Skiing in the Dark - Alone in Antarctica: The First Woman to Ski Solo Across the Southern Ice - page 206

intruded on my dreams. I soon reduced the day off to a lie-in
and finally, after half an hour of feeling uncomfortably guilty,
I got up.
The weather had never completely cleared and today I
marvelled at strange spikey clouds high in the atmosphere that
crawled across the sky like white ivy. They were so spectacular
that I skied as often as possible with my neck craned backwards
to admire their unusual form and wondered what these odd
clouds signified. A dark front had loomed on the horizon
behind me all the previous day but I noticed that the sun had
pushed it away from me to the west as it progressed so that it
sat heavily on my left. I eyed the vaporous slick warily, trying
to judge its movement as it lingered like a plume of pollution
from distant industry.
When I saw them I was so surprised that I stumbled on my
skis, crossing the tips in my astonishment and falling onto one
knee in the snow. I ripped off my goggles to get a better look,
stunned for a moment by the light. Then, sitting back on my
heels with my skis beneath me, I cried through my laughter.
Within the dark shadow of the weather front on my left were
three nebulous lumps of denser colour. I realised that I had been
able to see them for hours but hadn't recognised what they were.
They were mountains and there was only one range of mountains
they could possibly be. I was looking at the Ellsworths, the very
same mountains I had sat contemplating all those weeks ago
from Union Glacier, the range that marks the far coast of the
continent. The dark triangular shadows in the distance might as
well have been a big flashing neon sign in the sky announcing
'THE FINISH'. The end was - quite literally - in sight.
That day as I skied, each new horizon brought with it a
new view and a new cluster of peaks until it seemed that the