Paying Attention - Alone in Antarctica: The First Woman to Ski Solo Across the Southern Ice - page 24

past ten days I had woken up in a comfortably worn hostel in
South America expecting to fly to Antarctica only to be told
each morning that a tenacious weather system sat stubbornly
over the Ellsworth Mountains preventing all flights. Now that,
finally, I had made it to the ice, the bad weather had moved to
the Ross Ice Shelf making it impossible to fly to the start point
of my expedition.
The delays were more than simply frustrating; they had a
serious potential consequence for the success of my expedition.
The summer season in Antarctica, the only time of year it is
warm and light enough for travel, is extremely short, beginning
in November and ending in January. I had a ninety-day window
of opportunity in which to complete my seventy-day journey
but with each day of delay, that window got a little smaller.
Already behind schedule, if I was going to have time to ski all
the way across Antarctica I couldn't waste a moment. Perhaps
I would have to settle for a lesser goal from the start. As I
struggled to remain philosophical about this potential scenario
only one thing was clear - for now there was very little I could
do except wait.
Despite the delays, I noticed with relief that my desire to
disappear over the horizon alone was as strong as ever. Sitting
comfortably watching the mountains I was battling with an
internal restlessness, a longing to leave everyone and everything
behind, to immerse myself completely in the white world
beyond the confines of the camp. The craving to sweep across
those smooth white surfaces, to skim over the flawless scenery,
was as compelling as it had been all those years ago at Rothera.
Not that I wasn't apprehensive. One morning as I sat in the
entrance of my tent, lacing up the same ski boots I would be
wearing for the journey, I got a flash of that sense of inertia I'd