Ukrainian American journeys to North Pole, and yes, even there ... (07/06/03)

Ukrainian American journeys to North Pole, and yes, even there ...

by Moki Kokoris

Imagine the following scenario: You are dressed in bright yellow and black clothing, thicker and puffier than anything else you have ever worn. Underneath it, you bear a resemblance to an onion with its many layers. The only exposed surfaces of your skin are experiencing what has to be the coldest temperature you have ever felt. Aside from what you have learned by reading about this place, you find yourself surrounded by a vast expanse of a world thus far completely unfamiliar; a thousand shades of blinding white, just as many hues of turquoise blue, a seemingly endless flat horizon along the perimeter of which the midnight sun relentlessly revolves without setting. Were it not for the absence of stars and a black velvet sky, you might as well be on the moon.

However, you are in fact standing upon the very apex of our own planet, the virtual pin-point around which it spins. Your address is degree 90 North. The time is April 18, AD, 2003, 13:50 Moscow time.

The description above is what this author was fortunate enough to witness not too long ago. It had been a childhood dream, a secret wish which I never truly believed could be realized. But with perseverance, determination and even more conviction, I have come to understand that much more can happen, and that many more dreams can come true as long as one is willing to give them wings. Stranger things have happened, as you shall soon discover.

The personal experience of a polar nirvana aside, what amazed me just as much as the infinity of the ice cap, was the fact that, as large as planet Earth really is, as minuscule and trivial as one can feel while standing in the midst of it all, it can still be a small world.

Prior to leaving home for the Arctic world yet unknown, I had researched whether I could perhaps somehow get my name on the list of North Pole firsts. According to my sources, it was determined that there had never been a woman to "claim" the North Pole by planting the Ukrainian flag. I could be the first. However, ("Houston, we have a problem"). I did not have access to a Ukrainian flag. Emergency measures had to be put into place. A dear friend from our very small local Ukrainian community, Uljana Slabicka, came to the rescue by actually sewing one at the last minute. ("Thank you, Uljana!") So, precious cargo packed, and off northward I went.

The last leg of my expedition was via helicopter, from Borneo Ice Base Camp to a "safe" landing spot nearest the pole. As has been the case since 1968, all of the aircrafts, as well as the base camp itself, are operated by Russians. Conveniently, the Ukrainian language is close enough to theirs that communication with the crew was rather effortless. To the amusement of many in my group, including myself, I became expedition interpreter by default. This accidental fact also purchased me open access to the cockpit. Security? What security? It is not necessary here. It is highly unlikely that there would be any terrorist threats or hijackings during flights to the polar ice cap.

After testing the integrity of the ice by literally tapping the surface in a few places with our helicopter's landing gear, a safe location was finally found, and we expeditioners, collectively, could safely utter, "The Eagle has landed." Everyone off!

Once we all stepped out onto the ice, the expedition leaders began to set up the flags they had brought along - one representing each expedition member's country. But their set did not include a Ukrainian flag, which is when I quickly unrolled the one I had brought with me. After everyone else was finished with their "Kodak moments," I stepped into the half-circle of flapping flags, and unfurled mine for my own moment in the midnight sun, while from inside the cockpit the four helicopter pilots looked on disinterestedly, but only until they recognized my flag. Suddenly, three of them were standing in front of me, pushing the fourth man forward. He introduced himself as Yurii Kuzmenko - from the town of Kremenchuk in Ukraine.

Imagine now that you are standing at degree 90 North, on a shifting crust of frozen ocean only 2 meters thick, in front of a row of international flags, holding up one corner of a Ukrainian flag, the opposite one of which is supported by, yes, a fellow Ukrainian. We are everywhere! Yes, even here, at the North Pole. What are the odds of that?

No real reasons for this question are necessary, but I would like to know why the colors of our flag seemed to glow a hint more brilliantly in that place, on that eventful day. My speculation: pride of heritage. And whoever begs to differ with my theory will be forced to come to the pole with me next spring, and prove me wrong.

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