With the storms increasing in ferocity, the ice to water ratio began to swing not in our favor. Soon after, The Karluk, our home and only protection from the perils of the Arctic, became locked into the ice. While not totally unexpected, it happened earlier in the season than we planned. We hunkered down for what was surely to be a long winter.
A misconception is that ice is stable. It’s not, especially sea ice. It shifts and cracks and flows all the time, and the sounds that emanate are horrifying. Loud pops, bangs, and thunderous roars became our norm. With every jolt, we prayed that wasn’t the one to take us into the cold depths below.
As the ice flowed West, we drifted further from the shore. We had enough provisions to last for some time, but we feared not for the entire winter. The expedition leader decided to lead a hunting party to come back with whatever kills they could find. While the party was out, the ice shifted again, and we moved dozens of miles a day further West, further from the shore. It was evident those in the party would not be able to find us, should they ever return. Those left behind began to wonder…was it ever in the leader’s mind to return at all?
Then, after several days lead into weeks of the entrapment, our night was wakened with a loud shudder, then a cannon-like blast. Water gushed through the hull. Panicked, while several tried to save the ship by pumping out the water, it was no match for the gaping hole. The order was given to abandon ship, and activity moved to saving what we could onto the sea ice. Trapped in the Arctic, with little food in a white out blizzard, the remaining party silently watched their home slip into the icy abyss below.
We then concentrated on how we were to get out of this predicament….which meant the long march to solid ground before the spring melts came. The nearly two dozen survivors dwindled over the winter, as parties were sent out, with not many returning. We finally reached land, more than 6 months after being locked into our icy doom. Our journey to survival was not over.
The land we were on was harsh, barely habitable. We survived on the occasional bird we killed. More died while we waited. One brave sole marched over 700 miles, passing through several native villages before reaching an encampment who could assist. He battled through -50 degree temperatures; snowdrifts measured in meters, not feet; and hurricane force winds. He returned nearly two months later, having secured a whaling ship, to pick up the remaining survivors.
A misconception is that ice is stable. It’s not, especially sea ice. It shifts and cracks and flows all the time, and the sounds that emanate are horrifying. Loud pops, bangs, and thunderous roars became our norm. With every jolt, we prayed that wasn’t the one to take us into the cold depths below.
As the ice flowed West, we drifted further from the shore. We had enough provisions to last for some time, but we feared not for the entire winter. The expedition leader decided to lead a hunting party to come back with whatever kills they could find. While the party was out, the ice shifted again, and we moved dozens of miles a day further West, further from the shore. It was evident those in the party would not be able to find us, should they ever return. Those left behind began to wonder…was it ever in the leader’s mind to return at all?
Then, after several days lead into weeks of the entrapment, our night was wakened with a loud shudder, then a cannon-like blast. Water gushed through the hull. Panicked, while several tried to save the ship by pumping out the water, it was no match for the gaping hole. The order was given to abandon ship, and activity moved to saving what we could onto the sea ice. Trapped in the Arctic, with little food in a white out blizzard, the remaining party silently watched their home slip into the icy abyss below.
We then concentrated on how we were to get out of this predicament….which meant the long march to solid ground before the spring melts came. The nearly two dozen survivors dwindled over the winter, as parties were sent out, with not many returning. We finally reached land, more than 6 months after being locked into our icy doom. Our journey to survival was not over.
The land we were on was harsh, barely habitable. We survived on the occasional bird we killed. More died while we waited. One brave sole marched over 700 miles, passing through several native villages before reaching an encampment who could assist. He battled through -50 degree temperatures; snowdrifts measured in meters, not feet; and hurricane force winds. He returned nearly two months later, having secured a whaling ship, to pick up the remaining survivors.
Yelling at everyone because of the wind, I told them as difficult as it would be, we had to go back up the mountain and find a cairn! Some folks were exhausted at this point but everyone dug in. 
