Rosie Stancer Mars Solo to The North Pole

The next two days were absorbed by plane-hopping (literally) down to Toronto.  If not on crutches, I was wheelchair bound in the many airports I passed through.

Secretly, I was hoping to milk this to get all the help and sympathy I could.

Instead I got a tough lesson in  how difficult it was to travel for those more genuinely wheelchair-bound. From your air ticket being placed on a high check-in desk you can’t reach to being left alone at the baggage belt where I had to perform an apparent biblical miracle by levering myself and grappling with my own luggage.  In reality I was quite capable of this having just been hurling a sledge around but who was to know this? People either stare or ignore you, I couldn’t decide which was worse but it was irritating to have to endure so many bottoms in my face.  Everyone should spend 48 hours in one to learn how to be of constructive help to those confined to one.

* * *

The best treat yet awaited me in Toronto – my husband (although he was jetlagged so after a long long hug he fell asleep again.  Ah well, the stories can wait).  And a polar team mate and friend of 10 years, Pom Oliver.  I couldn’t have asked for better company – Pom has had frostbitten toes herself, has also been plucked off the ice prematurely after her heroic input of over 47 days to the Daniels/Hamilton/Oliver North Pole expedition of 2002, is practical and achingly funny (she thinks).  I knew she understood how I felt without having to put it into words.  Neither would she question any post-polar quirkiness.  She even booked me into a hair do and massage but stopped short of a pedicure.

Whisked off to some interviews in Canada on behalf of Mars before being wheeled off to the general hospital to have my foot assessed by the country’s leading hand and plastic surgeon Dr Linda Dvali., who somehow managed to fit me into her frantic day. I thought there was a degree of over-anxiety as, navigating the hospital car park on crutches, Pom and William shouted warnings to me

‘mind that puddle’

‘watch out for those pebbles’.

Highly hazardous but with good teamwork and great pluck, we cleared all hazards and arrived triumphant at the hospital.

Having been examined by Dr Dvali, the current status of toes looks like not all piggies will be going to market – one roast beef (rare), one well on it’s way to market.  Key toe for future sport and balance is the biggie of which half may have to go. There go the open toe sandals then. Whilst with the doctor thought it might be pushing it to enquire about plastic surgery enhancements to my now flat as an ice-rink chest.

* * *

All ok’s for the flight and it was off again to Heathrow. William wisely advised me to stretch out and sleep, so  I spent most of the overnight flight fiddling with the video, toying over the menu and checking out the wine list, which is interesting when off alcohol for 100 plus days and on strong painkillers.

* * *

Wondered if having such fun was such a good idea after all when I thought I was seeing things at Heathrow. An array of friends were there, including special Olympics, to surprise me  All were sporting pink Angel of the North t-shirts (provided courtesy of the wonderful dream-maker Kate Bosomworth of KTBPR), which was most becoming on some of the burlier men. All were enjoying their own reunion so much they barely noticed me come through.  But it was very moving that so many friends had trawled all the way to the airport, including loyal representatives of the Special Olympics GB., and it took more courage than crossing the ice pack to keep tears at bay.

Since this tumultuous welcome back, it has become so clear how all my family, friends, supporters of the expedition inc readers of the web have made this story all possible.  Now you have to put up with a mangie, moody and restless Rosebud.  But I have firmly decided on one way of saying thank you – and this will be an inestimable challenge to me – I shall write the book.  (donations of coffee -  and superglue for the chair will be welcome).  Watch this space (it’s a yawning big one at the moment –which promises to be filled by Christmas).

We landed at a remote weather station, inappropriately named, under the circs, ‘Eureka,’ which didn’t quite seem to fit my mood. But upon landing, all the staff flocked out (all 6) to welcome me and my spirits lifted. If I had the support of the polar folk, then things weren’t so bad.

