Have you missed the first set of Q&As, which I posted before the start of the expedition? The post-expedition Q&As at hand are self-sufficient. However, should you want to have a broader understanding about the Northwest Passage, what my three buddies and I set out to achieve, how it all came about, how I prepared, etc., then you can click here.
Looking for a short version of these Q&As? Click here.
Q: Welcome back. When did you return from the Northwest Passage and how long were you there for?
A: I came back in mid-September (19.09.2024). I was in the Arctic for two months, 6 weeks of which I spent on water.
Q: How was it?
A: Easily the best thing I’ve ever done apart from meeting my wife and getting her to marry me.
PREPARATION / RUN-UP
Q: Did you feel that your preparation was adequate?
A: Well, I didn’t really prepare much at all. I had come on board on very short notice, when one of the other guys broke his arm. So there was not much time to prepare. I had to focus on the bare essentials. Buying all the clothes, kit, and gear, booking the flights, getting ‘insurance’ (legally speaking it is a contract relating to cover for a rescue operation, not an insurance contract), drafting a last will, making sure that the long-standing, pre-existing life insurance policy is set up correctly, creating powers of attorney, handing over login details. Making sure my small business will survive me being away for so long, and so on. There were a few preparations, that couldn’t be missed out on, like a mandatory one-day sea survival course, but that’s it. I realised that medical exams, which would normally be recommended, wouldn’t be of much use, as there would be no time to sort out any issues or possibly not even time to get all results, before I’d leave.
In terms of preparing physically through training, I did the opposite of what is recommended. I trained much less than I usually do. Cancelled any dangerous activities like caving, white water stuff, open-water swimming, or ultra-running due to the injury risk, and most other activities due to lack of time.
Q: I guess, at least you made sure that you’re healthy.
A: Well, not quite. I had done some swimming in the Serpentine, an artificial pond in the middle of London’s Hyde Park. The day after my swim, they closed down the whole pond because they had discovered an infestation with the toxic so-called blue-green algae. Sure enough, I fell sick with nausea, vomiting, diarrhoea, headache, severe fatigue. The symptoms did get better, but it took me three weeks to get entirely rid of them. As an ultra-runner, I sometimes lose toenails, which is normally not much of an issue. But this time around, there was discomfort in the nailbed and the nails simply wouldn’t fall off. You could easily lift the bodies of the nails, but they’d stay connected to the foot at the root. I was concerned that I might catch an infection.
As if this wasn’t enough, I started getting constant severe back pain. I’m guessing this was the result of a combination of factors. Fatigue from the blue-green algae exposure meant that I spent more time than usual in bed. The pressure of getting everything ready for the expedition on short notice, made me nervous. My muscles were no longer relaxed, but always stiff and crampy.
To top it all off, when I was on a short run, three days before my flight to Canada, a vicious little chihuahua bit me in my heel. No idea why, but that deranged piece of work suddenly shot towards me like a rocket in a public park and tried to sink its teeth into me. Because those pets are such ridiculously tiny creatures, the bite barely broke my skin. I checked the standard medical advice on the internet and found out that I should get myself checked. The short of it is, that the doctor gave me a package of antibiotics with the guidance to only start the course of medication, if any symptoms should show (so far there were none). Because of all the vaccines I had received over the years, he estimated that the risk of getting symptoms was very close to zero.
As soon as I arrived in Canada, all my problems were gone. I felt strong, healthy, relaxed, and confident.
EXPECTATIONS VS. REALITY
Q: So, preparations aside, did the expedition turn out to be what you expected it to be?
A: I guess to some extent it did. I did end up on a boat in the Arctic with three other dudes and we did some rowing. It felt like a proper adventure. It was difficult and dangerous.
In other ways, it was very different from what I had expected. For example, I had been both worried about and looking forward to seeing polar bears. Last year, on the first leg of two of this expedition, my fellow team members had seen about a dozen polar bears and they narrowly survived one polar bear attack. We didn’t see any polar bears, and not even grizzly bears. Last year they had pods of beluga whales swim alongside the boat for hours. This time around we only saw whales once. On the horizon. You could only see them properly with binoculars.
During the first leg, the landscape involved a lot of ice, including icebergs, sea-ice, more than 2,000m high snow-covered mountains, majestic 200m-tall, vertical rock cliffs. Except for the past ten days, we mostly saw 1 to 5m tall gravel islands and coastline with a few rocks thrown in. Next to no vegetation. Often not even grasses or weeds. Extremely limited wildlife. Two sightings of caribous, five varieties of seabirds, plenty of seals everywhere, from three different species, Arctic chars (a salmon-like fish), Arctic foxes, Arctic hares. So, while the feature photograph of these Q&As is perfectly representative of the Northwest Passage rowing expedition I was on, it unfortunately was not at all what we experienced during the second leg (of two) of the expedition, earlier this year. We only saw ice on three occasions. Very small patches on the shady side of mounds. Hopefully the picture will help get some traction for these Q&As. I doubt that a picture of a gravel island would do much good.
Q: Did you do some blogging, while you were on the boat?
