Hap Wilson and John Hornby’s final challenge
Wilderness adventurer chronicles the story of those who paddled before him
John Hornby (1880-1927) is a name that lingers around stories of the exploration of the Barrens (or the tundra) and the Canadian Arctic. His legacy seems appropriate to recall in these dark cold days of February. Perhaps you have heard of him. In his day he did what he could to propagate legends about his personal durability and his desire to challenge the Arctic in as “pure” a way as possible. In part through his own self-promotion, he became known as “Hornby of the North” or the “Snow Man”; less attractively, perhaps more accurately, some saw him as “the hermit of the North.”
An Englishman born into a family of some wealth and prestige in Cheshire, he seems never to have been at home in his native country. Instead, after schooling at Harrow and after failing the Diplomatic Service exams, he came out to northwestern Canada in search of wilderness adventure and opportunities to test his strength and will power. A small family income allowed him to sustain his adventures, but it was the lure of the North drew him back repeatedly.
He was one of those young Englishmen attracted to the exploits of venturesome explorers. Think of John Franklin, Robert Perry, Ernest Shackleton and George Mallory. For Hornby they were models to be emulated. Such opportunities still existed in remote places like the Great Slave Lake region in the North West Territories. He found work there as a wilderness guide and began to plan rigorous winter canoe trips that involved the gathering of scientific data, though that goal was less important to him than the opportunity to test himself.
With Norman Lubbock Robinson as partner and photographer he spent a winter challenging the cold and snow of the North; then came a second expedition with his friend George Mellis Douglas (later of Lakefield fame). When the War broke out, he enlisted in Edmonton and was seriously wounded at the Somme. After being awarded The Military Cross he came back to western Canada and returned to his northern adventures. In a much publicized expedition he shared with James Charles Critchell Bullock, the two barely survived an entire winter in the Barrens north of the Thelon River.
In 1925 after returning to England to visit his dying father, he came back to Edmonton accompanied by his hero-worshipping nephew Edgar Christian. Promising to show young Edgar what wildness adventure and survival were all about, he added a third Englishman, Harold Adlard, to the party. That summer they began their northern canoe trip at Fort MacMurray. It became known as the Hornby Expedition of 1926.
Any Arctic expedition needed to be carefully planned. That far north summer is a short season — at best three months — and there no autumn or spring. However, when the Hornby party missed their scheduled rendezvous with Guy Blanchett, another traveller who had agreed to take the two young men back to Fort Resolution, the threesome had to carry on to the Thelon
River despite the fact that they were woefully underequipped.
Hornby’s personal agenda was to spend the winter alone; hence, he had taken winter supplies only for himself; these were characteristically minimal. Imagine having only one parka, two sets of snowshoes, and no shovel for three men! Hornby hoped they could live on the caribou but they missed their migration. Thus, the summer adventure he had arranged for Edgar and Harold evolved into a slow death spiral that lasted nine relentless months of winter in 1926-27.
Hap Wilson is the latest writer to take on the Hornby tragedy. Following in the wake of two influential books by Queen’s Professor George Whalley (particularly “The Legend of John Hornby” in 1962), and more recent works by Clive Powell-Williams (“Cold Burial”), Pierre Berton (“Prisoners of the North”), novelists M.T. Kelly (“Out of the Whirlwind”) and Elizabeth Hay (“Late Nights on Air”), and playwright Lawrence Jeffery (“Who Look in Stove”), Wilson tells the story in surprisingly rich detail, drawing on his own canoetripping expertise, his knowledge of the Thelon River region, and his ventures in testing his own wilderness-survival skills.
Nevertheless, like earlier writers, his main source of information was Edgar Christian’s casually-written diary that was found with a few other documents in the stove in their makeshift cabin. The three had died separately during the spring of 1927. Hornby himself was the first to pass.
Since the discovery of their bodies and the documents found in the stove by the RCMP in 1928, the legend of John (or Jack) Hornby has grown more complex. Today deteriorating parts of the cabin remain at the site along with 3 makeshift wooden crosses bearing the initials of the doomed men.
What kind of a leader was Jack Hornby? What made him tick and what were his motivations? Should he be seen as heroic, an aspirant to greatness and human endurance, or as a little guy (he was just over five feet in height) who was too inwardthinking and an incommunicative loner? As well, how did the three of men interact through those dark and frigid months? Were homosexual relationships at play among them during their close and prolonged interactions? How did the three brace themselves to meet their fate as their strength slowly ebbed and death became their inescapable
reality?
Edgar’s diary is a key to what we know but so are missing documents like Harold’s two letters that were returned to his family. What Hap Wilson offers is an extensive dramatization of their doings based on Edgar’s diary and his own knowledge of survivalist methods. He takes his title from the fantastic displays of the Northern Lights that the men enjoyed on occasion. The Indigenous people, Wilson reports, often refer to the Aurora Borealis as “The Dance of the Deadmen”
According to Edgar his uncle Jack was “the best man who ever lived.” He had unlimited courage, unflagging energy, and seemed to know everything about the Arctic; moreover, he doted on Edgar, regularly minimizing his duties and pampering him, even allowing him early on to keep a pet fox. Such protectiveness was inevitably alienating for Harold who, being reduced to thirdparty status, was often Jack’s fall guy; he always did more than his share while receiving little credit from Hornby.
Indeed, as Wilson’s narrative evolves, one becomes aware of Harold’s competence and the validity of his complaints about Hornby’s habits and decisions, not to mention his personal hygiene and relentless snoring. It was Harold who shot the two solitary caribou they lived on for parts of their awful winter and Harold who was most efficient at fishing for trout before the Thelon froze over.
Hap Wilson sides increasingly with Harold as the grim narrative unfolds, subtly shifting the ground toward the conclusion that, for all his skills, strength and experience, Hornby was a failed leader. This expedition was his “greatest mistake.” He allowed the Arctic to overwhelm his deep-seated sense of self and his two charges simply had to accept their fate and starve slowly to death.
Today, visitors to Thelon River Wildkife Sanctuary can still see the remains of the Hornby cabin and the three graves. The tragic story is told in compelling detail in “Dance of the Deadmen.” Throughout you will feel the relentless bite of the winter wind and the insidious pressure of the Arctic cold.
The novel gave me a fresh appreciation of how well Canadians are able to deal with the deep and sustained cold that characterizes our winters.