Mark Agnew
Me, Eileen and Jeff as the pack ice surges against our tiny platform.
Kayaking the Northwest Passage - one of the greatest expeditions of modern times
The Arctic wilderness disappeared below me as the small plane climbed into the sky. I stared out the window as the horizon extended infinitely and the vastness of the landscape we had just inhabited dawned on me. What seconds earlier had been my reality for so long now seemed alien. It seemed unfathomable that it had been normal to live in a tent, walk miles for water, hack through frozen ponds in a desperate bid to find something drinkable and to kayak ultra distances day after day.
That was a year ago. In October 2023, my Arctic Cowboy teammates and I were plucked from the end of our expedition, having just become the first people to kayak the entire Northwest Passage. With my nose so close to the expedition, it was hard to contextualise how significant our achievement was, but since then the expedition has been named in the Top 10 Greatest Kayaking Expeditions of the Century (so far) by Paddling Magazine. Of all the accolades, that one in particular helps me to realise what we achieved. I now have an entire career as a keynote speaker as a result.
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It took 103 days from the moment we first put our blades in the water, to the moment the plane came for us. It was supposed to take less. The conventional wisdom is that we had all of July and August, and maybe a bit of September if we were lucky. We were only halfway when September rolled around, but we just kept going and paddled into October, when the weather turned on us and life, already hard, became harder.
As time moves on since we finished, I'm finding it harder to process what we went through. Sometimes, it feels like it happened to someone else. Often, I'm completely fed up with mundane admin like painting fences. We lived a simple life up there, we came inches away from death, we kayaked for hours in silence, and through it all my priorities crystallised. Spoiler alert - the colour of my fence didn't make the list. When I imagined life post-expedition it was all about doing what was important with the people who were important to me. It's impossible to live that way all the time, and so I have to find a way to put up with, or enjoy, the mundane tasks that are required to exist in the 21st century. That is easier said than done.
Even now, as I write this, I'm not really sure what I'm trying to say or how to say it. All I want to do is throw my two kids in the air all day long, go hiking with my wife, and not do laundry. Doing what you love is probably all anyone wants to do, whether they've been through the Northwest Passage or not (though hopefully with their own children and wife). In fact, that's probably all I wanted to do before the Northwest Passage as well. It's just, the contrast between what's important and what's necessary is glaring now.
It's on odd feeling that is hard to put my finger on. There are three people who might be able to empathise though.
Dragging across the ice side-by-side with West was a formative experience.
West Hansen, Jeff Wueste and Eileen Visser. My three teammates - the experiences we had trump the accolades. I will forever treasure each and every moment, especially the hard ones. I had never met these three people before I went to the Arctic and yet I gelled with them all quickly.
Dragging the kayaks over the ice side-by-side with West, picking our way through a labyrinth, was a shared experience that can't be topped. Laughing with Jeff as he made an impressive of a polar bear that he had just caught going through our rubbish is as bizarre as it is funny.
Eileen holds a very special place in my life, partly for the simple reason that we were in a kayak together. We shared every inch of the journey, and shared winding conversations and epic efforts together that were unbelievable. As we kayaked towards Fort Ross a strong wind whipped at our faces. We heaved with all our might to maintain some semblance of speed. The water flew off my paddles and into Eileen's eyes until they stung so much she had to shut them and I called out "1,2,1,2" so she could stay in time with my stroke - through this monumental and objectively miserable effort we screamed at each other "THIS IS AWESOME!".
When all the dust settles, its my teammates that count. It's my teammates that made the Northwest Passage one of the greatest experiences of my life.
This isn't just something that has dawned on me retrospectively. I knew this at the time, I knew this when we finished and I know this one year later - sharing the journey with West, Jeff and Eileen is what was special. Not only do I owe them for our success, I owe them for making it wonderful. If I had become the first person to kayak the Northwest Passage solo the achievement might have been even more impressive but the experience would have been infinitely worse. The miserable moments would have felt miserable rather than "awesome".
(I say that hypothetically - I'd have had no chance of finishing on my own, not to mention the shore team of Tom and Barbara, performing miracles for us to succeed.)
I now give talks around the world about resilience - there are three Cs to resilience: focusing on what you can Control, doing something you already feel Commitment to and re-framing obstacles as Challenges. Psychologists have missed a third: Community. Through our shared effort and support, I became more resilient. The team made it possible not just to survive, but to thrive in adversity and have fun - that is the essence of resilience.
Of course, we had what West has called "team strife" in media interviews. There are a few occasions in particular I can think of when tempers flared and there was often an underlying tension owing to different approaches and opinions. That's inevitable. I view tensions and outright fights as mutually exclusive to affection, camaraderie and support. I trusted those three with my life and had a good time doing it.
Perhaps my teammates will read this and have a totally different opinion, and hold no affection for me whatsoever (insert nervous laughter here). I probably won't send this to them as it's too soppy and makes me cringe. One year on, when I think about our expedition, I don't think about the achievement and the awards - I think about the polar bears, sea ice, ice bergs, glaciers, flocks of birds a million strong, the whales, the sunsets, the shooting stars, comets and the Northern Lights, and above all I think of the shared effort. I think about the Arctic Cowboys.