Technomix

Story about an interesting incident that happened when I was a mountaineering instructor.

“I know I have had an unusual life, being born in a skin tent and living to hear on the radio that two men have landed on the moon.” Pitseolak Ashoona, Cape Dorset, 1971

Thirty years ago, I found myself on the Wapta Icefield in Canada’s Banff National Park. In those days, I had found summer employment as a mountaineering instructor for the Canadian Army, an enviable job for any climber.(That's me in the photo on the right.) Every week, we led groups of Master Cadets onto the glaciers for what was probably the most thrilling experience of their summer. After an arduous hike from the Banff/Jasper Highway, we would end up at Bow Hut for a first night of luxury. At that time, Bow Hut was a single-room structure at the very toe of the glacier; today, it is a rather luxurious multi-room shelter at some distance from the glacier as the latter has receded considerably in the last 30 years. Thereafter, the trip would take us on a three-day traverse of the Icefields where accommodation would consist of eiderdown sleeping bags and nylon tents. The students tended to be ill equipped with thin moldy army-issue sleeping bags. The mountaineering instructors, in contrast, used all the latest gear and so while the students had consistently miserable nights, we slept like babies!
On one particular trip, one of my students was a 17-year-old boy from the Canadian Arctic. This lad was tough and snow was his element. One afternoon, he informed us that he had brought along his snow knife and offered to build us an igloo if we would agree to spend the night in it. He needed no help, he said, and he reckoned it would take him no more that three hours to build an igloo big enough to accommodate all 4 instructors. Since none of us had ever experienced a night in an igloo or even seen a real igloo, we agreed.

Wearing only a t-shirt and shorts, our lad first drew a circle in the snow. He then stepped into the circle and proceeded to use his snow knife to harvest the snow blocks he would need to build the igloo. The structure started as an inclined plane following the line of the circle with each successive row inclined slightly toward the center point and each block gaining support from the previous, loose snow serving as mortar. As the floor of the igloo was lowered progressively by the block harvesting, the white hemisphere gradually closed over the builder until he had completely sealed himself in. At completion, the floor of the igloo was 3 -4 feet below ground (snow) level. Our builder then proceeded to dig his way out in a fashion that left the igloo with a wind-proof tunneled entrance. The interior consisted of the floor and a surrounding ledge that would serve as a sleeping platform. Near a glacier stream, he even found a sheet of ice that he proceeded to install at the apex of the igloo as a skylight! We stared in admiration at the completed structure, this temporary abode constructed in front of our very eyes using building methods that were probably thousands of years old. Truly impressive!

Before turning in, we took part in a celebratory dinner to which our builder had contributed freshly made Arctic flatbread, the preparation of which we all regretted seeing since it required frequent adjustments of the dough’s consistency by the addition of gobs of spittle by the builder now turned baker. Thinking back on this and remembering as well that no hand washing facilities were available, it is a small wonder we survived the night with nary a gastrointestinal incident. Thankfully, bacteria are heat labile!

Stomachs full and muscles aching (botulism?!!#@) we four retired to our digs, ready for a fascinating if primitive respite from our tents. With moonlight streaming though our frosted skylight, we proceeded to lay ourselves out on the sleeping platform. Dressed as we were in mesh undies, polyester and wool knickers and cotton tees, we slipped into our expensive rip-stop nylon and eider-down mummy bags ready for a well-deserved slumber.

Midnight: Woke up in a natural fug and the sound of drips. The inside air temperature had certainly increased since our initial entrance and I unzipped the mummy a tad.

Two AM: Christ, I’m uncomfortable! Body heat, exhaled water vapor and melting snow had combined to increase the humidity to tropical levels. Toss and turn a few times and think Z’s.

Four AM: I’m cold…and wet! I realize the only thing separating me from the outside world is a soggy pancake of matted down and nylon. Christ! How do those people survive in these things?

Five AM: Watching the sunrise with a hot cuppa in hand and porridge on the boil, I was happy to find out that my three flat-mates had spent an equally unpleasant night. So, what had gone wrong? The igloo was supposed to have kept us warm and comfy. We had top-notch gear to boot.

This is what we concluded: You can’t mix old and new technologies and always expect them to jive. The gear we had was meant to be used in a rip-stop nylon tent complete with fly and ventilation holes. To live comfortably in an igloo, you need to do the following: 1- Don’t wash. You need those normal body oils that we in so-called “developed” societies remove everyday and flush down the shower drain. 2- Clothes and bedding need to be of animal products i.e. oily animal skins with plenty of fur. These materials are the only ones that are compatible with the cold high humidity of the igloo interior.

Final words of advice: When in Rome, do as the Romans…and when in an igloo, do as the Inuit. And do try that flatbread!

Joseph Froncioni