ALASKA

Thursday, 24th July 2003.

After half a day of buggering about trying to finish off what I could not get done last night I'm almost set to go. There's a quick dash over to Bill's place to drop off the Colombian present I had forgotten to hand over. On the way back to Mark and Kelly's I stop to pick up a new set of headphones. As I'm paying for them, Kelly finds a neat lightweight wind-up radio with short-wave. Just the sort of thing I'd been looking for.

Back at the house everything is good to go. Literally as I've got my kit on we receive a call from Mark's mother. She wants to donate $500! At first I say no, feeling somewhat embarrassed, but Kelly jumps on me for it and will not take my no for an answer. Kelly hands over the cash and Mark's mother can write her a cheque later. As if these people had not done enough for me already!

It's a teary goodbye but then I'm finally on the move. Tracing a planned route out of town, I find that B2 is very heavy. This is a cause for concern as I'm on route to the Rocky Mountains. It's a warm day, with just enough cloud to keep the sun from doing its thing. Just right for walking in fact. I know that I'm in for a kicking, having been static for so long, this is going to hurt. I didn't have to wait long for it to kick in either. The roads up to Calgary had been mainly flat but as I leave town this quickly changes. Not big hills, just rolling, but by God, did they hurt. And so it went on, to the accompaniment of high-pitched squeaks from the gophers along the roadside. A road kill coyote, the biggest I've ever seen.

Today's aim is a gas station about 30k's out of town that the chaps in Calgary had told me about, but as the day drags on it appears to have fallen off the edge of the world. Just as I'm about to quit for the day, it makes its appearance just on the other side of that last hill, the last one I could handle that day that is.

Friday, 25th July 2003.

As I stumble out of the culvert this morning I feel as though someone has savaged my legs with a pickaxe handle. I pack my gear away and then move tortuously over to the gas station for breakfast. Mother of God, I'm in pain from the neck down. Some coffee and food brings me around slightly, but as I move off I must still give the appearance of Frankenstein's monster.

I would love to say that the pains ease as I warm up, but unfortunately I can't. The day starts hard and simply gets harder. The Rocky Mountains to my front look pretty close, but unfortunately don't get any closer. The clouds of yesterday have gone, but it's not that hot as I have a pleasant wind in my face. Water becomes a concern as I do not have enough and I'm putting it away at some rate. The air is just so dry out here. After each hill I'm in real need of water and it looks as though I'm running quite short. Luckily enough, every time I'm about to run out, some point where I can top up appears around the next corner.

Come the end of play I find a good place to hide up, away from the road, which is now unfenced. I don't think I have done my full 30k's, but right now I'm looking for any excuse to stop.

Sunday, 27th July 2003.

After breakfast I set off for Banff. The day goes well and quite quickly so it seems that it isn't long before I reach town. It's very warm today as it has been for a few days, but I have the beautiful scenery to take my mind off it. I now have to track down a certain hostel. There I am to meet an independent journalist, Kisha Ferguson, who has been commissioned by the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, (CBC), to put together an item for one of their radio programmes.

I eventually find the place and meet up with Kisha, to find she has got us free board at the hostel. Life in the hostel reminds me of those places in Central America, full of young travelling folk, where it was hard to shake off the feeling that I was on some sort of a holiday. Since then I'd never used a hostel again as I would rather avoid them. Call me fussy, but I like my own space when I've paid for a place so that I can sort myself out and not be crammed into a dorm with a whole bunch of hippies I don't know. Still, this time it's free, and I certainly can't afford any of the other accommodation around here.

Kishas' plan is to walk with me until we reach Jasper, a good walk of about 300k’s. She had been an editor with a Canadian magazine called 'Out Post', which had run an article on me not so long ago. This had been Kishas' inspiration for approaching CBC radio with the story. We sit, eat and talk until late. I'm very relieved to find that Kisha is easy to get on with, as I held some trepidation about walking a long distance with someone else. I am now going to be walking with a woman ... but not the woman I had planned to or dreamt it might be. Somehow I feel as though life is mocking me.

Thursday, 31st July 2003.

Today the march continues on to Lake Louise, and by now Kisha is limping. It's time to take a day off. Lake Louise is little more than a collection of hotels, a small shopping mall and gas station. But it's very posh... and consequently very expensive. Kishas' contacts have once again got us fixed up with a free room at another hostel. A very nice place that would look more at home in Switzerland. Again, like all towns around here, it has a beautiful backdrop of pine forests and mountains.

The following day is spent chilling out and cleaning kit and clothes. I'm amazed, nay horrified, at the speed I'm going through money. You're looking at least 10 bucks per meal, any meal, no matter how small a mouthful.

Saturday comes and we are still chilling out and talking a lot while Kisha records snippets of the conversation. There is a radio interview with CBC planned for today. I receive a phone call from the 'Anchor' of a radio show called 'Go'. We are not live on the air and as I answer the guys questions Kisha records my answers at this end. She will then send the recordings to CBC who will cut-and-paste the whole lot together in what's called a 'double ender'. To simulate the interview taking place on the road we walk around in a large circle in the car-park. Kishas' recording equipment is very sensitive and vehicles going past on the road would wipe out chunks of the conversation. Such is the life of a celebrity.

Thursday, 7th August 2003.

