Sundogs and Haloes - Alone in Antarctica: The First Woman to Ski Solo Across the Southern Ice - page 165

perpendiculars. Here my surroundings gave the impression of
being increasingly fluid. There was more curve, more flex, as
if the laws of physics had loosened their grip slightly on the
ground around me.
At first it was easy to believe it was nothing but my imagination
as often the contours of the landscape were visible only as a
change in the hues of the snow; a bright band gleaming proud
of the ground before it, or a dusky blueberry bruise hinting at a
dell. But eventually I came across gradients and slants that were
unmistakable. My sledges at times seemed to glide behind me
without effort, as if they had become temporarily weightless
- a sure sign that I was skiing downhill. Occasionally when I
stopped the sledges would continue moving, sliding to a gentle
halt with a nudge at the back of my booted ankles.
Along with the terrain, the texture of the snow under my
skis changed and became softer too - transformed into a shiny
slick. It reminded me of a sheet of rigid and brittle plastic that
becomes pliable as it is warmed, the surface morphing into
flowing dimples and becoming shiny with the heat.
It had felt significantly warmer ever since the wind had swung
around to be almost consistently at my back. I had stopped
wearing a fleece under my windproof jacket and my face mask
stayed dry and pliable rather than the solid ice-frozen shell of
weeks gone by. The sun is strong in Antarctica despite the cold
temperatures and its radiation unfiltered. Its heat can feel dense,
concentrated and unremitting. I hoped the better weather was
a sign that I was beginning to descend towards the coast and
lower altitudes where it would be warmer but I was aware,
even then, that this was only a limited reprieve. The longer the
good weather lasted, the more I dreaded the inevitable return
of the wind and the whiteouts. I regularly scoured the sky for