North Pole Tenderfoot. Doug Hall
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this, or an artist, or anyone else who works for an idea.
Sadly, five days before Admiral Peary announced his achievement of the pole, his former assistant, Fredrick Cook, announced that he had been to the North Pole the year before. The result was a frenzy of questions and scrutiny that continues to this day. Who was first? Who lied? Who told the truth?
The explorers were supported by competing newspapers, the New York Times (Peary) and the New York Herald (Cook), which fanned the flame of controversy.
Having been to the pole by dogsled, I can’t see how Cook could have traveled the distance he claimed with the supplies he claimed to have taken. Most Arctic enthusiasts have reached the same conclusion.
Some feel that Peary chose to take Matthew Henson (above) with him to the pole instead of Captain Bob Bartlett because he had something to hide.
Admiral Peary’s place in history is still not certain. Three mysteries hang over Peary’s expedition, and part of my goal in recreating his “last dash” was to find answers to those questions.
1. Why was he so silent upon his return to the ship? After returning to the ship, he was very quiet and did not talk to anyone about what happened on the “last dash” from 88 degrees to the pole. It’s been speculated that he had something to hide.
2. Why did he take Henson instead of Bartlett to the pole? The decision to take Henson, a black man, instead of Bartlett, a white man, sparked great controversy in the racist world of the time. Matthew Henson was Peary’s most experienced expedition aide. Bartlett was his most trusted friend and confidant on the expedition. Peary naysayers feel that his decision proves Peary had something to hide.
3. Did he actually make it to the pole in 1909? The fundamental question: Is there evidence “beyond a reasonable doubt” that Admiral Peary, Matthew Henson, Ootah, Egigingwah, Seegloo, and Ooqueah actually reached the North Pole on April 6, 1909?
Responses to other Peary controversies, such as his sled speeds from 88 degrees to the pole and his method of navigation, have been addressed by others in the hundred years since Peary’s expedition.
Finding answers to these questions about my hero made up a big part of the answer to the question people asked about why I was going to the pole. And, okay, turning forty may have played a role in it too. But even before I left I knew at some level that I didn’t really know the answer to the question. Though all my answers were true, they didn’t quite add up to the full answer. Before I could truly understand why I was going to the North Pole, I would have to go.
Chapter 2
The Adventure Begins
DECEMBER 1998
AS AN EXPLORATION ROOKIE, my first challenge was to prove that I had the “right stuff” at an Arctic try out at Paul and Sue Schurke’s Wintergreen Dogsled Lodge in Ely, Minnesota. It involved a week of training, spiced with a handful of oddball challenges created by our expedition leader, the world’s leading authority on high-Arctic travel, Paul Schurke.
The purpose of our week in training was to see if the candidates—one woman and eight men, including myself—would “make the cut” for the expedition, although the real test would be whether we each could write a $20,000 check to pay for the privilege of freezing our fingers, toes, and noses. It was here that I would meet the other candidates. It was here, too, that we would bond as a team and determine our roles.
Craig Kurz, fellow tenderfoot on the expedition
My friend Craig Kurz agreed to join me. Craig, who was thirty-seven, was the perfect companion for a wilderness expedition—a dynamo with unlimited energy. A natural leader, a go-to kind of guy, Craig has never known a favor he can’t do for another. He is the CEO of The HoneyBaked Ham Company in northern Kentucky, a five-time world champion equestrian, a runner, scuba diver, white-water rafter, and a cross-country and downhill skier.
On the pole trip, Craig was a rookie like me. He’d done a few trips at Paul’s lodge but nothing to compare to the high adventure of a real Arctic expedition.
We agreed to provide each other with the inspiration or motivation necessary to make the trip a success.
“We might need to give each other a kick in the butt sometimes,” Craig said. “There won’t be time for feeling hurt or letting personal feelings get in the way.”
As we traveled to Minnesota, we also agreed that we felt privileged to be part of a trip of this magnitude. From what we’d read about our teammates in the e-mails prior to this “try out” trip, we were in over our heads. We would be stepping into a brave new world.
Our plane landed in Hibbing, Minnesota, the birthplace of the bus industry in the United States. It started in 1914 when miners were transported to and from the Iron Range towns and developed into the Greyhound bus company, a story told through exhibits and memorabilia at the Greyhound Museum. Sadly, our timing didn’t allow a visit to this local landmark.
For a small town, Hibbing has a healthy share of famous sons, from folk singer Bob Dylan to sports stars Roger Marris and Kevin McCale to Vincent Bugliosi, the prosecutor in the Charles Manson case who later became an acclaimed author. More relevant to my taste buds, it’s also the home of food entrepreneur Jeno Paulucci, creator of over eighty food brands, including Jeno’s Pizza Rolls, Chun King, and RJR foods.
From Hibbing we pointed our rental car north to Ely, population 3,968. Ely is literally the end of the road. Its primary fame is as the leaping off point for summer canoe camping trips into the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness, which has over a million acres of wilderness and waterways. It’s famous for spectacular views and black flies. Fortunately, we visited during the off season so there was no need for bug spray.
Not to be outdone by Hibbing, Ely has its own famous sites, including the Native American Heritage Center, which celebrates the life and ways of the Bois Forte Band of Ojibwe. Visitors also can see the International Wolf Center, a multimillion-dollar complex dedicated to wolves. The independent spirit of Ely also comes to life at the Dorothy Molter Museum. Known as the Root Beer Lady, Dorothy’s cabins were a famous stop-over point for canoeists who would come for a sip of her homemade root beer. Dorothy was the last resident of the Boundary Waters. After she died in 1986, her two cabins were transported out of the Boundary Waters and made into a museum.
Foregoing all of these points of interest, we headed to Paul Schurke’s lodge, where we parked the car with the windshield wipers flipped up to keep them from freezing to the windshield. The winter sun cast dim rays over White Iron Lake as we walked the gravel road from the parking lot to the lodge. Along the way, I thought about my first visit here a few years earlier. I’d signed up for a lodge-to-lodge “comfort class” trip, with dogsledding during the day followed by a hot shower, a gourmet meal, and a warm bed. At night in the comfort of the lodges, Paul showed video from his Arctic trips. On one of those nights I caught Arctic Fever, burning up with the idea that I could and should be part of one of those trips.
Paul Schurke
Paul Schurke was a large part of the reason my wife, Debbie, was confident I would return safely from my polar adventure. In a world of ten-minute heroes, Paul is the genuine article. He’s been featured in cover stories in National Geographic magazine and various television specials. Outside magazine has named him “person of the year” and Backpacker magazine named him the king of cool for his passion for winter camping.
He’s led four dogsled adventures to the North Pole—three of which were successful. His landmark 1986 journey, which included adventurer Will Steger, was the first surface trek to the pole without resupply