The ground around the huts is very rough and as we leave the hostel this morning I find it easier to push B2 rather than pull it. It starts me thinking about these other people walking around the world and how much easier it is for them pushing their pram like set-ups. What if, at the end of the day, they feel so much better than me because as well as pulling I'm also carrying a good deal of weight. Not just in my rucksack but the weight of the Beast pulling down on my shoulders. By the time we get to the road it occurs to me just how much easier it has been to get down here, how about seeing how it copes with the road. I've never even thought about turning B2 around and just pushing, it doesn't look as if it could be suited to such a thing.

However, over the next few hundred metres I'm absolutely amazed at just how easy it is. In fact the more I push and think about it, the easier it gets. Well I'll be damned! I'm almost in shock. Kisha finds this puzzling.

" You mean you've never tried this before?"

" No, not at all!"

Despite being built with pulling in mind it moves very easily when pushed, all the weight being on the wheels. All I have to do is lift the two shafts and tip the box forward until the centre of gravity shifts to directly over the wheels. It then moves effortlessly and balances so well that I can almost hold it in place with just one finger while I walk. More importantly, I can place my rucksack across the two shafts and B2 can now carry this extra weight with seemingly no extra effort from me...and downhill! It's almost pulling me along. Oh my God, I feel sick. It means that after four-and-a-half years I have at last realised just how much easier the thousands of miles might have been. Four-and-a-half shagging years, it's hard to get my head around it. Possibly B1, with its different configuration, may not have worked like this, but on the other hand it might well have. I continue to push B2 for the rest of the day.

A pick-up truck pulls up on the other side of the road. The man driving, clearly a Brit, sticks his head out of the window and hails me.

" Karl... Karl Bushby" he shouts, " It's Morland Sanders from the BBC."

I have been expecting them for some time now. Accompanying Morland is his cameraman Joe. They are here for three days, filming my intrepid exploits for a news documentary programme called 'Inside Out'. Although a national programme, it is split into regions and this particular item will be shown by BBC North. I get on with these two guys straight away, excellent lads, and filming begins in haste.

Not long after the lads had arrived we face the Sunwapta Pass at 2,035m, and a lot steeper than Bow Pass. Luckily my newly acquired skill of pushing rather than pulling made this uphill climb so much easier. Morland walks with me up the hill and Kisha is just happy to take the ride. Morland and I are fitted with microphones and have a walking interview... apparently the gasping is coming over well. Joe films from the pick-up and on one occasion they employ Kisha to do some filming while Joe drives, as she has some experience using these large TV news cameras.

The day progresses and eventually we reach the top of the pass, where we call time. Kisha and the boys drive to Jasper to get some hot food while I push on to find a decent spot to get off the road. I can't get over this place, at any one moment the view from the roadside is outstanding. The gang arrives back with steaks, vegetable drinks and the like, then the two lads go off to find a hotel while Kisha camps with me.

Tuesday, 12th August 2003.

It's an early start this morning with the intention of getting as close to Jasper as possible. We are chased by dark clouds and rain showers all day, but still manage to avoid getting wet. We are low on food and have little to nibble so as a result we both feel hungry. Unfortunately the road is bereft of eating establishments or places where we can re-supply. That is until we approach the day's end. We now come across a surprise lodge / hotel on the Athabasca River. The restaurant is certainly a little upmarket and we might have a problem fitting in here. We are 'greeted' by a waitress with a real attitude problem.

" Have you seen the menu?"

" Yes thanks" we reply.

" No, have you seen the menu?" Implying that don't you think it's way out of your price range. It's just the way she speaks down to us that I find most galling. We are then asked to move B2 and on returning, and feeling the resistance, we decided to eat outside.

It's then that the waitress comes out with, " Yes of course, out of respect for the other diners."

Glancing at Kisha I see she is mentally loading a belt of 200 rounds into her machine-gun. You do not want to get on the wrong side of Kisha, she has a killer wit and froths with confidence. I step between them and explain to the waitress what she can do with one of her (carefully rolled) menus. I believe she got away with it quite lightly, as I have the feeling Kisha would have left a pool of blood in her present state.

We have a surprise meeting outside with Bill Anderson and family, who happen to be driving by and spot B2. They're in town to visit their daughter who works in Jasper. Later Kisha and I crash at a camping ground just 2k's short of Jasper.

Friday, 3rd October 2003. (Grande Prairie)

There's lots of wildlife out here. Beavers playing about and loping down trees, and early in the morning I had some wolves quite near by.

At night I throw a line up into the trees and haul up my food bag to keep it out of the way of the bears. Now you have to be pretty nimble, (as well as keeping your eye on it), to get out of the way of a 30lbs food bag when the thin pine branch snaps and it whistles earthwards. Today I'm not! I'm nearly pile driven into the ground. Causes of injury :-- Bears 0... Anti bear measures 1.

13th / 14th and 15th November 2003.

It's been a few days now of steadily dropping and climbing. I've stopped making fires on an evening because it's getting too cold. Let me explain. To combat the night chill I'm forced to get closer to the fire. As I do, small embers are spat from the fire and start to burn holes in my clothing. I suppose I could spend some time building a reflector behind the fire to send more heat in my direction, but to be honest it's just not worth the effort. Mostly, I just want to get into some warm dry clothing, have something to eat and then sleep. The routine now becomes tent up, get in, gas stove on! The tent then rapidly warms up to about 30C, which is heaven after a day at -10C to -20C.

