fear, and the weight of the trust thatmy three companions had in me. Which of these two was thegreater, I still do not know—even to this day.I unlatched the huge doors of the warehouse and spreadthem open. The night was almost over. It was calm, clear,and very cold. The sledge moved over the floor on rollers,bit the snow, and slid forward, out into a deserted streetsmoke-grey in seeping twilight. I left it facing north-east atthe end of two rows of day-bleached lights that pointed aperspective arrow south-west down the main street. Therewas not a breath of wind to dissipate the plumes of vapourthat hung over each box-like building—the camp was still andsleeping and the only sound was of the throbbing warmthwithin each man-made shelter.”And so the scene was set at Point Barrow, Alaska, on 21stFebruary l968 for the final farewells, and the start of whatmost historians now regard as the “last of the great pioneeringjourneys made on the face of the Earth.”the explorers journal