A: Yes, there is a blog post for every single day. Sometimes I didn’t find the time or energy to write for a couple of days, but then I’d write several blog posts on a single day, covering the days I had missed. I could not have done any of this without my wife, Ellie. I sent her my raw drafts and a few pictures and videos, then she did all the heavy lifting, all besides her busy day job.
Q: Before the expedition you had mentioned that you feel confident, but that you naturally also have some worries.
A: Yes, there were many worries. My biggest fear was not even getting myself killed or seriously injured, but being responsible for the failure of the expedition. We were only four guys, in a boat designed for eight rowers. If one of us would not have been able to do their part, then the expedition would have had to be terminated, no other option. It is not possible to do such an expedition with only three people rowing. I was worried I would simply not be strong enough, not good enough at rowing, that I might be constantly seasick, have stomach problems, or accidentally injure myself, by banging my head on something or injuring a limb in a storm. Luckily, none of this happened.
Q: So was it easier than you expected?
A: I wouldn’t quite phrase it that way. Leven, our skipper, who broke 9 world records, 5 of which still stand, and who has been on dozens of expeditions, keeps on telling everyone who listens, that the Northwest Passage was by far the most difficult expedition he was ever on. And I believe he means it. So it wasn’t easy.
Things could have gone South on quite a few occasions along the way. We were constantly cold, wet, and exhausted, the sea and weather tried everything to hold us back. On the other hand, none of the horrible things that could have happened did happen. None of us got injured or sick, not even seasick, diarrhoea (except for one occasion, for one day, due to food that had gone off), stomach bug, strained muscles, bruised bones, or a flu.
My biggest worry were the large number of giant blisters on my heels, which had started to go pussy early on. Every day, sometimes twice a day, I would dip my feet into the ice-cold sea for at least five minutes, then dry them. I’d let them breathe for another ten minutes, then put on several extra-large, extra-thick blister pads on each heel. To keep the blister pads from falling off at the first opportunity, I used vast amounts of heavy-duty duck-tape. It did indeed succeed in keeping the pads from falling off, but the tape cut into my skin. In the grand scheme of things, I considered it a good trade-off. Bloody cuts in return for keeping the pads in place. It took a whole three weeks, until my heels had healed.
The myriad of blisters on the palms of my hands were never a concern, because they never turned pussy, not even bloody. The most I counted were four layers: a brand-new blister partially overlapping with an existing blister on the scar of a blister that was on the scar of yet another blister.
Q: Okay, so not really easier than expected, even though you felt lucky that you had no serious health issues or accidents in the team. What about the storms?
A: There were no hurricane-strength storms (which have been witnessed on occasion in the Passage). On the other hand, the weather was generally speaking much more adverse than anticipated, with almost constantly adverse winds and currents. We spent less than 10% of the time rowing. Once we were sitting on our bottoms, waiting for good weather, for a whole eight days in a row.
Q: At least the waiting does sound relaxing and, I guess, “easy”, no?
A: It certainly was physically less exhausting than rowing, but usually still far from easy. We always had two men on polar bear watch, while the other two were trying to get some rest. Mostly four hours on, four hours off. During the four hours off, you might be too cold or the boat might be too shaky on the waves to sleep. Sometimes, the situation required all four of us to be involved, for example when moving the boat to a nearby, but different location. It’s not like you know how long you will be anchored. You regularly prepare for the next rowing leg later that day or the next morning, you get everything ready, only for it to be cancelled last minute because the weather has had a change of heart.
THE HARDEST THING DURING THE EXPEDITION
If you’d ask me, what the hardest thing during the six weeks at sea was, then I’d probably say the waiting. Because we all were very eager to finish the Northwest Passage. And with every hour and every day that passes, you know that your chances grow slimmer. More importantly, once the autumn storms come, it becomes much more dangerous to continue. In a way, it’s the waiting, that could have easily ended up killing us all. Not right away, but a few weeks later. When the storms arrive.
Q: Well, how hard was the rowing then?
A: Largely because of our bad luck with the weather and currents, and because of us only being four not eight people, we had to row pretty hard, when we finally had a weather window. The longest non-stop row we have done was 106km in 27 hours.
NOT MUCH SLEEP
Q: Did none of you get any sleep during that time?
A: We all had two or more hours rest time and got a little bit of sleep, but only very little. The boat was continuously being rowed during the whole period.
ROTATION
Q: So you did a rotation? How did that work?
A: We did a fair bit of experimentation with the rotation and the system varied. Our final set-up, which seemed to work best, was that all four of us would be busy for the first eight to twelve hours. This means one person at the helm, three persons rowing. Change every half hour. After eight to twelve hours, we would have one man go to rest for two hours, and only two guys rowing, one at the helm. After two hours, the next guy takes a nap. Within the waking part of the crew, the rotation continues on a half-hourly basis. If you felt strong enough, and, say, the weather conditions were demanding, then you could choose to forfeit your two-hour rest period in order to help your mates with the rowing.
WHAT WAS THE SLEEP SITUATION LIKE?
Q: Where and how precisely did you sleep, while on board??
