Our 3-day dogsled & ski expedition is perfect for people who like the idea of participating in a North Pole dogsledding expedition, but don't have the time or desire to embark on a full expedition. This mini-expedition incorporates all the fun of the longer expeditions in a fraction of the time. This expedition meets in Longyearbyen, Norway where the team will gather and spend a day reviewing equipment and expedition logistics. A 2.5 hour charter flight will take us to approximately 89 degrees north latitude. From here, we'll fly by helicopter to our starting point closer to the Pole. Over the next days we'll dogsled and ski the remaining distance to the Pole (20-30 miles depending on conditions). Along the way we'll likely encounter open water "leads" and pressure ridges that mark this incredible region. As we overcome the challenges and head toward the North Pole, you'll get first hand experience working with dog teams, though no prior experience is necessary.

As with all of our other expeditions this is a "hands-on" experience. You'll be participating in all aspects of the expedition, including setting up camp, taking care of the dogs, cooking, tracking our progress, etc. Give us a call and let us tell you more about what skills you should have prior to the expedition, and what skills we will be teaching you prior to our departure. Our shakedown trip is an ideal way to learn all the skills that are necessary for an expedition of this magnitude!

To ensure that you have the best possible experience, we'll help you with all aspects of your pre-expedition preparations, from choosing the right clothing to learning how to pack your sled.

When we finally reach 90 degrees north - the North Pole, we'll celebrate with champagne, dozens of photos to document your arrival, and calls home from the top of the world using our satellite phone (batteries permitting). Depending on when we arrive, we will either camp at the North Pole or very close to the North Pole. A helicopter pick-up and charter flight take us back to Longyearbyen where a hot shower, celebratory dinner, and comfortable night in a lodge complete this one-of-a-kind adventure. Back to top

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Price Includes:

• 5 day Polar Shakedown training trip
• Pick up at Longyearbyen airport and transfer to hotel
• Welcome dinner & reception
• All charter air transportation from Longyearbyen and return
• Guides
• Up to two nights lodging, dinners and breakfasts in Longyearbyen
• All food while on the ice
• All group Polar gear
• Expedition patch
• Communication and safety gear
• North Pole celebration
• Framed certificat
• One call home (battery permitting)
• Baggage up to 33 lbs. (15.kg)

Does not include:

• Round trip airfare to Longyearbyen
• Lunches in Longyearbyen
• Alcoholic beverages
• Cultural activities in Longyearbyen
• Personal clothing and accessories
• Full medical, baggage, trip cancellation and evacuation insurance
• Excess baggage costs
• Additional phone calls from the North Pole (battery permitting), extended stay fees associated with weather delays, taxes and gratuity. Back to top

Upon registration, you will receive a comprehensive gear guide that explains the importance of each item as well as gear recommendations from our past participants.

• 1 pair skis and ski poles (supplied by NWP)
• 1 pair skins covering the full length of your skis (supplied by NWP)
• 1 pair snow pack ski boots (bring your own or let NWP supply this item)
• 1 pair extra boot liners (bring your own or let NWP supply this item)
• Sleeping bag (rated to at least -35° Celsius)*
• Bivy sack*
• 2 sleeping pads (thermarest or ridgerest style)*
• 1 wind jacket with hood (supplied by NWP)
• 1 wind pants (breathable!)
• 1 insulated parka with hood
• 1 warm fleece jacket and pants
• 2 sets synthetic underwear, medium weight top and bottom- 2nd set optional
• 3 sets mitts: 1 regular, 1 overmitts, 1 spare regular mitts or gloves
• 2 pair liner gloves
• 2 hats: 1 lightweight balaclava, 1 ski type
• 2 neck gaiters
• 3 pair socks and sock liners
• 1 face mask
• Sun glasses and/ or mountain ski glasses
• 2 pr. anti-fog goggles
• 1 sturdy small backpack with waist belt and sternum strap
• 2 Thermos bottles or insulated water bottles
• 1 set eating utensils with bowl
• Pocket knife / multi-tool
• Personal toiletries
• 1 pee bottle (small plastic bottle)
• Face cream
• Lip protection
• 4 carabiners & 5 meters of 6 mm rope

*items available for rent Back to top

This expedition is for people who are in good shape, and who are eager to push themselves physically and mentally. Though the skiing is quite demanding, it does not require significant skill (it is very much like walking with skis on).You will need to have very good cardiovascular endurance and the ability to pull a heavy sled (between 30-40 kilos) for several hours at a time. Towards the end of the day when we stop skiing, it is critical that you have the energy reserves to set up camp, melt snow for hot tea or cocoa, and make dinner. Most importantly you need to be able to regulate your body temperature so that you do not get too cold, or too hot while you are on the move. This expedition will encounter extremely cold conditions, and living in such cold conditions 24 hours a day can be very challenging. You do not have to be a world class athlete to participate in and enjoy this expedition, but every ounce of training and preparation will help to make the expedition more enjoyable and safer. Please contact us with further questions! Back to top

Chicago Tribune February 13,1993

North to the Pole
The top of the world; cold, barren, inhospitable; utterly frozen year round; 600 miles from the nearest landfall; water 12,000 feet deep; surrounded by 5 million miles of frozen ocean. Why on Earth would anyone wat to go there?

