August 25. 22 km, 350 feet of climbing. Camped at 6,866 feet.

The day began warm again.

Not as oppressive as two days ago, but warm enough to feel wrong for this place. Somewhere far south there must have been a larger heat wave working its way north, its edges reaching even here. On the icecap, warmth is disorienting. It dulls urgency. It softens the surface just enough to complicate simple movement. The skins clumped early, snow sticking where it shouldn’t, until skin wax brought things back into order.

Once we settled into motion, the rhythm returned. Elaine and I each took a lead shift. Hers came in flat light, the kind that erases depth and contrast and turns navigation into a mental task more than a visual one. Mine followed later under sun and definition, the icecap suddenly readable again. Same terrain, different cognitive load.

Midday passed quietly. Kilometer after kilometer of small, repetitive movement. This is where the mind begins to wander, not because it wants to, but because there is nothing stopping it. I watched airplanes trace faint white lines overhead, flying directly above our route toward North America. I counted them. Imagined the lives inside. Pressurized cabins, movies, coffee. It’s strange what passes for entertainment when the world is reduced to snow, sky, and forward motion.

The physical movement of the day was straightforward. Emotionally, it was less predictable.

Long-distance travel through monotonous terrain has a way of loosening things that usually stay tucked away. The steady motion, the lack of distraction, the quiet hours spent inside your own head, it can all open doors you didn’t plan on opening. For one member of our team, old memories from a decade earlier surfaced unexpectedly, carrying weight that had little to do with the present moment. There was no drama, no disruption, just the quiet acknowledgment that this landscape has room for more than forward motion. Space does that. So does repetition.

By evening, the mood had softened again. Camp went up efficiently. Systems continued to improve, small refinements stacking into real ease. After dinner, some of us crowded into the Norwegian brothers’ tent for a shared pour of whiskey. A small ritual, passed quietly hand to hand. No speeches. Just warmth, laughter, and the simple relief of being still.

We covered good ground today, solid travel, the kind that adds up. The icecap remains vast and indifferent, but we are beginning to feel less like visitors passing through and more like a moving part within it.

Tomorrow, we keep going.