No
oil slicks on the carpet, please
Launching Pierre Berton's The Arctic Grail
As photo opportunities go, the book launch for Pierre Berton’s The
Arctic Grail was one of the most elaborate in publishing
history. As arctic voyages go, the trip to a Beaufort Sea oil rig
was somewhat
less demanding than picking up Berton’s tome for an armchair
expedition.
The Arctic Grail is an account of the romantic age of arctic exploration.
Nineteenth-century audiences snapped up reports of their heroes fighting
bitter blinding blizzards over vast uninhabited ice fields.
But a warm sun rose in a clear sky as two helicopters
left Inuvik, 350 kilometres north of the Arctic Circle. As we flew north over
the
Mackenzie Delta, three-metre spruce gave way to one-metre scrub willow;
soon we saw only lichens and lakes, and it seemed we were far from
civilization.
The illusion was dispelled when we reached Tuktoyaktuk – Inuvialuktun*
for “looks like caribou.” Herds of oil tanks flanked
a winding shoreline, dwarfing the houses, the Catholic Church, even
The
Bay.
Berton closes his saga in 1909, when the motor
age was just beginning. Eighty years later, prospectors are staking claims at
the ends of the
earth, oil companies are pumping gas from beneath the ice pack, and
20,000 horsepower icebreakers are making test runs through the Northwest
Passage.
If thirst for petroleum sparked new interest in the north, it also
made Berton’s book launch possible – the author and most
of his entourage were escorted from Calgary by Gulf Canada Resources
Limited. When the helicopters set us down on a deck 40 nautical miles
from shore, our hosts began a tour of the Molikpaq oil rig.
Here came the day’s moment of high adventure – a crane
lifted a dozen of us over the water to a tug boat. We stood on a swinging
two-metre ring, clutching a rope rigging, while sparkling waves bobbed
beneath us – more fun then the CNE**, and absolutely free. Gulf
employees patiently followed photographers’ directions to put
Berton in just the right position for the cameras.
Several hundred blinks of the shutter later the party was reunited
in the dining hall, where we toasted our exploits with Carl Jung De-alcoholized
Wine – the town of Tuktoyaktuk and Gulf’s northern facilities
being “dry” zones.
Early explorers in Berton’s account were too stubborn to follow
Inuit advice: “Could any proper Englishman traipse about in ragged
seal fur, eating raw blubber and living in hovels made of snow?” They
caught chills when their wool uniforms got sweaty, and suffered scurvy
because they cooked the vitamins out of their meat.
As guests of Gulf we had no such worries. We filed
past the fresh salad bar in stocking feet (no oil slicks on the carpet, please),
and our
musk-ox and caribou were served well-done.
Written during a stint as
reporter for the Inuvik Drum, and published in NOW, Toronto, November
17, 1988.
* The original version stated “Inuktitut”,
the more general name for Inuit languages, instead of “Inuvialuktun”,
the language of the Inuvialuit of Canada’s western arctic region.
**
CNE = Canadian National Exhibition, known to generations of Toronto
youngsters for its amusement park rides.