Book Review: Fatal Passage by Ken McGoogan

I bought this book in a giftshop in Orkney, after Jason and I saw John Rae's memorial in the nearby St. Magnus Cathedral.  I was intrigued by the idea of an explorer whose work was pushed down and forgotten simply because he reported facts that rubbed the bigwigs in the wrong way.  I had actually been putting this one off for a while, though - another non-fiction book about Scottish history that I picked up on our trip was drier than I had hoped and I was concerned this might be, too.  Fortunately, I was wrong - Oh, my goodness, John Rae was a character!

So, imagine this.  You work hard.  It's a demanding job, but you love it.  You're willing to work with a team, provided everyone does their share of the work; in fact, you generally work even harder than some of the people on your team so that you can ensure success.  You keep asking your supervisor for time off (it IS hard work, after all) and they keep hedging.  Your job doesn't leave you time for a love life and you're not getting any younger. People on your team complain, "that's not my job."  They don't follow your directions and someone gets hurt.  But you finally finish that big project - the one you've been working toward for so long... and someone else gets the credit.  You make honest reports and no one believes you - or worse, cast you as an attention seeker.

Ladies and gentlemen, meet John Rae, mid-nineteenth century Arctic explorer.  He's just like you.  Actually, he's cooler than you, but we'll get to that.

Who watched the TV show The Terror?  It was on AMC a couple years ago and was based on the novel of the same name.  The novel was inspired by the true events of the Franklin Expedition, a mid-nineteenth century British expedition to find the final link in the Northwest Passage.  The book and show take what little we know about the expedition - that the ships were trapped in ice and, presumably, the whole crew died - and expands into some supernatural scariness (and the show in and of itself is worth a watch if it's still available out there).  How did we find out what happened to the Franklin Expedition?  John Rae.

But let's back up.  The book Fatal Passage begins with plucky John Ray, a 19-year-old newly graduated surgeon from Orkney*, Scotland.  He set off for Canada, to join the Hudson's Bay Company.  The HBC was a company of traders and explorers in arctic Canada and had been heavily involved, along with the British navy, in charting as-yet-unmapped areas and searching for a navigable passage from the Northern Atlantic to the Northern Pacific (the Northwest Passage).

*Fun fact - people from Orkney are called Orcadians, which I think is flippin' fantastic.

Rae gleefully spent the next several years getting to know the arctic landscape; learning native hunting, building, and dressing styles; and snowshoeing across hundreds of miles in the winter just for kicks.  He started as a "surgeon" (comparable to a nurse practitioner today) and worked his way up the ranks as a general Jack of all trades, eventually becoming Chief Factor (director) of a major trading post (called a "factory" at the time).  He was well-respected by peers and supervisors, as well as by French fur traders, and native and mixed-race locals.

Not only that, Rae was rather progressive.  He was incredibly vocal in how much he admired the natives' (mainly Inuit, but some Cree, Ojibwe, and other groups) ingenuity, and thought that "half-breeds" (mixed-race European and Native American) were the best men that could be had for any job.  He also made notes in his own correspondence that he does not use the term "half-breed" as an insult, as many do.

Rae was eventually tasked with exploring uncharted coastline in search of the Northwest Passage, which everyone and his brother was doing those days.  Rae usually put together his own team.  It was usually comprised of just as many natives and half-breeds as full-Brits, as they were used to the terrain, the weather, the work, etc.  In fact, the only time he used naval officers that he was told he had to use rather than men he chose was the only expedition in which anyone died - which was EXTREMELELY unusual for 19th century arctic expeditions.  Rae was not only the first European explorer to winter in the Arctic "Native style," but also the first European to winter in the Arctic without losing a member of his team.  Given that his teams were usually much smaller (10 or so hardy men) that the large HBC and naval expeditions (100-200 sailors, often with no Arctic experience), this is really saying something.

Rae relished the work early on.  He loved snowshoeing and hunting - he considered "a long day's march in snowshoes is about the finest exercise a man can take."  He enjoyed living off the land and taking as few supplies as possible.  (This man often slept outdoors in the Arctic on a sleeping skin with one blanket.  I get cold in a 72-degree house with 2 blankets.)  He didn't shy away from doing MORE than his share of the work: shooting the majority of the food his group would eat, taking meticulous weather and geological measurements, trying to thaw his frozen Complete Works of William Shakespeare, and sleeping in his own individual igloo* rather than with the rest of his team for warmth because all the others were smokers.