A: Leven and Art shared the smaller rear cabin. Mike and I shared the front cabin. The cabin space is almost entirely filled with the generator and gear. However, there are two coffin-sized holes under that part of the deck, that borders to the cabin, and they can be accessed through openings inside the cabin. Once you’ve placed your sleeping mat inside the hole and crawled into your sleeping bag, the space is extremely tight. For a big guy like me, that meant that I literally couldn’t move. Not properly. I could only lie on my back, not on the side. I believe, Mike could move around a little, but I’m sure it must have felt tight for him, too.
You are never in the cabin at the same time. When I was resting, Mike was on polar bear watch with Art, or rowing with Art and Leven. When Mike was resting, I was on polar bear watch with Leven, or rowing with Art and Leven.
Q: Don’t you get panicky, being stuck in such a tiny coffin-shaped space, especially when the sea is rough and you get shaken around?
A: On the first wo days, it felt extremely unpleasant to me, but ever since then, I had grown accustomed to it. Sure, it still didn’t feel luxurious, but I never spent much time thinking about it, it wasn’t much of an issue to me. It felt normal.
SLEEP DEPRIVATION IN GENERAL
Q: Sleep deprivation was one of your biggest concerns before you started the expedition. Some ocean rowers have called it their biggest problem. How hard was it?
A: This part was indeed much easier than feared. Except for the few very long rows (70km and more in one push), I almost always got at least six or seven hours of sleep. I was always tired, but it was never painful or super-difficult. Sometimes, when you’re anchored for one or more days and when there are no tasks to complete, you might even get eight or nine hours of sleep.
THE FUNNIEST THINGS
Q: What was the funniest thing that happened?
A: When you go to the toilet, you use a bucket, half-filled with sea water, then go about your business on deck, in full sight of everyone, then you empty the bucket into the sea. In very strong winds and high waves, one of us went to the toilet, then slipped, while emptying the bucket. It was like out of a Charly Chaplin movie, over the top slap-stick full mid-air rotation, with the inside of the bucket spreading everywhere around him. Luckily, the unfortunate team-mate didn’t sustain any injuries in the fall. If so, then obviously it wouldn’t be funny.
Q: Well, a bit rough, but probably worth digging in some more. Any other funny moments?
A: After we had arrived in Paulatuk, the two officers who make up the local police force, asked us to come to their station to have our passports copied and to go through some further formalities. At the time, we had just gotten off the boat. We were all a tad euphoric and light-headed. I had shaved my beard for the first time in weeks.
When I rocked up at the station, everyone else already happened to be there, having arrived early. Police stations are always somewhat tense, I guess. It’s not a place anyone wants to be at, unless you are a police officer. Out of nowhere, Leven said “You’ve shaved your beard.” Without thinking, on a whim, I said “yeah, but you should see the downstairs.” A joke, of course. Everyone’s face froze for a few seconds, then roaring laughter.
WHAT WAS THE STRANGEST THING THAT HAPPENED?
Q: What was the strangest thing that happened?
A: Somewhere between Lady Jane Point and Cape Hope, we passed by a very weird underground compound.
Q: If it was underground, how could you see it from the boat?
A: Strictly speaking, we didn’t. We just saw the signs. There were a number of hangar-size, hose-shaped, clearly man-made mounds, with very robust air vents sticking out of them every ten metres or so. There were also newly paved, very high-quality roads and a runway. CCTV cameras on tall posts everywhere, but no fencing. No warning signs. Nothing.
Q: What do you think it was?
A: According to Google Maps the compound doesn’t exist. If it would have been a military or other government agency complex, then there certainly would have been fencing, signs, and armed guards. We are thinking probably some prepper billionaire, who wants to enjoy an adequate amount of luxury after WWIII has wiped the rest of us out. We’re guessing there are most certainly food supplies and water stored inside the mounds, which would last a good few years.
SPY STATIONS
Q: Did you see actual spy stations up there?
A: About nine or ten of them, yes. They are called DEW stations, which stands for Distant Early Warning-Line stations. Those radar stations were set up during the Cold War to spot any approaching Soviet bombers. Today they are either unmanned or manned by just one or two guards. None of them are operational any longer. Modern satellite technology can even spot larger insects from space in real time. Any attacks would most likely be by intercontinental rockets, taking under half an hour to reach Washington D.C. from Russia, mere seconds, if launched from a nuclear submarine close to the shore.
HUMAN SKULL
Q: We had been talking about strange things you came across on your expedition. Anything else comes to mind?
A: Yes. While we were stranded near Cape Hope for 5 days, we explored the surrounding lands and Mike found a human skull, which we reported to the police. We think it might have been a Caucasian hunter, certainly no Inuit, who met his maker at least five or ten years ago. No clear indication as to how he died. The day after the find, less than a kilometre away, Leven then spotted what he thought might be an Inuit burial ground or alternatively an Inuit food storage depot, presumably well over 100 years old, long before the unlucky white hunter arrived.
MOST DANGEROUS SITUATION
Q: What was the most dangerous situation during your trip?
A: Probably when in bad visibility conditions we had switched on the autopilot and realised too late how close to the rock cliffs of the shore we had gotten. Engaging and disengaging the autopilot takes up to five minutes. For as long as the autopilot is still engaged, it is impossible to steer manually. So that was a very frightening situation, drifting at a fast rate towards the cliffs, while being unable to steer away from them for several minutes. A very close call.
