August 16. The day began on hard, bare ice. We were still far below the snowline, so the skis stayed strapped to sleds and everyone walked. The surface was a mix of frozen dimples and sun-hardened ripples that made travel feel more like glacier walking than a ski expedition.

Elaine and I had brought light hiking boots paired with Kahtoolas, which felt nimble on the uneven ice. Arjen had chosen mountaineering boots, a slightly heavier but effective system for this early terrain. Others moved in expedition Nordic boots that were less ideal for the rough surface. Footwear choices mattered because of what we were pulling. Each sled carried the gear, food and fuel needed for about thirty-five days on the ice, often close to one hundred and fifty pounds when fully loaded. My sled was heavy, but Elaine’s was almost comically so. The sled weighed more than she did.

From the first pull, my sled made its opinions known. It refused to stay upright. I had stacked the food bags too high and every subtle roll in the terrain sent the sled tipping over. Before our first break it had probably flipped twenty times. At the stop I lowered the food weight and shifted the pulling knot slightly uphill. It helped for a while, but once we moved back into the rougher icefall later in the day, the flipping returned. In those moments all you can do is reset the sled, breathe and keep going. Part of me wished I had brought my own Acapulka. That sled has never caused trouble. But wishing does not help much out here. Adaptation is the only option. Shorten the rope. Pack smarter. Learn the sled you have.

Group rhythms showed themselves more clearly today. People naturally fall into certain positions or paces. Some sleds track straight while others wander. Some combinations of gear and stride seem to move through the terrain more fluidly than others. It is nobody’s fault. It is simply how a group begins to sort itself out on the ice.

I spent more time with the two Norwegian brothers, Erik and Sigurd, who were wrestling with the same tippy-sled problem. There was a quiet comfort in sharing the frustration. The three of us would flip our sleds, trade a look, maybe laugh for a moment before getting back to hauling. It felt good to fall into step with people who were experiencing the same challenges.

By late afternoon the miles had settled into our legs. The ice stretched ahead in long rolling contours that looked identical until the light shifted. We continued to adjust lines, repack loads and search for the small improvements that make the next pull a little easier.

Tonight the plan is simple: shorten the rope again, shift the weight and hope for fewer flips tomorrow. Farther up the ice the surface gains snow and we will finally click into skis. But today was a reminder that the early days of any expedition are about learning. The sled, the group, the ice and yourself.