Get Away

A year and a half later, Arnesen and Bancroft find themselves on this strange adventure, sleeping in people’s front yards, taking rides on oreboats, meeting people where they live, in Duluth, Detroit, Cleveland, Toronto, Buffalo, and parts in between. In some respects, it’s their most difficult journey yet, not because sea kayaking is any harder than skiing or sailing, but because they are constantly confronted with the Next Frontier—people. They have scheduled meet-and-greets, but they also have to negotiate rides on fishing boats, camping on private property, and often as not they end up roughing it in a cheap motel room especially as they move further east into Lakes Huron and Erie.

“It’s a mixed thing,” says Liv. “It’s more tiresome than skiing eight hours a day, mentally. It’s a challenge.” Einar Arnesen, Liv’s husband, confesses that it makes this adventure as tough as the others. “This is very different—all the people, all the time. They get used to it but it’s more of a job this time, to give the message and to inspire people.” When I ask Ann if this truly is the Next Frontier—talking to people—she demurs. “People have always been a part of the trip,” she says. “Just not so frequent.” Again, I’m tempted to speculate that the pair would prefer not to schmooze any more than they have to for financial reasons, but they both are adamant about connecting what they do with a larger educational mission. Ann claims she had an empty feeling on her first big trip—the Steger expedition to the North Pole in 86—because this larger purpose was missing. She and co-leader Paul Schurke talked about it a lot, and when she got back to her old school in Minneapolis she was astonished to find out that the kids had followed her every move, and had incorporated the trip into every academic subject, from math to social studies to history. “That’s when the light really went off,” Ann says. “And I felt like I could relax. I could be a teacher in the wider world.”

When I meet with Ann and Liv at the Duluth Aquarium, I have to wait in line. They’ve just paddled for about two hours. Cars up on Highway 61 honked at them, people came out on the shore to wave and cheer, other boats trolled by with curious onlookers. After cruising under the lift bridge, and into Duluth Harbor, they were spirited away in a brand new Volvo Cross-Country—their “support vehicle,” driven by one of the YourExpediton staff—to find a hotel room where they shower and change out of their wetsuits into street clothes. They arrive around lunchtime, to a polite crowd of friends and followers. News crews are there with their cameras and their blow-dried reporters, a dozen children line up with their fleece-bedecked parents. Typical Minnesotans, the audience forms a huge circle around Ann and Liv, leaving enough space for the proverbial ten-foot pole. The explorers seem equally shy and uncomfortable, but this is what they do, after all, and before long they grab a microphone and welcome themselves to Duluth. The fact of the matter is that this is a heroes’ tour, and those prescient enough to know they are meeting history face-to-face are jumping on the opportunity. Never again will these people meet such approachable, grassroots celebrities. After a brief rundown of their current adventure, and an invitation to continue visiting them on the web, they ask their audience to keep sending in those dreams. The brief presentation over, rosy-cheeked kids line up for autographs and photos and before too long they’re gone, back to the wide-open spaces of Lake Superior and beyond.