Polarworld - north pole and beyond

I remember well the first time I met Wally. David Attenborough, then Controller of BBC 2, asked me to go and see him. The suggested rendezvous was a pub somewhere in Fulham. I think Attenborough had asked me because at that time I was the only BBC producer who had had some polar experience, having spent a year in the Antarctic. He asked whether I would be interested in making a film about the up-coming British Trans-Arctic Expedition.

I was very full of myself at the time. And I wasn’t particularly keen. I felt I was one of the Young Turks of the BBC. I wanted to make hard-hitting Current Affairs films. These were, after all, exceptional times – the war in Vietnam, the Civil Rights struggle in the United States, Che Guevara, Flower Power, the dawning awareness of the limits to growth - there was so much I wanted to explore, to put onto film. “The Last Great Journey on Earth” seemed – how can I say - not quite of the here and now.

But then I walked into that pub and saw, sitting in a secluded corner a small, compact man in a dark suit, with a pipe: Wally Herbert. Immediately he skewered you with the way he looked you straight in the eye. He was warm, friendly, but also intense, business-like and extraordinarily focused. I’d come prepared to resist; and I left bubbling with enthusiasm, totally committed. It was not just that here was a man with a vision, but also with the conviction and persuasiveness to have you – before you could catch your breath even - sharing that vision. I knew I had encountered a very singular man.

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The polar community is made up of men of few words. It’s a sort of tradition, required behaviour almost - to the point where you ask, ‘is this modesty, a fear of showing one’s feelings or simply a lack of imagination?’ But Wally was quite different. He was eloquent. He gave wondrous expression to his ideas. He could instinctively see the bigger picture, the epic potential of things. With feet on the ground and spirit soaring, he was at once practical and poetic.

And, like his great hero Shackleton before him, he was to prove a quietly astute leader. He needed to be, with this very diverse foursome, who were to attempt the first crossing of the Arctic ocean on foot and with dogs.

First, there was Alan Gill, the perfect foil to Wally’s quixotic nature. Practical, commonsensical, taciturn to the point of muteness - when it suited him, Alan was a nomad who found his true home in the expansiveness of the Polar wastes. I think he was closer to Wally than anyone. Wally certainly needed him – if only to keep him grounded.

Then there was Fritz – Dr. Fritz Koerner, the team’s glaciologist. He too was a down-to-earth man, with a caustic wit and a sharp tongue. Shamefully I have to admit that at first I thought his sea-ice measurements were just a bit of a wheeze to give scientific respectability to the expedition. Little did I realise how these hard-won recordings were to have such a profound relevance to the ecological crisis we face today.

Finally, Ken – Dr. Ken Hedges, the team’s medic: a conscientious and gentle Christian, whose beliefs didn’t always go down well with Fritz’s aggressive atheism. They were, you might say, a motley crew.

I remember at the start of their journey watching these four men, desperate to be going by now after a long, enforced delay, disappearing over the contorted, broken pressure ice, a bit shambolically, their new dog teams still to be disciplined, their own very diverse personalities still to be tested - and wondering could they possibly make it.

But they did – bravely, tenaciously, magnificently. And these bits of film you are now going to see are an attempt to tell, at least in part, the story of that historic, epic and inspiring journey.