*The term used in the book is "ice hut,” but I wanted to use igloo this first time to indicate the native-style building.

His most successful journey - the one in which he not only discovered the last link in the Northwest Passage (a strait later named for him) but also was the first to encounter anyone with knowledge of and artifacts from the doomed Franklin expedition. 

Having returned to his summer mooring, after having spent much of the winter trekking around and mapping - he was approached by natives who had cutlery and other items, some of which had very distinct initials and the family crest of Sir John Franklin himself.  He paid the natives well for these items, and interviewed the entire group separately, using his trusted interpreter (even though he himself spoke some of the Inuit language).  They all reported the same thing - a couple years prior (approximately five years after the Franklin expedition set sail) they had seen a group of ragtag white men (none in this group had ever seen Europeans before) dragging a boat like a sled, and heading south.  Later, another group of natives had reported to them that they had found the remains of this group - all dead, but many having been mutilated.  Rae came to the same conclusion as his second-hand witnesses - the last survivors of the Franklin expedition had resorted to butchering and eating their dead companions. 

Torn, Rae debated whether he should return to the area that the Natives had indicated to confirm the story.  But it would require back-tracking quite a long distance (ironically, the strait he discovered was quite close to where the doomed encampment lay).  It was too late in the season for him to make that trek and return while his route back to "civilization" (in this case a rural fort) was still navigable.  Many of the waterways he was using were ice-blocked for 10-11 months out of the year - basically, if you weren't traveling in August you were out of luck. 

In the end, he made the decision based on the state of his team.  Two of his men were very badly worse for the wear - one had frozen off two toes and could barely walk, let along keep up the strenuous pace needed to get to the Franklin crew site and back before winter set in and they had to hole up in ice huts, and hope that they had enough supplies. 

It was a difficult decision for him, but he ultimately decided that he would not risk his men's lives, especially since it was now all but impossible that Sir John Franklin or any of his men had survived.  There were other rescue expeditions out there, too, and they deserved to know the truth so they could also decide how much of a risk they were still willing to take for what now was not a rescue mission, but one to confirm the location of the bodies.

Rae, an honest man who was always meticulous in detailed record-keeping, wrote a very thorough letter to his superiors.  Unbeknownst to him at first, it was then sent to London and published by the Times.  And then... oh, the scandal!  Even though Rae had made clear what had happened, he still euphemized, still skirted using gory language.  He reported that the "the state of the bodies and the contents of the kettles" indicated that the last few survivors had been forced to use "the last resort." 

Still, Victorians knew how to read between the lines and they were most definitely not happy.  What, cannibalism?  Not, not our fine British officers!  The kindest opinions toward Rae were along the lines of, Oh, this poor Orkney yokel, poor naive man, taken in by the lies of the nasty, tricksey savages*. General opinion, however, was even more harsh.  Many speculated that Rae himself fabricated the story to tarnish the reputation of Sir John (who, honestly, was a less-than-stellar explorer and politician anyway) so that he could get the reward money.  Rae hadn't even known there'd been a reward until he traveled to London after the letters had already been published - without his knowledge.

*The assumption that any and all natives will lie whenever they get the chance is something consistently repeated in the articles and letters of the time and is REALLY uncomfortable to read.  Rae, to his credit, defended his interpreter and the natives - going to so far as noting that the one time his interpreter tried to lie about something when he was much younger (Rae had known him for over a decade at this point) that he had been absolutely dreadful at it because he had never lied before.

Chief among Rae's detractors was Lady Franklin, who for years had refused to believe her husband was dead (this news coming ten years after he had last been seen), and of course was appalled at the insinuation that her husband might have been among those final men desperate enough to eat their fellows (documents were found during another expedition that eventually confirmed he had died before the ships had become ice-locked and therefore couldn't have been one of the cannibalistic "survivors").  She continued to send out search parties - funding many of them in large part herself.  She continued to smear Rae's name to the point that several other explorers were credited with his discoveries including, most egregiously, Franklin himself. 

