The Muskox Men: Canada’s 1946 Arctic Adventure

Follow the gripping journey of 48 brave servicemen and their trusty “Penguin” snowmobiles as they battled brutal cold, mechanical failures, and personal loss while training in the unforgiving Arctic

Jan 15, 2025

*Image attribution: Henry Busse, public domain, CC0*

It’s February 1946 in Churchill, Manitoba—a place where icy winds scream across the frozen shore and temperatures plummet to a bone-chilling –52°C. A team of 48 brave Canadian servicemen stands on the brink of history, gathered around 11 rugged “Penguin” snowmobiles, their breath forming clouds in the frigid air.

Moments before their departure, a tragic fire claims the lives of two of their squad, casting a sombre shadow over the mission. Yet, with heavy hearts and steely resolve, these men—soon to be known as the “Muskox Men”—prepare to embark on an odyssey through the relentless Arctic wilderness, where survival will demand courage, ingenuity, and an unbreakable spirit…

They called it “Operation Muskox,” but the soldiers who lived through it would remember their time on the frozen tundra by another name: the toughest stretch of their lives.

Let me take you back to February 1946, in Churchill, Manitoba. Imagine a bitter wind sweeping across the Hudson Bay shoreline. The temperature hovers around –52°C, so cold that your breath freezes in midair. Yet here in Churchill, 48 servicemen from the Canadian Army are getting ready for a historic journey across the Arctic.

Right before they set out, tragedy struck.

A fire at the Churchill base claimed the lives of two soldiers, rocking the morale of the entire group. Some wondered if that was a warning sign, a dreadful omen of what lay ahead. Still, the mission had to proceed. The Army had handpicked this team to put Canada’s post-war Arctic plans to the test. They had 11 over-snow vehicles called “Penguins,” prototypes unlike anything most had seen before—imagine a clunky cross between a small tank and a sled, meant to crawl over packed snow and hidden ice.

The men were told that these Penguins could conquer any drift, but everyone knew the proof would come only when they were deep in the Arctic wilderness.

Among them were commanding officers who had studied the maps until their eyes blurred, and younger recruits who’d never faced an Arctic winter.

You also had mechanics prepared to tinker with engines in subzero darkness, medics who carried supplies for wounds and frostbite, and a few adventurous souls who saw this mission as a grand test of endurance. If you’re wondering why they would brave such conditions so soon after World War II, the official story was that they needed to learn how the Army might operate in the North.

Unofficially, some suspected it was also about sending a message to the rest of the world that Canada intended to keep an eye on its Arctic territories.

The day they started out—February 15, 1946—was one for the record books.

Winds lashed the convoy as they rolled north from Churchill. Those Penguins rumbled along at a snail’s pace, devouring fuel at a rate that alarmed many. A few kilometres out, one driver discovered that his heater had failed. The interior of the vehicle turned into a freezer, so he cracked a window for fresh air…only to realize that letting in the outside air brought the temperature inside even lower. Others grappled with carbon monoxide issues—fumes would slip into the cabin if the exhaust system wasn’t sealed perfectly.

For the men stepping outside, it was survival 101 every time they set foot on the snow.

Touching metal with bare skin could tear the flesh from your hands. Gasoline could freeze into slush if the supply line was exposed. At one point early in the trek, they encountered a small cluster of Inuit families who’d come to see these strangers. The language barrier was real, but courtesy bridged the gap. The Army offered supplies in exchange for directions and local insight.

Some of the soldiers realized that even though they wore top-of-the-line cold-weather gear, these families still managed better in the freezing temperatures, living in snug structures made from materials nature provided.

That was a humbling lesson in the resilience of people who call the Arctic home.

No one foresaw how quickly mechanical troubles would stack up. The Penguins’ engines were built for cold, but not necessarily for the extreme –50s. Stuck pistons, cracked seals, and endless battery problems tested the mechanics’ patience. They worked in shifts, often huddled around stoves that never seemed to produce quite enough warmth. Spare parts were stashed in every nook of the vehicles, but the rough conditions devoured them at an alarming rate.

The radio operators found that the closer they got to the magnetic pole, the more their compasses and signals went haywire. Navigation was as much guesswork as it was science.

Still, the team forged ahead, determined to reach Baker Lake and beyond.

