Cameron M. Smith gefst ekki upp ætlar að reyna í fjórða skiptið að ganga einn yfir Vatnajökul að vetrarlagi
Samantekt: Helgi Borg
Cameron McPherson Smith hefur í tveimur heimsóknum til Íslands þrisvar reynt að ganga einn að vetrarlagi yfir Vatnajökul. Veður og aðstæður hafa jafnan hamlað því að honum heppnist ætlunarverkið. Síðasta vetur kallaði hann eftir aðstoð björgunarsveita þar sem hann var staddur við Grímsvötn í þriðju tilraun sinni. Í vetur ætlar hann að reyna í fjórða skiptið. Ekki er annað hægt en dást að þrautseigju hans.
Why winter solo crossing of Vatnajkull ice cap in Iceland?
Well, the reasons have changed a bit. On my first expedition to Iceland, I wanted to be the first person to make a solo winter crossing of this ice cap. It seemed to be a small but respectable 'first' left in the world of exploration. In a way, I also thought of the trek as good training for expeditions in the future, just like any climb is good as a climb in itself, but also good experience.
I tried two times, but failed both times. The next year I couldn't come back because my passport was lost in the mail, and in that winter the Italian mountain guide Paolo Mantovani made a solo winter crossing from Kverkfjoll to Skeidararjokull. He told me this by email, and I was pretty disappointed at first, though I did of course congratulate him. After giving it some thought, I still wanted to make the crossing, even if I were only the second person to do it: it was still a good trek. It did 'sting' a bit, because there are very few 'firsts' left, but I can't turn back time, so I just look ahead and move on.
Now, I have several motives. First, I do still want to make the solo crossing in winter: it's a good challenge, I love the environment, and after three attempts on the first two expeditions, I feel I have a good 'feeling' for the ice cap. So completing the West-East crossing alone in winter is really the main objective. But, I am also working with the Earth and Space Foundation, in England. With their support I am developing an educational element to the expedition. High-school students around the globe will monitor my expedition progress, and while they do so, they will consider the parallels between this kind of activity on Earth, and on Mars. I really want to get young people thinking about the exploration of Mars, and one way to do it in a dramatic way that gets their attention, and keeps it, is to have them watch an expedition in progress. Each student will plan a hypothetical expedition on Mars, using some of what they learn from watching an expedition in the field via the internet. I'm an archaeologist, so I study the human past, but I'm also very interested in the human future, and I think it must include exploring Mars, and then going on from there to the rest of the Cosmos. Unless people start instantly with a Mars effort, I'm too old to go to Mars, so this can be my contribution.
Could you please describe the prior two attempts. What was the reason for the failure of these two attempts?
Well, there have been three attempts so far, really. The first was pretty wild. About 7 hours after stepping off the plane in Reykjavik, I watched Halldor Kvaran's truck drive down the Hoffell Valley, leaving me and my gear near the base of the Lambatungujokull to start my ascent for an East-West crossing. A storm and winds flowing off the ice cap began almost immediately, and I was really getting hammered. The winds were picking my tent up off the ground, with me inside, and slamming it to the ground again.
In twenty years outdoors, from Alaska to Africa to the Canadian Rockies, South America and throughout the United States, I had never experienced such violent winds. I thought it should be called 'Windland' rather than Iceland. It felt like a river of water, not wind, was flowing around my tent. The tent, a Garuda Kusala, was excellent, the best 4-season solo tent I know, but it was getting really thrashed an the poles were bending and giving way. After about 20 hours of this, holding the tent up with my back, I was wiped out. I thought I had underestimated the conditions, and overestimated myself. Outside, the pulka was tipped over and some of my food and equipment were scattered. On New Year's Day 2001, I was crouched in my tent with all my clothes, boots, etc. on, and a knife hung around my neck, holding up the tent with my back. The wind was slamming the tent like waves breaking on a steep beach: BAM! BAM! WHAAAM!!! I thought the tent was going to be ripped from the ice and blown down the valley, so I had the knife ready to cut myself free when it happened.