Rather swiftly I thought, I was offered a shower. Unexpectedly, and after days of fantasizing about such luxuries, I felt nervous about actually getting in and getting wet. Besides which, some interesting contortions were required to keep my bandaged foot out of shower. Then down to their ‘cafeteria’ for a huge dinner. A mammoth plate of food was proudly placed in front of me. Again, another surprise – I only wanted to stare at it, to smell. Just to know it was there. My appetite seemed to have been left behind on the ice.

Perhaps best of all, this promised to be my first night off the ice on my own STATIONARY bed, attached to a floor which didn’t threaten to open up beneath me and drift off to some other part of Canada. Far too wondrous to sleep, and when I did, I did so restlessly. Thrashing around, I was convinced that I was still attached to my sledge, trying to haul her from one side of the room to the other and forever making no progress. This dream still taunts me every night.

BACK IN RESOLUTE

Next morning we flew straight off to Resolute where I wasted no time in getting straight to the local surgery to rewrap my foot for safe long-haul travelling. Not as simple as that. The district nurse had a rather wavering hand which brandished a huge Blue Peter pair of scissors. I offered to remove the bandaging myself. A little crowd

soon gathered about my foot and much discussion about amputation ensued. I was greatly relieved when the doctor burst in as we had reached mid-shin level. After a soaking and re-bandaging, by which time the nurse who turned out to be Chinese of all things, had won my admiration with her gentle if shaky touch, it was agreed that any further action could wait until UK.

I was equipped with a bewildering amount of pills and a pair of crutches. I suddenly felt quite the victim, in need of love and attention, and slowly hopped off back to the relative luxuries of the South Camp Inn where no one paid any heed to the crutches save the little Inuit children who thought them great toys.

The key figurehead in Resolute, one Josh Hunter, swung by to talk about the proposed recreational centre. It made my heart swell with pride and joy that on behalf of us all, we had attracted sufficient funding from an as yet anonymous sponsor, to initiate its construction. The people of Resolute having been waiting for the funding since the founding of the settlement back in the 70’s. Hopefully this will get the snowball rolling and attract further funding – ideally from the Canadian Government, who have funded every other Inuit settlement for such centres bar the two smallest, including Resolute.

The centre will be a covered ice rink upon which a variety of sports can be enjoyed from ice hockey to curling, offering not just a range of activities for all ages but a much-needed community centre. The dull winter months consume most of the year, leaving but a couple of even duller grey months for ‘summer’. It is too cold for an uncovered centre, obviously because who wants to socialise in the minus 40’s but the cold would also cause the ice to crack. There are few distractions unless you’re partial to knitting – or skidoo trashing.

Just as I believe in the importance of Special Olympics offering people with learning disabilities the opportunity not just to excel in sports, but give them self-integrity – which we all need, this will offer the same values to the children and adults of Resolute.

* * *

The next two days were absorbed by plane-hopping (literally) down to Toronto. Thankfully I was accompanied as far as Ontario by a gloriously wild and noisy companion, x xxxxx who had just got off the ice having driven a bull dozer across a stretch of it with the well-known Canadian Polar veteran who had been out there the same time as me, Richard Weber. I know, don’t ask – check out the website…..///////CHECK xxxxxxx was a hilarious punkah wallah.

Despite his help, I got a fair idea of how difficult it was to travel even in a wheelchair. Everyone should spend 48 hours in one to learn how to be of constructive help to those confined to one.

The best treat yet awaited me in Toronto – my husband (although he was jetlagged so after a long long hug he fell asleep again. Ah well, the stories can wait). And a polar team mate and friend of 10 years, Pom Oliver. I couldn’t have asked for better company – Pom has had frostbitten toes herself, has also been plucked off the ice prematurely after her heroic input of over 47 days to the Daniels/Hamilton/Oliver North Pole expedition of 2002, is practical and achingly funny (she thinks).

