North Pole Tenderfoot. Doug Hall

cold that would envelop us around the clock.

      We unloaded the dogs, ran out two lead lines, and clipped the dogs to them. Keeping the dogs separated on the line makes it harder for them to fight each other. Sled dogs constantly test each other for dominance, which means they can break into a fury with no warning.

      We trotted into a mechanic’s shop to warm up. Inside, Paul discovered that in the chaos of leaving the plane, he had left behind a small pack, one containing maps, contact information, our radio codes, his sextant, and other critical information.

      We looked at him with fear in our eyes. This was a huge problem that couldn’t easily be solved. The plane with Paul’s bag had already departed for its return trip south. It wouldn’t return for a week.

      Resolute Bay has a population of not quite three hundred, except for the “silly season” when fools like us make attempts at the North Pole or go polar bear hunting.

      Paul seemed to go away for two minutes. He stood next to us physically, but his mind was focused elsewhere. He remained calm, calling on some strength apart from himself. Then, as quickly as it had risen, his wall of isolation fell away.

      “Worse things can happen,” he said.

      Bill Martin offered to check with the tower to see what might be done. Paul nodded, and we slowly left the mechanic’s shop, heading for Resolute Bay, where the view is of another world—an utterly stark alien-looking terrain, whiteness cast in a pale blue glow of the endless sunlight of the Arctic spring.