Bald-Headed Men - Alone in Antarctica: The First Woman to Ski Solo Across the Southern Ice - page 151

'Is it like this all the way?' Cas asked, nodding toward the
ground.
I thought about it for a second. For much of the last week I
hadn't been able to see the ground.
'It certainly doesn't get any worse,' I answered.
They told me of horrendous weather at the coast which
had left them snowbound in their tent for a week, of wading
through deep drifts left behind by the storms and of rough
terrain in the eighty-seventh degree. We spoke rapidly to
each other, partly due to the novelty of conversation but
also because the longer we stood speaking the colder we got.
More importantly we were each on a schedule. They had their
mileage target for the day just as I did, and wasted minutes
meant lost miles. We wished each other well and after another
round of enthusiastic hugs, I headed northwards and they
continued south. A few minutes later, I looked around to see
that they had already become two dark and indistinct blurs
made small by the vastness around them. I noted that they
skied side-by-side and wondered if they would be talking to
each other about our meeting or skiing along in silence, each
digesting the new information about their onward journey. For
a brief moment I was struck with intense sadness. I had no one
to share my thoughts with, no one with whom to relive the
excitement of probably the most bizarre meeting of my life.
For those few moments I had been reminded of the reassurance
that comes with being able to share an experience. Once more,
I saw clearly that the absence of a companion did more than
simply add isolation to the challenges of a polar journey -
it heightened the fear, the doubt and anxiety, sharpened the
emotional stress. I envied Cas and Jonesy their companionship
in this most lonely of places.