Stuck in the Arctic for 23 days
Posted: Sunday, November 16, 2008 11:42 AM by Ian Sager
Filed Under:
Environment
By Peter Alexander, NBC News correspondent
There we were, in the Arctic and on a ship for 23 days. Pass the Dramamine!
It promised to be one of those rare opportunities to visit one of the world's most extreme environments -- a place few people, including scientists, ever get to explore. Producer Paul Manson and I -- along with cameraman Callan Griffiths and soundman Ben Adam -- were sent on assignment to report on climate change and its impact on the Arctic. The primary news peg for our trip? For only the second time in recorded history the Northwest Passage was ice free this summer, effectively clearing this shortcut between Europe and Asia.
Our intention was to stay on board for 10 days, shooting video and interviews. Mother Nature, apparently, had other plans. Inclement weather, along with an emergency search and rescue mission, spoiled all five of our attempts to disembark the ship. Getting stuck in the Arctic -- due to bad weather -- isn't uncommon; getting stuck five times -- on a swaying ship, no less -- is mentally exhausting.
Joining the team
We left New York City on September 3, joining up with a team of scientists from ArcticNet on board the Canadian Coast Guard icebreaker, Amundsen. (In Canada, the Coast Guard is civilian, not military. It is part of the country's Department of Oceans and Fisheries.) This particular Coast Guard ship was dedicated to scientific research and outfitted with all the necessary tools.
In a unique partnership, the scientists work side-by-side with the Coast Guard crew. For example, the scientists were testing water samples and sediment samples (from the ocean floor) as well as mapping uncharted territories in this remote part of the world. There were 40 scientists, 40 Coast Guard members and the four of us. By the end of our stay, we're treated like members of the crew -- learning to help on deck, in the lab and at dinner (cleaning dishes, really).
We boarded the Amundsen Thursday, Sept. 4, in Resolute Bay, a small Inuit village, along the Northwest Passage. The plan was to fly off by helicopter at the northern most civilian community in North America, Grise Fjord, and then begin our long journey home. Freezing rain and harsh weather kept our chopper grounded both Monday and Tuesday. The ship kept going and our chance to get off passed. We continued North with the expedition along the coasts of the Canadian Arctic and Greenland, coming within 900 miles of the North Pole.
Over the next couple weeks, we would make three more attempts to fly to land. Each one failed due to weather. Unbelievably, on Thursday, our absolute best chance to get off the ship failed, too. The ship was diverted back north to assist a search and rescue mission, something the crew let us know had only happened at best two times in the last couple years. From the beginning, we were warned that the ship's primary mission was science. The cost of operating this icebreaker and moving the expedition forward -- $50,000 a day. While we were welcomed guests on board, we knew the ship wouldn't be making any unscheduled stops for us.
Close quarters
Paul and I have shared what would normally be the infirmary on the overloaded ship. To our eye, it was roughly, 10- by 12-feet. A thin curtain was the only thing separating us -- and our dignity. Callan and Ben shared a bunk bed in a slighter larger room downstairs.
In our 23 days on the ship we covered more than 2,587 miles. (Not that anyone was keeping track.) The ship rocked incessantly and a sonar machine used for ocean floor mapping ticks loudly all day and night. It’s akin to being audibly poked day in and day out. Callan promised to buy each of us a metronome when we got home so that we'd be able to sleep just as comfortably in Manhattan. I'm still waiting.
We were essentially done shooting two weeks into the trip, leaving us with plenty of time to fill. Meals became a priority. It's often the only way we kept track of the time of day. Thursday quckly became a favorite -- breakfast crepes. Speaking of crepes, we'll remind you it was a French-Canadian ship, so we ate well. In fact, we were convinced Fabien, the ship's pastry chef -- yes, I said pastry chef -- was trying to kill us slowly with desserts.
Meals were always heavy and large, but fear not, there was a fitness club onboard. Let me describe it for you: it was half the size of our bedroom (read: infirmary), and consisted of a treadmill, two bikes and a bench that’s parked beneath a four-foot ceiling. (Running on a treadmill when the ship was rocking could easily have passed as its own Olympic sport.) Not to worry, we collectively ran or biked the length of Greenland six times over. The other hours were spent staring at the ocean, staring in the abyss and staring at each other -- followed by routine games of Scrabble, "What's for dinner?" and "If you could be any kind of animal, what would you be?"
A once-in-a-lifetime experience
Let's be clear, although we were mentally ready to leave after ten days, we were extremely grateful for this awe-inspiring experience, including the chance to meet numerous bright and passionate scientists whose dedication to their field reminded us each day why we were there. We saw polar bears, beluga whales and icebergs the size of floating hotels. Each sighting reminding us how far away we were from home. In addition, we witnessed sea creatures from far below the ocean's surface that would rival the characters at the Star Wars bar.
As you've now seen for yourself, the Arctic is both breathtaking and intimidating. We were awed by sights that most people will never see and greatly appreciative for our once-in-a-lifetime visit.
Nov. 16: The Arctic is one of the few unspoiled environments on Earth – eight million square miles that at first glance, seem frozen in time. But as NBC’s Peter Alexander reports, climate change is having a number of deleterious effects on the region. Watch the report.
