August 21. 20.7 km | 400 feet of climbing. Camped at 5,532 feet.

We woke to a clear sky and light north breeze, a welcome change after the muted light of the previous day. The icecap felt calm and open again, the horizon sharp and readable.

I led for the first half of the day. The heading was straightforward, and the chest compass harness made it easy to settle into a steady line. There was some minor confusion within the group about the exact bearing, but we were following the GPS track and matching the compass to it. In terrain this uniform, precision is less about perfection and more about consistency.

New snow from the day before had accumulated to roughly three centimeters. Just enough to slow things down and require some trail breaking, but nothing that disrupted the flow. The surface stayed forgiving, the terrain gently rolling.

I spent the second half of the day skiing in the back. Music in my ears, Shackleton’s Endurance playing quietly, the rhythm of poles and sled smoothing out my mood. I tend to do best either at the front, fully engaged, or at the very end, where there’s room to drift, take photos, and let my attention roam. The middle is harder for me. At the back, I sometimes fall thirty yards behind and pretend, briefly, that I’m the only one out here.

This group moves with a distinctly Norwegian efficiency. The system is precise and time-tested: fifty minutes on, ten minutes off, six cycles a day. It works, and it works well. Still, the structure leaves little room for variation, and with everyone strung out in a straight line, the travel can feel solitary despite the company.

It is a learning trip. These are, after all, the people who wrote the history of polar travel, from Nansen to Amundsen. There is comfort in trusting a system that has endured this long. Elaine and I are paying attention, absorbing what works, already thinking about what we might adapt in our own way down the road.

In camp, systems continue to evolve. I’ve been reorganizing my sled for efficiency: water and food in zippered pockets alongside the solar panel and battery, gloves in easy-access Velcro, insulation and lunch tucked into the sleeping bag hood. Small adjustments, but they add up over weeks.

By evening, we were settled again on the high plateau. The weather held, the miles accumulated quietly, and the line on the map crept westward, still early in the crossing, still small against the scale of Greenland.