While I contemplated the transition from February to March, I began to think about marching.  As an infantry soldier in the early 80s, I was ordered to do things on a daily basis.  One of the more common orders was to march.  Ask anyone who has served in the infantry, and he or she will tell you that marching is just part of the job, no big deal, even if it is 50 kilometers! Other things I was ordered to do…well, not so easy.

One night in early March of 1981, I and 75 other members of G Company, 2nd Battalion Royal Canadian Regiment, were on an advance to contact mission (keep moving until you come into “contact” with enemy forces), part of Exercise Nez Rouge 81, at Canadian Forces Base Valcartier Quebec.  It was minus 20-degrees Celsius. A few hours earlier, we had emerged from 3 warm (by comparison) Chinook helicopters onto a vast, snow-covered, frozen lake. 

It was my first winter exercise; I was not enjoying it at all.  More than a few of my colleagues were showing signs of fatigue and emotional breakdown (talking to themselves, crying, dropping to the ground claiming to be injured) and I knew I was not far behind.  Before much longer we had reached a designated rendezvous point and we began to set-up our tents…yes…I was about to sleep in a tent in minus 20-degree weather (before wind chill!).

It is not easy setting up a tent at night.  It is even more difficult when your hands are very cold.  A couple of buddies and I got ours set-up and then helped with a few others.  At the time, Canadian Forces Issue Arctic tents were made of water repellant cotton, with three layers of material.  They were shaped like a cone and designed to sleep five soldiers.  A gas lantern would be our heat source.  It would remain lit the entire night and we would take turns doing 1-hour “lantern watch”. I drew the short straw and had the 2 am to 3 am watch.  It was just about midnight so I could get about two hours of sleep.  I bedded down quickly.

At O1: 55 hundred hours, I was awakened from a deep and satisfying sleep.  I emerged from my sleeping bag to a tent that was chilly, but not terribly cold.  I asked Jack if he had needed to refill the lantern.  “No” he replied…my heart sank.  This meant that I would surely have to refill the lantern at some point during my watch.  Standard Operating Procedures stated that this needed to be done outside the tent (including relight) for obvious health and safety reasons.  I muttered something under my breath and finished getting dressed.

For the next 30 minutes or so I ate some rations (tuna and chocolate), thought about killing Jack (sure that he must have somehow manipulated the whole situation so that I would have to do the refilling!), and stared at the warm glow emanating from the lantern. Suddenly, a hiss, and then…pitch dark!

I had prepared for this. My toque was on, my parka was near and I had the flashlight and matches in my side-leg pocked (combat pants are wonderful things).  I put my gloves on and carefully took hold of the lantern (it’s very hot) and shuffle on my knees toward the tent’s entry/exit flap.  At the flap, I place the lantern down take off my gloves and proceeded to untie the series of lacings designed to hold the flaps securely closed.  This took about a minute.  My hands were getting very cold and the temperature inside the tent was plummeting.  I pushed the flaps open picked-up the lantern and placed it on the ground outside the tent. I crawled through the exit, turned on my hands and knees and closed the flaps. I removed the flashlight from my pant pocket and turned it on.  A faint reddish glow was cast onto the snow a few feet away. Simulated combat conditions meant that you always had a red filter on a flashlight to mute the light. I maneuvered the flashlight until the reddish glow captured what I was seeking…a small red plastic fuel can.  I laid the flashlight down on the ground with the red glow settled on the fuel-can, picked up the lamp and shuffled on my knees to the fuel-can.

Once I got to the fuel-can I twisted the cap off the lantern’s filling spout, put it in my pocket and set the lamp on the ground.  Realizing that my hands were almost completely frozen I reached for my gloves…I didn’t have my gloves…I’d left them in the tent!

“Ok, Ok, calm down” I muttered as I looked back at the tent assessing whether or not I would go get my gloves.  “No”…too much of a hassle, don’t want to wake the guys, would have to take them off to fill and light the lantern anyway.  But my hands were now freezing…literally!  I cupped them over my mouth and blew a couple of shots of warm breath-air, then quickly into my pant pockets for about thirty seconds.  I looked at the fuel-can and visualized exactly what steps I would take in order to fill the lantern as quickly as possible.

Fuel-can cap off; pouring spout out and place over opening; cap down around pouring spout and secured to can; release pouring valve at back of can; pour fuel slowly into lantern (don’t waste fuel…you’ll regret it at some point!).  I do spill a little naphtha onto my left hand…it evaporates very quickly and is extremely cold!

Done filling; set can down; remove lantern filling cap from pocket and secure to lamp; tighten pouring valve at back of fuel-can; loosen and remove cap; remove pouring spout and place inside can; place cap on and tighten.  Now the hard part…light the lantern and take it back into the tent.

Retrieve matches from pocket…suddenly I become conscious of the fact that I’m not very adept at lighting matches.  I’m not a smoker and candles aren’t my thing!  Before I remove a match to strike, I prime the lantern to ensure the wick is covered with enough gas to be lit.  Ok good…strike a match; lean toward the lantern; lift globe and bring match to wick…the first attempt fails.  I strike a second match with success and repeat the lighting procedure…YES!

A few minutes later I’m back in the tent.  It’s very cold but warmer than outside.  These tents were designed to make the most of body heat.  I look at my watch; it reads O 2: 55.  I give the next watcher’s foot a shake…I’m pretty sure he mumbled something not fit for print but I gave him a second shake anyway.  “Your turn Bro!” I whispered loudly.  He poked his head out from his sleeping bag, “Did you have to fill the lantern?” he asked.
“Yeah…piece a cake dude!”
“Right on Bro!” he said as he slowly peeled the sleeping bag away from his body.

“Livy…what’s left for rations?”
“Spaghetti and beans” I reply.
“Who ate the tuna?”
“I did…some of the chocolate too.”
“I guess you earned it Bro.”
“Right I did!”

A few moments of silence pass as he dresses and I climb into my sleeping bag.
“Hey Livy…once we get finished this exercise, let’s you and I take our free day and head into Quebec City.  There’s a rock bar called The Electric Circle…supposed to be a blast.”
“Sounds good to me…sounds good to me…”
“Hey Livy…can’t wait to get back to Gagetown…at least it’s more like spring there…it’s March man!  This is just crazy!”
“Yes it is…yes it is…now let me get some sleep!”

I would spend another 2 years in the army.  Most of that in what was then West Germany.
Of all my military experiences, the night in the cold of Valcartier remains one of my most vivid memories. The body and mind can do amazing things.  Most things that happened after that night, were…well, “a piece a cake”.

Here’s to spring and your never having to sleep in an Arctic tent!