Part of the mission involved checking on outposts scattered throughout the far north, but it was also about testing Canada’s capacity to operate in one of the harshest places on Earth. Some had begun calling this group the “Muskox Men,” a nod to the expedition’s name and to the sturdy muskoxen that roam the High Arctic with thick coats and unbreakable wills.

Around mid-March, the convoy made it to the Perry River area, never imagining that this remote spot would become the setting for an extraordinary medical emergency.

The men had barely gotten used to the changing weather when word arrived that an Inuit child had a ruptured appendix. In a place where hospitals and doctors were almost non-existent, it fell to Captain Croome, the expedition’s lone military doctor, to act immediately. The team fashioned a makeshift operating table inside one of the Penguins, and Croome performed a high-stakes surgery in conditions that would challenge the most experienced surgeons.

Outside, the wind screamed.

Inside, the doctor and a few helpers focused on saving a child’s life with the limited tools they had. Everyone held their breath until Croome announced that the surgery had gone well enough. Of course, they still needed to get the child to better medical facilities—and quickly.

Squadron Leader Coombes from the Royal Canadian Air Force (RCAF) stepped in. He arranged a mercy flight to Cambridge Bay on Victoria Island.

In those days, a flight at these latitudes was no small matter. But Coombes managed it, navigating uncertain skies and runways that were little more than packed ice. The child made it to a small health center in time. When the family thanked Croome, they offered him a young Siberian husky, a symbol of trust and gratitude. Croome accepted, but insisted that the pup stay safely in Yellowknife until the expedition was over, so it wouldn’t suffer in the harsh journey ahead.

After the drama at Perry River, the “Muskox Men” pressed on, but the Arctic had more trials in store.

Days blurred into nights under the perpetual cold, and morale slipped as illnesses and accidents claimed the men’s energy. At one point, nearly half the group suffered mild carbon monoxide poisoning. Fumes had seeped into the Penguins’ cabins from their exhaust systems. Some men developed pounding headaches, while others felt dizzy or short of breath. The medics quickly realized they had to keep vents open and double-check every seal to prevent disaster.

By then, the convoy had advanced well into the Arctic barrens, where the only company seemed to be the wind and an occasional fox sniffing around camp.

Vehicle breakdowns mounted. Engines froze or refused to start, and transmissions jammed.

Each time the mechanics thought they’d fixed one problem, another cropped up. Still, the men soldiered on, helped by RCAF planes that soared overhead bringing essential supplies. These were major operations in their own right. Pilots often had to fly over a thousand kilometres to find the expedition, navigating by rough coordinates in an environment that made compass readings unreliable.

On more than one occasion, the planes dropped crates that held—among other items—extra blankets, replacement parts, and, famously, bottles of beer.

To everyone’s surprise, not a single bottle in one particular drop ended up broken. It became a bit of a joke, proof that in the Arctic, fate sometimes decided to give you a break.

By mid-April, the sun started to linger longer in the sky.

That helped spirits a bit, but it also brought a new enemy: thawing ice. A few Penguins took a dip they never expected when patches of ice gave way.

One sank so fast that the crew barely had time to jump out. Luckily, there were no serious injuries, but salvaging a half-submerged vehicle in near-freezing water was no picnic. After that, they grew even more cautious. The group’s commanding officers divided the force into smaller sections, each scouting safer routes. The men joked that they spent most of their day “testing ice” with their own feet, praying it wouldn’t crack.

As the mission wound on, word came down that the Soviet Union had taken an interest in these maneuvers.

A handful of Soviet observers reportedly kept tabs on the exercise from a distance. Some Americans and British were also paying attention. Even though World War II had ended, a chill of a different sort was setting in—the early stages of the Cold War. Canada’s show of resilience in the Arctic seemed to say, “We can hold our own here,” which wasn’t lost on any of the global powers.

Just when the men thought they might finish the route with a sense of accomplishment, the snow started turning to mud.

That’s a new brand of misery for anyone who’s piloted heavy vehicles in remote areas. The so-called “mud season” was a nightmare. Some drivers compared it to driving through a never-ending bog. Engines choked on gritty sludge, and temperatures fluctuated wildly from below-freezing at night to above-freezing by midday.

