I've been stranded on an ice floe in the Bering Sea for five days. I'm writing this account in my Moleskine notebook with the rest of my adventure journals, but I fear it may be my last entry. I don't know how long I can survive the extreme cold and desolation.

My misadventure began when I was hunting for seals. Luckily, I managed to spear one just before the ice broke from the shore. The oogruk has been my only nourishment since then. I've already eaten the liver and some of the meat.

Today, I saw a large four-prop Army plane approaching the area. I quickly grabbed my rucksack and sweater and mounted them at the end of my hunting spear to signal the pilot. It was my only chance of him seeing me since I was wearing white overalls. Seal hunters wear white to blend in with the snow. It's a good tactic to avoid being spotted by your prey, but not so good when you need to be rescued. To my grave disappointment, the pilot continued to fly above me without any signal or indication of seeing me.

I'm not sure what's worse, the sub-zero cold or lack of sleep. I tried to sleep, but I was too cold. I probably dozed off a few times for ten minutes, but not much longer. Besides, I knew I had to keep moving to stay alive. I'm afraid of freezing to death in my sleep. Although, with each passing day, it seems more and more likely to be my inevitable and unavoidable fate. I try not to think about it. Instead, I keep moving. That is my only hope for survival.

Today is day six. It is a good day! Another but much smaller plane flew over me, dropping a package! At last! Someone has seen me! I ran to the bundled supplies as fast as I could, which, by now, amounted to a brisk walking pace. I tore open the package with my Solingen hunting knife. It contained packets of dried fish, biscuits, water, vitamin C, medical supplies, and a two-way radio with extra batteries.

I turned on the radio and excitedly called to anyone who could hear me. A man's voice immediately answered. After I thanked him profusely for the survival kit, he said a helicopter would arrive before sunset. I was ecstatic!

When the chopper picked me up, the pilot told me I had drifted 125 miles to sea. During the long flight back to Nome, I was so cozy and warm I finally fell into a much-needed sleep. The whirling sound of the helicopter's rotor helped put me into a deep slumber.

Later, I woke up. I was back home, in my bedroom! I climbed out of the king-sized bed and told my wife, "That new mattress is as hard and cold as an iceberg!"

She said, "I ground fresh coffee beans for breakfast. And I turned the heat up. It was absolutely freezing last night!"

Inspired by "Eskimos Tell of 6-Day Ordeal on Drifting Ice"

Tundra Times, January 7, 1963 pages 1 & 6

Story and Cover Illustration Copyright © 2024 by Michael DeFrancesco