Overland to the North Cape

What comes first-the route or the contacts? It sounds so easy now to answer that deceptively easy question. Do I go to schools, and outdoor education centres in a pattern, in an order….but I don’t and can’t choose when they might grant me an interview or a work placement. So what permutations are there? And what had to be considered in getting these permutations right….?....driving distance, timing, fuel consumption, fuel availability, energy – I was solo – road conditions, road works – snow, weather……..All these meant I had to sit down and design a route which would be a detailed plan of 6,000 miles – I actually worked in kilometres – with each being checked for access, cost (tunnels and bridges were going to cost me up to NKr 300 some days – NKr 3,600 if you include ferries) and sinuosity – was it cost or time effective to drive say 100 kms around fjord heads and over mountain passes to get just 25 kms. in a straight line for a ten minute interview? And can you judge the quality of an interview by the time it takes or its content?!   Then a contingency had to be planned for that route because I might think the distance and time was worth it but half way along the route a ‘wild card’ appeared. A wild card was something I could not avoid but knew ‘it’ could happen at any time – I had to expect the unexpected eg. a landslide would block the road, or an unknown Bank Holiday meant I could not access kroner at the banks, or severe localised weather was against the predicted forecast. So every contingency had to be made to pay dividends, that is had to have built into it other interviews, contacts, or work placements or visits, otherwise I would or could lose three or four days research, or even be on the wrong side of the country when I needed to be somewhere else for a major interview. 

Thus in 'Noddy-language', could I drive from say Kristiansand to Lilleström and then to Kinsarvik in x days ‘just’ to visit an exhibition? Would it be cost effective? ….not just with what technical information I’d get out of it but my energy factor, vehicle fuel consumption, and overnight costs. Can I drive all day, everyday? well of course not; and how far is a ‘reasonable distance’ if one is to drive before stopping for a rest? How busy are the roads? These then were serious questions to be answered – or attempts had to be made to answer them before the ‘off’ in mid April. Was even this the right time to start? And where to start? It seemed logical to start in the south and drive north, chasing the winter as it retreated the 2000 mile length of the country. Could I link up outdoor centres, county education authorities, rescue teams, with a feasible route? with their opening times – much of Scandinavia may be closed this end of the year, and too busy later in the year.  Winter lingers on into June in the Jotunheim, Jostedalsbre, Setesdalen, Hemsdalen, Dovrefjell, Abisko, and a few other places. The British have zero concepts about roads closed for winter. I would have to time the journey just right – leave too late or drive too slow and quite simply I’d not arrive in Vadsø my most north-easterly visit; leave too early or drive too far and fast and I’d overtake winter and get stuck anyway – or at least everywhere would be closed.  Gary and I worked in, on, and around the Land Rover, once it arrived, constantly building this kit into the vehicle, to all intents and purposes fitting it like a three-dimensional jigsaw. Even so, after all this meticulous preparation I still honed it even more when I arrived in Kinsarvik, my Advanced Base. Two boxes of gear never travelled on with me. One of my criteria was to have only enough kit to enable me to survive well and that it should not, when packed in the back of the wagon, come higher than my eye level looking in the rear view mirror. 

Gary then controlled all the kit. He did a perfect job – suggesting, acquiring, adapting, and inventing – always ready to chuck out his ideas if mine were fixed and uncompromising. It happened that out of the 800 or so items of kit I carried, only a dozen or so were thrown out – a tribute to this man’s insight into Quartermastering.  While all this was happening in twice-weekly, 20 hrs per week packing sessions, the ‘Legal Desk’ was opened. All the paperwork pertaining to the smooth running of the expedition had to be squared away but just to illustrate how things could easily slip if I wasn’t on top of them: I’d booked the ferry with the local travel agent in Leigh, retaining all the paperwork issued. After three weeks I checked with their office as I had not heard anything by way of confirmation. I was told that the staff member who I’d seen (and who I used to teach) had not booked with DFDS. I had no ferry. Needless to say butts were kicked.  I delegated none of the paperwork on the ‘Legal Desk’. I had to have a handle on every aspect of regulations, ferry conditions, research permits, currency – I carried NKr 36,000 in cash alone – motoring law for each country, Customs Manifests, insurances – I had four of these – etc. etc.