People seem to think, oh well, in a worst case you could have simply inflated your life-raft and you would’ve been fine, or you could have climbed up the cliff. However, none of these options were realistic. The life-raft would’ve immediately been pierced by the rocks and sunk. The cliffs were steep, more than ten metres tall, with crumbling, porose, wet, slippery rock. Once you’ve been in the freezing water, even only for a few minutes, you’ll most certainly be too weak to climb up the cliff. In strong winds you’d get smashed into the rocks by the waves anyway, and that’s sayonara.
Q: Anything else comes to mind? Dangerous situations?
A: That far up North, with no help nearby, a lot of things can be quite dangerous. For example, in a foggy or pitch-black dark night, if you slip or misstep and fall overboard, the chances that your buddies will find you before you’re dead are slim. Oh… and I almost forgot: we shipwrecked.
“SHIPWRECKED” – EMERGENCY BEACHING
Q: You what?
A: We kind of shipwrecked. Well, I believe the correct terminology for it is that we did an emergency beaching. In very strong winds off erroneously named Cape Hope, all three of our main anchors had been ripped off, so this was another case where we started drifting towards a dangerous shore. This time not a rock cliff, but a part gravel, but rocky beach, with hundreds of giant semi- and fully submerged rocks or boulders. Our skipper came up with the brilliant idea of pulling the emergency anchor, then throwing it in front of the boat. Again and again. This, together with hard rowing, made our boat move alongside, rather than straight towards, the coast in repetitive, pendulum-like, motions. That’s how we avoided the worst rocks.
THE DAMAGE TO THE BOAT
Q: So you averted all harm.
A: The double hull contracted a crack, more than one metre long, and water began getting into the front cabin. It took us five days to patch up the crack, before we set off to sea again.
BAILING WATER
Q: When you finally did set off to sea again, did the patch work or was there still water coming in?
A: Oh, we never expected the temporary patch to be entirely watertight. It had always been clear to us, that we’d have to do some bailing. What surprised us, was perhaps how MUCH bailing was required at the beginning. I’d say, for the first few miles, it was up to ten litres a minute. It was a huge relief when gradually, with debris like seaweed, algae, mud, and sand settling into the crack, there was less and less need for bailing. For vast stretches of our 400km journey to the nearest settlement, we only checked once an hour. Sometimes during those checks we found that no bailing was required. Most of the time we had to bail out 20 to 50 litres, occasionally more. Mind you, this is not talking about the cabin proper, but the space below the cabin floor. Except for around the time of the emergency beaching, when about 150 litres got inside the cabin, there were no further instances of water inside the cabin.
WERE YOU WORRIED THAT THE HULL MIGHT BREAK APART?
Q: Were you not worried that the hull might break apart?
A: Yes, very much so. Our skipper said, he was very worried about the structural integrity of the hull.
Q: I remember having the same concerns, asking him about it, and he responded along the lines that if the hull should fall apart, then it would most likely happen near the starting point or the finishing point of a day’s rowing journey, in shallow water, next to an easy access point to the shore, when something hits the hull, not in-between, when there is often no way of getting on land for many miles. Of course we all knew that we had run aground during the middle of journeys before. The Northwest Passage is an extraordinarily flat sea lane and we almost always kept reasonably close to the shore. Our only chance of finding out about the water depth ahead of us was through visual checks done by the man at the helm, the only person looking forward. Our electronic indicator only showed the depth directly below the bow of the boat. Many parts of the Passage that we went through, are entirely uncharted, the rest is charted in varying degrees of accuracy, mostly very unreliably.
UNCHARTED WATERS, NO GPS, NO COMPASS, NO FORWARD-POINTING SONAR
Q: So you were going through uncharted waters without reliable GPS or compass and without forward-pointing sonar?
A: Indeed.
RUNNING AGROUND
Q: Did you ever run aground?
A: Yes, quite regularly, if you count every instance where the bottom of the hull or any part of the daggerboard (a sort of retractable, optional keel) got in touch with anything on the ground. Not all the time the boat goes to an abrupt full stop. Sometimes it just shakes the boat. Once we ran properly aground on submerged rock pillars three times within minutes. After the third time we became a bit paranoid, but luckily that had been it for the day.
Q: Is there any way in which you can protect yourself against the risk of injuring yourself when the boat suddenly comes to an abrupt stop?
A: As a rower, you make sure that you never let your muscles fully relax and you hope that your instincts kick in, your muscles tense up and keep yourself from becoming airborne as the result of an impact. As the man at the helm, whenever you deem the risk of running aground high, you take one of the reserve oars and place it at a 90-degree angle to the direction of travel over the two handrails. Should the boat hit a submerged obstacle, then at least you won’t bash your head against the stroke’s head (the head of the rower closest to the man at the helm), but hopefully you’ll manage to grab the oar and stay on your feet.
TEMPERATURE
Q: How cold was it?
