How Lake Superior Prepares Two Explorers for a Polar Landscape

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“What are you doing?” a friendly onlooker questions.  

“Isn’t it obvious?” I reply, knowing full well that it really isn’t.

We are in northern Minnesota, it’s early February and the ground is covered with snow. Nearly every lake, pond and river within a 300-mile radius of me is frozen solid … yet I am sitting on snow in a small canoe, which is harnessed to Lonnie Dupre.

Lonnie is trying to pull the canoe, two 60-pound sand bags and me up a rather large snow bank. Lonnie leans hard into the harness, and I am jerked slowly toward the top. The man stares at us in disbelief.

After letting him absorb the scene for a few minutes, Lonnie concedes and offers, “We’re testing these slacs – a half sled and half canoe – for the One World Expedition, the first-ever summer crossing of the Arctic Ocean. Eric is sitting in this slac to simulate all the gear we’ll be hauling.”

The man opens his mouth as if to ask another question, thinks better of it, then shakes his head and walks away.

In May 2005, Lonnie Dupre and I will embark on a history-making expedition. Our 3 1/2-month Arctic Ocean journey crosses the semi-frozen ice cap from Cape Arcitchesky, Siberia, to the North Pole, then on to Ellesmere Island, Canada. So difficult is this summer crossing that no one has even attempted it. In fact, many have deemed the feat impossible.

Traditionally, expeditions to the North Pole are launched in February, when below-zero temperatures keep sea ice relatively stable. Sure, it’s cold, but the variables are few. You ski. You haul your sled over a pressured ridge of ice and then ski some more. Every so often, you cross a small, semi-frozen “lead” of water.

In summer, on the other hand, obstacles add up one after the other. A 50-mile open-ocean crossing. Large open leads. Rotten, unstable ice. Intense 24-hour sunlight. Vertigo-inducing fog.

Part of what makes a summer crossing so dangerous is the warm temperatures. Given the choice, I’d much rather travel when the mercury reads 30 below zero than 30 above. In the cold, the air is dry and it’s easier to regulate body temperature. But in July and August with temperatures hovering right around freezing, most days will be foggy and wet. Climbing in and out of the water, camping in slushy snow and breaking through decayed ice are all daily tasks. Hypothermia is a constant threat. Our motto asserts flatly, “Stay dry or die.”

Navigating in these conditions is no cake-walk, either. Remember that fog? With no real landmarks (or land for that matter) we will be traveling on an arbitrary line toward the Pole in what, at times, could best be described as the inside of a ping-pong ball. We’ll use a global positioning system to check our progress, but will have to rely on compasses and the sun to steer us along the way.

Depending on wind and ocean currents, the start of the Arctic Ocean’s pack ice could be on land or up to 50 miles out to sea. The area is of special concern because it is a prime polar bear habitat. From a distance, two adventuring Minnesotans might appear appetizingly seal-like. We’ll be carrying a rifle and flare gun for protection. At night, we’ll place a trip-wired alarm around our tent.

Our plan is to complete the crossing without assistance. However, in the event of a dire emergency, we might need some form of rescue. Unfortunately, a fixed-wing aircraft can’t land on the unstable summer ice. A Russian icebreaker and helicopter are available on the Russian side, but on the Canadian side, the outlook is more bleak. Rescue will be out of the question during certain sections there. This issue alone has prevented most from even thinking about a summer traverse.

Why are we risking so much? Just because it’s there?

The answer is less pretentious: Because we believe it might not be there in the future. With a changing climate, the Arctic Ocean has seen a nearly 20 percent decrease in ice coverage in the past 30 years. There has always been more open water in summer, but more and more open water exists today. The Arctic is our litmus for global warming, our canary in a coal mine, Lonnie and I believe.

The goal of the One World Expedition is to help to create awareness of global climate change through the dramatic image of seeing boats in an ocean that most people think is permanently frozen. We also will be collecting relevant data while there since we are partnered with several prominent scientists.

Lonnie is no stranger to life in the north. During an Arctic career spanning 17 years, he has traveled more than 13,500 miles throughout the high Arctic regions of northeastern Russia, Lapland, Alaska, Canada and Greenland. He has led five major expeditions and participated in six. It was his bold idea, spawned during his Greenland expedition, to travel to the North Pole and across the Arctic Ocean in summer.