The fact that Gary was managing the kit left me free at times to sort the paper: the Customs Manifest was four pages of close-typed A4. For a lone driver travelling an unorthodox route, across mountain borders I had to produce legitimate evidence of why I was carrying certain items.  Bearing in mind the importance of the research and the journey linking sites, a comprehensive set of records was planned. Now, hands-up all those of you who with good intentions start keeping records, only to miss key events, data, and information rendering the record useless? We’ve all done it. But here, solo, there was no room for a slovenly approach to recording interviews, day-to-day events, vehicle data, images, and route. After all if I didn’t do it no-one else would. 

How one person could do all this, and drive 6,000 miles, plan-execute on a daily basis all the interviews ie. set them up in situ, and after write up detail, write up the daily diary, do all the domestic things – washing clothes, eating, maintaining the vehicle, plan the route (a singularly huge undertaking on its own) and then drive it, navigating – and still find some time to relax is a very tall order. I never had more than 45 minutes clear relaxation time on any one evening, unless I stayed awake into the early hours – which was counter-productive in itself.  So how was I to handle the record keeping? A video diary was planned – and taking two video cameras made life a bit more manageable; so a large amount of video footage, documentary style in some cases, to illustrate environments. I took about 1000 still photos on 35 mm format using two Olympus cameras one with a 150 mm zoom, and a Leica-lensed Minolta. One camera was in my pocket for the duration of the exped. – never knowing when you’ll need instant access. 

The vehicle record was to be, in reality, the route record produced on a daily or part-daily basis. This included fuel taken on-board, weather conditions, and environment. I’ve seen a simpler form of this record used before on The Oxford and Cambridge Far Eastern Expedition and I’ve always maintained that it’s the real ‘guts’ of all the records. I always look to see if overland expeditions include a route record – it says a lot.  All these things were planned, but in the final scheme of things literally, would I have a) time, b) the self discipline to carry them out? After all when you are snug in your warm 4x4 in the middle of the Swedish Lapp tundra with a blizzard screaming horizontally across the front of the Land Rover, do you really want to stop, get out and set up the camera? I know (now) that it’s easy to create a dozen reasons why one shouldn’t stop and get out; but quite simply, if you don’t get it done you’ll lose the moment and probably regret it.  

Gary and I broke all the kit down into a Domestic Box carrying everything from bin liners to boot polish, and washing powder to water; an Office Box contained eg. stationery, school brochures, paper, envelopes, questionnaires, letters of introduction, and books; a Food Box – self sufficient for 20 days, including tinned food, ration packs, and all the paraphernalia for cooking – stoves. A Survival Box had kit that was not ‘sac-portable’ but would aid vehicle based survival should things go pear-shaped: Volcano Kettle (one of the best and most unsung inventions for outdoor work in the last 150 years), tinder, kindling, crampons, collapsible bucket, ice-axes, helmet, ice-screws, lamps etc..

The book's Appendices list everything. I was and had to be prepared for every eventuality; being literally self-sufficient, prepared for anything, was designed to give me peace of mind. It was to be one of the key factors in my ‘zero-worry’ approach once on the road for eight weeks. Should everything go nasty on me I had the practised capability to survive in a wilderness environment for at least three weeks, and possibly indefinitely. It was a remarkably comforting feeling. But I wasn’t planning to have an emergency survival situation. No-one ever does.

A major factor in the planning was the Home Team. Gary and Sean volunteered to be my ‘administrative tail’ – fully conversant with everything I was planning to do, fully prepared to accommodate a change in this plan and having a management capability to launch an emergency search, recovery, or rescue plan from their UK base in liaison with the Norwegian authorities. The each had copies of all legal documents, my contacts, etas., proposed routes, and my in-field set-contingencies. In addition Gary would monitor my route progress on a day-to-three-day basis, that is he’s not planning to worry if he’s not hearing from me for up to three days – with a sliding scale of pre-planned contingencies should the situation escalate. This set-up worked perfectly.   Usually Gary and I would carve out every Thursday afternoon, for seven months, and throw ideas around, create ‘what-if-scenarios’, and generate best-kit options – not necessarily the most expensive kit but the best. This was all conducted in what I termed a Situations Clinic.

