Sundogs and Haloes - Alone in Antarctica: The First Woman to Ski Solo Across the Southern Ice - page 166

signs of a turn, glaring viciously at any skulking cloud that
dared to raise a dirty head above the knife-sharp parapet of a
horizon. Several times the weather gathered at the edges of the
sky, sliding in stealthy grey daubs along the skyline to my right
and left. I'd watch uneasily as the cloud periodically bunched
up in intimidating fronts on the horizon. One evening I eyed an
advancing weather front fearfully while pitching the Hilleberg,
pausing before I ducked through the door to stand and face
the oncoming cloud. It seemed unavoidable that while I slept
this veil of sun-stealing cloud and vapour would entomb me in
the limited visibility I dreaded. I felt a sudden swell of fury and
found myself roaring at the sky.
'GO AWAAAY!'
I yelled with such violence that it felt like a blow to the chest.
The sound of my own voice, startlingly loud and raw, rang
in my ears as I continued to glare at the weather. Under my
ferocious gaze the front impassively continued its insidious
gathering of grey and gloom, seemingly unperturbed by my
outburst. I felt a little silly as I turned to crawl into the tent.
The next morning the front had disappeared without a trace.
Perhaps my outburst had had the required effect after all. The
sky above me was a perfect dome of blue without so much as
a wisp of vestigial cloud. The sun sat alone in the sky, encircled
by a perfect halo, the colours of the rainbow percolating
from its outer edge. A lively wind as constant as a jet stream
blew from the south, raising the drift on the ground like early
morning vapour that rises from the waters of a still lake in
summertime. The sharpness of the cold air in my nose brought
tears to my eyes and a sudden acuity. Everything around me
seemed full of light as if brand new. Every edge was definite,
every colour true, every sound distinct. Nothing was soiled, or