By the third day I was ready to get out, and in the darkness I stumbled down towards the Hoffell Farm in a ridiculous blizzard. Sometimes when crossing a frozen stream I just lay on my belly and let the wind blow me across; the wind was berserk. Finally I reached the farm after about 14 or so kilometers. I camped over night and then next day went to the farm and met Hordur. He was great company, as he was also an adventurer. While I drank one cup of coffee after another he told me about his trip to New York as a crewman on the Islendigur, the Viking ship replica. Soon I took a ride to Hofn, and crashed in a guest house. When I woke up the next day I talked to Halldor on the phone. I said it would be crazy for me to go up on the ice in that kind of wind: on the ice there would be none of the mountain rocks or topography to break the wind, it would be even more powerful. I thought that on the ice, my tent would literally be blown away, no question about it. Now, my expedition looked like a suicide mission. I was pretty depressed, thinking things like 'I don't belong here' and 'I can't do this'.
I have to thank Halldor for convincing me that I should have another shot, at least by going up to Grimsvotn from Skeidararjokull, and then decide what to do there. He essentially told me 'You can't just give up so easily!'. He was right. After a day or so of rest, I thought, to hell with it, I'll try again. I would just have to risk the wind on the exposed ice cap. After all, like avalanches or rockfall, the wind was just an objective danger that I had to accept if I wanted to attempt the crossing. I felt embarrased, and pacekd my gear to go again. Halldor had helped me in so many ways and now he helped again by dropping me off at the base of Skeidararjokull.
It started out well enough, but after only a day I ran into new problems. Although it was January, the ice was bare, and wet! It as amazing. The park ranger told me that normally there would be some four to ten meters of snow on the ice, that the snow should reach all the way down almost to the road. But, I was on wet ice with crampons, rather than skis. No snow for miles. This is dangerous terrain with a pulka, because there is so little friction that the pulka just always slips down into the lowest point possible. I spent more than a week just in the first few kilometers of of Skeidararjokull, trying to find a way though the open crevasses. It looked like summer conditions rather than winter. Too many times, the pulka threatened to drag me down. To make the pulka lighter, I started carrying loads ahead, but of course this required me to do at least three kilometers of travel for each kilometer ahead! And, sometimes I had to back-track; there was sometimes more open space than ice to travel on. I tried the west and east sides of the glacier, as well as the center, and it was all crevasses.
There was not too much wind most days. After four days the weather cleared a bit. Now, I faced my biggest challenge: the rain and snow had deposited about 30-60cm of wet, drooping snow across the surface of the glacier like a soggy blanket. At least, before, I could see the crevasses: now, a step into a low point could be just a low point, or a fragile bridge across a deep crevasse. A crevasse would not have to be very deep, or very wide, to kill me: one meter wide at the opening, and a few meters deep, and operating alone, I could very easily die.
It was risky even to move, because wet ice under the snow could be at any angle, and any footstep could make me trip, and of course skis were out of the question, as it was still far too 'lumpy'. I had been willing to move through the crevasse terrain in darkness and alone with the pulka trying to drag me down at every move, but with the crevasses covered by a 'trick' blanket of snow, I met my limit. I decided the risks were too high, and headed down. On the eleventh day I stepped off the Skeidararjokull, totally soaked and exhausted, but overall, pretty happy with the expedition. I had tried, failed psychologically, tried again, and then had been turned back by conditions that were outside my saftey margin. All priceless experiences. I was disappointed by not making the crossing, but the experience, particularly on Skeidararjokull, was great. Operating alone, of course, I had to be extra-careful, work extra-hard, and so on: there is no-one to help with anything, and the solitude was enjoyable. So, I went home feeling pretty good overall.
The next attempt was for the East to West, from Jokulheimar to Lambatungujokull. Once again Halldor (this time accompanied by his father in the second vehicle) dropped me off on the ice cap edge. I was using the pulka-hut this time, a device Halldor and I had invented, and he had built. Essentially the pulka-hut is a large plastic shell on skis: it carries the gear, but the lid opens so I can crawl inside and camp. It's quite amazing that it weighs only a little more than a regular pulka, and inside it's very comfortable and not as noisy as a tent in the wind. Back when I was planning the first attempt, I was really worried about the wind, and walking through the city one day I saw a giant plastic garbage can: I thought, if I could drag that, and camp inside, I'd have it made. Then I saw the a ski-container on a car roof, and thought about the shell opening, sort of like a large coffin. I ditched the idea for the first attempt (no time to work it out), but Halldor and I talked it over after I came off Skeidararjokull, and by the time I came back to Iceland Halldor had the prototype ready. So, we loaded it up, and went to Jokulheimar. I was sort of nervous, taking my first steps up (good snow this year, no open crevasses) and I wondered what adventures I'd have this time. I was thrilled to ofind good snow and no open crevasses.