Whisked off to some interviews in Canada on behalf of Mars before being wheeled off to the general hospital to have my foot assessed by the country’s leading hand and plastic surgeon Dr Linda Dvali., who somehow managed to fit me into her frantic day. Current status of toes looks like loss of one, bits of two others inc big one. All other little piggies ok. Thought it might be pushing it to enquire about plastic surgery enhancements to my now flat as an ice-rink chest.

All ok’s for the flight and it was off again to Heathrow. William wisely advised me to stretch out and sleep, so I spent most of the overnight flight fiddling with the video, toying over the menu and checking out the wine list, which is interesting when off alcohol for 100 plus days and on strong painkillers.

Wondered if having such fun was such a good idea after all when I thought I was seeing things at Heathrow. An array of friends were there, including special Olympics, to surprise me All were sporting pink Angel of the North t-shirts which was most becoming on some of the burlier men. They were enjoying their own reunion so much they barely noticed me come through. But it was very moving that so many friends had trawled all the way to the airport, and it took more courage than crossing the ice pack to keep tears at bay.

Since this tumultuous welcome back, it has become so clear how all my family, friends, supporters of the expedition inc readers of the web have made this story all possible. Now you have to put up with a mangie, moody and restless Rosebud. But I have firmly decided on one way of saying thank you – and this will be an inestimable challenge to me – I shall write the book. (donations of coffee - and superglue for the chair will be welcome). Watch this space (it’s a yawning big one at the moment – but will be filled by Christmas).

* * *
NEXT……HOME TO JOCK

For those sharp-eyed web readers who noticed that the pic capitioned ‘bear tracks’ featured some rather diminutive paw prints, please note correction to the slightly less terrifying ‘arctic fox prints’.  Lets just hope, that as a result of this gaffe, you don’t all think that the entire blog is a scam! 

R

This time last week I was urging myself on, saying out loud, “This time next week I might be at the Pole”.

Instead I¹m sitting on a comfy chair, looking out at a blaze of colour in our garden, listening to the birds, the biscuit box within reach and smelling as good as the roses out there.

Wonderful. But weird.

I can’t help feeling I’m missing something oh yes, my sledge. The cold.  The hunger.  Exhaustion and fear.

How can I miss that? Because, in a way, my supporters were with me on the journey.  Support of every sort got me onto the ice in the first place, then kept me going as all your voices reached me over the miles with your propelling messages and kept me going as far as I did. That I got so far was only possible because of everyone else.

But part of me says I didn’t finish doing what was expected of me.

So what happened?

In short, the much anticipated resupply turned into a removal.

Several days of slogging over, around and through endless ice rubble had passed with before I found a landing strip (I’m not sure the pilots would grace it with the same description) for a twin otter plane to land on. Far from adequate, (min requirement 300 metres long, 50feet wide) 250m long, some 30 feet wide, punctuated with lumps of ice and bordered by a wide open lead, it was more of an assault course than landing strip.  I invested time in bashing down bumps with my spade and marking the line of flight with stuffsacks filled with snow and markers on prominent lumps.  NO sooner done than the twin otter appeared out of nowhere, swooping down and following the line I had marked out. I was very anxious ­ should the pilots not accept my modest strip, then they would land somewhere else and I would have to ski to them ­ however far, and do so on an empty tum.  Seeing the plane so close above made me realise it was like expecting a Jumbo to land on our front drive.

A brief phone call ensued with pilot Troy on board, (I wondered if their base camp manager was known as Brains) and I was told, as the Inuits say ‘hurry up and wait’. Phew. The landing strip had passed the test.  Then the plane disappeared.  For almost an hour! I’ve upset them so much I’ve been deserted I thought.  In fact, the pilots, unnerved by the length of the runway, had flown on to find space to land safely, temporarily deposit their fuel load, and return to land more deftly with a lighter plane.

In so doing they got a good picture of the ice ahead. Which was, in a word, trashed.

