Life Raft - Alone in Antarctica: The First Woman to Ski Solo Across the Southern Ice - page 127

seal the last layer of my face-covering, pressing home the Velcro
so that, once more, I was isolated within my frozen mask, my
private protective shell. Inside I felt hollow but contentedly
so. Feeling empty seemed manageable and it was a relief to
notice that thought was almost entirely absent. I concentrated
instead on pushing one ski in front of the other, getting used to
the new weight in my sledges, feeling the familiar stretch in my
muscles and burn of cold in my lungs. The snow looked smooth
under the varnish-like gloss of the sun but the appearance
was deceptive. It tugged gently but insistently at my sledges
every time I pushed forward as if the runners underneath stuck
repeatedly to the surface.
At my first break I turned to find that the South Pole had
shrunk to a cluster of Lego-bricks in the distance and by my
second break it had disappeared completely. I was surprised
how quickly it had vanished from view. Since leaving the
Transantarctic Mountains I had been surrounded by a
landscape devoid of scale or significant feature which left
me blind to my progress hour to hour, day to day. It was
encouraging to see, physically, what three hours of skiing
meant in terms of distance travelled. As I sent wistful psychic
goodbyes to the station just beyond the horizon I celebrated
the fact that I was no longer on the 'wrong side' of Antarctica.
This side of the Pole was closer to the main logistical hubs at
the coast and more regularly crossed by planes and convoys.
Travelling north rather than south brought with it a certain
sense of psychological connection to the outside world, but
at the same time there was an obvious absence in the scenery
before me. The ground ahead was completely unmarked by
any human presence. Gone were the tracks left by the SPOT
vehicles which had been increasingly visible as I got closer