Nearing the end of my day on the 15th I stumble upon the remains of a car crash. Clear skid marks lead from the road and into the dirt, gouging deep ruts into the earth. As I trace the events it's clear to see that the car had been travelling at speed. At one point the car leaves the ground, spins through the air, lands and bounces back into the air before finally piling in. Objects from the car are strewn all over the place, personal items and car parts. I find a US passport half buried in the snow, along with business cards and other paperwork which I collect to a pass on, I also find a few things to eat... now we're talking! However his flask is totally shattered.

Friday, 2nd January 2004.

Having breakfast with the family I'm asked if I would like to stay for another day. As it's -42C outside and I'm sitting in a warm and extremely comfortable house, it takes some serious motivation to get my arse up and out. As I leave they give me $100, for which I am most grateful, as accommodation costs a fortune up here and I will need all the help I can get.

It's an absolutely horrendous day and one I'd rather forget. To top it off I break my four bridged front teeth while trying to get through a bar of chocolate with a permafrost centre. I look about 80 years old and talk like Sylvester the cat. Plastic items like buckles and clips on the Beast and my equipment freeze into an almost glass like state and begin to break. I just can't wait to get off the road, into my tent and fire up the stove. Once inside my sleeping bag I'm happier, but my God, everything is covered in ice and I mean everything. I have my sleeping bag pulled tightly around my face, except for a small hole that I can breathe through. Lumps of ice rapidly form around this small gap as my breath freezes. However, while I'm warm enough in my sleeping bag, how I hate the mornings.

I normally wake when it's light and then go through the routine of melting snow, cooking and then cleaning everything up. In these conditions it takes far longer than it ever used to. Actually getting started up is the real pain. It's so damn cold the inside of my tent is shimmering with ice, like a Hollywood set. Sticking one arm gingerly out of the sleeping bag I reach for my cooker then turn it on. It takes far too long to melt all the snow I need to cook, drink and then fill my flasks for the day ahead...and too much fuel as well. Within a couple of days I've blown half my fuel supplies, so I need to spend less time with the cooker on. The problem is, I will not be able to dry the clothes I have been wearing during the day and these will be covered in ice when I come to put them on. Admin, survival's all about personal admin.

Monday, 5th January 2004.

Same routine, getting out of my bag at 08:00 as it’s getting light and onto the road by 10:15. After only 4k's I find a road maintenance camp with people living there, thank God. I crawl in and ask if I can crash somewhere warm in order to dry out my equipment and fix some kit. There's been a lot of cold damage to straps and buckles, with the glued joints on the Beasts box coming apart. The BBC camcorder works once in a blue moon and my stills camera has packed up altogether. I'm given a hanger/garage where the snow ploughs live. It is permanently heated by large gas fan heaters, a little like heaven must be.

My chores complete, I sit around in comfort and take time to reflect. One way or another, I'll be able to sort my kit out, but what's really kicking me is my own personal life. There's not a lot of wind in my ragged sails right now, but I'm moving and don't have frostbite. Just every now and then I get to hear news from around the world, like the earthquake in Iran, where the homeless are burying their loved ones in mass graves while living under plastic sheets in the rubble of their former homes... and I quit bitching.

I will stay here for the day now, get sorted out and move out come the morning.

Sunday, 7th March 2004.

A warm wind blows today and begins to melt the snow and ice from the roads. Along this stretch I meet up with the North American Bison / Buffalo for the first time. A herd of them are right beside the road. Trundling past at walking pace is pretty nerve-racking as these mighty beasts are fully wild, however it's not as if they've never seen people before. They are the star attractions around these parts, and as they live by the roadside they get plenty of attention from passers by. However today it's just me and I'm so close I can smell them. They just stare intently. It's impossible to deduce what they're thinking, but it's probably not too complimentary. I start to come across other smaller sections and just hope that these aren't splinter groups that have broken away from the herd because of their desire to chase and eat meat.

Wednesday, 31st March 2004.

I am seized by the push for Whitehorse now. I move well and by the 1st April I'm close to the town. I get stopped by an enthusiastic lady who knowing who I am invites me to stay with her and her boyfriend, both keen bikers and travellers. She had read about me in the 'Outpost' magazine apparently.

I'm now only 20k's from town, but end up staying over at their house through the next day in order that we can have a bit of a get together with their friends the following evening. Stef and Brad look after me very well and it's good to be with a couple of my own age. They have travelled extensively and are interesting to talk to. Unfortunately I find that some of the folk up here do little travelling and consequently have a very limited view of the world.

The Whitehorse community extends over a very large area. In fact it has the same sized area as Los Angeles, but with only a small fraction of the population.

Whitehorse.

A sunny, but somewhat windy day and a 20k stretch before dropping down into the town. My last in Canada. I have decided to set aside a week in Whitehorse, not that I can really afford it, and get myself some space in a hostel. However, I'm interested in the media potential here and the possible TV coverage. I work hard putting out feelers but in the end it doesn't happen, just another seven minute local radio interview. It's hardly worth getting out of bed for.

I receive an e-mail from Catty, who's having a bad day. She's feeling lonely, has not yet got a job and is running out of money. She's had to leave the house she has known for so long and will move to an apartment. At 34 she is more alone then ever now. I start to crash. Anger grows, turns to hopelessness and then just plain despair. I sit for 12 hours just trying to work my way through this bout, while attempting to reason the predicament to death. This is all I seem to do, a constant state of self control, deep breathing and burying the unpalatable facts, somewhere, somehow... just deal with it. So much of my time is spent dealing with it that I have little time to focus on anything else. It consumes everything. If I eat I feel nauseous, a tight knot in my stomach.

