Life Raft - Alone in Antarctica: The First Woman to Ski Solo Across the Southern Ice - page 124

malfunctioning lighters had begun to splutter back to life as I
had slowly descended towards the pole from the highest parts of
the plateau but they still weren't reliable enough to depend on.
Several people inspected my dodgy ski binding. The
consensus was that to try and detach the binding might leave
me with a damaged ski and it was unlikely any reattachment in
the field would be any better than the current alignment. The
realisation that I would have to continue with the skis as they
were was disheartening. Over the past few weeks I had cheered
myself with the thought that the problem would be solved at
the Pole. Now I faced the prospect of another 1,100 kilometres
with the constant threat of a revolt from my knees against the
toe-out duck-walk that I had evolved into using.
My dodgy ski wasn't the only reason why the thought of
continuing towards the coast left me with a heavy sense of dread.
Ever since my arrival at the Pole I'd been aware of the shadow of
my departure. After the experience of the previous weeks I was
viscerally conscious of precisely what skiing alone in Antarctica
entailed. I knew what it felt like to be a solitary speck in that
immense emptiness and I knew the despair of that peculiar kind
of absolute alone-ness. Skiing out of the Pole would be very
different from being left by the plane. I now realised that at the
start of the expedition I'd had little true understanding of what
I'd be facing. Once the plane had disappeared I'd had no realistic
option but to keep going. Having reached the Pole, arranging to
fly back to Union Glacier on one of the relatively regular flights
to and from the coast wouldn't be difficult. Neither was there
any shame in returning home having ended my expedition at
the Pole. I had skied a respectable distance alone and could be
satisfied with that. There would be no disgrace in explaining
that I had gone to Antarctica to find my limits and that this