By the third day I was relaxed and moving along. I covered about 16km one day, and a little less the next day, gaining about 1300m. I felt great to be on my way. The visibility was close to zero the whole time, though: dense fog, low cloud, and lots of darkness. I have a ship's sperical compass on a chest-mount, and I just used that to navigate, like sailing a ship. Rather than pull out a compass ever time, and try to fix a point in the distance (impossible in zero visibilty anyway), I just kept glancing at the compass and adjusting my course. This worked pretty well, though I did drift N continuously. I was on course to travel just S of Grimsvotn, but arrived on the W edge of the ice cauldron, so I turned a bit S. I camped between the Haabunga ice dome to my S and the Grimsvotn cauldron to my N. After a day's sleep I arose again at night and continued ahead, and now I got into trouble. As I mentioned, I had been drifting N a bit, and found it hard to stop, even staring directly at the compass dome. At one point I began descending, and thought I was coming down a bit, E of Grimsvotn.
I knew where the huts were, just a few km away, but I was OK, and didn't feel the need to stop there, so I kept going. The descent got steeper, and steeper, and was forcing me N when I wanted to go due E. Something felt wrong, as the snow was also deeper, and looser here. Just as I literally said out loud 'This is not right' (one of the first things I had said out loud for days), a dark line appeared in the mist ahead. I was headed straight for a huge crevasse. I instantly dropped to my side and slid to a halt. I stopped just a few meters before the crevasse, which was huge: a hundred meters from one side to the other, perhaps ten or more meters wide, and about five or more meters from the upper side (where I was) down to the lower edge. I never looked in to see how deep it was, but it was a deadly monster. I tried to move S, now knowing that I had drifted too far N and just over the edge of the ice bowl: I was some 200m down in the bowl, off the plateau of ice. That was why the snow was deep and wet here, it was drift snow which had settled after being blown across the plateau and settling into the bowl.
I had to get back on the plateau, but the snow was deep and impossible to move upwards in while pulling the pulka-hut. It was just too deep and wet, and I could not move an inch. I tried swimming upwards, but still no luck. I had to ferry loads up, to totally lighten the pulka-hut, before dragging it up. I started to unload and ferry, and just then a freezing rain began. A nasty situation; now all my gear, cached abive where I had carried it, was getting a glaze of ice. I dragged the pulka-hut up, and made camp. I thought I was now just a few hundred meters from the plateau, and that in the AM I would carry on up to the plateau. That night the weather closed in with a mild storm. In the pulka-hut I was generally OK, but the huge amounts of snow being blown by the storm were dropping right on top of me, and the pulka-hut was being buried. I kept digging out for about 48 hours, but every time I got back inside and undressed, new snow had already completely filled in what I had just dug out. I was losing the battle and the pulka-hut was going to get totally buried.
I had another problem: because the pulka-hut sits off the snow, on skis, the floor does not touch the snow and it is a little warmer than a tent: thus, most of the condensation from breathing and cooking does not freeze, but just accumulates on the roof, and drips. It was raining inside, and everything I had was getting soaked. Here in the Pacific Northwest, where the mountain climate is similar to Iceland (wet, cold, and often right around freezing) I am very familiar with the dangers of temperatures right around 0, the alternate freezing and melting which can quickly lead to hypothermia. So I was already on alert.
I began to worry about getting really stuck. My mitts, boots, boot liners, reserve sleeping bag and most spares were all soaked from the cache, and from the dripping. I did not dare go in search of the Grimsvotn huts, considering that I was alone and unroped, and knew they were on a cliff. On the sat phone, Halldor suggested that I wait it out, that the weather would clear tomorrow. I struggled with a decision to get out now, or gamble that things would get better soon. I finally decided that the gamble was too high; if conditions deteriorated, I would really be in bad shape, quickly. If things got better, for the Landsbjorg it would be better to pull me out in good weather than in bad weather. I had watched a rescue chopper crash here in Oregon just a few months before, and I hated the idea of people risking their lives for me. I shut off the phone and made some dinner to calm down, and think clearly. Finally I got back on the phone and set the rescue in motion. It was the first time in 15 years in the mountains that I had ever called for help, but I felt it was the right decision, even though I hated it. It was only the eighth day. I felt inadequate and embarrased, but I have to admit I also felt relieved. The Landsbjorg were amazing, and I know a huge number of them were mobilized to get me out, and I appreciate it very much.
