Iceberg Alley, Somewhere South of Goose Bay, Labrador -- Consciousness came slowly, like the clearing of vision through a dense fog. My body was being tossed from side to side, and there was something hard protruding into my rib cage. A dream. Must be a dream, I thought out loud. Scanning the darkness, my eyes came to rest on a small amber light in a wired cage, which cast an eerie glow on a white safety ring bearing a red cross and hanging by a length of yellow rope on a wooden wall. Maneuvering flat onto my back, I dislodged the object, and realized I was on a hard plank bunk, cocooned in a sleeping bag, wearing expedition-weight long underwear and wool socks, and that the thorn in my side was my trusty, personal emergency beacon - my Petzl headlamp. For me, the collected evidence pointed to a four-wheel-drive adventure.
But I wasn't in a 4WD vehicle, even though I could make out the sounds of a straining diesel motor -- and the air was scented with its heavy, mechanical-diesel smell. I was aboard the M/V Sir Robert Bond, and clearly there was some kind of engine distress in addition to the choppy seas we were traversing. Slipping on my muddied hiking boots, my Petzl riding atop the brim of a fleece cap with ear flaps and chin straps, I tried to get my land legs under me and lurched for the cabin door.
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