The Quest for adventure long had been a part of my life, leading me to a two and one half year stint with the Peace Corps in West Africa and later to the founding of an adventure travel company in 1985 in Wilmette. Over the years, and despite countless adventures around the globe, my thoughts frequently turned to the North Pole - wild, remote, untamed. It remained the utimate adventure for me. The realization of my dream began in 1990 when, almost casually, I asked a friend, Paul Schurke (co-leader of Will Steger's 1986 North Pole trek and owner of Wintergreen Lodge in Minnesota which specialized in dogsledding), if he would co-lead with me an expedition there for my company, The Northwest Passage; it would be the first team of adventure travelers on a ski and dog sled journey to the North Pole. His response was equally as casual: "Sure, when?" So plans were set in motion that three years later culminated in a moment none of us will forget.

Eleven people signed up for the adventure. Schurke, radio operator Nick Claxton and I rounded out the team. Our group consisted of 12 men and 2 women, ages 32 to 63 and from all walks of life: a social worker, homemaker, bank owner, pastry chef, construction company owner, home building executive, pop song and jingle writer, lawyer, doctor, real estate broker and a light-manufacturing business owner. Some were strong, some were not so strong; some had significant mountaineering or outdoor experience and some would be virtually learning how to ski on the team-building trip that preceeded our journey. These strangers, who were to ski together to 90 degrees north, the axis of the world, met Dec. 1, 1992, for a pre-trip training and evaluation run with Schurke and me at Wintergreen Lodge on White Iron Lake in northern Minnesota. Wintergreen Lodge is home to Schurke, his wife, Susan, children Bria and Peter and 55 magnificent sled dogs. Back to top

We spent the next 6 days walking, talking, skiing, sledding and getting to know each other. Underneath it all I wondered: Does this person or that person have what it might take to complete this expedition? On the last full day of our training, we each jumped fully clothed through a hole in the ice, an experience that's much colder dressed than naked because wet clothing has a chilling effect when you come out. The purpose of the exercise was to simulate breaking through the Arctic Ocean ice, a potentially deadly accident. Schurke and I met with each candidate to discuss their technical expertise, physical fitness and pre-trip training programs. It became obvious to some that this journey would be a much more serious undertaking than they imagined. Two men and one woman dropped out, eventually to be replaced by three others.

On April 30, 1993, the 14 team members, 16 dogs, two sleds and 2,200 pounds of gear gathered in Edmonton, Alberta. From there, a Canadian Air flight took us to the Arctic hamlet of Resolute Bay on Cornwallis Island in the Northwest Territories, the farthest north one can fly on scheduled air service. There, we transfered to two Twin Otter aircraft. At 8 PM, with the temperature hovering around zero and the skies clear, we took off for the three-hour flight to Eureka on Ellesmere Island. Eureka is a year round weather station staffed by a dozen people. It also is host to scientists, photographers and adventurers who use it as a staging area for journeys to the Arctic. Bad weather kept us in Eureka for 2 1/2 sometimes tense days. After all of our training and anticipation, our expedition appeared to be at the mercy of the heavens and in the hands of our chartered pilots. Back to top

Then the call came. Head pilot Karl, a Swiss vetran of 24 years of Arctic flying, decided that a window existed that would allow us to make the five hour flight north to out departure point. We would leave in an hour. The sleds and gear were loaded into the planes and the dogs were tied in wherever they would fit. The pilots gunned the Twin Otter engines and the planes lurched down the runway.

Two hours later we touched down on the ice where our pilots had cached fuel drums. We unloaded the dogs for relief while the pilots refueled. Soon we were airborne again and heading toward a spot 88 degrees north.

Our plan was to sled and ski the last 2 degrees of latitude (about 150 miles) to the Pole. This distancce represented the "final dash" to the Pole made by our predecessors, Adm. Robert E. Peary and Dr. Frederick Cook. We had allowed two weeks for the expedition, but had lost a few days to weather in Eureka. That left us 11 days to make it to the Pole and our rendezvous with the Twin Otters. Further, Karl had warned that he would be unlikely to find a landing spot on the ice after May 15 if the ice continued to break up. Time would be a serious factor throughout our trip.

