Expedition Spitsbergen | Challenges of a border crossing - Part II

The best south in the world

I don't want to give too much away - of course I want you to watch the movie. But this much: in the first week, it wasn't clear whether we would even reach the southern tip. Storms, bad weather, obstacles, unplanned rest days. And we only had 14 days to get back to Doktorbreen.

But bad weather also means no sun, no energy. The technology suffers, especially when it rains for a whole day (and that in the Arctic!). As the air pressure steadily dropped, so did my motivation and drive to film. This gray weather and the constant interruptions even in the first days of the expedition eat into your own psyche. It's a dilemma: you know you should switch on the camera and take pictures, but something stops you; your body (or mind?) just doesn't want to. I constantly had the feeling that I was losing the film - as if something was slipping away that I could no longer capture.

Even today, I can't say exactly why that was. Everyone has a day when things don't go so well. Perhaps this feeling is simply intensified in an unfamiliar environment like the Arctic. Maybe I put too much pressure on myself with the film project, which wasn't necessary.

Whenever you do something for the first time, you always have this uncertainty - will it even work out what I've set out to do? For the first time, a one-and-a-half-month expedition, for the first time a major documentary film project, and for the first time the pressure from sponsors and financial backers was perhaps a bit much in retrospect. It was very icy water that I threw myself into.

I only realized it afterwards: This lack of motivation in the first few days spread to everyone. So it was completely normal. Perhaps this also strengthened the will of each of us to continue even more intensively and to do everything in our power to reach the southern end of Spitsbergen after all.

A little spoiler for anyone who hasn't seen the movie yet: Yes, we reached the southern tip. It was a wonderful day. The whole team cheered. And we started the actual traverse.

I had a few more lapses in motivation over the next 30 days, but I learned to deal with them - to accept them rather than suppress them. It remains a shitty feeling, but it was good to know that it gets better every time.

But there was something else. I hadn't thought of a plan beforehand. No real plan. As director, camera and sound man and story producer, I was solely responsible for everything to do with the movie. There was no predetermined story and no one to tell me what to do. Just the vague idea of documenting the traverse.

While the others played cards in the evening, I was electrified. I couldn't think about anything else but the movie. Not that it was essential for survival, but we had sponsors behind us, people who had invested in this project and had certain expectations. I wanted and had to fulfill them.

And at some point, self-doubt set in: "Have I filmed enough? Is it exciting enough?". Like a little devil on your shoulder that makes you feel guilty if you don't have the camera in your hand.

If I were to start a project like this today, I would put a lot more time into preparing the movie, especially the story. That's one of the biggest lessons I've learned from a cinematic point of view. Even if the story turns 180 degrees during such a journey, you have a starting point, a common thread that you can stick to. So it's a good thing that I did it without preparation this time. Checked it off, learned from it, and still came out with something decent (here's another recommendation: "End to End Svalbard" is available on Prime Video and AppleTV).

Everything gets better in the end

After a month, there was a morning that stays with me to this day "Actually, it can go on like this forever now," I thought to myself over breakfast. "By now, this life on expedition is more 'normal' than my daily life at home." Physically, I was - of course - on this expedition from day one. Now I had the feeling that I had finally arrived mentally too. The fear was gone, the doubts were gone.

Perhaps that was the real success of the expedition: realizing that you will find the right path as long as you don't lose faith in the cause and in yourself.

Now, after a good 30 days, almost everything was routine. What seemed like an insurmountable hurdle at the beginning became simple steps. In the last two to three weeks of the expedition, I had noted down so many small details in my diary and film notebook that on the penultimate day I was finally able to conduct the long, filmed interview with each of the six others. Now I had a story, and the pressure on my shoulders was a lot lighter.

After a total of 40 days, as we heard the engines of the snowmobiles getting closer and closer in the distance, the extra burden of the film project finally fell away from me. "What a feeling."

Looking back, I can't really understand Moritz's fear, worry and stress on the first day of the expedition. It all worked out. Nevertheless, I know that these fears, worries and the stress you put yourself under are real and are definitely part of it. Maybe it's even necessary for a successful outcome - whatever you do. Maybe you don't really try hard if everything is too easy?

For the next expedition, I know that I can look forward to stress and worries. They are part of it. If you embrace it, fear becomes routine, routine becomes strength - and this strength turns a 40-day expedition into an unforgettable journey.

- If running is part of your training plan, read the weather forecast and train on the absolute worst bad weather days. Rain, storms - the nastier the better. And not just 30 minutes, but an hour or two, or even longer.
- Go ski touring on bad weather days, and preferably in the rain too. This is not to prepare you for an expedition in the rain, but to test your stamina. As long as it's not dangerous, don't turn back!

- Winter camping from Friday to Sunday, two nights. Stay in or near the tent during the day between nights, do nothing. Maybe read a book or write a diary. On our expedition, such situations were almost regular. Alternatively (or additionally) spend several nights on the balcony or terrace, preferably in winter. This also allows you to test the functionality of your sleeping bag and sleeping mat.

- Walk (or hike) through a complete night. In preparation for a film project, I once did this near Chamonix, 50 kilometers from Les Contamines to Courmayeur, from 10 o'clock in the evening to 7 o'clock in the morning. If the weather is also bad, you hit the jackpot (unfortunately it was fine for us). What remains is definitely a lasting memory. Best done alone or with a good friend.

- Generally run 50 kilometers, ideally as part of an official race. Make sure you don't damage your knees and joints, especially if you are untrained. However, as preparation for a similar expedition, a running training plan lasting several months can be an advantage anyway. This year I completed my first 50 and 70-kilometer races, and in the latter I had to force myself to finish the race. In hindsight, I realized that my body wasn't the problem, but the voice in my head: "Just give up, it's so easy!"

- Sit down for an hour and write down the worst-case scenarios:

- What if you're cold?

- What if you have no motivation?

- What if you're scared?

- What if you have an argument with someone?

This forces you to think about mental disasters and possibly gives you the solutions beforehand. This list is far from complete, you can let your creativity run wild. These are the things that have helped me personally. I hope they help you too!

How do you film an expedition like this?

In the next part of this series, I will go into great detail about the actual film shoot: from cameras to frozen drones, seven microphones to the all-important question: where does enough electricity come from to run extremely power-intensive film equipment for 40 days? Exciting for tech-savvy readers - and for anyone who wants to know how a film shoot in the Arctic really works.