Forty-Six - Alone in Antarctica: The First Woman to Ski Solo Across the Southern Ice - page 104

to be replaced by the relief of knowing that the end (of sorts)
was in sight. My doubt had been hammered and hectored into
belief. Finally.
As I skied I spent hours visualising the moment of arrival at
the South Pole, how it would feel to lay my hands on that silver
sphere once again knowing that this time I had brought myself
there alone and under my own steam. The thought spurred
me on but never once did my imagination venture beyond
the Pole, to the distances and experiences that waited for me
on the other side of Antarctica. Unconsciously, my mind was
protecting itself.
Away to my left a solar column fell from the sun to the
horizon like a laser, the point of apparent contact marked by
a semi-circular glow. It was an optical effect I had seen before
on the epic latness of the polar plateau but this time it felt
symbolic, as if it was a glimpse of a personal protector that
trailed my movements as closely and as effortlessly as a shadow.
It glided along the horizon, spatially in the far distance and yet
intimately near, travelling beside me in silent companionship.
I have always loved the idea that no two people see the same
rainbow. The optical effect I see from the position of my eyes
is dictated by the laws of physics to be unique, different from
the view of anyone else, even if they are standing right beside
me. My rainbow is unique to me, a fact that transforms it into
a magical personal secret.
Even if I hadn't been alone, the sprite that accompanied me
on the horizon was mine and mine only - a guardian angel that
would see me safe to the Pole and perhaps even to the far side
of Antarctica.