One September afternoon, I was standing at latitude 70 degrees north, at the rim of Arctic Ocean in Alaska, 400 km above the Arctic Circle. Twenty-four km of shallow, frigid waters separated me from the Arctic Ice Cap.
During the winters, even this water freezes, making it possible to walk to the North Pole. I was in Prudhoe Bay at the top end of Alaska’s North Slope, a huge swathe of land afloat in oil.
“The Russians must be hitting their head against the wall for having sold Alaska to the Americans at such a cut-rate,” said Watso, a chubby security officer, a half native Alaskan Indian, guiding me through Prudhoe Bay’s eastern oilfields.
His job for the last two years had been to keep a look-out for polar bears and alert the oil workers if there was a sighting.