We both knew that the potential for crises was potentially huge, once I was on the road. However with the best kit, the best vehicle, thirty years of experience – much of it in Scandinavia – good planning, useful contacts, a well informed and experienced Home Team, and as far as could be achieved this end, training, the risk of these crises occurring would be minimised, and the chance of them escalating out of control kept to a managed minimum. Sometimes on those Thursdays we’d get to the point where we’d just race off to BJ Camping in Rayleigh or C&G on Canvey, or elsewhere, bending their ear about this bit of kit or that item of clothing, possibly souring the most unusual items from obscure and bizarre places. The Volcano Kettle was a prime example. I knew its reputation – but where to get one? No-one locally had even hear of one let alone used one on an expedition. Gary – who else?! - sourced one through the internet, and, as was expected long ago, it found its way straight into my Top Ten Kit list. It had of course to be trialled first. A solo venture where kit fails means not only that it’s an embuggerence when it happens, but the now useless item uses up load space, is dangerous if you depend on it, and your time and effort are wasted.

I planned to ice climb, mountain walk, backpack in forest, backpack across mountain, and up-grade wilderness skills, in addition to the interview-research and driving modes. Thus the range of technical equipment I wanted to take would be vast. Four sacs, three pairs of boots, two ice axes, an axe, supplemented by another in Sweden – home of the famous Gränsfors – a golok, a Seal Pup my constant-companion-survival-knife, a mountain tent, a Gore-Tex bivvi tent, plus a basha permutation linked to the Land Rover that we invented for vehicle-based woodland and forest work. Thermal base-layers, mid, fleece layer, and shell Gore-Tex mountain jacket, and a Gore-Tex ‘forest’ jacket. Full ‘green’ kit of double lined DPM winter trousers, thermal layer and HH fleece, four litres of fuel for two stoves, the latter stored in, for immediate purposed, my German winter sac….it goes without saying that added to this for even a day walk was a set of two stills cameras, a Sony digital video camera….I did and always do try to keep a light sac!  

I had five medical kits, all of different permutations; the last thing I wanted was to sort out big, small, vehicle, and ‘sac, types of med. kits every time I trekked off somewhere: a large trauma kit mainly for RTA type emergencies, a Mountain Leaders med. kit with additions in my mountain sac, a smaller one in my green sac. A back-up medical bag was in the front of the Land Rover, with an identical one taped inside the rear off-side window. I had made up my own suture kit from modified fish hooks of various sizes and the finest catgut – to able to be used one-handed. My SAK pliers would double as the forceps/pliers here. No anaesthetic – only to be used in dire personal need. This then is just a snapshot of the equipment. If it makes for laborious reading, I make no apologies – there was a lot more. The original date of 22^nd April 2002 was brought forward by a week for logistical and strategic reasons. I had one more task waiting me – a kilometre by kilometre route plan prepared on paper. However without being superstitious, which I am not in the slightest, I decided to postpone this task until I had officially been awarded the 2002 Winston Churchill Memorial Trust Travelling Research Fellowship.

Beating thousands it was a good feeling to be successful. I was awarded the Fellowship, and could get even more stuck into the preparations – if that was possible. Day to day running of the Outdoor Education Team and all the events, practicals, and off-site courses took second place to things-expeditional. Ten of my closest friends and/or those who’d expressed genuine interest in the exped. kindly gave me ‘practical’ encouragement. You know who you are and your contributions will be made plain throughout the course of the journey and its research. Needless to say all that you guys gave me kept me going. I had a day’s ‘Council of War’ with Gary and Sean – my Home Team - to talk through every element of the duration of being in Norway, Sweden, and Finland. With Gary’s encyclopædic knowledge of both the nuts-and-bolts of the kit as well as a thorough familiarity with the way that I think, plus Sean’s analytical mind and exemplary total commitment to any Team task we’re involved in, these guys listened and fired questions. A healthy time. With impeccable timing, the BBC decided they’d like to do a live radio interview with me on the same day as the meet with the Home Team; the guys could listen and tape it. Things-BBC were set for quite a dramatic conclusion. Watch this space.