A: When you look at the mere numbers, not that cold, really: almost constantly around freezing point, usually just slightly above. We never had ice on deck, only ice on land. Sea water freezes at -1.8C. The weird thing is, that freezing point feels outrageously cold, if you are soaked to your bones with water, from rain and sea spray, it is windy and you are exhausted. It is okay while you are on the oars. But as soon as you stop rowing, you get extremely cold very quickly. You might only wear underwear under your oils, while rowing, but then put on ten further layers of clothing as soon as you go on polar bear watch. And you’d still constantly be cold. Since returning from the Arctic, I never really warmed up again so far. Despite the central heating being on full blast, I walk around the flat in full gear, including a thick down jacket and a beanie. And I’m still cold. Apparently this has happened to others before, and it will go away after a few months.
STORMS
Q: You mentioned that there were no hurricane-strength storms, what were the most extreme situations in terms of wind and waves?
A: I’d say the strongest winds, while rowing, were probably sustained 60kph (37mph) with gusts of 100kph (62mph) and waves of up to 1.25m (4.1ft), not counting the odd higher wave resulting from overlapping wave patterns. The reason why the conditions were not more extreme, is because we’d try to avoid strong winds at any cost. While being anchored in reasonably wind-protected bays, the winds in our vicinity could be much stronger and the waves much higher. There were many occasions, when it required all your concentration and some luck to walk the one to five metres from your rowing seat to the helm/cabin or back without an incident.
THE PICTURES ONLY SHOW CALM SEAS, WHY IS THAT?
Q: The sea on all the pictures and videos, even around the time of the emergency beaching, looks relatively or even extremely calm. Why is that?
A: With a team of only four (instead of the usual eight) rowers, the only times when I could get a couple of minutes off to take some footage, were when the sea was calm, with very few exceptions. I had been pondering putting my GoPro on my head, ready to film whenever seas got rough. But the idea was, never to be at sea when the sea is rough. So there is never a moment when the skipper says “today will be rough seas, better strap on your GoPro.” Instead, you might get into rough seas, like we did, randomly, and relatively suddenly. When that happens, there is no time to stop rowing, get the GoPro from the cabin, adjust the settings, and start filming, you just row for your dear life. We had plenty of rough seas.
The footage of the day when we shipwrecked was exclusively taken AFTER the seas had calmed down. While the seas had still been rough, our only concern had been to get to shore as safely as possible, ideally without losing any lives or limbs.
This is one of my biggest regrets: not having any footage of the real nasty seas and strong winds (storms, if you will) we’ve been navigating through. But unless I would’ve worn the GoPro every day, I don’t see how I could’ve done much better, considering we were only four, not eight, rowers. Even if I had worn a GoPro every day, there is still a chance that the battery (which lasts like ten minutes or so) would have run out before the good bits. I would definitely not have had time to fiddle with my GoPro once the seas had gotten rough.
SPONSORS
Q: Before the expedition, you mentioned that finding sponsors is perhaps as big a challenge as getting prepared for the expedition. How did that work out?
A: Luckily a former employer of mine, Lucht Probst Associates, decided to sponsor me to the tune of £30,000 (incl. a donation to my chosen charities), which is very good of them. They liked the fact that we were raising awareness for climate change, collecting data for the climate researchers at New York University, and raising funds for charity. So it made them look good, sponsoring worthy causes. A win-win.
I provided them with photo and video footage, sometimes as often as once a day. Then they created their own posts on social media, using that footage. They also have permission to use the footage for other purposes such as in corporate brochures, internal comms, and in advertising, but I’m not sure how much that has progressed.
Through GoFundMe and by asking around friends and family, I raised some more funds, but I’m still about £10,000 short. The costs of not working full-time are also significant and not included in the £10,000. Fortunately, one of my clients kept on paying me a retainer throughout my time abroad, in turn for me occasionally answering emails and doing a quick conf call every now and then.
Q: You mentioned the charities. I believe you raised over £10,000 for three different charities? Can people still donate to your charities?
A: Yes. For the time being, the JustGiving fundraising page is still alive and well:
https://www.justgiving.com/team/northwest-passage
WRITING A BOOK ABOUT THE EXPERIENCE
Q: Are you going to write a book about your experience, like you said you would?
A: For a couple of months since my return I was pondering the pros and cons, but I have now decided that I will definitely write a book, yes. The fact that we never finished the expedition kind of put a bit of a damper on my plans. That said, I’ve come to the conclusion that failure doesn’t mean that the book will be a boring read. In many ways, shipwrecking in the Arctic is adding something in terms of adventure. The fact that the landscape was mostly very dull and that we didn’t see a lot of wildlife equally doesn’t do any harm, because I’m not going to publish a coffee table book, but a written report, with maybe half a dozen photographs in one small section in the middle of the book. I’m glad to have some writers as friends, and they did a great job in convincing me that I’ve got a story to tell. It definitely took a lot of convincing, though.
TEETOTALLING FOR TWO MONTHS
Q: I believe you are known to enjoy a drink or even the odd smoke every now and then? Any of that during the expedition?
