Free Conquering the Impossible by Mike Horn Page B

is no central arch. I decided to opt for a hybrid shape, a blend of tube and dome, with crossing struts in the middle that would provide greater strength in high winds, blowing from whatever quarter. This tent would be relatively close to the ground to minimize heat loss, but not too low, so that I would be able to sit upright in it, especially when bad weather forced me to stay inside for days at a time. In order to avoid wasting a single square inch of tent space, or carrying any unnecessary fabric (a few ounces can constitute a considerable difference), I had them narrow the tent at the base and widen it farther up, where I needed more room to move around. Suddenly, my cross between a tube and a dome was beginning to look a lot like a suppository.
    Also, I didn’t want a lot of guy wires or a lot of tent stakes, either. Instead of stakes I would use my ski poles and skis buried in the snow, and my sled. If there was a very strong wind, I’d drive two ice screws into the ground, and I’d moor my tent to them once it was pitched.
    It needed to be perfectly ventilated in order to allow the escape of the moisture and steam I would create each time I melted snow or heated my food. Otherwise, the moisture would coat the inner walls of the tent—as well as my clothes—with ice, and I would freeze on the spot. The ventilation would work as follows: the cold air would enter the tent at ground level through a vent, and then it would be heated before escaping from a sort of chimney at the top of the tent. Moreover, the tent would be composed of two layers: the second layer, the fly, would serve as insulation. Between the two layers, the slightly warmer—or less frigid—air would help to warm the interior, and the condensation, which would form on the cover, would be easier to get rid of. Last, I asked them to create a sort of vestibule where, each evening, I could leave my ice-cold, snow-covered footwear. If that snow got inside the tent, it would eventually turn into an icy crust that would be impossible to get rid of.
    I would need a window to see what was going on outside (in case of an emergency, for instance) without actually having to leave the tent. Therefore, it was necessary to perfect a transparent material that would not break when subjected to extreme cold.
    The opening at the front of the tent required an oversized zipper fastening so that snow and ice would not block it, with a zipper tongue big enough that I could grab it with my mittens and injection-molded from a rigorously unbreakable plastic. To protect the zipper from the elements, it was covered with a flap. And I added a Velcro fastening as well, but at extremely low temperatures Velcro breaks. So do fiberglass tent poles when they are bent at temperatures this low. We would therefore have to use aluminum, but manufactured at a density carefully calibrated to ensure that the tent poles didn’t shrink in the cold; otherwise, they would no longer fit together. There were six of them in all, about a foot and a half in length. I would also bring two spare poles.
    As for the delicate matter of answering the call of nature, it was out of the question to drop my pants outdoors in the howling wind at sixty or more degrees below zero. To solve this problem I had them make a trapdoor in the tent floor with a Velcro fastening. All I would have to do was open the trapdoor, dig a little hole in the snow, and close the trapdoor when I was done.
    I also had to be able to set up my tent in less than twenty seconds. With that end in mind, I needed to be able to open it as easily as an umbrella, by means of a simple, solid mechanism that I could fix myself, if necessary.
    I even built in a breaking point. If the tent gave way when the winds got too strong, it would keep the whole structure from being ripped to shreds. This Achilles’ heel was located at ground level near the main opening, which would make it possible for me to fix it without