There was quite a bit of arguing of semantics.  Should the discoverer of the passage be the person who found and theorized that passage was navigable?  Should it be the first person to traverse it on foot?  In the latter instance, Franklin's crew was credited for a while on the assumption that they had dragged their boat over the frozen last link in the passage before they died.  Other explorers were credited with finding other passages that would later turn out to not be navigable with nineteenth-century ships.  This is how they treated the man who not long before was their go-to for any Arctic expedition - "Oh Rae's in that quarter, Rae will do that." 

Interestingly, while the British continually tried to downplay his achievements, even question his sanity for "going Native" and using Inuit methods of survival rather than "tried and true" modern techniques, the Norwegian explorers of the same period seemed to appreciate Rae much more - "This guy!  This guy knows what's going on!" (Ok, that's not an actual period quote.)  In fact, it was a Norwegian explorer in the first decade of the 20th century who finally successfully navigated the Northwest Passage, using Rae's route - 50 years after he discovered it, and after so many others had died trying to disprove Rae's journey.

Rae himself eventually retired from the HBC, married, and gave up Arctic exploration.  His last excursion was an exploration of the Canadian Rockies to determine the best route for a telegraph line.  He took his wife along for part of the journey, which was extremely unusual for the time.

Rae was a really interesting guy.  Even after his retirement, he kept active - hunting and hiking.  It was not unusual for him, even in his 70's, to walk 20 miles to the train station.  He lived to be nearly 80 years old.  He kept a massive collection of Inuit artifacts, referring to the native people as "my friends the Esquimaux.*" He was progressive man, a man ahead of his time.  He understood that smoking was unhealthy, and theorized that scurvy was caused by "lack of something [the body] gets from vegetables" decades before vitamins were discovered.  He was a man who respected and admired Native Americans - to the point that he not only paid those on his teams well, but usually provided them more pay than originally contracted once they returned due to how arduous the work was.  He was so progressive that at times while reading the book, I chuckled to myself, "Huh.  Wonder if he was a time traveler."  It kind of wouldn't surprise me.

*We know now that "eskimo" is a Cree slur that means "snow-eater," but Rae didn't know that.

All (actual) quotes are from Fatal Passage by Ken McGoogan, who himself is usually quoting Rae's own correspondence.

The memorial commissioned by John Rae’s wife, Kate.  Rae sleeps beneath a buffalo skin blanket, wearing his mocccasin boots, as he was wont to do.

The memorial commissioned by John Rae’s wife, Kate. Rae sleeps beneath a buffalo skin blanket, wearing his mocccasin boots, as he was wont to do.

The exterior of St, Magnus’s Cathedral in Orkney.  Rae is buried in the church yard in the back.  No, this isn’t brick - it’s red sandstone, local to Orkney.

The exterior of St, Magnus’s Cathedral in Orkney. Rae is buried in the church yard in the back. No, this isn’t brick - it’s red sandstone, local to Orkney.

The interior of St. Magnus’s Cathedral.

The interior of St. Magnus’s Cathedral.

Tales from the Travel Journal: The Northern Lights

Well, it's been a while since I regaled you with a tale from my travels this September, so here is the story about how Jason and I kind-of saw the Northern Lights.

When we visited Iceland, our ship's route from Reykjavik (RAKE-ya-vik) to Akureyri (Ack-er-RARE-ee) would take us across the Arctic Circle overnight. Jason and I bundled up and braved the wind to go up to the top deck of the bow and try to see the Northern Lights.

It was very cloudy and foggy that night - wisps of cloud were passing very close over the top of the ship. We stood out there for a while, gazing out at the horizon. It was about an hour after sunset and we weren't sure if it was dark enough to see the Aurora yet. We were also concerned it was too overcast.

There was a large group up there as well, many of them armed with professional-level photography equipment. At various times, they'd point excitedly up above us, but Jason and I realized what they were seeing was the low wisps of fog catching in the ships lights.

Not a great picture, but it’s the best one we were able to get.

Not a great picture, but it’s the best one we were able to get.

We started to think that we just weren't going to see anything at all, staring out in front of us at the pale light on the horizon that we assumed was just the last dregs of the sunset. That was when we realized that we were heading due north - the light ahead of us couldn't be a reflection of the setting sun on the clouds. We looked closer and watched for a few more minutes. The very pale, very subtle bluish light would shift a little. We weren't sure if we were seeing a gap in the clouds, or if maybe a very bright aurora above was shining through the cloud cover.

