Roxanne Brownlee on joining Sightsavers Ireland’s Arctic expedition

The First Light for Sight sunrise expedition is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for adventurous Sightsavers Ireland supporters to visit the Arctic. In snowy, northern Norway, you’ll learn the survival skills you need to reach a remote mountain cabin in the Arctic Circle, from where you’ll watch the first sunrise of the new year.

Roxanne Brownlee joined the expedition in 2023. The following is an extract from her piece, which you can read in full here.

It is 2023 and I am sitting with a colleague who reminds me of her upcoming annual leave. She’s going to Iceland, and shares excitement for the unusual and unspoiled nature she will explore. I have not been, and share with her that I backed out of a place on a 3 month project with the Icelandic Environmental Agency in 2012 which would have had me sleeping in a tent in the remote center of Iceland, working with a group of volunteers on a conservation project restoring landscapes damaged by human impact. I think of it every time someone mentions Iceland, because I think of the missed opportunity to fulfill my lust for isolation, desolation and the untouched. I tell her my plans to cycle Iceland’s ring road in the undetermined and uncertain “eventually” — she understands the appeal here is the vast, remote and unfamiliar. She tells me about a charity challenge she’s seen, which involves undertaking an Arctic expedition. Without hesitation, I fill in an “interest” form learning the trip is full for 2024 and quickly forgetting about it.

Early October, I am sitting feet up when the title of an incoming email flashes across my phone screen. “Ready for an adventure of a lifetime?”. A description I would usually dismiss as spam but, I guess, didn’t this time. It’s from Sightsavers Ireland. They had a cancellation for their 2024 Arctic Expedition and are reaching out to those who previously expressed interest before opening the space to the public. “Learn survival skills”, “trek across tundra landscapes”, “watch the first arctic sunrise of the new year”. I know immediately I’m going to spring to “win” the place, but pretend to myself that I’m debating it — acknowledging the concern that I may not yet be able to walk long distances when January comes around. I tell myself this makes it an even more exciting challenge, and a better story. I reply and quickly commit.

I had heard of Sightsavers Ireland before, but I was not familiar with their work. They won me over quickly by helping me understand more deeply the tragedy of loss of sight, and the numerous conditions which lead to blindness that are entirely treatable, often costing just pennies to provide. In developing countries, they provide sight-restoring surgeries, eye health care, advocate for & secure rights of the disabled and work to protect vulnerable communities ravaged by climate change. 90% of their funds go directly to their ground work. I think back to my half aunt Janine who lost her sight suddenly to cataracts — while losing her work, and ability to care for herself, her greatest pain was being unable to see her grandchildren. The bill is in the thousands. She crowdfunds on Facebook. She gets nowhere near her target. I feel regret that I couldn’t do more at the time. Knowing it costs just 38 euro for Sightsavers Ireland to fundamentally change a person’s life by giving them their sight back with this very same surgery, I am proud to take on the challenge of raising €5000 and give 131 people what I couldn’t give Janine.

In a characteristic stroke of serendipity that absolutely no one would doubt of my life narrative, the very next day at work I read an email call out to Googlers looking for Holiday Giving Charity Sponsors for the annual holiday giving campaign — a two week period where each Google Dublin employee is given $400 to share with charitable organizations. A handful of charity sponsors sitewide will be selected to have their cause promoted internally, and given support to run internal fundraising events. I apply, and in another characteristic stroke of serendipity that absolutely no one would doubt of my life narrative, I’m selected. Having never run a fundraiser before, I scramble to put days activities together for the November date — succeeding in securing a local Iris Photography business to come in and take iris portraits, and availing of the generosity of a close friend who is a well known cellist to come in and serenade our office. We raise 10 grand in a matter of days.

I put my attention on the required training. It is a physical expedition. I will be back country skiing, snowshoeing, hiking, and dragging a pulk sled in -20 and lower conditions. It is crucial to be “fit” because we will move as a team. One person lagging, or struggling can slow the whole group down, which we’re informed will put everyone at risk of hypothermia. I am required to complete a fitness assessment hike with an Adventure.ie guide to ensure they deem me suitable. We are made to participate in “post it Sundays” in the expedition WhatsApp group, recording our weekly exercises and demonstrating that we’re building fitness by increasing intensity. With my fractures still in swing, I am at this point barely capable of a 15 minute walk without pain. I commit instead to hot yoga, cycling and boxing. Accepting it’s possible I’ll do the whole expedition in pain once I’m on my feet and just suck it up.

Some kit is required. Layers of merino wool seem non-negotiable, though I’m distressed purchasing them. As an aggressive vegan, I don’t buy wool. When the alternative is maybe dying, I reason to compromise with myself. Gloves must be deeply considered, as frostbite in the conditions will be too easily acquired. Cindy, an Arctic guide advises “buy from a brand that would stake their reputation on them”. I spend far too much time googling gloves. I agonize over an array of mittens in 51 Degrees North. And again in Snow and Rock. Fleeces, windproofs, waterproofs, ski balaclavas, gaiters, & goggles follow. A headlamp for the polar night completes the gear.

My co-conspirators gather in the airport at the crack of dawn and I’m immediately at home learning the names of just about a dozen others who are happy to declare themselves as at least partially mad. From 20 somethings to 60 somethings we’re a ragtag band of consultants, artists, teachers, marketers, retirees, tradespeople and aid workers sharing a common excitement and a common fear both equitably expressed within the unintentional group catchphrase of the morning — “I can’t believe I’m doing this”. I sit between Craig and Jamie on the plane to Oslo and we’re all indisputable pals before we’ve even landed for our transfer to Tromso.

We land into afternoon darkness and bus into the snowy abyss to Kilpisjarvi. The minivan feels like a smoking room and it’s 1970 — plush, patterned burgundy corduroy around a circular table, clashing statement carpet — and thick, intolerably warm air — the heat must stay on to ensure the windows don’t freeze over and the driver can see. Sinead’s chocolate protein clusters leave a sticky residue as they melt on the table.

Upon arrival to our base we’re told it’s -16 out as I plan my dash into the cabin, knowing I’ve never been out in anything colder than -4. I remind myself that I’ve read hypothermia can set in during exposure anywhere below 10 degrees, and people are often found dead in tents or on streets when temperatures drop close to or below 0. The idea of -16 is incomprehensible to me. Stepping off the bus, I find I don’t run and instead linger. The dry, icy breaths are somehow soothing like a welcome calm in the stillness of it all with the velvet night sky wrapping around the glowing frosted peaks and slopes in the distance.

Ready to join us in our once-in-a-lifetime Arctic expedition? Email Emma or Craig at [email protected] , or visit our website for more details.