I'm back on the coffee, as during these depressive phases I just lose my appetite. I don't eat, just drink lots of coffee. A good downer will last me all day until I can find something to snap me out of it. My emotions turn on a sixpence with absolutely no effort at all. I'm resigned to the fact that I now have to live with this, just managing it and working along. I look around the cafe. It appears to be full of people like me... look at them, each dealing with his or her self contained catastrophe as best they can. " You're not helping me people!!"

As I say, I've accepted that I will have to live with this pain and I don't mind that, but when it comes to hurting those I care for because of the things I do, then I simply cannot justify it. Catty suffers because of my selfish relentless pursuit of a meaningless, worthless goal. My son can be found crying at night because he misses his father. This is the way it is. I simply cannot justify this expedition anymore and none of the reasons seem to hold water. No matter what I can invent I'm just too smart to fool myself any longer. The other thing bothering me is a feeling of worthlessness. Everyone back home has worthwhile jobs. The world is at war, the boys are in Iraq, friends and family are doing grown up jobs... police, international security, the armed forces. Everyone seems to be doing their bit. My good friend John, who worked his way up into the lofty heights / murky depths of the intelligence world has now disappeared, probably into MI5 or MI6 and what am I doing? Walking down the Alaska Highway with a box on wheels.

Mike appears, thank God. Talk to me Mike, talk to me!! We discuss movies and videos. The main aim is the making of a Goliath Expedition documentary. We run through its format, style and then of course, how we can raise the funds for such a project. Initially though, we need a five-minute promotional video that Mike can use to stir up some interest. This hopefully could bring in some grants for a larger project.

The following day we make a start by doing some interview work. I receive a copy of the 'Toro' magazine and Kishas' write-up. Very good! The best I've had out here.

24th April - 27th April 2004.

The 27th sees one of the warmest days yet and I notice a real change in the world. I also find my first mosquito. Christ! The rivers and ponds are still iced over and yet here they are. The snow has gone now! As I stand and look around the only snow I can see is on the mountains. It's been a while since I could say that. Lots of birds around here. Ducks, swans, geese.... and loads of insects as well. The suns intensity is starting to build up and my face is somewhat burned. If I remove my sunglasses they leave a neat white mask beneath.

Wednesday, 28th April 2004.

I find a quarry beside the road. It really could be anywhere along the coast of Peru or Mexico. I'm not sure why I find this place so appealing, but I do and I love it. The effect in fact is very powerful and I stand staring at it, transported back to happier days. Days when all I had to worry about was starving to death, being eaten hollow by some parasite or flattened on the road.

Later in the day I find myself staring down into a running creek. I'd had a bad dream when last in Colombia, one I'm reminded of every now and then, and the kind you don't forget that easily. A scary and vividly real dream about the ice. It's the Bering Straits and I'm trying swim across a broken lead of water. However, the ice floe at the other side is too thick, too high for me to pull myself out. The current is flowing fast and begins to pull me beneath the ice. I desperately try to hang on but bit by bit I find myself being dragged down to a silent death under the ice, never to surface again. This nightmare returns to me as I watch lumps of broken ice being carried down the river, crashing against a frozen area and then being dragged under the surface ice to disappear.

Thursday, 13th May 2004.

I make it a half-day today and reach Dot Lake within 10 miles. I sit in the cafe here looking like a mustard gas victim. My eyes, swollen and red, are driving me crazy. My nose continues to stream. I give in to drugs and ask if they have anything that might help. I'm given something called 'Nite Time' and this works a treat. It's then that someone mentions that the trees are pollinating. Suddenly the penny drops. It's not a cold at all, it's a reaction. I thought it a little strange as colds don't usually affect your eyes to this extent. This is a new phenomenon to me as I don't have hayfever. Having said that, I can now think back to Canada where I had a reaction that must have been caused by tree pollen, though it had been a lot milder than this. Anyway the medicine works as it contains, amongst other things, antihistamines. An hour later I'm as high as a kite and have never been happier.

Friday, 14th May 2004.

A very bad night. The drugs wore off far too quickly for my liking and although I've taken some more they don't seem to be working now. I swear to god it's like living in a gas chamber at the moment and this condition sucks big time. I feel as though I haven't slept for days.

A straight 20 miles today and it's very warm at present, not a day to have such a heavy head. But when I do leave Dot Lake I set off at a rare old pace and somehow manage to maintain it. 10 miles just flies by, I mean gone before I know what is happening. I'm sure I must be high again! 10 miles in two hours, and the next 10 in only half an hour slower. This is the fastest I can remember... four-and-a-half hours for 20 miles...Whoooo. Not only that but I felt good. Even when I take a short break I'm pacing back and forth feeling as though I'm on speed or something, very strange.

Once again though, come the evening and things deteriorate very quickly. Back to the itching throat, burning eyes and running nose. My face feels sore to the touch and eventually my vision becomes effected. It's as though I'm looking through smoke, everything is misty. I'm getting a bit worried. There is little or no sleep and at 02:00 I'm awake with stabbing pains in my ears. I'm so blocked up I can't equalise the pressure in my ears and this builds up to such an extent I start to lose my hearing. It's like being under water and feels as though my eardrums are about to blow. Try what I might I cannot seem to do a damn thing about it. Luckily after about 10 minutes this passes.