Seeing how it very much resembled the first light of dawn or the last light of sunset, I understand a bit more now how it got the name Aurora Borealis - "Northern Dawn" in Latin.

The next morning, Jason and found certificates on our door, congratulating us on having crossed the Arctic Circle.

Arctic Circle Certificate.jpg

The Other White House

One of the places we visited in Iceland was the Icelandic president's residence. On our tour of the city of Reykjavik, we were driving out away from the city, and the tour guide pointed out a large white house and a white church on the other side of an inlet. He told us that this was the president's house.

DSC01008.JPG

According to our guide, he is a relatively young guy - early 40's. He's a history professor and shortly before the last election was on TV talking about the history of the office, how it functions, its importance, etc. And apparently everyone in Iceland said, "Huh. This guys really understands the office. Maybe he should be president." He wasn't even running for president at this point, but he received about 60% of the vote - in a country that has about 7 political parties. And apparently most Icelanders are happy with the way he's handling things.

Meanwhile, on the tour bus... We came around the inlet and arrived at the church that we had seen from a distance. To my surprise, our guide informed us that we would be let off the bus and allowed to walk around. There were no fences separating the church and the area where we parked from the president's house behind it. Before the doors opened, our tour guide cautioned us, "Now, don't go behind the church. That's the president's house, and if you go back there, the police will come talk to you and you will be considered impolite."

DSC01012.JPG
DSC01014.JPG

Of course, as soon as we were off the bus several of the people in our group made a beeline back behind the church. The police did not come and no one got a talking to, so I guess maybe they didn't get close enough. Jason and I held back, reading a sign about the history of the buildings (and what areas were off-limits), and watched as a black car came up the private road that ran along the edge of where we were parked. It paused at the gate where we were and then turned off onto the main road.

"There goes the president, off to buy groceries," we joked.

A Scottish Ghost Story for Halloween

One of our favorite stops on our trip was Glamis* Castle in Scotland. Our tour guide was great - among many of the stories that she told us, the below was one of the best.

*pronounced "glams"

We stood in one of the tower keeps, and our tour guide pointed out and area in the wall, where if you looked closely you could see that there had once been a doorway. She told us that back a few hundred years ago, when it had been illegal to play cards on Sunday, that the lord of the castle had been sitting up late on a Saturday night playing cards with a friend. As midnight drew near, a servant came to remind the lord that playing cards beyond midnight was forbidden. The lord, who had had quite a bit to drink, bellowed at the servant, "I shall play cards if I wish to play cards, and the devil can take me if he does not like it!" Upset, the servant retreated.

Not long after, as the clock struck midnight, a hooded figure appeared in the doorway. "I am the devil," it announced, "and I am here to answer your invitation." The next morning, none of the servants could find the lord or his friend - but they found that both the doorway to the room the lord had been playing in, as well as the window looking out, had been bricked over during the night. They say that if you stand at the bricked-over doorway on a late Saturday night, that you can hear cards being shuffled.

It is a testament to our guide's storytelling skills that what could have been a cheesy telling gave me goosebumps.

Be careful what you ask for this Halloween!

Glamis window.jpg

The barred, bricked-over window in the top left of the picture is supposedly the room in the ghost story.

Tidbits from the Travel Journal: Icelandic Humor

Strolling around Reykjavik (rake-ya-vik), we discovered that Icelanders have a great sense of humor. We passed a lot of restaurants and bars with funny advertisements, and saw a lot of magnets and t-shirts with clever sayings on them. (It is worth noting that these were all in English - I'm not translating Icelandic advertising humor.)

-Happy hour: 8:00 PM-12:00 AM*. Sad hour: 1:00 AM-8:59 AM

-Beer: because no good story ever started with, "so I was eating a salad..."

-A yawn is just a silent cry for cake.

-What part of Eyjafjallajökull** don't you understand?

-A shop named "Idontspeakicelandic"

*But in 24 hour time, which is more prevalent in Europe.

**The name of the volcano that erupted a few years ago and wreaked havoc on world air travel.

The tour guide our second day in Reykjavik was one of our funnier guides on the trip. At one point we were driving past an open grassy area. He gestured vaguely toward it and said, "and out here, we have lunatics." Given that the day before, our tour guide had pointed out the old Victorian-era mental hospital, I was a little shocked to hear him say the word so casually. But then he went on to explain the reason he had called them lunatics - they were golfers.