The otter returned just as I was taking the opportunity of powdering my nose.  Hastily zipping up, I raced up to the humming plane.  Two pilots jumped out and their body language delivered the message ahead of words.  No chance of picking me up later, the ice ahead was breaking up and already there were few places to land.  I was going to have to leave with them.  Sharpish.   Behind them I could see my resupply boxes stacked up in the plane, so I knew their intentions had been fair.  If I refused, they only had two options short of strawberry-netting me and chucking me in the plane - risk their own necks (again) flying in again on even worse ice, or call out the Canadian Military Air Search and Rescue. Now that would be a major embarrassment to all parties.

A civilised and brief discussion ensued ­ I wanted to be absolutely sure of what conditions lay ahead.  Then within minutes I was taking down my tent for the last time, packing up the sledge, heaving it into the plane before I hopped on myself and we were up and away.

No times for hysterics.  All very dignified.

I pressed my nose out of the window, the pilots took me North West to their temp fuel cache, I was hugely relieved to see ice that was churned up, riveted with black lines and generally looking in need of a good tidy-up.

The pilots kept their distance in the cockpit as the temperatures in the plane rose and I became more obviously fragrant.  The pig out food box so kindly put by me had lost all the allure it might have had back in my tent. I sat rigid with shock for 4 hrs foot throbbing in the new sensation of heat and vibrations.  I couldn’t align my thoughts. What would the sponsors think, have I let down all my supporters, and ultimately how disappointed would my son Jock be?

For the only clear message ringing through my head was that I return without the original goal ­ to have reached 90 degrees north.

But sometimes, when setting off on a treasure hunt, one returns not with the precise treasure in mind but greater riches. So just what have I come back with?

…Since leaving the ice, it has become increasingly apparent, from the Canadian pilots to supporters across the world, the original purpose of the expedition, in becoming first woman to reach the Pole and all that glam, has faded out against the story of the journey itself the adventures, the misadventures, danger and beauty, a first hand account of a world going through massive changes. As an ordinary woman, not a politician or scientist, I can regale my own experiences and how I believe they may have been effected by global warming in plain language, as I seen through my own eyes.  I have encountered the effects of global warming head on, it has threatened my expedition and my very life on an all too frequent basis.

The facts that I can report, rather than my opinion, are surely of value.

Hopefully the charity’s name, Special Olympics GB., has now a more familiar ring to it.

Since I’ve been on the ice, it seems that funds are looking promising to initiate the Construction of a covered recreational centre for the folk of Resolute.  They have been waiting for this since the founding of the settlement back in 70’s, with many empty or broken promises.  The children, as well as the adults, have no real sporting facilities or community centre to keep them active throughout the 10 month long winter.  My own feelings, especially given my experience with the Special Olympic athletes, are that sporting and recreational activities are vital to individual integrity.  Little is left of the traditional Inuit way of life which has left a vacuum too easily filled by abuse of drugs and alcohol, and quite simply inactivity. Parents don’t encourage their children to go to school, women are regularly beaten up, children have nothing to do but watch satellite television and crash skidoos.

What a lasting difference it would make to have a focal point for the community.  When this project comes off, we can all feel a tremendous pride in this achievement.

The story of the expedition has appealed to school children across UK and Canada, an exciting dimension to geography, science and history.

From a more selfish point of view, the response from all of you and all those who in some form or other supported the expedition has surpassed all expectations I might have had.  I can say from my heart that I would not have got as far as I did had it not been for this. 

Thank you all.

Standby for a continued account of the home coming.

Testing the ice

Sunset over the Arctic Ocean

The North Pole (from the air)

White-out

Where Rosie fell in

Frozen Lead

Ice blocks

Polar bear tracks

Pick-up portrait

Rubble

MORE rubble

‘Self’ Portrait

An open pan

Stuck!

More rubble

Stuck again!

Snow Storm

Hi everyone,

I’m just writing a blog all about my experiences on the Arctic Ocean as a thank you to everyone who’s been following me on the website - so watch this space!

The pilots waking up at Eureka weather station on the north coast of Canada stared bleary-eyed at the satellite images in front of them. 

