BETWEEN THE NORTH POLE expeditions of Robert Peary and Richard Weber lies almost a century of discovery and invention. Sure, both men endured the piercing cold and crossed a desert of ice and snow to stand atop the roof of the world -- Peary, the first, in 1909; Weber and his Russian partner, Mikhail Malakhov, just last year. But how they got there and the fanfare that surrounded their achievements speak to both the science and the sensibilities of their eras. Simply put, things are different now; no easier, mind you, just different.
A twin-engine Otter deposited Weber and Malakhov on Ward Hunt Island, N.W.T., along with more than a half-tonne of equipment and provisions. Their eight plastic sleds carried food for a 105-day trek, a tent of ripstop nylon, and a radio message transmitter no bigger than a cassette tape. They wore parkas insulated with fleece and sheathed by a synthetic microfibre that deflected wind and expelled moisture. A parachute flare dropped to illuminate their makeshift landing strip shed enough light to read a newspaper a kilometre away. If it had been a current edition, they likely would have found news of their expedition buried on the back pages.
In Peary's day, banner headlines heralded his departure back then, setting foot on the North Pole had the same cachet as a walk on the moon in 1979. Peary sailed from New York under the aegis of the American government in 1908; President Theodore Roosevelt was dockside to see him off with a handshake, sending him north on a two-month voyage.
An experienced arctic explorer, Peary adopted "Eskimo methods and customs" to survive the extremes of northern travel, donning a coat and pants fashioned from the fur of polar bear and caribou, sleeping in igloos. Only after food had been cached ahead -- tonnes of whale blubber and walrus meat for the dogs, and biscuits, pemmican and tea for the men -- did Peary and long-time arctic companion Matthew Hanson begin their journey from Cape Columbia, the most northerly point on the North American mainland. An impressive cast supported them along the way: 22 men and some 133 huskies.
Weber and Malakhov, on the other hand, skied alone, each hauling two 60-kilogram sleds of provisions. After two weeks, they stashed these on the slowly drifting pack ice and returned to their base camp for still more supplies, following a trail of flags they had left behind. More important, they used a hand-held global positioning receiver linked to an array of satellites to monitor their latitude and longitude within several hundred metres.
Peary relied on a sextant and observations of the sun to inform him of his location. Often, under cloud cover and unable to take a bearing, he travelled north unsure of his progress and position. On April 6, 1909, he set up camp five kilometres from the pole, by his reckoning. That day, Peary and two Inuit guides crisscrossed the icy reaches taking sun sightings, and during these dashes--Peary could never really say when--he claims he strode across the top of the world. In his diary he wrote, "The pole at last!"
Other than his sketchy diaries, he had little hard proof to quell the skeptics on his return to Washington in late summer. After months of grilling, his claim was finally upheld by a congressional committee, and Peary took his place in the pantheon of American heroes. His position there continues to be a matter of dispute, however: naysayers wonder at his fantastic progress, more than 100 kilometres some days and question his passage straight up the 70th meridian, this feat somehow managed on the constantly shifting ice pack of the Arctic Ocean.
No such controversy clouded Weber's accomplishment. On March 12, 1995, Weber flipped a switch on an Argos positioning beacon he had carried with him, sending a signal flashing to a satellite and on to Washington, D.C., where it was downloaded, decoded and relayed hack to Ottawa. It read: 90┬║ N. Weber and Malakhov had reached the North Pole.
