September 11th?
Yeah, but once you start on these proposals, it has a way of taking on its own life. You can’t do these projects half-assed, you have to do it six thousand percent or get out of the game. I sort of used it as an excuse not to write. I went forward with it, dropped the ball on the book. And I knew better, because I’d been through all this stuff before, I know how these things fizzle. It was sort of a false lead. By the spring of 2002, we knew it wasn’t going to happen. So I was going to get back into writing. The whole thing was in the background, until I met Dan Buettner last winter. I wasn’t really interested in going back to the Arctic and doing it over again. When I met Dan, it was the 28th of December. He asked me to go on an expedition he was planning. And that really got me thinking. He’s such a nice guy. I am a very positive person, but I was feeling very negative, cynical about everything, about the political situation, particularly the environment. I know where we’re heading in global warming. It’s a fact. I met with Dan. I had a nice sleep that night, I woke up in the morning, and I knew what I had to do. And I looked at a map of the Canadian Arctic, started trying to find stuff I hadn’t done but always wanted to do. Then I starting working out a route, connecting some areas, really interesting stuff, then I really started getting fired up, started planning the trip out.
What do great explorers talk about that would suddenly get you so fired up? Is it communicating the spiritual joy of being out there? What did Dan say to you?
I have a lot of respect for Dan. After the 1986 trip to the North Pole, my first professional expedition, I was in San Diego visiting a friend, and we were in the zoo there, in the bird aviary. I was sitting on a bench, and Dan walked by. I didn’t know who he was. We started talking, and he told me he was on this bicycle trip from Alaska to South America. We got into this conversation. He knew me, he recognized me—I wasn’t used to being recognized. He told me about his trip, and we talked and talked, and I told him what I’d learned about the media, in terms of doing interviews and photo shoots and so forth, getting your story out. He was sort of sponsored, but they were really on a shoestring. So that was our connection. I gave him some advice. I basically said, “Be credible, follow up on everything.” So we parted, and I heard he’d finished that trip. Then he got into the education part of it—on sort of a separate, parallel track to what I was doing. I followed his career, all his trips. I knew the misery, in Africa, on his Maya Quest, I knew what he was going through. I was so proud of him. He did this remarkable thing. We talked once in awhile. We’re both St. Thomas graduates, and we always tried to get together.
The thing I really missed was the community around the big expeditions. In Antarctica when we trained, we had this vibrant community, so much good spirit. I really miss that. And this place, the homestead, accommodates that. So by June this year, I had eight to ten people already here, mechanics, carpenters and volunteers.
How’s that different from, say, a year ago? Were you the only one here?
That’s a very good question. A year ago? After twenty years, it had finally gone back to the way it was before the big-time expeditions, before my life changed. It was like living here from 1970 to 1983. I finally was here, alone. I was working in the shop, I was learning woodworking, it was an extremely simple life. I’d take long breaks. I was into studying and researching, back to this absolutely simple life, and loving it. At this time last year, I never left the homestead. It took me awhile to get back to that simple life. It was like twenty years ago, but, of course, I have a little bit of knowledge, wisdom, and experience under my belt.
You have a passion for exploring. But at the same time, unless you’re independently wealthy, one has to think of the wolf at the door. How do you do it?
I see myself as a pretty average person in many ways, but one of my flaws is I don’t see barriers. If I want to do something, I’ll do it and I’ll make a living at it. Most people that move from the city to the wilderness always have to have a job there; they never break the pattern.
There are stresses involved with it, too, though. Maybe the one thing that most people aren’t able to do that you’re able to do is live with a different standard of what stability is.
Well, insecurity’s a really difficult thing for many people. Insecurity’s a way of life for me. I don’t mind it; it’s a challenge. For the last year, before I met Dan, I was sort of dissatisfied. I think a lot of people would be worried in that situation, but I knew for myself this was good, something was going to change. I was feeling restless. Not in an edgy way, but just kind of needing something, some change. Although I was very happy and secure in my position—I could just keep nibbling away without worrying too much about money. But I recognized that restlessness, I’d seen it before. I knew it was a good sign. I knew that something would break. What broke is when I met Dan, that was it. I woke up and I knew what I was going to do. It all kind of jelled, this whole restless year and a half of my life.
As far as risk goes, I can really hang it out. When I roll the dice, when I’m going to do something, I throw it all out there. I’ll just make it happen. What I’ve learned in my experiences which is really helpful is how to work from my feeling and my heart and my gut. I don’t have to think about it. My biggest mistakes in life were when I didn’t follow my gut. Sometimes my heart gets in the way, I could get taken advantage of, which is fine, I’m not a cynical person. But my real strength is my gut feeling for things.
You had to abandon your last expedition—your solo trek from the North Pole in 1997. What happened?
I was in top shape, but I got totally stressed out. I was taken to the North Pole on a Russian icebreaker. We got the cheapest berth in the bow of the ship, so the whole trip I heard the crashing ice just on the other side. I had this satellite device, which was quite advanced for its time. It was the only orbiting satellite that could reach over the polar region, and I had a big antenna. We’d go out on the ice pack during the day. I carried a rifle, in case of polar bears—I had to get a special commission from Sen. Paul Wellstone to carry a weapon, and every day when I got back on the Russian icebreaker, they confiscated the gun. They thought I was C.I.A. or something, especially when I pulled out the computer and sent all kinds of pictures back to my sponsors and the media. But I had major technical problems. I started getting all my office email on that system, and it just got overloaded and broke down. Then we got stuck in the worst ice we’d ever had, and it took four or five days to get out. A nuclear submarine had to be dispatched, and it came in full blast to hammer away the ice, back and forth it went. I was just a nervous wreck. When we finally got to the pole, I had a film crew there, and they didn’t get any pictures because the weather was lousy. So we got to the pole, and it cleared up for a bit, and I had all my stuff packed. Then the Russian helicopter pilot started drinking on the ship, so we got stuck there for another fourteen hours. By the time I was dropped off, I thought I could sleep for a few days, but I was so freaked out, I couldn’t do it. And I had to set up my tent, I got all my stuff wet, soaking feet, I was just physically a mess. The long and short of it is that conditions were deteriorating fast, I was a mess, and I didn’t want to put anyone else in danger—especially the Canadian rescue pilots who would have to find me. So I got back on the Russian icebreaker and came home.
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