We were absolutely thrilled to sponsor an audacious expedition to kayak the Arctic’s Northwest Passage in 2023! The 2,000-mile journey in freezing conditions set two world records; the first to kayak the Northwest Passage and the first to complete the entire route under human power.
The team of four set off from Baffin Bay, Greenland on 2 July and three months later reached the Beaufort Sea on 8 October. The whole of Base Camp Food is thrilled to have supported such an incredible expedition of endurance and resilience. We were fortunate enough to have a write-up of the gruelling experience from team member Mark Agnew. Read on to learn the harsh realities of kayaking the Arctic.
We cruised through the water at 4mph. I looked over my shoulder, anticipating each oncoming swell and dug my paddles into the water with extra gusto to surf the water. My tandem kayaking partner, Eileen, read my intentions perfectly and together we effortlessly propelled ourselves forward. We were only 200 miles or so from the end of the Northwest Passage and everything felt possible.
Along with our Arctic Cowboy teammates, Jeff and West, the four of us had been on the expedition for close to 100 days. If we achieved our goal, we would be the first people to kayak the Arctic’s Northwest Passage and the first to complete it by human power, with no motors or sails, in one go.
These world firsts were long sought by the adventure community - different human-powered vessels had tried and failed over the years. Even as we started, two other rowing teams were racing us for the human-powered accolade. But as winter tightened its icy grip on the Arctic, one by one, they had dropped out. We were the only ones left.
The conditions were indeed deteriorating, but so close to the end, flying forward with the strength and cohesion built up over so long together, the end was in sight and it felt like we’d make it long before winter truly took hold.
Then, in a split second, it all changed. My strength deserted me. The power waned from each stroke. No matter how much I tried, I could not muster another ounce of energy. I promised myself I’d eat when we reached 10 miles, but with every passing second we got slower. I could feel the others’ eyes on me, searching for a reason why suddenly we were flagging.
As my physical state deteriorated, so too did my mental state. We were never going to finish, I thought. How could I manage the next mile like this, let alone the next 200?
I’d never felt hunger like it. The hunger had moved out of my stomach and into my cells. Every part of my body cried for substance.
I eventually succumbed and shovelled down a protein bar. Almost instantaneously, our speed returned to normal and so did my mental state. Only, it flagged again later. And so, our day proceeded between a series of peaks and troths as I existed from snack to snack.
We had planned to cover 40 miles, but stopped at 30 miles. We pulled into a place called Pearce Harbour. The protected lagoon was like a bowl with high cliffs on the outside, sloping down into beaches on the inside. We paddled through a large arch carved out of a rock. The beautiful scenery was the antidote I needed, to remind myself of the joy and the fun I shared
with my teammates, instead of the overwhelming hunger. Yet, there was a lingering worry we all felt after my unexpected collapse.
The following morning, I ate 2,000 calories before 5am to pre-empt a repeat. We boiled water and poured it into our dehydrated food then sat in anxious anticipation for our meals to be ready.
Eileen and I had two dehydrated meals a day, though that day I had three for breakfast. The meals were provided by Base Camp Food. The support they gave for the expedition was crucial. Food meant more than just full bellies - it was energy to paddle, clarity of thought for life and death decisions and calories to stave off hypothermia. Those warm meals at the start and end of each day were a Godsend - I was so ravenous, I expected myself to wolf them down like a crazed animal, but by the time they were ready, I slowly ate them savouring the flavour and warmth in every mouthful.
Everyone’s favourite was Real Turmat Pulled Pork. If we found ourselves with a valuable pulled pork meal we’d often barter and trade with each other, in the hope of trading the flavours for favours or for another brand of food we hadn’t tried.
The 2,000-calorie multi-meal breakfast seemed to sort me out. I increased my intake for a couple of days to get back onto an even keel. We pushed on and six paddling days (with numerous days stuck on shore due to storms) later, we completed the Northwest Passage on October 8 2023.
It had seemed like a lifetime since we started on July 1. Back then, the sea was chocked full of ice and we’d spent the first 15 days stuck on shore, in a small cabin. Each time we tried to launch, we had been surrounded by an impenetrable maze of floe ice and icebergs. We couldn’t make headway. The skies were clear and the bright sun turned the water and ice into a mix of vibrant blues which was dazzling. It was worth being immersed in the beautiful alien world, even if we made no progress. Eventually, we escaped.
By the time we finished, the sea ice had long since melted. We could see shallow water freezing as the ice cycle started all over again. The land was white with snow, fresh water was frozen solid (which was a serious issue given we needed water for our meals) and the sky was a pale blue. Night had returned and with it, freezing temperatures and howling winds. It was a brutal existence. We stole days from the Arctic when we should have left long ago.
After we exited the Northwest Passage, we continued on for three days to an abandoned airport. We had just 36 hours worth of meals left when we pulled out of the water one last time. The luxury of trading pulled pork had long passed. We huddled in our tent, waiting for a small plane to come and return us to civilization. We boiled our water and made almost all 36 hours worth of food and indulged in every bite.
We had set two world firsts and the news was broken on the BBC. It spread to hundreds of other outlets. I was awarded European Adventurer of the Year, Endurance Asia’s Extraordinary Feat of the Year, ranked a Top Explorer on World Explorer Collective and the expedition was ranked in the top 10 Greatest Kayaking Expeditions of the Century. It led me to a new career - I now travel the world giving talks and workshops to companies and conferences about our experiences and the lessons in resilience and teamwork. It’s all great.
Our success required a massive amount of teamwork. We’d had to work on that cohesion at times. To begin with, we disagreed on our methods and approaches. A huge turning point in our coming together was when we decided to eat our meals together. Prior to that, we ate when we could as others did various chores. Since we started sitting down and eating together, we’d given ourselves the time and space to revel in each day’s adventure and to discuss the next day’s plans. It had been bonding.
In almost every society in history, food has been at the centre of so many social rituals. Even when we were stripped back to our most primal selves in the Arctic, the same was still true.
We had seen ice, polar bears, bowhead whales, beluga, narwhal, the northern lights, sunsets and moonrises that surpassed anything I’d ever witnessed. As we guzzled our meals one final time, I was reminded, as I had been so many times already, that the adventure was not defined by the outcome or external praise but by the experience and the joy of sharing it with my teammates.
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