We had been warned that ice conditions were the worst in recent memory, with many long sections of open water and huge jumbles of ice that had heaved up, creating formidable obstacles. As we flew over the desolate ice field, we saw thin, blue strips of open water, some stretching for miles. Pressure ridges, large and small, were everywhere. It looked impossible to cross and I was assaulted by misgivings. How was our relatively inexperienced team ever going to get to the Pole? The planning had taken so long and been so consuming that the reality beneath us was a shock. We circled ever lower, fully focused on a safe landing on this uncertain terrain. Then, touching down. The planes navigational instruments read 88.25 degrees north, approximately 109 miles south of the Pole. Back to top

It was after midnight Chicago time, but bright as mid-afternoon. In May this close to the North Pole, the sun circles the planet almost evenly above the horizon once every 24 hours. Clear skies would buoy our spirits and constant sunlight would provide warmth. Despite relatively balmy average temperatures of minus 10 to plus 15 degrees (though temperatures did hit 40 below), keeping warm was a prime concern.

We had provided expediton members with sleeping equipment that would provide warmth to 60 below zero, Arctic-style parkas, boots and skis. We'd also trained everyone to put together their own clothing system during the shakedown trip in Minnesota. The sun also gave us an excellent directional beacon, as we could follow our shadows north with inredible accuracy for the next two weeks. compasses have little value at this latitude, as the magnetic North Pole lies far to the south and west of where we were. We also carried three GPS. These 1.5 pound handheld instuments bounce signals off satellites to give extremely accurate readings of one's position. Cook and Peary would have been envious.

At 1 PM we had everything unloaded and the dogs were hooked up to sleds. As our twin transports disappeared into the twighlight, the sound of their engines fading in the distance,clouds swept in and a light snow began to fall. In the deepening silence, the reality of this long-awaited moment rolled over us.We had missed our evening meal, but dogs and people were far too pent up to simply make camp. With Schurke leading the way, we sett off. Four people drove the dogs while the rest skied in front of and behind the dog teams. Almost immediately we encountered the obstacle course that was to be our daily task for the next 11 days. We had no way of knowing, beyond what we could see, the safest and most direct route through the pressure ridges. But we found comfort in following Schurke's ski tracks. He seemed to sense what lay ahead. Judging the thickness of newly frozen ice was another thing, however. Just two hours into the trip, he crossed a 20-foot section of freshly refrozen ice. As the first sled came across, with a 1,000-pound load and two men on the runners, the ice broke, sending two members of our party - Jim and Tim - plunging into the Arctic Ocean. Back to top

We had to act quickly. The dogs continued pulling and saved the sled from falling in, and we pulled Jim and Tim out of the water. They rolled in the snow so that it would absorb the water in their clothes, while the rest of us set up a tent and pumped up the stove. Soon they were in dry clothes, warm and out of danger. As it was now 3 AM, we set up double -walled nylon tents that could be joined to form one long , caterpillar-like shelter. We made dinner and retired.

We covered 8 miles the second day, not nearly enough daily mileage to get us to the Pole in time, but our skills clearly were getting tuned up. Each sled lost about 60 pounds a day in dog food, people food, and fuel, leaving them lighter and more manageable. We traveled 11.5 miles on the third day. Two more team members came close to Arctic immersion, but escaped with only wet feet. My confidence grew, but many challenges remained. Some team members were struggling just to make it into camp each night. Backpacks seemed to grow heavier. One member who was having a particularly hard time asked whether the pack could be thrown onto the sled along with the musher's packs. This was done reluctantly and instantly created resentment among other team members.

My challenge was to help those who were struggling, while managing the group's emotions and keeping us focused on our goal. If I thought someone was on the edge, I would ask them to toss their pack on the sled. Those who were stronger and more experienced and who had trained harder sometimes felt put-out and were not reluctant to make their feelings known. It threatened to create serious factions within our team. Our mileage seemed to improve daily, but we also had become accustomed to the fact that the frozen landscape was but great slabs of ice on the Arctic Ocean, pack ice always on the move. The permanence of the landscape was but an illusion. One morning we awoke to find the ice slowly opening before us with a noise that sounded like bulldozers. The water between the opening ice began to widen and previously covered bergs popped up with a whoosh and began floating away. Walls of ice 10 to 15 feet thick were on both sides of the fresh opening. It reminded us that this was the ocean beneath us. Even when we did not see the ice opening and closing, we were painfully aware of the movement each morning when we would take a GPS reading. The ice shift goes with the prevailing currents, which at this time of year were north to south. Each morning we would wake up having moved 1 to 3 miles south - backward - and laterally. The next four days unfolded with increasing daily mileage. We covered 16.6 miles on our best day. We generally started out at 11 AM and skied until 8 or 9 PM. We had little time to spare. Back to top

