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| The Game | ||
Location: Arctic Circle
Weather: Windy, cold
Toes give Hodding woe at Arctic Circle
Log Date: July 11, 1998
Author: W. Hodding Carter
Click on the pictures below to view enlargements
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I hate my toes! They have already begun their gradual descent into treachery and isolation.
I arise each morning with a steady throbbing in all ten toes. They are tender to the touch and a little itchy. Before wriggling out of my bag, I slip on my wool socks, which have dried from a night of sleeping next to me inside my bag. I dress the rest of the way still partially in my bag, first putting on my two wool tunics and then my drawstring wool pants. I am still dressing in Viking clothes. If it is particularly windy, I also throw on my leather tunic. At this point, my toes are still a team player. I then slip on my heavy, modern boots. At this point, they begin flirting with deserting from the ranks and turn slightly cool. I walk around the floorboards, pacing somewhat maniacally really, since so much concentration on one's pods is not a healthy pastime. They do usually warm up.
We eat breakfast, raise the anchor and begin rowing. My toes are blessedly warm but there is a price - my feet have sweated. I act oblivious, taking my turn at bow watch, navigating and other daily responsibilities. No matter how much I exert myself and no matter how warm 93% of my body (I'm guessing at the 7% for my feet; they're long but skinny) remains, my cursed toes begin to feel truly cold. They ignore the boasting of my boot label that proudly claims my feet will stay cozy to minus 75 degrees. I keep attending to my tasks but can't keep from worrying: Am I going to lose a toe? Within an hour, they are numb - no longer a part of my body. I try coaxing them back by arching them back and forth within my boots. That fails. I jump up and down - after all, that is what "Hodding" means, to jump up and down. They care nothing about family, though, and no matter what I try, they are gone for the rest of the day. All I can now do is dream about climbing into my sleeping bag where they will be reheated and I can stop worrying for at least one more night's rest.
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Meanwhile, big things occur on our voyage. For instance last night, we crossed a
major threshold. No, not the Arctic Circle, although we did reach that about four
in the morning after 15 hours of sailing up the coast from Maniitsoq past some of
the most dramatic coastline any of us has ever seen. Mountain after mountain of ice
covered peaks towered before us as fantasy-like rain clouds swirled and twisted in
their peaks.
Back to the big event. It wasn't the Arctic Circle. It wasn't the wind eerily switching
from the south to the north within a few minutes of our reaching the Circle. And
it wasn't that I could actually still feel my toes after the long day and night of
cold sailing. No, the big event was that Rob Stevens did not get seasick. He would
not divulge what his secret was, but I know for a fact that he ate nothing the entire
day except for one HobNob - a Danish cookie that has become our voyage mascot.
My toes are now numb so I'm off to my bag.