In the morning, and it might be worth mentioning that it starts getting light at 02:00...complete with singing birds, I am still feeling like crap, as though I'd been locked in a gas chamber without a mask for the past few days.

Thursday, 16th December 2004.

Having already walked to Murphy Dome I just need to have the sled brought up for me. Jeff and Ramey are on hand to see me off. There is a snow machine trail leaving the Dome and heading west across the top of the high ground before it eventually drops onto the Minto Flats after about 10 miles. It's about 13:30 by the time I leave Ramey and Jeff and pull off for the start of the winter from hell. Within half-an-hour I'm puffing and panting my way up the first climb.

By 14:30 the sun has gone down but I keep pushing on until about 18:00, trying to get down from the high ground tonight if I can. I've been lucky today as there has been very little wind. Normally up here it's blowing a gale and that makes a big difference. Before I begin the descent on to the flats I get one last look at the distant, warm and ever so appealing lights of Fairbanks. I even take a photo. This is the first time I've ever had the chance to get a picture of a distant city's lights. Days and views like this are some of the most memorable. Looking out towards the distant city with great expectancy, or looking back, remembering the people, places and times you've just had. It's always with that same feeling of sorrow, knowing that you will miss them. I'd seen so many distant lights from so many places. From the desert sands to these fields of snow.

Sunday, 20th December 2004. N 65 15.029' W148 42.588'

During the summer months this area is wind battered swamp and marshland. The trail apparently now runs nine miles, winding across these flats to the distant hills where I will find the hot springs. I get up in the morning, looking out across the lake. The wind is blowing and there has been a snowfall so any tracks left by Simon and his son are all but gone. Dick and Simon had told me to stick to the left of the lake, as that's where I would find the trail. I inch out onto the lake and take a left but cannot see any sign of a trail. The snow is deep here but because of the conditions a hard crust has formed on the surface that can take my weight. Sometimes however it doesn't hold and I go through up to my knees. I move slowly around the lake, not sure where I should be looking. Finally I spot some blowing yellow tape tied to the branch of a shrub. Yellow tape is not the best to use out here, it's too light a colour and can be difficult to spot. As I leave the lake the consistency of the snow begins to change and I begin to sink into it, movement becoming harder. Once I reach the tape I look around but can't see anything else. I scout around for a while but still nothing, so I have no idea as to which direction the trail might take. I have now two choices, left for the tree line or right to continue along the lakeside. I decide to go along the lakeside as it looks clear, so a more natural route for the trail. I am wrong in fact, but it takes a while to work this out. Now I am back into fine, deep snow and unable to continue. Forced to retreat I return to the yellow tape and a rethink. I unhook myself from the sled and recce to the left, to the tree line for about 300 metres. The going in the snow is every bit as bad and there still no sign of a trail or tape. I retrace my steps back to the one and only piece of tape. I have a real problem on my hands. Without a trail I have little chance of making progress in any direction with this sled but cannot standstill simply thinking for long in this wind. I go back out onto the lake and trace all the way around its left hand side... still nothing! No tape or sign of a trail, just deep snow interspersed with tall tussock grass and reeds, a killer cocktail. The day is almost lost and it's getting late. I have moved about 400 metres today! There is one final desperate look off to the right towards the tree line and... wait, look... there, through the grass. Is it my mind playing tricks or is that a faint hint of a track? I follow and as I do I find my skis shoes stay on the surface not sinking straight through. This is firmer, compacted...

"Yes, a track I'm sure".

I go and get the sled, dragging it back to the snaking, barely visible trace of a track. Soon I find more tape and know for sure that I'm on the right route. I then find myself suddenly struggling like hell, hardly able to move at all! This is absolutely mind-blowing and, confused by my sudden inability to progress, I begin to grow desperate. With gritted teeth and bent double, I use all my strength and weight but can hardly move the sled for more than a pace at a time. Have the snow conditions changed? Dick had talked about how once it gets too cold then the snow conditions change and you don't get any glide. But that was at a very low temperature and it isn't that cold is it? Determined to make something of the day I just hang in my harness and haul along at a snail's pace.

Finally, looking back to check the distance I've made... gasping, "Five feet! You've got to be fucking kidding me!"

It's then I take a second glance, and notice something is wrong. The rope brake is on!! I can't help but laugh and laugh, out of sheer relief more than anything else. Readjusting the rope brake I move on again, but I had desperately pulled like that for way too long! Inside the woodline the trail is a slight depression or channel in the snow but at least it's something I can follow, despite the odd fallen tree I am forced to negotiate. I then come across a riverbank with a 20ft drop and climb on either side. This is definitely a show-stopper. I have to lower the sled down one bank with the ropes (or rather drop it down the bank as it pulls me face first into the snow), then empty the sleds contents and haul it up the bank piece by piece. By this time it is now quite dark and I have had a gut full for the day. If I've made 1km today I'd be surprised.

Tuesday, 29th December 2004. N 65 15.029' W 148 42.588'

I prepare a makeshift sled utilising an old army ground mat someone had left behind. Using the GPS grid of the sleds locations I set off back down the track. With good light and a clear track I make good time. This track is called the 'Matthew Trail' but a map on the wall of the cabin told me that it stops at the Wolf River. Here I have to hunt about in deep snow again. Possibly there's a chance I can find the trail taking me back to the Dunbar Trail. Unfortunately I find no sign of a track. The next option is to then locate my old track so that I can simply retrace my steps. I head south along Wolf River to intersect my tracks at the point where I came off the foot of the hills. I waste half-an-hour chasing down some moose tracks, which at a few feet look just like human tracks in deep snow. Bollocks! I decide to go for the last option which is just to home in on the sleds location using my GPS to point the way. It's only about three miles from here. Now I make better use of the ground and, despite the deep snow, manage to find the sled in good time in only a few hours. Wasting no time and now having knowledge of the ground I move out in quick time, retracing my faint tracks from a week ago that provide easier travel. I move well, if nothing else just to keep warm. Crossing a large river I manage to make it back to my campsite where I had come off the Dunbar Trail. Here I pitch tent.

