Life Raft - Alone in Antarctica: The First Woman to Ski Solo Across the Southern Ice - page 111

silently as the realisation floated softly downwards through
my brain, settling like sediment. I was looking at the South
Pole. My grin made the flesh of my cheeks press dangerously
against the ice of my frozen face mask. I wanted to laugh and
to cry but instead I did neither. I merely stood and stared and
let the sediment fall.
The next morning I could barely wait to leap out of the tent
and check if the dark dash was still there. I stood facing the
sharp, steady wind from the Pole and focused on the horizon,
sensing a fizz of panic that I had simply willed the dash into
being. Then I saw it. With the sun now in the opposite half of
the sky it appeared closer and clearer than it had the day before.
I knew from my GPS that I was a good day's ski away but the
dash appeared to be tantalisingly close, leading me to believe
that I could suspend the laws of physics and cover the remaining
miles in no more than an hour or two. As I dismantled the tent
and packed my sledges I was aware of anticipation escalating
inside me like a winding dynamo. I mentally cautioned myself
to stick to the regular routine, to stay steady, but it was futile. In
my mind I was already at the Pole and my body was rushing to
catch up, impatient to chase the horizon. I skied cheerfully, my
face taking on a fixed rictus of glee, my eyes unable to move from
the dash. The more I looked at it, the more detail I recognised. It
was undoubtedly the station building, long and rectangular, as I
remembered it. I searched the horizon either side hoping to see
the two big white domes housing satellite dishes which had been
such an unmissable landmark the last time I approached the
station by ski. I couldn't see them but reasoned that this must be
because I was approaching from the opposite direction.
I could feel that I was pushing forward faster and harder
than usual but every detail of the landscape around me