The way became increasingly difficult as we closed in on 90 degrees. We were getting better at traveling over the ice, but the large fractures of ice and open water were becoming more significant. Chicagoan Bob Rans went into the water while driving the sleds on day 8. He reacted quickly and was helped out before fully submerging. The team stopped for lunch while Rans changed into dry clothes. Another potentially serious situation had been averted.

As we began to bear down on the Pole, we learned through our nightly radio contact with Claxton, who was based in Eureka at the charter air company's headquarters, that a group of Canadian scientists had set up a camp beside a suitable landing site for the Twin Otters. It meant a lateral diversion, but we decided to head for this camp because we had seen little along our path that might work for a landing strip. A Twin Otter requires at least 1,500 feet of relatively smooth ice to land. This camp was about 5 miles south and east of the Pole and would ensure an avenue of retreat for us before making our final dash. This potentially difficult and time consuming detour was greeted with some rumblings from our crew, but Schurke and I were convinced it was the prudent course. Back to top

The going got tougher. Plates of ice that provided a surface for easy skiing grew scarcer and the ridges of ice loomed larger and closer together. We came to a large stretch of open water followed by an impassable-looking fracture zone. Schurke had misgivings about our making it to the Pole in time, and, more importantly, aboaut whether we would find the Polar Shelf camp (the group of scientists) and its airfield. The group discussed if it would be wiser to "turn back in order to mush another day." Schurke decided to scout for a few miles while the discussion continued. The group was prepared to turn back when he came over the radio asking me to bring everyone along: His scouting mission had revealed a possible way through the ice pack. The first narrow, uneven ice bridging this difficult terrain made crossing look grim, and the group announced that a valiant effort had been made and that it would be wiser to return to where we last had seen a safe landing field, about 3 miles back. We still were about 15 miles from the Polar Shelf camp, if we could find it.

I countered that we had what it would take to make the Pole safely. We pressed on. An early ending to our journey was averted and the team soon joined Schurke out front. We came across what was to be our toughest barrier a few hours later: a 25-foot section of open water. The only way across would be to build a raft, as Cook had done almost 70 years before. Schurke jumped onto a long, narrow piece of ice and cut it loose with a saw. He crafted a useable, if unstable, ice raft. The raft at its narrowest was just wide enough for the sleds. If the sleds were to tip sideways into the ocean, it would be a disaster. The dogs seemed to understand the situation and in a barely controlled flurry crossed without a problem. The second team followed, passing within inches of a wet and cold oblivion. We began to feel invincable.

We headed for the coordinates of the Canadian camp, but it was more than a little like finding a needle in a haystack. We never could see very far ahead, and with the ice shifting south and east each day, it was anyone's guess exactly where we were at any given hour. We surged ahead, our time winding down. Ahead I saw Schurke climb a large ridge of ice and pause. When the rest of us arrived aside him we could barely see what he had seen: the antenna of the camp's radio and a tent. It was late in the day when we skied into camp, which consisted of a tent, and igloo and a fairly smooth landing strip on the ice. We hurridly made camp and set up the radio. The news from Eureka was disheartening. The pilots informed us the previous day that they would pick us up at 6 PM the following day at the Polar Shelf camp. Now they said that sever weather was moving in to stay and that they would arrive at 2 PM the following day, whether we liked it or not. They would not shut their engines off and they would not wait if we were not there. It was 10 PM and the Polar Ice shelf camp had drifted south so that is was now 11 miles from the Pole. With further southerly shift during the night, we figured we had a good 26 mile round-trip ahead of us. It had been a long day, but we decided to sleep three or four hours and head north just after 2 AM. Leaving the dogs behind under the watchful eye of the Polar Shelf scientists, we would carry little with us beyond some food, water, the radio, spare clothing in case of a swim, and a rifle on the unlikely chance we would encounter a polar bear. Back to top

Sleep did not come easily as my mind raced through early-morning scenarios. Would there be enough time for the whole team to get to the Pole and back? Would it become apparent at some point that only the strong and fast would get to the Pole, leaving the rest to be satisfied with having made it all but a few miles? It was unrealistic to thing that the team would bind together in an "all or non" pact, but I was hoping the bond would be strong enough to simulate some sort of unified action. Team members expressed intense emotions during our discussion that evening about the strong and able splitting off from the weakening. The weaker group had been my responsibility throughout the journey and I had developed strong feelings for them. I wanted everyone to make it to the Pole as much as I wanted to get there myself.

