Paying Attention - Alone in Antarctica: The First Woman to Ski Solo Across the Southern Ice - page 34

I nodded again and noticed that his face was full of concern.
'Good,' he said solemnly. 'I'm glad you were paying attention.'
With both of my sledges on the snow a few feet from the
plane I triple-checked I had everything. The pilots hovered
nearby as if reluctant to leave. One took a photo and the other
shook my hand, wishing me luck. I tried to hide it but I could
already feel the tremble of panic gathering strength inside me.
The co-pilot pointed to the snow at my feet.
'You've dropped your glove,' he said.
I snatched it up, embarrassed to have been caught making
such an amateur mistake. I was lucky that it hadn't blown
away. Stepping back from the plane I stood watching as the idle
engine kicked into life. I readied my camera to film the plane
leaving but as it lifted into the air and banked back towards
me to fly past, I forgot about taking pictures and bounced up
and down on the spot waving my arms in great arcs above my
head as if the exertion of energy could exorcise the growing
feeling of terror in my chest.
Then I stood, motionless, fixing my gaze on the vanishing
black smudge in the sky. I could sense the mountains to my
left but I barely dared to look at them, as if glancing at my
surroundings would make it real and I wasn't ready to face
the reality of the moment - not yet. Instead, I stood staring at
the sky with a sense of dread as the silence rushed in. It was a
tangible, roaring silence that seemed to thicken the air around
my head, exerting a pressure on my temples and filling my ears,
rushing into my mouth as I tried to breathe. As I moved around
my sledges attempting to shepherd my brain into focusing on
pitching my tent and organising my equipment, I didn't seem
able to shake off the quiet. I felt like a large, noisy, cumbersome
interloper on an otherwise perfectly blended landscape. I found