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KUGLUKTUK, NUNAVUT -- This is winter warfare at its most extreme. As global warming drives the Arctic sovereignty issue to the top of the political agenda, 100 regular troops from Edmonton's Princess Patricia's Canadian Light Infantry joined the Inuit Canadian Rangers for a two-week joint operation to practise survival skills in the harsh North. The extreme exercises unfolded as the coldest snap of the season gripped the region, with temperatures so frigid that exposing skin for mere seconds could, and did, cause frostbite.
More than a third of the troops were nipped by nature, with one soldier put out of commission with swollen, stiff claws that turned dark at the tips.
Spending five days and four long nights out on the frozen, barren land, the troops learned how to build improvised shelters, fish for sustenance, avoid the dangers of weak snow and navigate their way around a vast white landscape with few landmarks except for the occasional hill or inukshuk. Off a seven-month tour in Afghanistan in August, the troops swung from Kandahar's hot and hostile environment to the polar opposite -- Canada's bitter cold Arctic.
DAY 1
P.M. -- After delays forced by whiteout conditions, we journey off by snowmobile onto the expansive white land, towing sleds strapped and stacked high with gear, food and supplies. A bumpy 10-km ride later we reach our frozen campsite on an isolated stretch near a snow-covered hill. We unload, fire up the kerosene stoves, then hunker down with hot chocolate and food before worming into our mummystyle sleeping bags for a cold night's rest.
DAY 2
A.M. -- "Reveille," soldier-speak for "get your butt out of bed -- now," comes at a cruel 6 a.m. from Warrant Officer Ken Smith. We groan to see our breath inside the tent and remain still, putting off emerging from our sacks as long as possible. We skip the army ration breakfast and opt for Nutrigrain bars before bundling up and assembling outdoors for a full day of ice fishing.
"I wanna go home," comes the faint whimper of one soldier from beneath layers of balaclava, no-fog mask, goggles, toque and parka. It's a numbing -35 C, and -52 C with the wind chill. So cold it hurts.
We travel several kilometres to the fishing spot, where we drill down seven feet before the salty ocean water spurts to the surface. We lower the fishing lines and wait. And wait.
Despite layers of cover, our fingers and toes are getting frozen, our faces and eyelashes are encrusted with snow and ice. Still, we wait.
Finally, one of the Rangers gets a bite, but the catch doesn't draw much applause when it's reeled to the surface. It's a butt-ugly bottom- feeder with a wide menacing mouth and big pectoral fins. Its real name is a sculpin but the Inuit call it a "devil fish," and with good reason. Not only is it a most-hideous-looking specimen, it's also inedible.
P.M. -- Determined to catch a real fish, we return to the ice after lunch, but a couple more sculpin are the only biters today. Dreams of a grilled fish supper dashed, we head back to our tents for more army rations.
The temperature is dropping and the wind is picking up, causing all sides of our tent to flap wildly. Warrant Officer Smith carves a smiley face in the frost coating our tent's interior.
Apparently a body burns about 8,000 calories a day in these extreme cold conditions, and even the packaged "rats" are starting to look good. Our main courses are dated '04, but apparently they have a lifespan of a decade.
Much personality comes alive in the tent as soldiers trade stories about the war in Afghanistan, and opine on how the scorching desert heat compares with the deep Arctic freeze.
DAY 3
A.M. -- Morning wake-up is a more merciful 7 a.m., but it's still tough getting up knowing what merciless temperature awaits outside the tent. We conclude it's wicked having to go out to pee in this weather. Even worse is having to use the bathroom tent -- a narrow makeshift shelter that provides marginal privacy and a toilet seat that you wrap with a plastic bag then deposit into a nearby garbage bag.
Our snowmobiles are grumpy with the cold. Gas line anti-freeze helps, and they are still less temperamental than trucks. One guy in town complained he got a measly 90 km on an $80 fill-up with his Dodge pick-up due to necessary idling.
Once all the snow machines are started and warmed, we practise navigational and mapping skills by trekking around on the frozen land.
P.M. -- More navigational skills practice, this time on foot. Some climb up a hill to get a bird's eye view of the vast Arctic landscape. The resupply team brings packs of bologna and loafs of white bread, which Cpl. Darren Lynch, our tent's master chef, fries up to make warm sandwiches. Most would balk at this as a delicacy at home, but it's a welcome gourmet-like reprieve from army rations.
DAY 4
A .M. -- No day of rest this Sunday. We rise at a civilized 7:40 to face an uncivilized -10 C inside the tent and -37 C out, wind chill not factored in.
Ignoring a warning that there's a line between tough and stupid, we drag ourselves up and out for one of the coldest but coolest parts of the "sov op" -- igloo building. Inuit Canadian Ranger Clarence Bolt is an old pro, deftly engineering a one-man hut by carving blocks of snow and forming them into the traditional rounded shelter using shaving and angling techniques.
P.M. -- Refreshed and warmed-up after a lunch break, we head to the hill to learn about the dangers of weak snow -- how to avoid plunging through a dodgy surface or triggering an avalanche. We rappel down a snowy hill, then get lessons on how to conduct rapid evacuations in the case of a medical emergency.
At night, the Rangers bring over freshly baked bannock, a heavy native bread that satisfies serious carb cravings, while the male Rangers while away the evening warming up with a game of poker.
DAY 5
A.M. -- Everyone rises with true purpose this morning -- it's time to pack up and head back to town. Tearing down the tents is apparently easier than setting up the tents. Supplies, gear and every last scrap of garbage is collected and loaded on to the sleds. We depart, freezing cold but with warmth in sight, leaving a number of yellow stains on the snow and a small footprint on the vast Canadian Arctic.