DAY 9 "NORMALLY, -35 WOULD BE A MISERABLY COLD DAY, BUT THIS FELT LIKE SPRINGTIME." In our tent, it was Geoff's duty to rise first each morning, light the stoves, and prepare tea water. It was a miserable chore but, true to his nature, he never complained. He slept in the middle of our tent, feet toward the door, with Richard and me on either side. Upon rising, he would fold his bag and pad in half, forming a couch and clearing a cook space near the entry way. In this space he placed the stove box and cookpots, which were stowed in the entry tunnel each night. He reached through the tunnel and grabbed blocks of crusted snow and ice that had been stashed just outside. After fil1ing the water pot with ice, Geoff would pour water from the thermos that had been prepared the night before. This would speed the melting process and prevent the fire from scorching the pot. The roar of the stoves was my cue to get up. In forty-five minutes, Geoff would have our first round of tea prepared. After making a seat from my sleeping bag and extra clothing, I'd begin my one-hour morning writing session. As heat from the stoves caused the frost that lined the ceiling to rain down on us, I always felt as if I were writing in a cellar. During this morning "meltdown," I would crouch over my journal to keep the drops from falling on the pages. My left palm would begin to freeze as it moved across the frozen pages. I'd use two pens in rotation, warming one in my crotch. And unless I warmed the finished pages on the stove to dry the ink, they would smear. By the time tea was ready, the meltdown was over, the tent somewhat warmed, and I could continue writing in relative comfort. I seldom gave any thought to the unusual circumstances the cold imposed on routine activities. They seemed almost like 1 1 3 NORTH TO THE POLE reflex responses; it was just what had to be done to get along in this environment. Personal hygiene, washing and shaving, also required some adaptation . Since fresh water was a precious commodity, requiring much fuel to produce it, we used it very sparingly. I learned to give myself a quick sponge bath with just four ounces of water. The trick was to wash with a tiny, threadbare patch of cloth, one that could absorb only an ounce or less or water. My five-inch square swath was so worn you could see through it. I would bathe every other day, usually in the morning. My evening hygiene chore involved cleaning my contact lenses. After scrubbing my hands with an alcohol swab, I rinsed the lenses off, secured them in a tiny case, and then tucked the case and bottle of lens solution into my polar suit to keep it from freezing. The process took time, but I'm convinced that the unobstructed vision that contacts offer make them far superior to glasses for use on the trail. Glasses fog, restricting vision to the point of danger, and the frames conduct the cold to the face and make the cheeks highly susceptible to·frostbite. Extended-wear contacts that require little maintenance are the best option. Geoff and Brent used these on the trail with much success. Unfortunately, I had found before the trip that my eyes were only comfortable with conventional hard contacts. Once a week I took a little extra time to shave. Using my teacup as a washbasin, I'd lather up my face and hack away at the stubble while looking into the mirror on my compass. The sensation of a clean face was luxurious, an adequate substitute on the trail for the pleasures of a shower. In the cold, beards prove to be a mixed blessing. They offer some insulation, serving as a filter to break the intensity of the wind against exposed cheeks, but they collect a lot of frost from one's breath. More than a pound of it can collect on a cold day, which, when one enters the tent at night, has to be picked or melted off. When a face mask needs to be worn over a beard, the problem is exacerbated, because moisture is held tight between the flesh and the mask. Paul opted to keep his beard, but paid dearly for it because the mask...