The day before, they had picked their way through cloud and high winds from Resolute Bay up to Eureka, from which they would be better able to get to Rosie. The images still showed them nothing, too much low cloud and no chance of reaching Rosie. They waited.

At around mid-day, the lead pilot Troy began to see a slight clearing of conditions to the south of Rosie. If they timed it right they could be over Rosie’s position just as the cloud lifted, Troy decided to give it a go. With Rosie calling in detailed weather information from the ground and the weather guys back at Eureka updating them from the satellite images, the twin otter took its cargo of 14 days of extra food and fuel up to Rosie’s position. Before aiming for Rosie however, Troy decided to survey the ice near the North Pole, so that he could pass on valuable information to Rosie. What he saw worried him intensely. Rubble was a consistent theme with precious few pans and most of these too small to land on. Even worse, Troy could see the reflections on the ice that suggested ice was melting and not refreezing. He knew that landing in these conditions would be tough that day, and almost impossible afterwards. He understood Rosie’s desire to push for the pole, especially when it seemed so close, but he knew that this would be the last day he would be able to risk a landing on the melting surface of the ocean. Rosie’s resupply would have to be a pickup.

Flying low over Rosie’s position, with a little red figure waving her arms enthusiastically next to her tent, Troy took a close look at the runway Rosie had constructed; the length would be tight but doable. 

However, it would be a close run thing. Troy had spotted a decent sized pan 18 miles to the south of Rosie and decided to land there first, cache the fuel drums and all extraneous weight and then attempt to reach Rosie.

With a newly lightened plane, Troy skimmed over Rosie’s runway three times inches above the surface, worrying Rosie that the pan she had chosen was too short. Then finally, lining itself up with the thermal underwear and food bags packed full of snow that served as runway markers, the plane landed and taxied over to Rosie.  When Troy jumped out of the plane, this was the first human face Rosie had seen since the beginning of March.

Breaking the news that this would be her last day on the ice, Troy saw Rosie’s face drop. She was bitterly disappointed but knew that to continue would potentially be endangering the lives of the pilots who would be tasked with her pickup. Rosie hugged Troy and trudged over to the plane, asking only one thing  - that she be able to at least fly up and over the pole to see the place that she had dreamed about for so long.

 From the air, Rosie’s perspective changed from 30ft to 30 miles and she began to see just how utterly destroyed the ice had become. In some ways it was difficult to believe she had spent more than 80 days surviving down there. Flitting over a nondescript piece of ice, much like any other save that it represented the northernmost point on earth, Rosie looked down over the North Pole and reflected on just how impossibly close she had come to achieving her dream.

Turning for South, Rosie flew over yawning leads, crumple zones of melting ice and snow and giant pressure ridges sailing in slow motion across the Arctic sea. She waved goodbye to what had been her entire world for so long and began her journey home.

FURTHEST NORTH SOLO BY A WOMAN
– BUT NORTH POLE HOPES DASHED FOR ROSIE STANCER

After 84 extremely gruelling days and 326 miles on the ice, British woman Rosie Stancer has been forced to end her attempt to become the first woman to reach the North Pole solo. Rosie was picked up from the ice yesterday evening only 89 miles from the North Pole. (Her position at pick up was 88 3157N 48 47 37W.)

Pilots who had flown in from Eureka Weather Station in Northern Canada on a planned re-supply made the decision that a future pick-up would be too dangerous due to the deteriorating ice conditions between her current position and the North Pole. Not willing to compromise the safety of the pilots, Rosie agreed to be picked up, abandoning a lifelong dream.

Fellow explorer Pen Hadow, “I know of no one who would have pushed themselves as Rosie has done – and then so gracefully subjugate their personal ambition, with only a few days travel remaining to the Pole, with thought only for the safety of their air support team. Such scale of character is a shining example in a dim world, and I, for one, am proud to salute her courage in the most extreme circumstances.”