I'm now concerned about my fuel and food running short. With two sleeping bags I'm warm at night despite the fact the '-12C' sleeping bag, which goes on the outside, is thick with ice. The inner sleeping bag, a '-40C' hollow fibre fill, is damp but works fine. I use the outer to take the brunt of the moisture that I knew it would soak up in the tent at night. It's a good job I ditched the down bag or it would have been the death of me. My nights in the tent are busy and making enough water to keep me going is quite a job. The snow is so fine that it takes a seemingly vast amount to melt down into very little water. I spend a good portion of the evening and the following morning melting water and rehydrating my food. I had 'budgeted' for an intake of 4000 calories a day, but this turned out to be just too much work to consume each day. The good news is that I now have lots of spare food knocking around, so once I'd taken stock I find I'm better off than I thought.

Once my days chores are done I can get into those bags and zip up. Even then I'm not at peace as another battle will begin. The one I return to whenever I have time to think. This one harder to fight than any Alaskan winter. The old question.... Why the hell am I here and not with her? The answer doesn't make sense... never makes sense.

Physical pain interrupts my thoughts. As my hands warm up I find I have the red marks of a 'cold burn' across my fingers. Bollocks! It must have been when I touched the metal fuel tanks.

Sunday, 10th January 2005. N 64 59.953' W 150 38.101' (Manley Hot Springs)

In the morning I find that the moose is still not far from my tent, watching me. The temperature has now dropped to -45C again making the days start a bitter one. I make good progress and decide to keep pushing on into the darkness to get to Manley and not stop short in this temperature. It's been a 20mile day and I finally arrive in Manley some time after 18:00. I'm starting to get cold, heavily coated in a thick layer of ice. This has frozen the layers of my clothing together and I have to force and rip them apart to get them off. I find the house of Art and Dee Mortvedt. Dee is a part-time teacher and her husband Art, is an expedition logistics expert who generally works at the North or South Pole aiding scientific expeditions or the more crazy polar adventures. His study in the house is covered with certificates from 30 years of polar and none polar expeditions thanking him for his assistance. There's even photographs of him with HRH Prince Charles. Most unfortunately he is away again at present, down in Punta Arenas of all places. Pilot and winter survivalist, it's a shame he's not around, I'm sure I could have learned a lot.

Friday, 15th January 2005.

It was cold when I set off for Ruby this morning, but not as cold as it had been over the previous few days when it had dropped as low as -50C. Today turns out to be a long climb and a good lung stretcher, but I had a lucky encounter with a returning trapper, who explained that his tracks lead out only a little way past Tofty. At that point I would find that his tracks broke off right into the hills. Don't follow them! His directions, which came through his muffled face mask where tricky at best. I struggle on.

Sunday, 30th January 2005.

Another good day and I move well, following some excellent tracks through the cold, clear weather. I come across a female moose and her calf which stand their ground on the track in front of me and just do not want to move. Normally a moose will move out of your way, although they don't like to be moved off a good track and into the deep snow as it's hard work for them as well as us. However, these two are really spooked. Finally they go around me and back onto the track behind. Just a little way up the river I see four wolves, now on the retreat. I had heard that there were wolves around. They were now way off, up ahead of me, and had disappeared swiftly as I came onto the scene. The moose must have known it was being stalked at a distance.

I spend the night at the cabin of an old Native American, Roy Folger. He lives about 20 miles from Tanana, a hunter and trapper. He had just bagged himself a wolf and its skinned body lay outside. Wolf pelts still fetch a good price. I had come across a hunter on a snow machine earlier in the day who had asked me if I'd seen any wolfs around. Maybe he was after the particular four I had seen.

Saturday, 5th February 2005.

In the morning sure enough the track has disappeared and the air is full of driven snow. But at least with it came some warmth as the temperature rose to -20 C. This is little compensation though as it's all about distance and this morning I struggle on in vain. It's 'white out' conditions and I can't see anything in front of me, or to either side in fact. Even the snow to my immediate front has disappeared. The defused dull grey light and smooth white featureless snow surface removes all the details that lets your brain form depth perception and focus. Without some focal points your mind starts playing tricks. Things look a bit grim but I can take some comfort in the fact that I'm close to a cabin that I've been aiming for and once there I can spend a day drying out my sleeping bags.

