Getting Out of the Tent - Alone in Antarctica: The First Woman to Ski Solo Across the Southern Ice - page 218

I dithered for an instant before turning right (which at least
looked slightly downhill). I skied along the edge of the crevasse
for a little over a mile, stopping to inspect, then reject, several
potential crossing places along the way. Finally the crevasse
narrowed just enough for me to be able to place a tentative
ski across the gap. My ski tip sat comfortably on the far edge
while the back of my ski still rested securely on the near edge. I
jabbed the ice on the other side hard with my ski pole to check
that it felt as solid as it looked. Feeling confident I brought
my other ski across so that my feet were suspended in parallel
across the gap. Pausing like that for a moment I couldn't resist
but plunge my ski pole into the snow bridge next to me, just
to see what was beneath. The round basket at the end of my
ski pole broke easily through the powdery snow and a chunk
of the surface fell away like dust. Through the hole I could see
the peculiar luminescent blue of light filtered through ice, and
a glimpse of a terrifying blackness of a deep void. The glimpse
was enough to make me step hastily onto the solid safety of the
other side and drag my sledges quickly after me.
Glancing again at the hole I'd made with my ski pole I
considered how lucky I was to have come across this crack in
fine weather and clear sunshine in which every surface feature
was as defined as an engineer's draft. The thought of what might
have happened had I skied over this crevasse unknowingly
in bad weather and flat light made my heart thump faster. I
shuddered as if to shake off the thought and turned to look
at the way ahead with renewed concentration. If there was
one crevasse it was likely there would be more. Sure enough I
crossed not one but two crevasses of a similar size, each time
skiing along their edge until I found a safe place to cross. I felt
confident but my anxiety increased as the hard icy surfaces