Death in the North by mugsy

The Mysterious Death of Elgmore Funtwhistle @-Loosely copied from the sole remaining issue of ‘Weird Tales of the North’ which, although ‘defunct and void’ (and mostly unread)
was made available to us by its author Wiggensdorf Ballzak, a master of ‘run on’ sentences
who resides in a local insane asylum but remains lucid and cunning to this day even though he is 93.

The Funtwhistles were the first European family to settle in the remote arctic village of Sachs Harbor, which is a dot on Banks Island, north of Victoria Island in the Beauford Sea. Elgmore grew up in this harsh environment learning its secrets from his friends in a nearby Inuit village.
Little Elgmore, or as the Inuit called him Lakatukmeeuk which means ‘little Bastard’ in Inuit (since his parents weren’t actually wed) became a great hunter. Sometimes he would remain motionless for several days in a row, clad in sealskin, waiting by a breathing hole until the unwary animal would appear, then suddenly he would pounce and kill the seal with his bare hands, drink its blood, then distribute the rest to those in need. For his 9th birthday his Father gave him a 303 rifle, which made it much easier for him to kill larger animals such as walrus and polar bears. As the years went by Elgmore grew from a great hunter and survivalist into a Northern legend. One time it was reported that an entire village was starving in a place called Igoolik, which is on the extreme Northern end of the Melville Peninsula. Elgmore traveled the distance of 2000 kilometers in just 9 days. He appeared early on a Monday Morning ahead of the largest dog team ever seen in the North, over 500 dogs (rumor has it that many of them were Arctic wolves coerced into the endeavor) pulling a 13 ton Grey whale. The village was saved. Elgmore never even stuck around to be thanked, abruptly leaving and disappearing into the ice fields. There are many more tales to be told of Elgmore Funtwhistle, too numerous for this small narrative, therefore I shall now relate the last.
Being a legend has its good side but there is always the bad. One cold January the Federal Government sent a representative with a request. Could Elgmore locate a missing piece of equipment that had recently fallen from the sky? A Russian satellite had broken up over Somerset Island and could he recover the debris? Elgmore said yes, after all it was only 1500 miles across a frozen sea the coldest time of the year in the most inhospitable part of the world. He began his journey in total darkness with 20 dogs and 400 pounds of frozen fish (dog feed) along with 100 lbs of K-rations generously supplied by the Canadian armed forces. Five days out his sled crashed through the ice due to a rare phenomenon wherein the tide moves out then freezes leaving a huge waterless void beneath the ice. Although he fell over 50 feet his thick overcoat of sealskin cushioned his fall. There he stood, on the sea floor in total darkness, half of his dog’s dead, in a world of black. His main problem now was the fact he could no longer see the stars, which meant he couldn’t navigate. Trusting his intuition he forged ahead. Days went by and the food ran out. He was forced to eat his remaining dogs. He continued blindly, then when hunger slowed him down he ate his sled, then the last thing he had, his prized Lee Enfield 303. Although rich in iron the rifle provided little sustenance. Suddenly his worst fear arose, night blindness, the reverse of snow blindness. But how could he tell? It was always dark. Then an idea struck him, he would make a wick from his own hair (which was always oily due to a lack of shampoo) and make sparks by striking seabed boulders together. It worked, with his homemade torch he was able to look around and what he saw amazed him. He was in the midst of a huge bed of clams. Starving he had been, now he would feast, and so he did, for 2 months. Well after he had burnt the last bit of his hair he remained in the clam bed in total darkness, eating raw clams until he could no longer stand the taste of them.. His mouth watered at the thought of a nice bit of blubber or a seal liver but he knew his only hope was to wait, wait until the sun came back, and one day it did. At first just a faint glow through the thick ice above, then a radiance that he thought must resemble God’s face. Carefully tracking the angle of the rise of the sun with the angularity of it’s setting Elgmore managed to make his way to shore, however he couldn’t break through the ice which was still about 10 ft thick. Suddenly a mixed blessing occurred. The tide returned with a vengeance. At the very moment Elgmore thought he was about to drown in the icy water, the tidal force split the ice, throwing Elmore upon the shore like a Nordic Jonah. Although he had broken several bones they were quick to mend due to his tough disposition and inner faith. Most men would of quit by now, but not Elgmore. As soon as he figured out he was on Sumerset Island he fanned out and managed to locate all the missing debris (along with two 45 gallon oil drums) and then settled down to build an ice sled, which he hoped would double as a boat. With this he planned to return home and then report to the officials of his success. What he didn’t know was the fact the Government had given him up for dead 2 months prior. Suddenly a large helicopter appeared, and then landed nearby. (It was the last pass on a fruitless search for the debris) The crew was both surprised and happy to see Elgmore alive and in possession of the debris. After he told his story to the crew and mentioned his hunger, the pilot reached into his lunch box and offered Elgmore something he had never seen before, a large chocolate do-nut filled with whipped cream. Happy it wasn’t a clam he wolfed it down with gusto, and then dropped dead in his tracks. A later autopsy report would read---‘Death by exploded taste buds’-----