Last week, four intrepid adventurers showed  up at our WXYZ office after the show, and  told us they wanted to dedicate a trip to us. Not an ordinary trip, but one which began in the dead of winter, in the Polar region of Northern Canada  and made its agonizing way south to Detroit

“But, isn’t that cold? “I asked, trying to show a sense of what they were proposing.

“Of course, that’s the idea,” said their leader, a rugged looking man, who was obviously not accustomed to fielding tough challenging questions like mine. “It has to be tough,” he said. “Otherwise, there is no challenge.” His cohorts nodded their heads in synchronized agreement.

“Where do you propose to make this trip?” I asked.

“Nonuvit.” He said crisply.

The word came out sounding like “none of it.”

“Well, at least,  give us some hint of where you want to do this.”

 “Nonuvit,” he repeated impatiently.

 It was beginning to sound like an Abbot and Costello routine.

 He laughed. “Nonuvit is the name of an Inuit Indian province on the Arctic Circle in Northern Canada. It is barren, except for a few scattered trading posts. Once we get there, we are on our own. The roads, if any,  are two lane dirt or graveled. We will not use the roads, he said ominously.

“Have you ever been there?” I asked.  

“No,” he said, “but we’ve been in a lot of places like it.”           

 Besides it is full of  friendly Indians called Inuits. I hear they will go out of their way to help white men in trouble, not that we are going to get into trouble.”.

Another half hour spent getting their estimate of  the money it would take. and the meeting was over. We told them that we would consider their proposal, meaning that we would talk to V.P Chuck Fritz to  see if  he would ante up the money. All of the men, as they left,, smiled broadly and shook hands, in their second show of  group personality

Nonuvit:  We looked it up on the map and saw that not many Canadian explorers had actually ventured into that wild expanse and mapped it. It also meant that our Martin and Howard Expedition  stalwarts would be in a country where there were none of the references that told them where they were. In fact, the topography  regarding Nonuvit, was so sketchy that some of the maps we looked at spelled  it Nonuvat, with an “a”

The northern border of this huge land was on the Arctic circle where one could not see terrain features on a map, only vast blank spaces. It reminded me of the ancient navigational charts that warned ship’s captains not to venture into uncharted waters, “Beyond  here, there be dragons.”

Alarmed, Specs and I called the Royal Canadian Mounted Police headquarters in Windsor, Ontario, across the bridge from Detroit, figuring they must have a man there who could fill us in on Nonuvit.  Mounties are renowned for getting their man. This automatically meant that if someone broke the law and attempted to escape into this trackless land, a Mountie would be on his trail tracking him, that there would be no corner of this forbidding place where a Mountie would not venture to nail his man. At least, that was what I gleaned from those movies featuring the Mounties.

We were right, They did have a man who had braved those wilds and was eager to speak to us. Actually, he was  the Chief. He spoke with a sonorous voice, and behind that voice, there resided a brain that could encompass any of our Nonuvit 101 questions. Great! We had gotten our man.

I led off with a question regarding Canadian policy toward  the “Indians.” in Nonuvit.

“Oh yes, Nonuvit,” said the  Chief. “Well sir,” he said using his official command tone,” We have a different policy toward Nonuvit, hey. If a  felon runs to Nonuvit seeking refuge, we don’t chase him. The Inuits will not help him seek refuge, hey. We simply let him freeze to death in that 50 or 60 degrees below zero, what you call Fahrenheit weather,. We ask our friends, the Inuits, to store his frozen body until Spring, then we send a bush plane up there to bring him back in a big block of ice. The Inuits are the only ones on earth who know how to survive up there.

“By the way,” he said pointedly. “The Inuits are not what you call ‘Indians.’ They are not tribal but live in communities, and are very family-oriented. If you go there, don’t call them ‘Indians.’ They originated in Siberia and migrated here. Some call them Eskimos but mostly, they are called Inuits.. And one more thing: don’t go there unless you can survive in weather that could freeze you to the ground in a matter of minutes.”