A: The four of us each had three cans of light lager beer in Cambridge Bay, a so-called dry settlement, the night before we left. Dry settlement means: no sale of alcohol in stores permitted (you can bring your own alcohol from a few hundred miles away), no regular bars. We had to talk our way into a private members club, and almost failed at that task. Perhaps not entirely unrelated to the fact that we weren’t members. Leven, Karts, and Mike also shared one bottle of expedition gin after we had emergency beached near Cape Hope. After all the excitement of that event, all I wanted was to get a good night’s sleep, so I didn’t join. I did have a few beers on the flight back to Old Blighty. Other than that, no drink for two months.
And not a single cigarette between leaving Heathrow and arriving in Paulatuk, the end point of our expedition. While on expedition, I never craved or even only slightly missed a pint or a smoke. Leven had a few packs of those Inuit cigarillos from the Northern Store with him, which he occasionally smoked. No one can possibly enjoy smoking that stuff, so I do believe him, when he says, that it was largely to keep the mosquitos at bay (this was during the first two weeks, when temperatures were still high).
CABIN FLOODED
Q: When the hull cracked, about 150l of water got into your cabin, soaking all your luggage. That must have been unpleasant?
A: Yes, very much so. I lost camera gear worth almost £2,000, some of the metal parts of the other gear got rusty, and of course we had to thoroughly clean and dry everything. It’s not just water, that came inside the cabin, it’s seaweed, mud, sand, and all kinds of other debris.
LESSONS LEARNT ABOUT PACKING & THE GEAR
Q: Are there any lessons you learned about the packing, the gear you had brought and the gear you hadn’t brought with you?
A: Overall, I was pleased with my packing and the gear I had brought. I never missed anything of major importance. If anything, I brought way too much gear. Mind you, though, my intention had always been to be prepared for whatever may come, not to necessarily really use everything I had brought. For example, if the expedition would have extended through to the end of October, all my extra clothes and snacks would have come in handy. When it comes to medication, I admit that I did feel a bit silly, having brought so much of it. Such as seasickness pills for almost the entire journey. Ibuprofen, paracetamol, aspirin, and imodium for five weeks. None of which I used, apart from a few imodiums.
Oh.. and I almost forgot. I initially hadn’t packed enough warm clothes, or rather: clothes warm enough, proper Arctic expedition-grade clothes. This is because Leven had quite accurately informed me that the temperatures were likely to be around freezing point, hardly ever below -5C. What Leven had tried to tell me, but what I hadn’t been able to get into my thick head, was, that freezing point on a rowing boat in the Northwest Passage is not the same as freezing point on a cold winter’s day in London.
You are constantly exhausted, there’s sea spray, drizzle, sometimes rain or even gale force winds with rain. The expedition-grade Gore-Tex hard-shells I had bought, felt like wet paper after 24 hours of exposure. Even with heavy oils on, you are never dry, always cold. Following Leven’s advice, I had brought a DryRobe, a supposedly even though not actually waterproof, but thickly insulated, very warm poncho, invented for surfers before and after outdoor events. It was only in Cambridge Bay, that I purchased an Arctic grade outer-layer down-jacket and Arctic grade insulated trousers.
WHAT WAS THE MOST BEAUTIFUL MOMENT?
Q: What was the most beautiful moment during your time in Canada?
A: Overall? I think it would have to be when we arrived in Paulatuk, the end point of our journey. It was a feeling, that’s hard to describe. Having made it to that point. Not having let the team down. There was some sadness, not having made it to the Beaufort Sea. Not having completed the whole Northwest Passage. But, overwhelmingly, it was gratitude. Relief. A tiny bit of pride perhaps. Most importantly, the thought that I would see my lovely wife again soon. My family and friends. And, to a lesser extent, that I’d be on dry land, safe, warm, well-fed.
During the expedition, I mean, before we reached Paulatuk, I think the most beautiful moment was when we all sat around the campfire on the first night after the emergency beaching, exhausted, on that stretch of the Northernmost end of the American continent, glad, that we hadn’t perished. Eating some hot food. Talking. Mostly silence. And warmth and light from the fire.
Other highlights were the Northern Lights, which were actually South of our location, and the really long rows, up to more than 100km in a single push. In mostly adverse conditions. The boat was not built for speed, but to keep us safe in the Arctic. Those long rows take so much energy out of you. When you finally arrive at your destination of the day, you are euphoric. Add to that a welcome committee of three dozen cheerful seals and an out-of-this-world sunrise or sunset, and that can really make your day.
Lastly, setting off to sea, on 2 August, was a moment that sent shivers down my spine. There was no bailing out now. You were in for good. A dangerous expedition in one of the most remote areas of the world, with no support and with an open ending. No certainty if we’d ever reach our finish line (and of course we didn’t, in the end). It was very exciting to see the crew of the Martin Bergmann wave at us from the distance, looking smaller and smaller. We’d probably never see any of our buddies, who had helped us so much, again.
HOW IS IT BEING BACK HOME?
Q: So what was the reaction among your family and friends, when you arrived back home?
A: My wife and I were ecstatic to see each other again, and the expedition certainly made us even fonder of each other, if that’s possible. Even before the expedition, Ellie, completely without context or cause, regularly told anyone who wanted to know and the vast majority who didn’t, that we are still in our honeymoon phase. After sixteen years of marriage, first having met sixteen and a half years ago. My family and two or three of my closest friends were obviously quite pleased that I was back, too, and happy that I hadn’t taken any harm. The rest of the world didn’t really take much notice. Which is fine by me. I didn’t do any of this for anyone else or for any recognition. I did this one for me. And I’ll be eternally grateful to Ellie for having let me go on this adventure of a lifetime.