As weeks before departure turned into days I was found by all the KJ staff to be wandering the corridors almost like a lost soul at times – my mind was elsewhere. Annie and Jo, Craig and Sharon, and all the others were asking how ‘it’ was going, and all I could say was that I wanted to be there as soon as possible! ‘There’ of course being on the ground in Norway and getting the work done. The waiting was getting to me just a bit. Psyching yourself up for being solo for three months is not something that you can do in a day. It was a singularly unreal time. Leaving a staff, 120 of them, to try to manage lunch-hour discipline on their own, leaving Jan to manage her Mum without at least a presence from me, leaving Sam, Meg, and Beth which for every reason was gut-wrenchingly upsetting. All this was so very hard. Leaving the care of those closest friends at work, and The Team with whom one develops such closeness in the white-heat of the stress and pressure that is the job. Leaving them was very, very hard. I was going to miss the glimpses of great friends who just catch your eye long enough to say ‘Hi, yes, I’m ok, but this stress is not the real world, is it?!!’

 The 'Off'

At dawn on a quiet and sunny April morning, the Td5, already affectionately known as 'Winston' for obvious reasons, slipped his moorings and motored north up the Great North Road heading for Tyne Commission Quay in Newcastle.  He had just 800 miles on the clock - it would be reading some 7,000 by the time I made it back home. This was some vehicle. Retford was an important stopping-off point on the journey since I lived there for five years in the 70's and can re-victual there without deviating from the route too much. Rather surreal walking around getting last minute bits; but none-the-less good to be on the road at last. I had the very best equipment in the world including the definitive overland expedition vehicle, 30 years experience of outdoor work from the high-Arctic to the Carpathians, from the Alps to Scottish winters. My team was the best. The budget extensive. No reason at all then why this shouldn't go swimmingly. Got to Tyne Commission without any fuss and spent a good hour in the queue being stared at by the grockles who would no doubt accompany me sailing north. A few expeditoin vehicles turned up with kayaks.. Checking in whilst sitting in the vehicle, the clerk was asking lots of questions - not about the journey but the Land Rover; another portent of things to come. The ferry journey was straightforward and pleasant. Such is modern communications, my next door neighbour, Pete, was in a meeting in a building high up on the hill overlooking the Tyne down which we slowly sailed. Before I'd got out of the river he'd taken a picture of the ship with his digital camera, dowloaded it to Babs his wife who'd printed it off and handed it to Jan, virtually in real time. I was actually on that side of the ship as we sailed out. An SAR Nimrod flew overhead on an exercise when we were some way out to sea, which in the event was a bizarre portent of things to come. I went off to read the first part of Sean's journal of Africa. Day 1 in Norway...in Lillesand on the south coast, a small town I was to get to know very well over the next five years. What to make of my first task once disembarking in Kristiansand was concerning me. Jeremy, my nephew has a Norwegian girlfriend (since married); they live in the UK; her sister Vanessa lives in Kristiansand where I am about to dock. Her faxed map of how to get to her house has no name or number. So, this should be interesting driving around a strange town, looking for someone I have no description of at an address I also do not know. But first to the Customs Hall where I had to collect my impounded survival knives. As in all overland journies it's always the built-up areas that bugger-up your nav..  New town, different driving side - I'm later than planned - and there's me driving up and down, up and down Kongsalle on the attractive east side. Eventually this bright, vivacious blonde with an impish sense of humour, a penchant for drak glasses and 'classic' Scandinavian dress style came strolling over to the car park, co-incidentally right opposite her house. There was an immediate warmth about her, and she really did treat me as family. Vanessa Berger Vanessa was my first an only passenger on the whole of the 6,000 miles travelled in the three countries. She had to go into Lillesand that afternoon for a dentist appointment, some 20 k's down the road. En route she introduced me to the Head of Physical Ed. at her College. Eric gave up his free lesson to chat to me. The