As for myself, I have spent my entire life in pursuit of wilderness. A dog musher, white-water canoe guide, backcountry ranger, competitive cyclist and educator, I have adventured throughout northern Minnesota, the American West, Hawaii, Alaska and the Canadian Arctic. Last year, I finished 12th in the John Beargrease Sled Dog Marathon, based in Duluth, Minnesota. Recently, my three-person team won the Adventure Duluth race, one of the Midwest’s most grueling adventure races combining kayaking, biking, running and other sports.

Being gawked at is not a new experience for Lonnie and me. Living in a small town in northern Minnesota has its obvious disadvantages. But it also has its rewards. Grand Marais is an uncut jewel nestled serenely between Lake Superior and the Sawtooth Mountains. My small apartment is a 15-minute drive from the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness, a three-block jaunt from Lake Superior and a 10-minute walk to the nearest Superior Hiking Trail spur.

With lakes freezing as early as October and remaining iced over until as late as May, climate maps affectionately describe our environment as “temperate.” Grand Marais offers more than enough Arctic weather to create our very own North Pole proving grounds.

I have heard of English polar explorers testing their cold weather gear in large commercial freezers. In Grand Marais, we test our expedition clothing in a harsher environment than we can expect on the Arctic Ocean. Choosing which winter clothing best wicks (or repels) moisture, insulates, sheds water and is most durable can be tested by experience versus hypothesis. These decisions have been made only after two full years of careful evaluation.

We also had to decide which type of vehicle would do the job best. Initially we settled on kayaks. After two years and eight different kayaks, we admitted defeat. Traditional kayaks wouldn’t do the job. They were either good boats or good sleds, but not both. After long hours of research, we finally acquired two whitewater canoes and attached plastic runners to their flat bottoms. These, for the moment, are our slacs of choice. Granite Gear in Two Harbors, Minnesota, is designing a waterproof spray cover and special harness for us.

Our polar journey requires not only tough equipment, but the ability to use it. Each of us will be responsible for pulling and paddling our slacs for 1,240 miles. We will have to employ a unique combination of strategies, logistics, teamwork and raw physical strength. Practicing and perfecting techniques is a year-round process.

The ability to train in Lake Superior will be an integral factor in our success. You don’t have to be Gordon Lightfoot to know the full force of the greatest of Great Lakes. Big, cold, unpredictable, dangerous and deadly, Lake Superior is the Arctic Ocean minus the shaker of Morton’s.

In this watery maelstrom, we practice kayaking and canoeing through conditions eerily similar to what we’ll see near the North Pole. We will face an initial open-ocean crossing (up to 50 miles), brash ice floating in between ice floes, maneuvering our slacs in and out of the water and the threat of cold water immersion and hypothermia. Our survival relies heavily on our diligent practice.

Nearly 70 percent of our expedition will involve pulling the canoes like sleds over snow, ice, slush, pressure ridges and any other frosty foe the Arctic Ocean chooses to throw at us.

Harnessing ourselves to the slacs and skiing up frozen rivers and lakes in the Boundary Waters offers valuable insight into the proper shape and design of our slacs. Throw in a trip to a frozen waterfall with thin ice and an unexpected dunking, and we could have enough video footage to film a documentary about the whole trip without even leaving the Gunflint Trail.

Conditioning our bodies for the extreme strenuousness of our crossing necessitates a relentless fitness regimen. The slacs will weigh more than 300 pounds fully loaded. Weights, cross training and skiing are all standards for getting in shape. However, a more realistic workout finds us in harness and hauling a series of old tires up nearly 1,000 feet of elevation right outside of town.

Promoting Grand Marais as the North Pole of the Midwest wouldn’t likely pass a chamber of commerce vote; however, I can’t conceive of planning and preparing for the One World Expedition anywhere else.

In my small corner of the world by Lake Superior, all I need to do is close my eyes and imagine North. Of course, most times I don’t even have to close my eyes.

This story was published in our February/March 2005 issue. Eric Larsen and Lonnie Dupre reached the North Pole in July 2006, a year after a failed first attempt. Browse the One World Expedition website via the Internet Archive's Wayback Machine. Eric writes at www.ericlarsenexplore.com. Learn more about Lonnie at www.oneworldendeavors.com.