The spring weather we experienced yesterday was premature. Today, we had a rude awakening in the form of another severe dose of Arctic winter: morning temperature – 34 C, cloudy skies and a raw wind. By the time we got underway, the wind had become brisker still.

To make things worse, the pack-ice in front of us became depressingly difficult to negotiate. As a result of these desperate conditions, a dark cloud of hopelessness settled over the joint consciousness of the Expedition. The pulkhas seemed to resist our pulling like stubborn donkeys. Our brains ordered us onwards and our muscles ached with the effort, but it all seemed to no avail.

Due to `whiteout´, it became impossible for the lead skier to see in front of him. An invisible snowdrift would upend him, and all we would see was the large backside of an Airborne Ranger and the back end of a pair of skis. Often on such occasions, from beyond the snowdrift, we would then here the names of various Finnish Pagan Gods and Devils being shouted to the icy heavens…

[Ed: Whiteout is an optical phenomenon occurring in polar regions in which the snow-covered ground blends into a uniformly white sky blotting out shadows, clouds, horizon, etc. and destroying all sense of depth, direction or distance (Webster's New World Dictionary)]

Fairy tales, they say, always have a happy ending; and so does this one. As the afternoon drew on, the wind calmed slightly, the terrain became smoother, and the sun came out. We even made some good headway. The collective mood of the Expedition lightened.

However, the day's skiing came to an unexpected end when we were halted by a newly opened lead with open water. It was getting wider by the minute. We scouted for a way around it without success. The only solution was to pitch camp for the night, and hope the lead would freeze over by morning.

All is well with the Expedition.