I awoke with a start just before 2 AM. I was up quickly and soon rousing the others. Our decision to leave the dog teams at the Polar Shelf camp had been a good one. We had our first rest stop and reconnoiter at 4:30 AM. It was looking increasingly unlikely that there would be enough time. Our next stop was at 7:30 AM. We were now just 3.5 miles from the Pole. One team member was not well and having a difficult time. I wondered whether she would have the strength to ski back to camp. Then we heard a distant drone. Coming in for a landing at what appeared to be the North Pole itself was an antiquated yellow Russian helicopter. Schurke was familiar with them from his journeys into Siberia. Why it decided to land there we could not guess, but Schurke - realizing the need to flag a lift with this chopper - set off like a crazed rabbit toward the aircraft's set-down point, with the rest of the group in pursuit. We saw flares go up 40 minutes later as Schurke, closing in on the chopper, tried to announce his presence to the crew. The team spread out along these last three miles, making the final dash. With a surge of energy, we streaked toward the Pole. I was in the rear with the last two people, one of whom was sick and on the verge of exhaustion and hypothermia. My heart sank as the choppers rotors picked up speed and the ship started to slowly fly away. It looked as if Schurke had not made it in time and it was returning home, wherever that might be. Back to top

Then we watched in amazment as it began flying toward us. As it circled overhead, people inside waved at us, then it turned and set down. We might yet hitch a ride on this Russian taxi. We pressed on toward the Pole, our team ahead maneuvering around what would be the final obstacle. Then, suddenly, we saw scores of people milling around flags set in the ice. Who were they? Where had they come from? The first of our team arrived, one after the other, to hugs, handshakes, and loud shouts from the "helicopter people." At 8:45 AM, after so many thought we would fail, the last of us arrived to tears, high fives, more hugs and a sight we will never forget. We had made it to the summit of the globe, the North Pole.

A table had been set up beside the Russian transport. Champagne, vodka, frozen cans of beer, fried chicked, caviar and a dozen other delicacies graced the table. Russian and German flags stood before us and now now the American flag, which Schurke had set beside them. We had come upon the first German "champagne" flight to the North Pole, ferried by a Russian helicopter and replete with a TV crew. They were as surprised to see us as we were to see them. They had spray-painted an "X" over the exact North Pole. One Russian played a concertina while people danced arm-in-arm Cossack-style. Cameras clicked as the German film crew interviewed members of our team, who decided that they would be happy to split the cost of hitching a ride back to the Polar Shelf camp in the chopper. Schurke happened to know one of the Russian crew members from a previous expedition. After offering a $1,200 GPS unit to the pilots of this antique helicopter, there was little left to negotiate. The deal done, we continued the party without worry. We now stood at the top of the world widly celebrating with Russians and Germans. Everywhere we looked was south. The horizon seemed to curve as is accommodating this strange reality. We stood at the confluence of all the time zones in the world: we could walk around the world in five steps. There was joy in the faces of our team, a one-time group of strangers, who had worked together to become the first non-professional individuals to ski and dogsled to the top of the world. Our Russian friends began whisking us away toward the chopper at 10 AM. We made our final toasts, took our final photographs, and began exchanging addresses as though we were college roomates leaving for summer break.

We laughed and cried during the short lift back to the Polar Shelf camp. Gazing down upon the criss-crossed ice, we marveled at our success. Before we knew it we were touching down 13 miles south, unloading our gear, and bidding farewell to our new friends.

Our journey was nearly over. Most of the team jumped into sleeping bags for a few hours of sleep. Schurke and I readied the gear for a quick departure. The charter aircraft company had agreed to allow family members to fly north from Eureka to pick up the team. Paul's family and my mother, wife and infant son Christopher were among the relatives who met us at the camp when the planes touched down at 3 PM. Back to top

As my wife and son stepped out of the plane, I realized that the exhilaration I had felt at the Pole was growing. Being able to share this moment with them filled me with an overwhelming satisfaction. My job was complete. I felt a whisper of kinship with a former North Pole trailblazer: "My life's work is accomplished. The thing which I was intended from the beginning that I should do, the thing which I believed could be done, and that I could do, I have done. I have got the North Pole out of my system." - Robert E. Peary's diary April 1909

Article by NWP Executive Director Rick Sweitzer Back to top

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