In 2004, I flew to South Hampton Island in northern Hudson Bay for a small filming project in conjunction with an expedition I was involved with. For roughly a week, we traveled around the sea ice with two Inuit guides, Sam and Eli. When the British producer (a very nice guy) once more modified his plans to try to do something completely different that what was initially planned, Eli, younger guide looked at me, smiled and said, 'Make up your mind now so you can change it later.'

He was one of the most patient people I've ever met and when it came time to leave we gave each other a long hand shake knowing that in roughly seven days time, we had become good friends. Most likely, we would never see one another again and we both were a little choked up. I boarded the plane and never saw him again.

The Russian team who operates Barneo has been sending out regular updates on the status of the ice runway and temporary camp called Barneo. The first runway cracked. The second runway cracked. Then the first. Then third... and so on for eight or nine days now.

Even crazier, on Sunday night we had received news that operations would most likely be delayed ANOTHER seven days with the first passenger flight going 'in' on the 17th. Then Monday morning, as we were letting the news of an increased delay sink in, we received an update informing us that the Russian tractors had reached a new piece of ice and we would most likely be flying in later this afternoon on the 14th. Scrambling ensued.

While getting ready to relay sleds to the Antonov-74 this morning at Longyearbyen's airport, we received yet another tidbit of news stating that the first technical flight was delayed yet again to 13:00 hours.

I would be frustrated but this is all part of the game. Dixie, another guide, an one of the most experienced polar adventurers alive, mentioned that he once waited 24 days prior to starting an expedition. By his yardstick (or meter stick as he is Belgian), our delay is minor.

Two days ago, I took out my team - now four people strong - as we've done some shuffling with clients (as schedules become conflicted). It was overcast and snowing and after a couple of hours, the light went flat. We were enveloped in another white out.

As frustrating as these conditions are - not being able to see even the relief of the snow underneath your skis - I like the starkness of scene: small human shapes in a huge white space. I stopped to take a few pictures of the team skiing into the white nothingness.

Later that night, I took out my camera and reviewed the pictures. How many times and in how many places have I taken that exact same picture? Skiers in a white out. More than I can count.

Image: Skiing in a whiteout... Again!