I was irked because the leader of the “Expedition” had called them “Indians,” but let it pass.

 Sobered ,I thanked him, and hung up, firmly resolved that the M and H Expedition guys would not wind up as four blocks of ice.

The next day, Specs and I received a letter from them that ran two pages single-spaced, listing the equipment they would require, all before closing the deal with us.

We did not allow this bizarre diversion to interfere with the show. It was fun as usual on our morning  radio show. We gradually began to hint at big things  to come, with everything from subtle allusions about Northern Canada to our usual brand of corn.

“Alright everybody, you have two minutes to call us and give us a sentence using the words, “Eskimo, Christians, and Italian. We’ll take fifth caller.” We always laid lavish prizes on them. Dinner at the posh Rooster Tail was common where major stars like Tony Bennett entertained.

The answer?  “Eskimo Christians and Italian no lies.” 

We decided to go along with the Martin and Howard Expedition shtick if the team agreed to slack off a little, like not going to Nonuvit, but beginning their Expedition in northern Manitoba, one province south of the Inuit.

The list that had been presented to us was not un-doable. Our WXYZ  Sales guys fanned out and nailed everything on the list, including a Ford camper, complete with all of the accoutrements for two weeks of rugged camping. They had their own radio set-up which they attached to the Ford. I made sure the Mounties had their call sign and a general idea of where they would be going.

One rep showed up with four Winchester 338 Magnums, each fully capable of dropping a Polar Bear in its tracks. These magnificent beasts are one of nature’s few stalkers of humans.

The thing agreed  upon  between us was that they would drive north, through Ontario and into  Manitoba until the roads ran out, then take off  pushing a  dogless dog sled and mush south, with the Ford camper on the nearest  parallel road, which would be used when they reached the major highways and what we call civilization. The paved highways and urban areas would be where the M and H Expedition ended. That could amount to a couple of hundred miles in Polar-like conditions, which was good enough for us..

They finally understood there would be no hope of help if they got lost.  At that time, roads often disappeared when you were driving north. Mortal danger and Northern Canada were synonymous. And, something that had not occurred to any of us: that far north,  a magnetic compass becomes disoriented. There, magnetic north is to be found  straight down on the compass. Huh?

The day finally arrived after a major buildup by Specs and Me. The Martin and Howard Expedition was ready with all its regalia: the truck. the trailer holding the dog sled,  were assembled in the WXYZ parking lot. One of their wives would drive the truck and operate the base radio to stay in contact. The men had a radio in their sled.

By this time, they knew the compasses would not give them an accurate “read” that close to the magnetic pole. So, there would be no way to report their location in case of emergency. Well, you can’t have everything.

 The buzz surpassed our wildest expectations. Even the print media was assembled, in the station  parking lot, complete with reporters, their pads poised to take down the slightest nuance uttered by our guys.

The questions were a little jarring. One reporter asked, “Do you men actually expect to survive?”

 “Absolutely,” their leader said, “Besides, If we get into real trouble, we can always find some friendly Inuit Indians who will bail us out..”

It was delicious. They appeared to believe this was the last time these guys would be seen alive. Our Martin  and Howard team handled it with great aplomb. They fielded  all of the dire questions with the theater one would expect from Harry Houdini.

Specs and I manned a mic, proclaimed this as a great day in the history of mankind’s curiosity to explore the unknown. We named other past great Arctic explorers  (several of whom  had died on the trail) and coupled our guys  with their immortal names, then shamelessly  gave the Martin and Howard Expedition the signal to begin their noble quest.

Our act had succeeded beyond our greatest dreams. The cynical media had bought it with reservations. When the truck cleared the parking lot, a Detroit Free Press Outdoors reporter approached us and darkly said,” I’ve been to that country. Are you guys sure of what you are doing?”
             “I smiled confidently and said, “Take it to the snow bank.”

  He didn’t laugh.

 “I guess you know,” he said, “that the Inuits aren’t Indians.