Sundogs and Haloes - Alone in Antarctica: The First Woman to Ski Solo Across the Southern Ice - page 176

In no time at all the kites had disappeared beyond my view but
occasionally they would briefly reappear as barely perceptible
smudges of angular colour in the far distance, floating just
above the skyline.
The sense of deflation I felt when the kites vanished for good
lingered into the next morning. Despite my initial wariness,
the kiters had brought colour, noise and vitality; a sudden and
brilliant display of life that left me feeling its absence. All day
I found myself automatically scanning the horizon as I had
done the day before, scrutinising each shape or shadow - but
this time I realised I was as eager for any last sight of the kites
as I was for mountains. Several times I thought I could detect a
condensed blob of colour, miniscule in the distance, only for it
to vanish, leaving me doubting that it had ever been there at all.
Similarly the clouds that rose and fell in swells on the horizon
were teasingly mountainlike, mimicking summits touched by
sunlight or dark weather-shrouded rock, before evaporating.
Then, quite without warning, there they were. A litter of
dark purple lumps popped out of the horizon; unmistakably
mountains. I stopped dead in stunned wonder, stumbling on
my skis as I swung my head in a double-take. Thiel Mountains
- the first geography I had seen since leaving the Transantarctic
Mountains more than a month ago. A slow grin spread through
my face, stretching the cold, reluctant skin of my cheeks.
All day the mountains sprang in and out of view, fragments
and jags of dark rock against the shimmering landscape.
Gradually they began to coalesce and join together into a single
chain of peak and plateau, growing in size until they loomed
large on the horizon in perfect view. I couldn't help but ski
with my head permanently turned to the left, gawking at the
developing scenery. I knew these were the Thiel Mountains but