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could do. This drove me mad. I was cranky about his defeatist attitude,
as well as about the airline not picking us up. We were so close, and
now we were being held up because a pilot and his mate wanted a day
off! I couldn't believe it. We should have had all this cleared before-
hand, so false hopes could not be raised.
At that point, I started off fast on my own, in the direction of Ward
Hunt Island. I didn't want to wait around if we could get to a suitable
spot before Sunday. The others followed me, Eric calling, 'Pat, slow
down . . . slow down.' We arrived at a pressure ridge zone, and, our
sleds banging against our legs, we punched our way over it. We called
the airline again, told them where we were and asked if the plane
could come straightaway. They refused and said that the plane would
be with us first thing on the morning of May 16, but that we had to trek
another 14 kilometres to the proper landing zone. Eric told them that
it was perfect terrain for landing where we were, but the airline was
adamant.
We set up our tents. My mind is consumed with the question of
whether we will get safely off the ice. At the North Pole, nothing is cer-
tain; there's always an 'if'. There have been too many things in this leg
that I've had no control over: I've had to stick with the group, drag the
sled, eat what I've been rationed, do exactly what Eric has said. I've
had no independence. I am a man who needs to be master of his own
fate. I don't like not being able to fix situations and get on with the job.
I so needed to get off the ice to start the Canadian sector. I was in pain
with frostbite. The others were also affected. Eric's face was a mess.
Jose, particularly, was doing it tough.
I keep saying the 'Serenity Prayer': keep calm and accept, accept,
accept—that is my lot.
may 15
We scrambled our way over, through and around the mountainous
pressure ridges until at last we found ourselves at the landing strip.
We have set up camp for our last night in the Arctic Circle and wait for
tomorrow.
