1000HourDay.com [visit 2005 site]

The 1000 Hour Day - Book by Chris Bray

THE BOOK!

"Two adventurers take on the world's harshest island!"

At long last, Chris has finished the book about our four-year epic to cross Victoria Island, and it's been printed and is in stores now! Not-surprisingly the it's entitled 'The 1000 Hour Day' and (packed full of more than 80 awesome photos, cool diagrams, maps and 362 pages of excitement) is published by Murdoch Books in Australia. It's their 'lead title' for Christmas 2010, and is already recieving a LOT of attention - national TV interviews on 'Sunrise', hour long ABC radio national interviews, and is even being advertised on the back of busses!

Book RRP $34.95 AU

Front cover quote: "An amazing tale of real adventure and genuine exploration in the modern era - unexplored regions, fearless animals, no support crew, disaster, excitement – the lot!" ~ Dick Smith

Excerpt from the book:

After a good day's hauling, at 5 pm we set up tent and I decided to go fishing. Ice-hopping out to deeper water, I started jigging the lure up and down in the crystal-clear water, expecting at any moment a silvery char to flash past and grab it. Glancing along the shoreline, I spotted a bunch of white rocks – or perhaps hunks of ice – scattered across the mudflats some 300 metres back along where we’d just hauled less than an hour earlier. I continued fishing.

Scanning around as I idly flicked the rod tip up and down, I fixed my gaze once more on these white objects. I stopped jerking the rod. Were there more of them now? Were they closer? I stared at the motionless forms for some time before shaking my head, laughing at my own paranoia. However, just as I turned away, out of the corner of my eye I saw movement. Whipping around to stare, I watched transfixed as more and more white objects seemed to appear from nowhere and fan out across the mud. They must be caribou, I thought – they looked about the right size. There was something odd about the way they were walking though, they weren’t prancing or trotting as deer do, they were more ... loping along ... like huge dogs! My blood ran cold as I suddenly realised what was happening – I was standing there, with nothing but a fishing rod between me, and a pack of six, seven, eight arctic wolves, all pacing closer, and closer!

'CLARK!' I shouted. 'WOLVES!' Over 100 metres away, there was no movement from the tent, my yell snatched away on the bitterly cold wind streaming over the pack ice. The wolves heard me though, and stopped dead, all eyes on me, their ears as upright as the hairs on the back of my neck.

Deciding I’d better get back to camp, I frantically reeled in my fishing line and moved to ice-hop back to shore. The moment I took a step, the whole pack started advancing as one. 'CLARK!' I shouted loudly every few paces, staring mesmerised at the multitude of wolves – clearly visible now – steadily closing the gap. 'CLARK!!' Finally reaching the shore, there was now nothing but 150 metres of mud separating me from the advancing pack, and panic lurched into my stomach.

Various thoughts started flashing through my head. Don’t run from dogs. Keep walking. They can run a lot faster than you can, don't give them an excuse. I shot a terrified glance over my shoulder – they weren't running, just swiftly gliding towards me, but gaining fast. I'm actually going to be torn apart. Don’t think that – dogs can sense fear. How could I do this to Clark? 'CLARK!?' There was a hint of pleading in my voice now, and it scared me. Another glance back. Shit. They're going to get to me before I get to the tent. Don't run. Okay – run. Run! With one last wild glance over my shoulder, I saw – as I knew I would – the whole pack shift into high gear, their broad paws digging into the soft ground as they accelerated, now bounding after me as I sprinted up the embankment towards camp. 'CLARK! GET THE GUN!'