The Tusk Arctic Challenge

14 Feb

The goals of fundraising challenges can often seem incongruous with their means. Thousands run the London Marathon every year for causes many miles away or kindly raise money for the research of diseases they may never have. None can feel quite so different, though, than heading to the Arctic Circle to raise money for African wildlife. But that is exactly what we did.

The Challenge

Over the first weekend of February I took a team of nine 150 miles inside the Artic Circle to undertake the Tusk Arctic Challenge, facing a series of tasks that included cross country skiing, husky sledding, emergency fire and shelter building and a few other surprises to test our fitness and composure in temperatures down to -20.

The weekend was a culmination of a months fundraising and while we still have more events to come are just over 50% of our way towards our £10,000 target. To all those who have already donated a huge thank you and if you are considering it then hopefully the following write up will show you what a worthy challenge and cause this really is.

Film created and produced by Collective Lines

Day One

Having been scheduled to begin the challenge at 3pm on Thursday afternoon we were quickly reminded about the harsh reality of where we were headed when our flight was turned around as we approached the runway due to an Arctic storm bringing 60mph winds.

An anxious flight back to Stockholm ensued as we wondered whether the storm would die down in time for us to land that day and begin the challenge and if we could how much of it we would still have time to complete.

Landing back in Stockholm we were told we’d been booked on to new flights in six hours, hopefully giving the storm time to pass and leave us landing in Kiruna at 11.30pm, 18 hours after we’d left that morning.

Team meetings ensued in the airport bar, tactics discussed over beers poured in litres(!) and we were on to the plane for the second attempt with ample Dutch courage for whatever the landing could throw at us.

Snow exploded around the wings as we did finally touch down and with bags collected we hunkered down in the mushers lodge to grab some much needed shut eye before the challenge began in earnest the following day.

The challenge awaiting us the following day

Day Two

With the sun not breaking the horizon until 10am our morning was heralded by 80 huskies howling with excitement as the sleds were prepared. As animals that are born, bred and trained to run all day you can see they love to be out pulling the sleds.

After a quick lesson and safety briefing we harnessed up the dogs (four per person), took to the sleds and set off in intervals in our teams of three, each led by a local musher.

This was meant to be a race but as soon as we’d negotiated a tricky first left hand corner all ideas of competitiveness were put to one side as we flew along through boreal forests and across frozen rivers and lakes. The dogs lapped up the miles with plenty of encouragement from us, the -19 temperature feeling a little on the warm side as we pushed our sleds up the frequent hills - none of us had ever been so hot and cold at the same time.

As we went past the half way mark in rapid time we broke for lunch; frozen meat for the dogs and sandwiches toasted over a fire for us. As each team made it in for lunch we sat in the snow - often as deep as our hips - watching the sun set at 2pm and preparing to finish our journey with head torches on.

The final leg of the race took us out across more frozen lakes and as tiredness crept in we found ourselves increasingly error prone. We’d been told from the start, “If you fall off the back whatever you do do not let go of the sled. The dogs will run on and you will never catch them up.”

As a result we all knew no matter what happened we had to keep one hand on the sled.

With one lake left to cross and only a mile to go I watched, with tears of laughter freezing on my cheeks, my team mate one sled in front try to run behind his dogs, put his foot through snow four foot rather than four inches thick and face plant in to the tracks left by his dogs with both hands still on the handlebar, being pulled along superman style and eating snow behind his sled.

I laughed but was not guilt free of a fall, nor was anyone, but none of the dogs ever got away from us and we reached our wilderness lodge for the evening just after sundown. If we thought this meant respite we were wrong, we had to collect water from the only area the river had not frozen, dig the fire pit out and chop logs for the fire in the cabin - our only heat source for the night.

Once this was done we were put back in to our teams of three, head torches on out in the snow and given a box of matches. Each team had an hour to build a sustainable fire from whatever we could gather, one we knew would last all night if we kept feeding it.

What ensued was half a game of rugby and half foraging as we all tried to put other teams fires out but had, by the end of the hour, all got our fires to a point of survival, just.