Tidbits from the Travel Journal: The Shetland Islands

One of our favorite stops was our day in the Shetland Islands. Our tour guide (one of our 4 Scottish guides or bus drivers named "Andrew" throughout the course of the trip) moved to the Shetlands with his wife when she got a job there. He had been there for 4 years and it was obvious that he loved his new home.

summer in Shetland.JPG

He gleefully informed us that we were experiencing a "warm, sunny Shetland summer day" - it was 50 degrees and drizzly. He explained that due to Shetland's combination of northerly latitude and being one of "last stops" on the Gulf Stream, that the islands don't really have extreme temperatures. He said that it doesn't ever get much warmer than 70, but also never really gets below about 23. (And, yeah, 23 is toward the colder end of things, but considering that I had do deal with a cold snap last winter where it got down to 10...)

Due to its location (approximately half-way between Norway and the Northern coast of Scotland), Shetland also was part of Norway/Denmark for many centuries. Along with the Orkney Islands, the Shetlands were given to Scotland as part of the dowry when a Norwegian princess married the king of Scotland in 1469. Even though it's been quite a while, the Shetlands consider themselves to be just as much Norwegian as Scottish; there is a dialect that is only spoken in the Shetlands that is a mix of Old Norse and Scotch Gaelic. Even our guide, when he referred to the mainland, made it sound like it was another country, saying that a lot of Shetlanders go to university "in Scotland" (even though Shetland is a part of Scotland and the UK).

Andrew was also telling us about the native plants and animals on the island - while heather and mosses are common, trees are rare. Birch trees only grow to be about 6 feet tall, and there are 100-year-old sycamores that are only 25 feet tall. I think I recall him saying that none of the trees that grow on the island are native. Also due to its being an island in the middle of nowhere, there are no deer, foxes, squirrels, or magpies. The largest carnivore is "a type of ferret called a polecat*." These were introduced to help control the rabbit population after they were introduced to the island by someone who didn't realize that there were no predators.

*Not a skunk, despite the fact that I always thought "polecat" was slang for "skunk."

dunna chuck bruck.JPG

Travel Journal Breakdown

Hello, readers! Now that I'm back from my trip, and through Banned Books Week, it's time to share some of my stories from my travel journal.

August 31-September 17, Jason and I went on a delayed honeymoon/1st anniversary trip. We visited England, Norway, Iceland, and Scotland. I will eventually post some pictures here and on social media, but I first want to tell you about the journal itself.

One of the things my mother-in-law gave me for Christmas was a beautiful blank book. As soon as I saw it, I knew it had to be my travel journal. I've been on trips before where I've said, "I will write every day! I will write about every little detail!" But that's a hard goal to live up to, especially when you have a lot of exciting things you're doing.

This time around, I had a more reasonable goal. This wasn't meant to be a 100% comprehensive documentary of my trip. Instead, I would write impressions, some of our experiences, little details that I found interesting, and story inspirations.

travel journal.jpg

As of looking back through the journal, I find the grand haul to be:

-8 quick anecdotes/interesting facts

-9 details and inspiration for writing in general

-3 new story ideas (not counting the one I had the day we left, before we left the house)

-5 interesting historical tidbits (not counting the ghost stories)

-3 important facts or inspiration for stories I'm already working on

-3 general/longer anecdotes

-3 ghost stories

-2 goofy anecdotes about our captain

I won't be sharing everything I mention above, and what I do share will be spread out over the next few weeks and months, interspersed with other topics and updates.

(Unrelated to the journal itself, I also bought 4 books on the trip. So there’s that.)

October Already

August gone, September over, now on to October. Gosh the last few months have really flown by!

Just a quick little update tonight:

-One of my projects for September was to post a blog every day of Banned Books Week - and this year I was able to succeed!

-Another project for September was to keep a travel journal while Jason and I were on our trip.

My goals for October include:

-Sharing some of the anecdotes from my travel journal.

-Submitting a Christmas story for publication.

-Figuring out what I want to do for November/NaNoWriMo.

Look for my regular blog schedule of on blog post every weekend from here on out.