Expedition North, Dispatch I: The Beginning

Not every expedition starts out on a high.

I’m writing this first dispatch lying on a narrow berth somewhere deep inside the guts of a ferry crossing the windy, choppy Baltic Sea. There’s no window in my cabin, and the only indication of my being on a ship is the constant sensation of rolling and my jacket swinging from left to right and back again from the hanger on the wall.

If you’ve ever been seasick on rough seas, you might sympathise. I took a pill but I don’t think it’s helping, so I’m trying to focus on lying perfectly still, because every time I stand up, I feel like the world around me is about to collapse.

Vilk isn’t loving the ride either. He isn’t as sick as me, but he’s been sleeping in my bed, at my feet - which is terribly out of character for him. He must be feeling a little uncomfortable too.

To add to the general misery, the ferry is delayed by about 8 hours, which puts us a whole day behind schedule with the expedition.

But let’s not focus on the negatives. Today, I’d love to tell you a little about this upcoming new adventure.

As most of you will already know, I’ve just set off on Expedition North.

Vilk, Odyssey and I are planning to spend the next 6 weeks in the Arctic Circle, overlanding in Sweden and Norway, and eventually ending up at Nordkapp - the northernmost point in continental Europe. We’ll be car camping for the most part, and sometime in March we will attempt a 100-mile ultra marathon together over the course of four days.

I’ve been looking up temperatures where we’re going and it’s looking like -30C (-22f) and sometimes even colder. There will be mountains of snow, there will be the ever present risk of frost bite, there will of course be frustration and exhaustion and “why the hell did I decide to do this”.

But I’m excited for it. If you ever find yourself seeking out Type 2 fun, you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about.

So. Nordkapp is the goal, but this trip isn’t just about reaching a random point on a map.

For me, this trip is chiefly about reclaiming my space and my alone-ness. On the most basic level, I just want to spend time alone with my dog, in the silence of nature, on long snowy drives, far from city noise and good-natured advice and rules.

Because, sure, we can all just agree to live within this crazy messed up human society, and we can all desensitise ourselves to its mind-numbing pressures and shackles. As humans, we’re capable of performing this mental trick.

But I don’t want to do that.

Or rather, I can do it for short bursts of time - but I also need an outlet for the Wild Thing in me.

I reckon we could all use an outlet for the Wild Thing in us.

And if we do… if we find that outlet and if it turns out to be more radical than a tennis lesson or a weekend in Rome… if it turns out to be risky, or unconventional, or long-term… we might get accused of running away.

From our troubles, our responsibilities, our reality.

…I don’t buy it.

And I don’t buy it because I don’t believe that this “real world reality” that our society has created is anything to live by.

Sure, we’re all tethered to it in one way or another. We benefit from it, we suffer through it.

But… so what, if you run away from it? Why should that be a bad thing?

Surely, running away from a reality you don’t like, and creating one that you’re passionate about, should be considered a good thing?

Surely, if you’re not hurting anyone in the process, it shouldn’t raise any eyebrows?

Surely, our deep and ancestral humanity needs, once in a while, to reconnect to the Wild Thing inside us?

…

I guess this is the closest I’ve ever come to writing a manifesto for a trip. If any of it didn’t make sense, blame the motion sickness pills.

For now, I’ll leave you with this quote:

“The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion” - Albert Camus

10 hours left until we reach Sweden.