PLANNING THE NEXT EXPEDITION – THIS TIME WITH THE WIFE
Q: Have you inspired any of your friends or family to go on an expedition?
A: Actually, my wife and I are now planning our own expedition. We want to climb a yet to be determined, unclimbed peak in Kyrgyzstan. This coming August, we’re booked on a high-altitude trekking trip there with our favourite hiking group GO London, just to get a feel for the country. We’ve also attended a two-day expedition workshop and a two-day outdoor first aid course.
Next, we want to improve our orienteering skills and do a lot of outdoor camping, including high up in the Alps, to prepare ourselves. Once all that has been done, we’ll start planning the details. We’ll need to find someone on the ground who can assist us with logistics, pick a peak that we want to summit, and so on.
Q: How exciting. What’s the timeframe?
A: At this stage, we haven’t committed to a timeframe. But 2026 or 2027 looks likely. Funnily enough, Gary, the founder and chief mountain leader at GO London, completely independently from us, decided to do the same thing we aim to do, i.e. climb an unclimbed mountain in Kyrgyzstan for the first time, without a paid guide, in 2026. Our idea to do so had been inspired by one of the presentations at the aforementioned expedition workshop. We’ll do our own thing. But there might be a chance we’ll bump into some of our old friends at the airport or even out in the wilderness. The same thing had almost happened once before. GO London were going to do Everest Base Camp at the same time we were doing it. Unfortunately they had to reschedule their trip, which is why we did not meet them in Nepal.
IT ALL STARTED WITH CASUAL HIKING IN THE UK THROUGH COVID
Q: You do mention GO London a lot in your blog posts. They really seem to have had a very positive impact on you and Ellie?
A: Yes, very much so. During Covid, they became a real lifeline and made a huge difference to our physical and mental wellbeing. Sometimes we went hiking with them every weekend for a few weeks in a row. So while Leven, when vetting me, didn’t even hear from me about GO London or any hiking in the UK, this group certainly made Ellie and me become much more outdoorsy and be more confident and daring about adventure.
DID YOU EVER FIND OUT, WHY LEVEN PICKED YOU TO JOIN THE EXPEDITION?
Q: So what did Leven look at, when he decided that you might be a candidate for the expedition?
A: He told me that the two things that mattered most to him, were my ultra trail running, because his favourite rowing buddy is an ultra-runner, and the fact that I had completed my one-year obligatory military service with the German Mountain Troops. He is known to recruit pretty diverse crews, so the fact that I’m an office worker with no previous expedition or even serious adventure experience, might have worked in my favour, even though he’s kept quiet about this. Either way, I’ll always be grateful to him for having taken me on his team.
Leven is a very special guy. With me joining on such short notice, he had offered me that I could pay him my share in the expedition, £25,000, whenever I got the money together. I paid him a small share right away, but only made the last payment two months ago, long after we had returned from the expedition. Not once during all that time has he chased me. We didn’t even have anything in writing. In essence, I was given a huge loan with no interest and no payment target. He’s an old-style gentleman.
WHAT DID YOU GUYS TALK ABOUT DURING THE EXPEDITION
Q: During the polar bear watch shifts, what did you guys talk about?
A: That’s one of my biggest regrets. I can’t really talk or write about much of that, because it all turned very personal very quickly, and I respect everyone’s privacy. By the end of the first week, I think I knew more about Leven than some of his friends, and he knew more about me than most of my friends. I didn’t really talk as much with Art or Mike, who are both rather quiet fellers. At least they were towards me. I don’t think it was me. That said, I’m sure they are more open towards their close friends. I would have enjoyed to hear more of their life stories, I mean, both ex-soldiers, proper adventurers… It didn’t help that we were on different shifts.
I’d imagine they’d have a few good stories to share. They both shared a little, but not much. Mike had some great stories from his army days and his day job, working as a farmer in Sussex, and Art had some good stuff about the time he spent on submarines, about his expeditions, like Denali or the Amazon. But most of the time, they each kept to themselves. Mind you, this does not include banter. We were all engaging in a whole lot of that. All of us.
TEAM DYNAMICS
Q: Were there ever any tense moments in terms of team dynamics? Did you ever have any fights?
A: Considering the enormous stress we often were under, I think all four of us feel that it went unexpectedly well. No fights. Sometimes a snarky remark or a disapproving grunt, or simply complete radio silence for a few hours. Because on board there is no democracy and the skipper makes all decisions unilaterally for the team, there were never any long discussions. The skipper always set out his thought process about important decisions, then invited feedback, then announced his decision. Sometimes those decisions changed over time, depending on the development of the situation or a change in the assessment. I agree with the process, and, frankly, I think a democracy would not work well on an expedition.
Q: So you are all still friends?
A: Yes. I mean we are all very different people. I had never met Leven or Art in person, before I arrived at Cambridge Bay. I had met Mike in person only once, for two hours. None of us are going to name our firstborns after one another, but we trust and respect each other, and we enjoy our company, I guess. I’d go on an expedition with any of the other guys again on a whim.
