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the magic of Christmas fell over everything so that it seemed
more peaceful although nothing but the light had changed. The
wind still swirled around me throwing snow into the air but
now it felt as if the weather simply slid over my protective
shell of windproof clothing. The sun looked like a nativity star
and I was filled with certainty that it was watching over me, a
guardian, a protector, a lucky omen. I wasn't alone and I felt
incredibly blessed to have such an inspiring companion.
Having pitched my tent I lingered outside for a moment,
reluctant to let my guiding star out of sight, hesitating to bring
the magic of the last few hours to an end. Sure enough as I
ducked into my shelter the spell was broken. The tent rattled in
the wind and the air outside whined mournfully as it squeezed
through the guy ropes. Weak sunlight filtered through the
green fabric of the Hilleberg creating a blue wash. It seemed to
suck the colour out of everything and made me feel cold. I lit
the stove, took off my icy outer clothing and sat in the down
folds of my sleeping bag. This was usually enough to shake off
the frigidness of the ski but today, I still felt chilled.
I could picture exactly what my family would be doing at
that moment to celebrate Christmas Day and it contrasted
sharply with my solitary tent lost in the vastness of the
Antarctic plateau. My Christmas dinner was a freeze-dried
spaghetti bolognaise. Two years before I had been in a similar
spot not far away, sharing a tent with the team and eating
freeze-dried chicken tikka masala as my festive meal. With
the season falling half way through the busy austral summer,
I had enjoyed plenty of guaranteed white Christmases in
Antarctica over the years. This was to be the third in a row I
had spent near the South Pole but it was the very first I had
ever spent alone.
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