Today I was nearly at my wits end completely exasperated at something so simple yet also so huge as to ultimately influence the course our expedition from this point forward: the weight of our gear for the shared flight with the Norwegian team to Cape Discovery.

Long story short, there was a bit of confusion as to how much gear we were allotted on our drop off flight and in the eleventh hour word came down that our payload would be overweight. Needless to say, it felt like being punched in the gut. I've always said that just getting to the starting line at Cape Discovery is nearly as difficult as the expedition itself. And here we were in Resolute with everything on the line: support from sponsors, friends and relatives, dealing with unimaginable (to us) sums of money (that we don't necessarily have), the potential of coming home as failures (again).

I decided today that I wasn't cut out for this kind of pressure as it was just too much. For the first time, I wanted to give up and go home.

I spent nearly 10 years of my life as a dog musher - a sport which I can only equate being on roller coaster - figuratively not literally (although it was actually like riding on a roller coaster as well now that I think of it more). When the dogs were running well, everything was incredible. You were happy. They were happy. The miles ticked by effortlessly. But when the dogs weren't running well, nothing seemed to work and nothing ever seemed to make the situation any better. I'm generalizing here, but it's hard to appreciate the overwhelming patience required to get 12 moody canines to turn around on a narrow trail - unless you're actually trying to do just that. Keep your calm through the whole mess and you'll be the next Dalai Lama. And that's just one moment. Multiply that by hundreds of other situations equally as frustrating.

Actually, the more I thought about our flight situation. The more I didn't want to give up. Down deep, I knew that I would never throw in the towel. I wondered how this type of persistence became part of my personality. Was it all those years as a dog musher? Or is it just plain stubbornness?

Whatever the reason, Ryan seemed to take (once again) a more calm approach - although this was the most frustrated I had ever seen him. Later he would tell me that he's grown accustomed to delays in which you have no control - avalanches, weather on summit day and much more. Actually, we both have. Getting delayed in one situation or another seems to build a calm resilience to chaos. Still, he agreed with my assessment that this was easily the worst set of overall circumstances that either of us had ever been.

After trying to focus on a few other minor tasks. We walked to the post office and back. When returned, we had found a solution. We will now fly to Eureka (a research station on Ellesmere Island) with the Norwegian team on Sunday (weather permitting). Once there, we will be shuttled - one group at a time to Cape Discovery. Immediately, a smile stretched across our faces. We would not have to abandon our expeditions after all. What a relief.

I jumped up and down and gave a few Chuck Norris karate chops-slash-dance moves for emphasis. We would be getting to Cape Discovery after all.

Later at dinner, we wondered about the Irish team and Japanese skier. What were they doing right now? Sitting in their tents and freezing their you-know-what's-off. Reflecting more, we envied their position. The hours, weeks and months of planning behind, their only worries now were thin ice, pressure ridges, extreme cold and... polar bears.

OK so maybe we weren't totally envious just yet.

Image: Speaking of sled dogs...