They inched along, day after day, until they hit an entirely different problem on the Alaska Highway—a layer of dust so thick that it clogged up vents and forced them to sweat in cramped cabins. By this point, the mission had turned into one long lesson in patience.

With each passing day, supply drops grew more complicated, and mechanical setbacks continued.

The officers finally decided enough was enough. They’d already proven that Canadian forces could handle arctic extremes. They turned the last portion of the trek into a train ride to Edmonton. Though some men longed to finish every kilometre under their own power, the practical reality won out. They’d traversed thousands of kilometres in some of the harshest conditions on the planet. Few doubted their grit.

Beyond the day-to-day triumphs and hardships, Operation Muskox took on an international flavour.

Observers from the Soviet Union, the United Kingdom, and the United States all drew lessons from the Canadians’ experiences. In the early days of the Cold War, each nation wanted insights into Arctic travel. They saw these soldiers battling through ice, snow, and isolation, and they knew it mattered for more than just Canadian sovereignty. It hinted at how future conflicts—or collaborations—could play out in the Far North.

Today, when you hear talk of annual Arctic sovereignty exercises—like Operation Nanook—there’s a direct line back to the Muskox Men of 1946. (See below for a footnote about Operation Nanook.)

Their mission showed that a relatively small group could manage resupply, medical emergencies, and advanced navigation in a mostly unmapped environment. It also highlighted the need to cooperate with locals and consider the land’s natural cycles. Over time, these lessons turned into official military strategies and annual drills.

Even now, with Russia’s war in Ukraine renewing attention on northern defence, you can see traces of the wisdom forged in that gruelling winter.

For the men who took part, Operation Muskox was an odyssey of cold and endurance that tested both bodies and machines. Yet, the legacy is bigger than that. It carved out a place for Canada in Arctic defence planning, spurred advances in snow vehicles and winter gear, and established a tradition of sending soldiers northward every year.

The result is a more prepared force, one that’s better able to handle whatever the Arctic throws its way, and a country that isn’t afraid to say, “This is our North.”

Footnote: Operation Nanook

Operation Muskox laid the groundwork for what are now annual sovereignty operations in Canada's north. The most prominent of these is Operation Nanook, which continues to this day.

Interoperability with Allies:

The 2024 iteration of Operation Nanook, which concluded on August 26, 2024, demonstrated the ongoing importance of multinational cooperation in Arctic operations.
The exercise involved forces from Canada, the United States, Denmark, and other allied nations.

Technological Advancements:

While the original Muskox used what we now consider to be primitive snowmobiles, modern Arctic exercises utilize state-of-the-art equipment.
For example, the 2024 Operation Nanook included the use of advanced Harry DeWolf-Class Offshore Patrol Vessels.

Focus on Climate Change:

Unlike the original Muskox, modern Arctic operations now incorporate elements related to climate change monitoring and response.

Expanded Scope:

Today's Arctic exercises are more comprehensive, including elements such as search and rescue simulations, gunnery exercises, and fleet maneuver drills.

Environmental Challenges:

The 2024 Operation Nanook faced unique challenges due to changing Arctic conditions, including thinner ice and more unpredictable weather patterns, highlighting the ongoing impact of climate change on military operations.

Indigenous Partnerships:

Modern Arctic exercises now involve significant collaboration with indigenous communities, leveraging their traditional knowledge of the land and sea.

International Interest:

The 2024 Operation Nanook included observers from non-Arctic nations, reflecting the growing global interest in the region.

Dual-Use Technologies:

Recent exercises have tested dual-use technologies that have both military and civilian applications, such as advanced communications systems that can improve connectivity in remote Arctic communities.

As of 2024, Canada continues to build on the legacy of Operation Muskox, adapting its Arctic strategy to meet new challenges while maintaining a strong presence in the region.

The annual exercises serve not only as a demonstration of military capability but also as a platform for scientific research, international cooperation, and the assertion of Canadian sovereignty in the Arctic.

What Do You Make of Operation Muskox?

Have you heard of Operation Muskox before? Or do you have some intersting footnotes to add to this story? Or maybe you’ve heard about the more recent iteration of Arctic defence training: Operation Nanook?

Take a sec. to type a comment and share your thoughts and stories. I look forward to reading them all.

Thanks a tonne for reading this story.

Have a rad rest of your day!