MEETING THE INUIT
Q: What about the Inuit?
A: Well, during our time at sea (incl. the few stints on land in-between), we did not see a single other person (only boats and ships from far away, too far to spot humans). In Cambridge Bay and in Paulatuk we encountered plenty of the brave indigenous folk of the North. As a matter of fact, the people in whose summer cabin we stayed at before our departure, included Shawn, a Caucasian man, and his Inuit wife Patty Jane, plus several of their real and their adopted or semi-adopted Inuit kids.
Q: So what was your impression of the Inuit?
A: Oh… very lovely people, pretty much without exception. Patty Jane, for example, alongside her husband, who was our main contact, was a very gracious host. In town, it regularly happened, that friendly locals stopped for a chat with us, asking about the expedition, wishing us good luck.
That said, both in Cambridge Bay and in Paulatuk, we also saw some of the dark sides of Inuit life. There is a lot of drug and alcohol abuse and the dealing with the effects of such abuse. Kids are often unsupervised, and will happily steal anything off your boat, if they can get their hands on it. I don’t really hold that against the Inuit community. There are many factors at play, and the Inuit community is probably the last we should blame. None of these problems existed before foreigners like us arrived.
OUR ATTEMPTS TO PAY FOR A COMMERCIAL RESCUE OPERATION
Q: You said that you wanted to avoid a rescue, seeing that you were not in an immediate urgent emergency situation. Why didn’t you just pay for a commercial rescue operation? Someone to bail you out in return for hard cash?
A: We looked into this. Commercial helicopter services proved way too expensive, with the cheapest offer coming in at around £30,000, way over budget. We then contacted fishermen in Paulatuk, and were surprised that none of them were willing to accept the equivalent of one year’s pay for a five-day rescue operation.
A YEAR’S PAY FOR FIVE DAYS’ WORK? THANKS, BUT NO THANKS.
Q: That does sound strange. Why the hesitance?
A: Apart from the danger, with uncharted, unpredictable seas and the looming autumn storms, we only found out much later, that the Elders of the tribe had advised everyone not to help us. We do not think that it was malevolence or xenophobia, we think it was superstition. The Elders must have thought, that we would bring bad luck to their hamlet.
[Q&As end here.]
HIGHLIGHTS OF THE NORTHWEST PASSAGE EXPEDITION
22 July – LHR to YCB
2 August 2024 (Cambridge Bay to Starvation Bay)
4 August 2024 (Starvation Bay to Wellington Bay)
12 August 2024 (From Wellington Bay 6h further Westward)
15 August 2024 (53mi/96km from Botany Island to Richardson Islands)
18 August 2024 (from Richardson Islands past Marker Islands)
22 August 2024 (23mi/37km Westward from Miles and Nauyan Islands past Lady Franklin Point – extremely tough conditions – ‘MISSION IMPOSSIBLE’)
23 August 2024 (Dreadful 10 miles – 12mi/19km – that felt like 100 miles to Douglas Island; welcome committee of two dozen seals)
25 August 2024 (An easy 19mi/31km from Douglas Island to Lambert Island; MS Fridtjoff Nansen passing)
27 August 2024 (An easy 7mi/9km along Lambert Island; yacht Night Owl passing by us)
28 August 2024 (STARTING OUR 64MI/104KM PUSH EARLY; passing Hanseatic Spirit, MS Roald Amundsen, yacht Honshu)
29 August 2024 (Arriving at Cape Hope after 64mi/104km – new team best)
30 August 2024 (EMERGENCY BEACHING at a bay next to Cape Hope)
31 August 2024 (CABIN FLOODED; LEAK FOUND)
Mike’s Poem about our Northwest Passage Expedition
3 September 2024 (REPAIRING HERMIONE)
DETAILS OF LEVEN’S MASTERPIECE: THE PRELIMINARY REPAIR and preparation of the re-launch of Hermione
4 September 2024 (A LOT OF DIGGING and another unsuccessful attempt to refloat the boat)
5 September 2024 (REFLOATING HERMIONE, MOTORING TOWARDS PAULATUK; MILITARY PLANE PASSING)
6 September 2024 (BACK TO ROWING AFTER EMERGENCY MOTOR BREAKS)
8 September 2024 (my 50th birthday; ALMOST CRASHING THE BOAT into rocks; Skynet; a pod of whales)
12 September 2024 (starting our last big push before Paulatuk; RUNNING AGROUND 3X; BIOLUMINESCENCE; Northern lights)
13 September 2024 (ALL HELL BREAKING LOOSE – ALMOST CRASHING INTO CLIFFS)
NORTHERN LIGHTS, 15 September, near Paulatuk
15 September 2024 (REACHING PAULATUK)
16 September 2024 (eating proper food; shower; the good life)
19 September 2024 (flying back home; 5 flights; Breakfast Club at Inuvik Airport)
Northwest Passage Expedition – Kit List
Trevor’s Travel Trivia IX – The Northwest Passage
My home town’s newspaper, Burghauser Anzeiger, has published an article about the Expedition
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