Sundogs and Haloes - Alone in Antarctica: The First Woman to Ski Solo Across the Southern Ice - page 184

cross my face. I couldn't pretend to be too upset that I now had
the buttocks of an athlete.
The heat from the stove dried me off quickly and I covered
my skin in a generous layer of suncream to moisturise it.
Gingerly I took a closer look in the mirror at a sore patch that
had developed on my behind. I knew what it was because I'd
had it before: chilblains. It is a cold injury caused by repeated
exposure to extreme cold followed by rapid warming that is
often called 'Arctic Thigh', despite the fact that it can occur
anywhere on the legs or hind quarters. When the skin is cold,
chilblains are completely painless but as soon as the skin starts
to thaw out and warm up each chilblain becomes maddeningly
itchy. It is important (although nearly impossible) not to itch
the damaged skin but even so, over time each chilblain gets
larger until it becomes a nasty open sore. At this point it is
excruciating when knocked and in my case, painful to sit on.
My chilblain was already the size of a rosette, the centre a dark,
ugly purple, the skin having died away around it in concentric
circles of angry red, then inflamed pink. What was worse, I
noticed several other smaller chilblains on my buttocks and
thighs that were likely to deteriorate quickly. I slathered the
area in antiseptic cream and was careful to lie on my side in
the tent so as not to antagonise the sores any further - though
the only thing that would make the sore heal completely would
be going home.
Rescuing the lonely bin liner from the depot I emptied the
contents into the tent for sorting. I knew what was inside
because I had packed the bag myself almost two months
before - twenty ration bags each containing breakfast, snacks,
dinner and supplements for a single day - but as I reached the
bottom of the bag I found a parcel that I hadn't packed. Inside