Skiing in the Dark - Alone in Antarctica: The First Woman to Ski Solo Across the Southern Ice - page 208

I camped a few kilometres from the trailing peak of Three
Sails and lingered in the brisk wind after pitching the tent to
take in the skyline of summits that rose like stalagmites from
the near horizon. It was clear why this place had been given
the name 'Horseshoe Valley'. The mountains formed a broad
amphitheatre with a narrowing neck. The next day I spent
blissful hours skiing across the open ends of the horseshoe
peering into the cul-de-sac of peaks in which every detail was
razor sharp in the thin, supercooled air. Under the dazzling
varnish of sunlight the rock faces shimmered iridescent gold or
took on the paleness of ancient, weathered driftwood. It was a
world the colour of foil and bone. Snow delicately frilled every
ledge and filled every dip, layers of it compressed into ice under
its own weight, glaciers bulging from hanging valleys like ripe
fruit about to burst, the skin already cracked to reveal the
almost fluorescent blues beneath. As the day progressed and
the sun moved, the shades of the mountains deepened, the rock
transformed from gold into the grey of an elephant's coarse
cracked hide, while the snow morphed from brazen white into
twilight blue.
Transfixed by the panorama on my left, I hadn't failed to
notice the features appearing on my right. No more than
a series of small black ovals on the horizon at first, several
widely spaced nunataks rose reluctantly from the snowline.
I suspected that the rock furthest to the east was Wilson
Nunatak, the signpost I'd been told to look for to lead me to
Hercules Inlet on the Ronne Ice Shelf. I pulled out my GPS
to check. I wanted to be cautious because in the small area
between my current position and Wilson Nunatak was perhaps
one of the most notorious crevasse fields in Antarctica. Several
expeditions a year cross this crevasse field, each following a