What the Arctic taught me

Being awoken by a frail sunrise in a cold wooden cabin without running water or electricity presents a number of immediate challenges. For a start the "dry pit" loo is outside, a slippery walk along a narrow icy path with snow knee-deep on either side. I’m wondering if I can chance a quick dash without getting fully – and I do mean fully – dressed. But the outside temperature is minus 20 degrees and it’s snowing. The cabin’s cold, my night time cup of (lake) water is covered by a thin sheet of ice. We had better get the wood to light the fire. 

Not for the first time on a Cass XPS Leadership Expedition have the weather conditions narrowed our options. Deep in a silent Arctic forest the unexpectedly heavy overnight snowfall puts us well beyond the reach of the snowploughs that can restore order and connectivity. I realise we are not merely observing climate change but experiencing it. We’re inside the metaphor of living within our resources and facing the dangers of failure. If we don’t anticipate and prepare effectively, we’ll freeze.

The team are up and cooking porridge. Some have slept well, others not. Energy among the team is variable. We’re joking about taking on the calories we’ll need to stay warm in the cold, but inside we know it’s not a joke. We are responsible both to and for one another. We will each have a part to play.

Now we’re loading equipment onto the sleds for our overnight survival mission: fuel, food, tents, polar sleeping bags, groundsheets, emergency equipment, radios and more, heavier, clothes. We're trying to figure out what to put where to avoid having to search for anything once we're on the trail. We’re reminding ourselves of new or refreshed skills: fire-lighting, map-reading, navigation and recalling important new knowledge - keeping the compass away from any phone or battery, staying warm in sub-zero temperatures, the signs of hypothermia and how to adjust our bearings by the age of the maps.  There is a lot going on, lists to double- check, information to confirm and backs to slap. Still the snow keeps falling.

We set off in snow shoes, walking in single file. There’s a technique to learn of course. The navigator goes first, breaking trail in the thick forest’s fresh powder snow. The next team member steps not in the navigator's footsteps (though tempting) but alongside, to create a wider path for those who follow hauling sleds. It is hard work for everyone but especially for the navigator – snow is thigh deep and goal of the compass bearing must be balanced with accessibility for the team members towing the vital sleds behind and trying to keep them upright. It’s a nonstop process of evaluating options, checking directions, making decisions and coming to the aid of team members trying to scramble from deep drifts of snow after falling. Progress is very slow but in the forest and the weather it simply cannot be rushed. If we lose visibility, we call to each other. Again and again a team member has to reach out a hand to help, not as a polite gesture, but to pull hard physically to help another to their feet. I keep seeing large mounds of snow deeper into the woods and I think about hibernating bears.

Later that evening, we’re huddled around a fire reflecting on our day. Twenty four hours ago we were relative strangers but now mutual dependence has gathered us together much more closely than even a packed tube train would require. We’re sharing our thoughts and perceptions and together drawing out many, long-lasting lessons about leadership and teamwork to take home. 

More than this, as the wind and snow continue and we contemplate an Arctic night under canvas, the metaphor of surviving in an unpredictably extreme environment returns. 

Despite the bone numbing cold, or perhaps because of it, the air is delicious. The pristine beauty here enchants us and heightens awareness of our increasingly fragile planet. In the past this land had eight distinctive seasons each signalled by changing landscapes, the flights of birds and the shape of the clouds. These signs of nature were read by the people who lived here because they were, potentially, a matter of life and death. They still might be.

Before returning to London, we visit the National Park where I am struck by an exhibition about the local community and a quotation from a grandparent. It resonates, not just about a once isolated community between a mountain and a lake in Northern Finland, but on a much broader canvas. 

“There is just about everything here that anyone could ever need. We haven’t had to go far for anything. They were no fools, our forefathers who came here, nor blind either, it is truly a beautiful place”.

In summary, it's been a privilege to share this experience with team-mates from the extraordinary Cass Expeditionary Society and I'm very grateful for their wonderful, motivational and supremely humorous company.

I also left the beauty of the Arctic feeling a bit ashamed of the casual way I’d adopted a sustainable lifestyle. And I resolve to try much harder.  

#ResponsibleLeadership #Sustainability #LeadingTheAdventure #ExplorersMindset.

Photo taken by Nick Rowell.