Forty-Six - Alone in Antarctica: The First Woman to Ski Solo Across the Southern Ice - page 93

compartment, threw my sleeping bag to the far end and placed
my colour coded bags in their established places. I dug a deep
trench along the length of the vestibule leaving a small shelf for
my stove on its mesh board. With my feet in the trench I was
able to sit upright on the edge of the sleeping compartment.
Still in ice-encrusted layers and ski boots I felt the chill of cold
air penetrating my clothing and shivered. Anxious for some
warmth and ignoring the numb stiffness in my fingers I hastily
connected a fuel bottle to the robust little stove and let out
a dribble of liquid fuel in readiness to prime it. I unzipped
my jacket slightly so that I could reach down through layers
of fleece and thermal to where I kept my precious disposable
lighter close to my chest. I pressed the lighter to the stove,
feeling the sting of friction as I struck the flint with my rapidly
freezing thumb.
No flame appeared.
I tilted the stove slightly to bring the flammable liquid closer
to the lighter and struck again. No flame. I brought the lighter
close to my face, checking there was still fuel in its see-thru
chamber and giving it a good shake at the same time. Still no
flame. The lighter was warm to the touch (the reason I kept it
so close to my heart) and I'd been careful to keep it dry. I let
out some gas before striking the flint again. Still no flame. I
could see the flint spark but the gas would not ignite. Aware of
my increasingly urgent need for warmth I stashed the lighter
back in its place down my front and reached for my small bag
of spares. I had brought three disposable lighters with me - a
spare and a spare spare. I tried each in turn, warming them
first - but neither would light.
I felt a rising tension of alarm. If I couldn't light my stove I
would be without heat, I wouldn't be able to melt snow which