What have these expeditions taught you, in essence?
First, that I have to relax, and adapt. The main problem I have had is that I have not been out sufficiently long to really adapt psychologically to the ice environment. Of course, I still have to be alert, but I need to relax and just take it each day at a time. That is a basic expedition rule that I have used in many expeditions, but here, I suppose, the stakes have been pretty high, so I have not done it properly. This time I will really try to clear my head and adapt.
Second, I need to do some climbing here before I arrive in Iceland again. Being out of the 'risk environment' just isn't a good start. Climbing used to rule my life, but with work responsibilities and finishing my PhD, I have been unable to climb, and that willingness to just push on, when it is necessary, has been dulled. The English mountaineer Doug Scott said that before a Himalayan expedition, you have to be able to say "I may die here", clear your mind, and get to work. I definitely have no wish of dying on the ice cap, but I need to work on that commitment level. I feel I can get it back: I used to have it. Just after this last expedition, Halldor and I went rock-climbing: or I should say he went rock-climbing, after I took a lead fall on a bolted 5.7, possibly the easiest rock route in Iceland! I lowered off and realized just how mentally weak I was: the failure of the expedition had totally wiped me out. Physically I could climb the route, but I was mentally wrecked. So, I need to be mentally stronger.
Just about everything else was OK: although I did have the condensation problem in the pulka-hut, which was dangerous, I think perhaps I should have pushed harder to continue. I guess everyone who has ever been 'pulled out' and wants to go back has the same feelings. The gear, navigation, etc. was OK. It is my mind that needs to be stronger, but I have to be sure also not to be foolish. It is walking that line between boldness and stupidity that is the mark of the mature explorer, so I need to mature in that way.
Could you please descripe your next attempt. Will it differ in some major way from the other attempts?
I am still deciding on whether to make the E-W or W-E crossing, but all the information I have been able to get suggests that I can ascend either from Jokulheimar or Lambatungujokull if the crevasses are sufficiently covered. I prefer to ascend from Jokulheimar, as I have been there and feel confident I can reach Grimsvotn again. Getting down Lambatungujokull could be relatively easy if it has plenty of snow, or a nightmare if it is bare. If it is too dangerous, I may have to backtrack and exit somewhere else, but I can carry enough food and fuel to do that. The advantage of ascending Lambatungujokull is that I would descend towards Jokulheimar, a path I have already taken; the decision still has to be made. One plan is to start from Jokulheimar and when I am nearing Lambatungujokull, a friend can have a look at it to see if it is open crevasses, or what. This is my friend Evan Davies, a former Special Forces commando: he's not interested in making the crossing, but is interested in doing that job. He can tell me by sat phone how the descent looks. If it's a nightmare, I might just turn back for a different descent. Again, I'm still planning it out.
Will you be using the PulkaHut, if so have any modification been done to it?
Halldor will be adding some vents to cope with the condensation, and I'm making a 'steam chimney' to get most of the steam from my cooker outside before it condenses inside. Otherwise, the pulka-hut is great: I really enjoyed living in it.
Any other comments?
Iceland is very challenging to me. The conditions are wild; cold, wet and windy. This trek, to the world of expeditions, is pretty small: by the time I say 'attempting the first E-W solo ski trek in winter', many people have lost interest, it's too complicated. But for me, it's something I have started, and want to complete. I would love to learn Icelandic: I hate being in a country where I don't speak the language, so in Africa I learned Swahili, in Austria I spoke German and in South America I speak Spanish. But I just don't have time, and I will have to continue to act like a tourist when in town! Anyway, I am excited to get back and try again. The summer is turning to Fall here, and the blowing clouds and cooler temperatures remind me that I'm just a few months away. I think about the ice every night. Thanks for your interest. I would be really interested to hear what anyone thinks of this project, and any information on exiting Lambatungujokull would be much appreciated. By 15 October or 15 Novembnner at the latest, I will have soloice.com loaded (it is online now, but not loaded). My plans, etc will all be there as well as some new video clips.