My journey becomes a stagger. One foot in front of the other and pull hard. Finding the cabin is becoming a concern as I can't see anything but a blank wall of white. How am I to find the cabin? I don't have a grid reference, just a mark on my map where a trapper in Tanana showed me how to find his cabin. I cut across the river to the north bank and it takes hours to fight my way through this depth of snow. I need to find a creek mouth. If I can locate Sunset Creek I will have a good idea as to where to find the cabin. As I near the north bank things begin to ease into focus and I have about 100 yards visibility. I find the creek but I'm not sure if the cabin is visible from the river or is set back in the woods. I make a sat phone call to Ken and ask if he can sort my sorry arse out and find out the kind of info I should have taken when I was there. Ken sets out to find out more detail and meanwhile I push on beyond the creek at a mind numbingly slow pace. At one point I stop and looking back catch sight of something in the tree line. An unnatural shape... man made? I cannot work out what I'm looking at, but it's got to be of interest. I unhook myself from the sled and walk back. Once close enough I can see that it's the remains of an outhouse, which means there must have at least been a cabin around here somewhere. I work my way up the bank and spot the cabin which is pretty much buried in the snow. The weather calms somewhat as I tow the sled back and then spend the next half-an-hour on my hands and knees fighting like hell to get the sled up the bank.

I would get it half way up then lose it as it slides back down. There was nothing else for it but to keep trying as I was determined to take it to the cabin with me. Eventually of course I reach the cabin and dig out the doorway. I crack open the door like some ancient tomb. This place was last visited a year ago. Inside I find the basics, firstly, and most importantly, a large wood stove with a pile of wood. There is a makeshift bed, a chair, pots and pans and other knick-knacks. I call Ken again just to let the poor guy know that he has wasted his time and I'm now secure indoors. As the wood burns in the stove the cabin creeks and groans as the warmth slowly does its thing. The roof in fact makes me nervous as there's so much snow up there the weights producing some strange noises from the wooden beams. The big melt begins and I have an internal rainstorm from the roof and walls before everything dries out and warms up. The next thing is to hang my gear up and start thawing and drying my clothes and bags. Once done that's it, and I can relax, it's now the long wait.

Tuesday, 22nd February 2005.

With a good track in front of me and without the 210lb sled I move faster than ever, making a huge leap of about 20 miles down the map. But I pay for it, the skin flayed from my feet. Having said that, I'd never been happier and the weather has improved. It's a warm -5C with clearing skies. Everything is go, which means I can make it with the fuel and food I have left.

Wednesday, 23rd February 2005.

It's great to have so much daylight now and the weather warmer. Today I feel the sun on my face.... warmth, that's the first in many months. By the end of the day my feet are stinging in a bit, with blisters on both feet and heels. I have so much spare fuel I could use it all night and not have to look for wood.

Thursday, 24th February 2005.

A good push today puts me close to Ruby, only 8.5 miles away. Only a week ago I was thinking I might never get there. Another race has begun behind me, the 'Serum Run' dogsled race is now on its way. I'm expecting it to pass me any day now. Today it's +4C... amazing! My feet are throbbing. One of the problems is the walking style. Unlike normal walking where the heel goes down first, with ski shoes it’s more of a sliding action where toes go in first. All my toes are pretty bruised as they get banged against the front of my boot.

Wednesday, 23rd March 2005.

Today I eat like a king. My native friend has left me a large lump of moose meat and I find I have way to many rations left over so eat and eat. Later, Jay Kramer, the teacher from Kaltag turns up with the whole class in a flurry of snow machines. It's a school outing to go fishing further down the track. He's brought me a note from a walker! A guy called Dmitri Kieffer was in the 'Tripod Cabin' when they went by and is one of ten that set off from Anchorage, some on bikes some on foot, in an annual race to Nome using the Iditrod route. The notes explains his story and tells me that he is expecting to hit this cabin later today. There are just three of them left in the race. One on a bike, another one on foot... Roberto, an Italian farmer who has already finished and Dmitri. The record holder, Roberto, had completed the 1,100 mile race on foot in 23 days!.... 23 days!!

Later on in the day Dmitri (DK) pulls up outside. This is very interesting as he is the only other person I had heard of walking out here. Well, not just walking, flying! I mean these guys move like hell. It's mind boggling. Roberto had been moving at about 60 miles a day, only sleeping for three hours per night. They carry very little. DK pulls a small sled weighing about 60lb and says that the others are carrying even less. He does a lot of these kind of races. Endurance races across the Sahara and Eco Challenges etc. Before he began this lifestyle DK had travelled the world, negotiating contracts for Microsoft but had then retired to race around the world instead. He'd heard about me and hoped to catch up with me. For myself I was very glad to meet up with him as it made for interesting conversations and I was definitely learning. All my fussing over the right gear and things like footwear and here is DK in a pair of Gortex training shoes. Shit! Maybe I should just kill him!

But listening to his stories left me feeling somewhat deflated. These guys make a mockery of my trip this winter. I'm already smarting from my defeat and this is not helping at all. He told me how he had done 49 miles one day, then 45 the next and so on. Jesus Christ and I had whined about 15 miles some days, happy to get 20 miles on a good day. I suppose there are some big differences in our psychology. DK is in race mode, I definitely am not and really cannot afford to be. And in my defence it has to be said that they had not crossed the same ground that I had but used trails on the Iditrod race route. However, I sit in defeat while DK expects to finish in Nome, making him only the 6th person ever to have finished the race...annually dominated by Roberto. I am very uncomfortable about the whole situation and sleep little. Christ Almighty, it doesn't help knowing he is French. He also talks about doing the Bering Straits with me. He would like to have a go he said and had been thinking about it as he walked. This is very interesting indeed as he certainly has the CV. We will keep in touch.

Thursday, 24th March 2005.

Come the crack of dawn and DK is up and about packing. I watch, twitching nervously, this race mode atmosphere is infectious. But I will not try and tag on, dampen his flow or intervene. I will let him go about his routine and get on his way. I'll then clean up the cabin and move later. DK plans to reach Unalakleet in one 36 mile push, but watching him go I find I'm champing at the bit.

