North Pole Tenderfoot. Doug Hall
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Two: That Saturday, I learned of a new demon: diarrhea. Jeff Stamp, a food scientist who consulted at the Eureka! Ranch, called me to report important scientific findings. He told me he’d been eating the food I would be consuming on my way to the pole—six thousand calories each day with a high dose of fat for fuel.
“Within three days,” Jeff reported, “I was dehydrated and in the throws of massive diarrhea. Worst of all, the diet’s high acidity caused significant exit pain.”
EXIT PAIN! Diarrhea! Say what?
I remembered Paul Schurke telling me that he’d had bad diarrhea during his 1986 expedition to the North Pole. Yikes! Not only did my head feel like a truck had run over it, now I had reason for concern over discomfort in my personal hinterlands. I called my brother Bruce, who had once been brand manager for a fiber supplement product, Metamucil. In fact, Bruce had created a mascot for the product that he named Mr. Happy Bowel. It was a cartoon song-and-dance bowel that can only be fully appreciated by the medical community.
Relaying Jeff’s findings, I asked Bruce’s advice. Once he stopped laughing, he suggested I take a Metamucil Wafer after each meal.
“Research indicates that 80 percent of those who do, report a spectacular bowel movement the next day,” Bruce said.
It was music to my ears. I bought two packages of Metamucil Wafers. Crises averted.
Crisis Three: 6:00 A.M. Sunday. No luck sleeping. Boots strewn across the living room floor.
Given that we were traveling on foot, I had to choose the right boot for the trip. I gave it a lot of thought. Waaaayyy too much thought. Each style had its virtues and drawbacks. I even had to choose what size to wear. With a larger boot my feet would be warmer because I could wear more socks. However, if the boots were too large I’d lose ankle support when skiing and climbing over ice.
I laid out all four styles of boots, some in multiple sizes. I’d tried all of them in multiple test runs, both on the December trip to Ely and a cross-country ski trip in Jackson, New Hampshire. My conclusion? Confusion. Nothing seemed to fill all my needs.
The traditional mukluks favored by the Inuit are like giant leather socks. But they wear out easily and provide little ankle support.
Most of the team was going for the big, white Moon Boots created by Paul Weber, who has been with Paul to the North Pole. They’re a high-tech form of mukluk with rubber bottoms and multiple layers of insulation. They’re designed to breathe and release moisture, which also means they aren’t waterproof. Hands down they seem like they’d be the warmest. However, they’re also heavy and don’t offer great ankle support.
Then there are LaCrosse boots. They have rubber bottoms and leather uppers. They weigh a pound less than the Moon Boots. They don’t seem as warm but offer great ankle support and Paul Schurke’s endorsement as the right choice.
Weight is a big issue. I’ve read that the reduction of just one pound off your feet increases your performance by 5 percent. And for me, every bit of extra energy and performance is going to be important.
The last option is a bizarre invention of mine. It’s a multipiece system of footwear built around the New England Overshoes. NEOS, as they’re called, are waterproof overshoes designed to keep stockbrokers’ wingtips dry. I’ve added foot liners, foot wraps, and high-tech ankle braces to make them into the lightest footwear on earth. They weigh half as much as the Moon Boots. In theory they’re the perfect choice. But because they’ve never been to the pole, their durability, warmth, and suitability have not been proven.
At 7:00 A.M., I put a different boot on each foot and ran around outside. I kept trying options until I’d been through all the boots at least once. Finally, I made my decision: I chose the most conservative option, Schurke’s recommendation of the LaCrosse leather boots, and the most innovative one, the NEOS system.
Tori, Brad, and Kristyn decorated the car for the trip to the airport.
I also decided to go with vapor barriers to keep my feet warmer. Vapor barriers are socks made of scuba suit material. You force your foot to sweat inside the barrier, which then holds in the warmth. The feeling can be a little clammy and odd, but your toes are toasty.
By 9:00 A.M., I had all my gear in the bags. Debbie and our children (Kristyn, twelve; Tori, ten; and Brad, eight) took me to the airport in Debbie’s SUV, which they had decorated with balloons and well wishes. We looked like we were headed to a soccer tournament or a wedding.
At the airport, I meet up with Craig Kurz, and my longtime partner in crime, David Wecker, who would be the expedition’s base camp commander in Resolute and our link to the civilized world.
I met up with Craig and David at the airport—just 3,523 miles to go.
As a columnist for the Cincinnati Post, David would translate my dispatches from the ice each day into newspaper columns that would be distributed worldwide via the Scripps Howard News Service, as well as on the Great Aspirations! Web site. Should something go awry—if, say, we needed emergency supplies or a quick evacuation—he would arrange with one of the two Arctic bush-country air carriers at Resolute Bay to make it happen.
Like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, or maybe more like Abbott and Costello, David and I have shared adventures around the world. We have invented ideas for cookies, cat food, credit cards, cars, and even coffins. We’ve sparked revolutionary thought from the capitals of corporate America to the Imagination Pavilion at Disney’s Epcot Center and some of the most historic castles in Europe.
As the idea of turning my less-than-Schwarzeneggarish self into shape for a trek to the North Pole took shape in my mind, David was among the first to hear of it. In typical fashion, he suggested I was suffering from a polar disorder and advised me to seek help.
It was comforting to have these two good friends on the trip, but it wasn’t without some anxiety. I felt a certain responsibility for them, having done a bit of a sales job to get them to take part in the expedition.
The hugs from the kids lingered longer than normal. I thought I saw a mixture of fear and excitement on their faces. Then I hugged Debbie, who has always supported my crazy schemes, like only someone who truly loves another could.
In our embrace, she whispered in my ear, “You’re ready.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Absolutely!” she said.
I don’t know who’s crazier, me for getting myself involved in stunts like this or Debbie for supporting me. I guess you could say we’re genuinely crazy for each other. (I know it’s sappy, but as I write this story we’ve been together for thirty-three years, and we’re still happily in love.)
At 1:32 P.M., I settled into my seat on the American Airlines flight to Chicago, the first leg of the journey. I knew I’d miss my family, but I felt pulled forward. Debbie’s words washed over me. I had a feeling of peace and steadiness. For the first time in days, I slept well, dropping into a deep sleep as the plane lifted into the air.
Monday, April 12: The team assembled in Edmonton for the long trip north. Before we headed out, I had work to do on behalf of the Great Aspirations! charity. At 6:00 A.M., I began doing radio interviews at the rate of one every fifteen minutes. The expedition generated publicity, but my message was about encouraging parents to believe in their children.
I covered the country from east to west, following the time zones for the early morning commuters. I talked to Boston, Falls Church, Kansas City, and on across the country. Given the hour, I strained to sound chipper. “I’m like a kid on Christmas morning,” I told the morning guy from Spokane’s KXLY radio. “I’m going to see Santa Claus!”