Lessons of the Arctic

PETER CALAMAI PHOTO

A victim of cabin fever, freelance journalist George Tombs emulates Patrick McGoohan's character in the classic television series, The Prisoner.

OTTAWA – There was barely time for a visit to the bar Thursday before a Bandierante aircraft from Kenn Borek Air arrived on the ice airstrip having dodging the freezing rain which had scrubbed an earlier flight. A little more than 24 hours later, Air Canada delivered me back here.

More reflection on the experience will no doubt come with time. But here are 10 valuable lessons I learned during three weeks aboard the Canadian Coast Guard’s icebreaker Amundsen:

1. It’s not a good idea to use the last dregs in a helium cylinder to inflate a weather balloon. They’re likely diluted with nitrogen and the radiosonde won’t ascend.

2. Drinking coffee before a long helicopter flight is a really, really bad idea. Unless there’s an empty water bottle.

3. Muskox meat is available free at Sachs Harbour on Banks Island¸ providing you have some way to take it away. The muskox are killed for qiviut, the unshrinkable underwool that’s eight times warmer than sheep’s wool and which sells for high enough prices to recoup shipping costs. The meat doesn’t.

4. Cabin fever is a real danger. The photograph shows journalist and Conrad Black biographer George Tombs shouting “I am not a number” as he unsuccessfully tries to escape from the airport at Sachs Harbour. Burlap bags of qiviut can be glimpsed behind to his right.

5. The afternoon crew break at three o’clock is when fresh-backed cookies appear  in the Amundsen cafeteria. The chocolate chip are better than anything in Toronto at any price. Trust me on this. 

6. The best Arctic clothing and gear is made in Norway, except for boots where Canada excels. The really neat Norwegian item are the armoured gloves used by the fishery workers, which were great when hauling rope and grasping frigid metal parts out on the ice floes here

7. The pilots and planes of Kenn Borek Air deserve their stellar reputation for flying in dicey conditions at both ends of the Earth.

8. Running boards are a wonderful idea that should be reintroduced. Try getting on or off a snowmobile with an artificial hip and Baffin boots and you’ll discover how useful that step-up is.

9. Woman truly get the chance to show their mettle in the Canadian Coast Guard, from “matelots” (seamen) through logistics officers up to captain. It’s a much better career choice for a young woman than the Canadian merchant marine. You’ll have to trust me on this as well. I don’t want to get anyone in trouble.

10. Home is best.   

Shipmates for life

ABOARD THE CCGS AMUNDSEN – After two weeks I’ve finally figured out what I’m doing here on the icebreaker: I’m “embedded” much like a war correspondent with troops in Afghanistan.

My troops are the 40 Coast Guard crew and 41 scientific personnel on board. Like a war correspondent, I depend on them for my safety, shelter, food and – most importantly – my stories.

The parallels are eerie. I’m not supposed to leave the ship (equivalent of a military base) without clearance. Out on the ice, I’m always accompanied by someone with a gun (for polar bears.) Travel is on their snowmobiles or heavy duty snow cat (in Afghanistan it’s light-armoured vehicles).

Peter Calamai

Researchers Ralf Staebler and Klaus Hochheim launch a weather balloon from the helicopter platform at the stern of the icebreaker Amundsen. The balloon ascended to 20 kilometres, radioing back readings on wind direction and speed, temperature and humidity.

They look out for me in other ways too. When I was stumbling around on the deck with frosted-over spectacles the other day, Myriam Paquet-Gauthier, a “matelot” or seaman, gently guided me to the entryway. I try to do my bit by checking other faces for hints of frostbite and lending a hand with simple tasks (although just staying out of the way is my biggest contribution.)

Inevitably, the normal cautious separation between disinterested reporter and subject disappears, much like it does in war zones.

We’ve chorused Happy Birthday to our shipmates and together scoured corners for the miniature chocolate eggs secreted by some unknown Easter Bunny.   

It would be impossible – no, downright inhuman – to remain disinterested when someone with whom you’ve shared a life-altering exposure to the Arctic is obviously feeling joy or pain.

So I’m rooting – and not that quietly -- that Maike Kramer from the University of Kiel manages to incubate the thousand-plus rotifers she needs from that chest of sea ice. Or that a balky laser doesn’t create any more woes for Jeff Seabrook from York University. And I’m crossing my fingers in the hope that a crucial missing instrument component turns up for someone who will remain anonymous.

I realized my embedded position just a couple of evenings ago when, after several hours of minor tribulations, two researchers finally managed to release the first weather balloon on this leg of the Amundsen’s expedition.

As the white sphere rose rapidly from the helicopter deck, someone was imploring “Go, go, go.”

It was me.