I set off about one-and-a-half hours after DK, and despite telling myself to let it go and do my thing, I find I feel like a greyhound watching the hare run past. By 14:00 I have caught up with DK and can see his yellow / gold jacket and sled up ahead. Subconsciously I had moved at a clip. I had not wanted to catch-up but there he is. I stop to have my midday snack of candy bar and hot chocolate to let him put some distance between us. But when I set off I find that he has also stopped and is right there in front of me again. It does not take me long to catch up and I follow right up his arse for two miles without him even knowing I'm here. With hood up, goggles on and headphones in place he can neither hear nor see me even if he looked sideways. I know that out here you withdraw into your own mind, filtering all outside information. I find our little situation amusing if nothing else.

He stops to adjust his clothing and ski poles, while I stand behind him. I slowly placed my foot on his sled so that when he tries to move he will find me. He feels his sled give a little and turns, almost leaping out of his skin. Hell, I would have freaked to. You get used to being very alone out here, with no one for tens or hundreds of miles around, so to turn and find someone right behind you has to be a shock.... funny but. So now I walk with DK, who seems quite happy for the company. What does this do for my plans though. Is the Brit going to quit and pitch tent, letting Frenchie push on to Unalakleet? Hell No! So 36 miles it is. Truth is I'd never been happier. I've been feeling like a serious wuss since I'd met him and I needed to know that I could do at least one of his days so that I could sleep at all tonight.

It's warm now, at about -5C and there's a slight wind which is good as it keeps you cooled off. The sky is overcast but there are some bright spells. I'm really happy to be moving with someone and thoroughly enjoying this leg. I notice how DK eats very regularly and sups on energy gel etc. By 17:00, the time I would normally stop and tent up, I feel my energy levels turn off as though on a timer. I'm feeling empty and shaky now as my breakfast and candy bar snack have been expended. As I stop to rummage through my rations for the rest of my candy bars, DK gets out his secret stash of magic pills. To do what these guys do you need this stuff. Stay awake pills, caffeine shots etc I pop some pills, down a bar or two and it works a treat. To be honest, I do not find this hard at all, in fact I'm loving every minute of it. It is the best day I can remember this year and this has nothing to do with the fact that it is the last stretch. If anything that makes me feel uncomfortable. Everything about today is different. Walking with someone else the hours just fly by and I don't feel a thing.

The snow conditions are now surprising me, for as we move closer to the coast I get to see something I haven't seen in quite a while... grass! Exposed grass and soil. Despite all my bitching about deep snow, this is not good news. Later in the day we end up pulling over the tufts of tundra grass, topsoil and moss. This is obviously hard work but luckily there's not that much of it yet. DK is getting worried, he has another 260 miles to go and things are warming up, the snow thinning. Most of this seems to be due to the wind speed rather than a melt as we are entering the coastal region and the land of the Inuit, leaving Indian lands of the interior.

The sunset then night came, but on we went in headlamp mode. There are some steeper hills to cross as well, the steepest I'd encountered this winter. They're covered in a strange mix of deep and wet snow or bare sand. When the lights of Unalakleet suddenly appear we toast our success with some more 'power bars' and water. Stumbling down the other side of the hills we entered the village at about 22:30.

We find a hotel, secure some lodgings for the night and even a place to eat out late. The following day I'm a little stiff but it's my heart and soul that are smarting. Today I will leave the trail to someone else and pull-out. This is terrible and possibly the worst I can ever remember feeling. The bitter taste of defeat. Ashamed by the meagre effort I'd made this winter and now, right at the end, belittled by these men. This is indeed salt to an open wound...the twist of the knife. Now I just stand looking northwards, like a sled dog taken from the team and left tied to a tree. I'm already missing the trail, this is all wrong. But it will still be there next winter, it's not going anywhere, and I will be back. As for the sea itself, well, the visibility is too bad to see anything, just a white expanse. It's snowing now and has been forecast to snow for the next few days so DK will be happier. Hell, he needed it now. His major problem is crossing the sea ice of the Norton Sound bay. This is now starting to break-up and he may have to find a longer route around the coast. This will impact on the time he takes and therefore cause problems to the rest of his route to Nome.

Knowing DK is still out there bothers me immensely, but I have other priorities now. The end of March had always been a line in the snow. My US visa is about to run out. Had I pressed on with an invalid visa I would not have got to the Bering Straits in time to cross and could well have found myself in bother the next time I came to get one. There is no way you can get an extension, so now it's the usual game, I will have to leave the US to renew it.

I fly to Nome to pick up a flight to Fairbanks but find there are no more flights until Monday. So I pace the floor, constantly checking the weather, as if this meant something to me anymore. Then look out across the bay from 'Fat Eddie's' restaurant, wondering how DK's doing and grinding my teeth. I shall go to Colombia. Catty still has a candle in her window, but it's burning dangerously low. It will also be an opportunity to get my teeth sorted out. It will have to be implants at this time and not a bridge. We can't afford to have this done in the US or Canada and there's not a cat in hells chance of having it done in Russia. Besides the whole procedure takes so long I will need to be static for some time.

There is no doubt I have learned an awful lot this winter. I won't be making those mistakes again. I will just have to learn to live with the unfinished business and the wrongs that need righting until I return. Inside the fire burns a storm.

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