Bald-Headed Men - Alone in Antarctica: The First Woman to Ski Solo Across the Southern Ice - page 148

the snow still seemed to suck at my skis and sledge just as it
had done the day before, but every time I felt myself dwelling
on the effort of each stride I'd turn my face to the sun and
send silent thanks, reminding myself how much worse it
could be. The act took on the significance of a superstition, as
if a failure to demonstrate my gratitude might hasten a turn
in the weather.
Searching the horizon for another marker to aim for, my
eyes picked out a dark dot practically straight ahead. I was
struck by a vague impression that this dot was different in
some way, that it was peculiarly distinct - even though I had
no idea why. This dot was no larger and no darker than any
other shadow on the landscape so I ignored the thought and
yet each time I allowed the dot to slide from my gaze, my eyes
would effortlessly pick out the same spot when I rescanned
the horizon. Over time I became convinced that it wasn't the
shadow of a large sastrugi but an object on the ice. It might
be an overlooked flag left behind by a science field party, or a
marker placed by an expedition to make a depot more visible.
As I drew closer the dot seemed too big to be a flag. I began to
wonder if it might be a cluster of fuel barrels. Whatever it was,
it made a great navigational aid. Knowing I had such a reliable
feature to aim for I could loosen my focus and allow myself to
glance around, gazing in wonder at the white halo which still
circled the sun and which became ever clearer as a silky veil
thickened over the blue.
I felt a slow drop in temperature as the intensity of the sun
was weakened by the gathering cloud and I noticed that my
view of the object up ahead began to shimmer as if in a heat
haze. My brain became pre-occupied in trying to understand
the physics behind this development, my sluggish synapses