Getty ImagesWhen European explorers set out for the Arctic in the 19th and early 20th centuries, many thought they were bringing civilisation and technology to the last “unknown” parts of the world. What they didn’t realise was that survival in that environment had already been figured out by the Inuit, whose knowledge, tools, and instincts were the result of generations of living in one of the harshest climates on the planet.
Some explorers learned this quickly. Others—famously, tragically—did not. The explorers who managed to make it through the cold, the hunger, and the isolation were usually the ones who swallowed their pride and listened to the Inuit. Here are the survival skills these adventurers had to learn, often the hard way.
Dressing for survival, not fashion
One of the first things many explorers got wrong was clothing. Early expeditions arrived in wool coats, thick leather boots, and layers of cotton undergarments, all of which soaked up moisture and froze solid. Inuit clothing, on the other hand, was built for survival. It was made from caribou hide, which traps heat better than any European textile, and was tailored to create insulating air pockets between layers.
The Inuit wore two sets of garments—an inner one with the fur against the skin, and an outer one with the fur facing outwards. Boots (known as kamiks) were made of sealskin, flexible and waterproof, often with grass insulation packed inside. Hoods were designed to trap warm air around the face and could be lined with wolverine fur, which doesn’t freeze when you breathe on it.
After enough cases of frostbite, some explorers started copying Inuit designs directly. Fridtjof Nansen, the Norwegian polar explorer, was one of the first to do this successfully, famously ditching his heavy European kit in favour of fur-lined Inuit-style gear on his Arctic expeditions in the 1890s.
Building snow shelters instead of tents
Tents might work in the English countryside, but in the Arctic, canvas shelters quickly become frozen coffins. The Inuit taught explorers that snow—surprisingly—was a better insulator than fabric. When compacted into blocks and stacked in a spiral, it could create a warm, windproof structure: the iglu.
Inuit-built igloos weren’t just practical, they were structurally brilliant. They could be constructed in less than an hour by experienced hands, with an entrance tunnel to trap warm air and a raised sleeping platform to keep people off the cold ground. Inside, temperatures could rise to just below freezing, even if it was -40 °C outside—far more comfortable than the tents used by British explorers like John Franklin.
Not all Europeans took the hint, but those who did—like Knud Rasmussen, who lived among the Inuit for years—survived longer, stayed warmer, and adapted faster.
Travelling by dogsled
Before snowmobiles and icebreakers, getting around in the Arctic was slow, exhausting, and often deadly—unless you had dogs. The Inuit relied on qamutiks (sleds) pulled by strong, hardy sled dogs to travel long distances across the snow and ice.
These dogs weren’t just transport; they were survival partners. Inuit dogs could sense thin ice, track down prey, and even find their way back to camp in a whiteout. Sleds were carefully crafted from driftwood or bone lashed together with rawhide, allowing them to flex over uneven terrain without breaking.
Early explorers often brought horses or relied on man-hauling sledges—both disastrous decisions. It was only after repeated failures that many expeditions turned to dog teams, sometimes acquiring them directly from Inuit communities or learning the techniques from local guides. Roald Amundsen, who became the first person to reach the South Pole, credited his Arctic success to the Inuit knowledge he absorbed, including the critical use of sled dogs.
Eating what the land provides
European diets didn’t translate well to the Arctic. Tinned meat, hard biscuits, and dried peas offered little nutrition and often froze solid. More dangerously, these diets lacked vitamin C, leading to scurvy—a slow, miserable condition that wiped out countless expedition members.
The Inuit diet, meanwhile, was based on what was available: seal, walrus, whale blubber, caribou, and raw fish. While it seemed strange to outsiders at first, eating raw or lightly cooked meat (especially organ meat) provided essential nutrients, including vitamin C. Inuit people knew from experience which parts of the animal to eat and how to prepare them safely.
In his detailed account The Friendly Arctic, explorer Vilhjalmur Stefansson describes how he lived entirely off an Inuit-style diet for months. He later became a vocal advocate for the high-fat, high-protein “Eskimo diet” and argued that Western nutritionists had much to learn from traditional Arctic knowledge.
Reading the ice and sky
In an environment where a single misstep could be fatal, the Inuit had developed extraordinary skills in reading the land, sky and sea. They could identify signs of thin ice just by the way the snow drifted, sense weather changes by the colour of the sky, and follow subtle patterns in snow or waves to navigate across vast, seemingly featureless terrain.
These weren’t mystical skills. They were honed through observation and experience. Inuit hunters could find a breathing hole used by a seal under a vast ice sheet, track a polar bear across miles of snow, or detect when sea ice was about to shift.
European explorers who learned to trust this knowledge, rather than rely solely on their maps and instruments, had a far better chance of survival. In fact, Inuit navigational skill was so respected that some explorers brought Inuit guides on multiple expeditions, often crediting them with saving their lives. Unfortunately, many of these guides were left unnamed or unrecognised in official records.
Making use of every part of the animal
Inuit survival depended on efficiency. When an animal was hunted, nothing was wasted. The skin became clothing or shelter, bones became tools or needles, sinew was used as thread, and fat could be burned for light and heat. This philosophy wasn’t just about respect—it was about practicality in a place where resources were limited and nothing could be taken for granted.
European explorers were often shocked at the level of ingenuity. Sealskin could become waterproof containers. Caribou tendons could be dried and twisted into strong rope. Even animal bladders were used as flotation devices or waterproof bags.
This wasn’t something you could pick up from a book. It had to be learned through hands-on experience, and it often meant working side by side with Inuit hunters, craftspeople and elders—something the more successful explorers quickly came to value.
Conserving energy, not wasting it
One of the most counterintuitive lessons the Inuit taught explorers was don’t fight the cold, manage it. European men often pushed themselves too hard, trying to march or dig or build constantly, believing hard work would keep them alive. But in Arctic conditions, unnecessary exertion just meant sweating, and wet clothes meant hypothermia.
The Inuit knew when to move and when to wait. They understood the rhythms of the weather and would sometimes halt travel for days if a storm was coming or if the snow conditions were wrong. Energy was rationed just like food.
Many explorers had to unlearn everything they thought they knew about endurance. Those who didn’t rest when they should, or who tried to outpace a storm, paid the price.
Using simple tools that worked
The Inuit toolkit was a lesson in low-tech brilliance. Their knives, or uluit, were curved and ideal for skinning animals or scraping hides. They used bone needles and sinew thread to make clothing more durable than anything European explorers brought with them.
One of the most important tools was the qulliq, a stone lamp that burned seal oil and gave off enough light and heat to warm small shelters. While many expeditions relied on lanterns that froze or malfunctioned, the qulliq was dependable, efficient, and deeply tied to daily life in the Arctic.
Even Inuit hunting tools, such as the harpoon or the snow knife, were perfectly suited to the environment. They were light, easy to repair, and made from materials at hand. No one brought spare parts from a factory. You learned to fix it—or you didn’t eat.
The story of Arctic exploration is often told as a tale of daring and hardship.
However, what’s less often acknowledged is that many of the “discoveries” made by explorers were made possible only because they learned from people who were already there.
Inuit survival skills weren’t just useful—they were essential. And the explorers who lived to tell the tale were usually the ones who humbled themselves enough to learn. It wasn’t compasses or canned goods that saved them. It was fur clothing, raw seal liver, a well-timed dogsled, and the quiet genius of those who had lived with the cold for centuries.