Having battled against what has been described by many as the worst conditions in recent history, Rosie has firmly established herself in the record books having reached further North than any other woman solo. During the expedition she has experienced temperatures from as low as -55C to dangerously warm levels of -2C, repeated storms and shifting ice. Rosie found herself encountering miles of never ending ice rubble and more dangerously, larger and more frequent open water leads.

Overcoming these difficulties on her own makes Rosie’s journey even more significant and an achievement of epic proportions. Members of the polar community have stepped out in support of Rosie including Norwegian Liv Arnesen and fellow Brit Ann Daniels who said this morning, “I can imagine how disappointed Rosie must be feeling at the moment, but I hope she is also proud of her phenomenal achievement on the ice. She has endured terrible conditions and unimaginable hardships and still battled continually on, in what I believe is one of the hardest journeys in the world. Rosie is an inspiration to us all and my admiration for her is colossal.”

Liv Arnesen said, “ If she had to come off the ice, by experience, I know it is a painful decision to take. Rosie has faced unusually tough conditions on the Arctic Ocean, but still gone far further than any solo female before her. I congratulate her on a great expedition!”

Rosie is due in the UK on Saturday 2nd June. Her return is highly anticipated by family and especially her 5 year old son Jock. HRH The Prince of Wales is Patron to the Expedition.

For further information please contact the team at KTB PR: Tel: 020 79247214

Kate Bosomworth : kate@ktbor.com / 07771 987415
Kitty Henry : kitty@ktbpr.com / 07974 155673
Josh Greenberg : josh@ktbpr.com / 07812 054452

Miles trekked: 326
Miles to go: 89

Rosie’s job description changed dramatically as plans for the resupply came together; she had to find a runway on the melting, fragmenting, shifting, crushing, rubble-stricken Arctic Ocean. This is not the easiest of jobs. One has to find an area of flat ice approximately 1000ft long, it has to have no major obstructions at either end (this in a world of 30ft high pressure ridges), have the right surface texture (good strong ice without any melt pools, rubble, or too much of the wrong kind of snow) and have a thick base of multi-year ice capable of handling a 12,000lb aircraft landing at a rate of knots.

The first runway Rosie found seemed good, nice strong ice and relatively flat, but checking with her GPS she found it only came to 780ft - too short! Ruing her luck, Rosie pressed on amid the rubble and ridges until late in the day she found a second pan that might prove useful. Measuring it out it came up as 984ft, still short but possibly within the bounds of error. Rosie checked in with pilots at the Eureka weather station and passed on the information to them asking ‘Do I sit tight or press on?’. The answer came back ’sit tight, we’ll give it a go!’

Now is the real test of Rosie’s patience, she must wait and pray that her runway does not crack up before the pilots can land with her precious fuel and food.

Miles trekked: 326
Miles to go: 89

Rosie attempted a new system where she would trek for eight hours, sleep for four, and then trek on for another eight in a bid to get the most out of her day. The first eight hour session was spent struggling through a mess of disintegrating rubble and was appropriately knackering but still Rosie felt guilty at the thought of putting up her tent at such an early time. After checking in with base, having a little food and getting some sleep, Rosie blearily readied herself for a second session only to find snow blowing across her line of vision and the ice moving beneath her. With her legs and arms still feeling empty, Rosie made the decision to go back and try and recover with a full nights sleep in readiness for a big push tomorrow. She was in her tent and just about to take her boots off when suddenly the pressure ridge next to her ripped apart and huge lead began to open up next to the tent. Rosie broke world records for packing kit away and got moving but the area had already turned into a morass of open leads and the only way she could get to safety was by travelling south. Finally she was able to reach a safer area of ice and make camp again.

Rosie is currently due a resupply and a twin otter is currently being prepared in Resolute Bay to fly up with more food and fuel. The pilots will also have an opportunity to survey the ice ahead of Rosie and check on the level of disintegration that the changing climate has wrought. Hopefully, their insight will be of great use to Rosie as she continues to press north.