Traditional Swedish saunas followed - sauna, jump in the snow, back to the sauna, repeat. Before a Swedish ‘pub quiz’ around the fire and enough beers to act as a jacket against the cold in the cabin.

Day Three

We were told this was the day that separated the sheep from the goats - although were unsure which was the better of the two.

Breakfast was followed by a quinzhee (pronounced kinzi) shelter build. This, we were informed, is what we’d have to build should we ever be lost in the snow overnight - a distinct possibility with what was to come.

Each team had an hour to build a quinzhee we would feel safe in overnight so immediately set about compacting snow in to a mound before digging out a hole large enough for the smallest member of our team to nestle in. Results were mixed and unsurprisingly the winning team had a property developer on it. He politely declined when I offered to sell him ours as a buy to let.

After this it was time for the main event. A 21km Nordic Skiing race back to the mushers lodge we’d stayed in on the first night. To make it harder our skis had last been used in the 1950’s meaning even those who were used to skiing found it an alien sensation.

Following a quick demonstration we were again set out in our teams at two minute intervals, with members of our lead team falling over before they were even round the first corner.

The optimistic face of nine men with no idea what’s to come

After 100 meters through the trees we were out on to a frozen lake meaning each team could see the other for the first hour, those of us at the back furiously but unskilfully trying to hunt down those in front.

A look at our Garmin watches told us we were managing little more than a walking pace and the 21km finishing line felt a very, very long way away.

Unperturbed, for now, each team pushed on through to the half way point with the lead changing hand many times but competitiveness again diminished (amongst most, myself excluded) as the landscape and scenery was too spectacular to prioritise winning over enjoyment.

At the lunch break and after three hours of skiing there was 14 seconds between the top two teams and after sandwiches and a healthy swig on a hip flask we were on our way again for what was arguably the most stunning section of the entire trip.

As we left the lake and climbed a steep hill, very much a one step forward one step back as we still tried to master the skiing, we were met by one of the most spectacular sunsets I’ve seen, the white of the snow and the purple of the sky set beautifully against the forest backdrop. The only thing that could possibly spoil it was someone shouting at their skis and lamenting their inability to move quickly (again boys I’m very sorry).

As darkness fell and head torches were dug out of rucksacks each team made their way slowly towards the finish line. Thankfully the majority of the distance remaining was downhill - although this inevitably led to a lot of time spent on our backs, bums or generally with skis in the air.

With one team across the line the remaining two had formed one team split in to two groups with four of us in the front group racing the last 100 meters uphill towards the finish line - much akin to a wounded gazelle trying to outrun a three legged lion - only for all of us to collapse over the line the result now on the shoulders of the last two, Luke and Sam.

They appeared a few minutes behind us and, having covered the last 5km’s together decided to cross the line simultaneously to give both teams equal share of the wooden spoon (or silver medal) depending on how you looked at it.

This unglamorous finish signalled the end of the challenge, a chance for a hot shower and back in to normal-ish clothing for a trip to the Ice Hotel and a pint, all of us reflecting on a fantastic trip.

How To Support

As fun as all this undoubtedly was we were there to raise money for Tusk, a charity close to my heart and at the forefront of wildlife and community conservation across Africa. We’re just over 50% of the way towards our £10,000 target and would like to thank all those who have already donated and urge you, if you are able to, to consider supporting us. Every penny raised goes such a long way, thank you.

Donate here: JustGiving

William Fortescue

With an instantly recognisable style William’s internationally acclaimed work has seen him quickly make his mark on the industry and raise over £110,000 for conservation causes. His first coffee table book, The Last Stand, was released in October 2022, the same month he became the youngest wildlife photographer to have a nine week solo exhibition in London.

Represented by leading art galleries at home in the U.K. and overseas William’s work has sold around the world and been part of globally successful conservation initiatives Prints for Wildlife and New Big 5.

In 2021, together with Matthew Armstrong-Ford, William co-founded Armstrong Fortescue, a photographic safari company dedicated to getting guests off the beaten track.