Page 20 - RAFMA Winter 2003

By M artin Bohl
A,
As the aircraft emerged from cloud all we could see through the window was o sheer rock wall just beyond the wingtip and then suddenly the world turned on its side and we were peering into the depths of the fjord. For us non-aircrew types some serious sphincter control was needed. Welcome to Isafjordur, a small fishing village in northwest Iceland which is the jumping-off point for Greenland. After quickly checking our freight in the hangar we drove around the fjord for a quick meal and one of the quotes of the trip: "Sorry, the chefs been all round town, but there's no fish!" In Iceland! - must be those damned Spanish trawlermen.
Due to the complicated flight logistics involving different groups in different areas of Greenland only three of us could be flown out that afternoon with a limited paylood which definitely could not run to Phill Smithson. So Rob Coles, Mike Palmer and I spent a lonely first night on the glacier whilst Bob Appleyard, Sean and Sue Dolan helped to spend the £500 worth of Kronur that Phill and Guy Beaumont had each mistakenly withdrawn from the cashpoint (tricky things those decimal points). As it was, at Icelandic prices £1000 was barely sufficient.
The second wave was delayed the next morning due to an oil leak and was not really reassured by the pilot's cheery "it'll be alright, the engineer's coming with us!" (presumably he was a trained wing-walker for inflight problems). Finally re-united around lunchtime, we set off from the landing site towards Camp 1 some nine kilometres away. We were all pleasantly surprised by how easy it was to pull a pulk with 150 kg of kit on board until we finally turned off the main glacier and realised that the first half of the trip had been slightly downhill - now began the pulk from Hell. As we struggled uphill Phill and I began to realise the benefits of our extra poundage as the lighter members of the group struggled to make their skins grip and their pulks move. My morale and ego were boosted when Sue told me she hadn't realised I had a big one!!
We finally established Camp 1 on a glacier at 1655 metres surrounded by unclimbed peaks. For the rest of the day we built walls and dug snow pits, dozed in our tents, eyed up lines and plotted routes. A few forays were planned for that evening. The sun "set" behind a mountain about ten o'clock and although it got considerably colder it didn't get dark and the sun "rose” again about midnight. That night Mike and I bagged our first summit whilst Sue and Sean recced down the glacier on ski.
That became the pattern of the exped. We went to bed about seven or eight in the evening, got up between midnight and three o'clock, bagged a peak or two and were back in our tents between seven and ten. By mid afternoon the heat of the sun drove us out to cook, eat, re-hydrate and chat whilst Phill played his banjo or flew his kite and Rob juggled with his balls.
We snacked away throughout the day. Packets of Cheddars and nuts with chocolate chips were like gold dust; Fruesli bars, by contrast,
■Er ST/'*
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OLD GITS'
R IG N V S B J E R G EXPEDITION
2 0 RAFMA Journal 2003