Life Raft - Alone in Antarctica: The First Woman to Ski Solo Across the Southern Ice - page 126

sky was such a dense, solid blue that I could have believed it
was a painted ceiling. The light that poured from the sky and
bounced from the snow was so intense that everything appeared
unnaturally defined, as if every atom was visible. The station
buildings stood out against the snow like paper cut-outs.
As I readied my skis and sledges to leave, a little crowd from
the visitors' camp gathered to wave me off. I was presented with
a leaving gift, a lightweight plastic jar of peanut butter. With
weight so critical there were few presents I would have been
prepared to carry, but for peanut butter I was willing to make
an exception. I tucked it preciously into the safety of my sledge
bags. With goodbyes completed I pushed the toe of each boot
into its clamp on their respective skis, snapped shut the clasp
of my harness and pushed my fists, in turn, through the wrist-
loops of my ski poles. Each familiar motion of preparation
was like a hammer-blow to a delicate carapace of security that
had formed during my thirty-six hours at the Pole, leaving me
once again exposed to the reality of Antarctica. The voices of
apprehension that had plagued me every morning since leaving
the Ross Ice Shelf were once again screaming through my brain.
With effort I could quieten them but I couldn't switch them off
completely. Leaving felt so very wrong. I had expected that
having friends at the Pole would make it harder to tear myself
away but in fact, if they hadn't been stood there expectantly
I might never have mustered the gumption to leave at all. It is
very difficult to tell a waiting crowd that you have changed
your mind.
I skied forward, turning to wave at first then forcing myself
to face the view ahead and not glance back. My eyes sought
out the horizon, coming to rest on a slick of silver reflection
beneath the sun. Without deflecting my gaze I reached up to