LOO-JW - Alone in Antarctica: The First Woman to Ski Solo Across the Southern Ice - page 59

I glanced at my watch. I would normally have planned to
camp within the next hour or two. Peering uphill through
the protective fur trim of my hood, I could see that the slope
ahead looked even steeper and windier than the ground I had
covered. What would happen if it simply got too windy to be
able to pitch my tent? Did I have the energy to keep skiing until
the wind dropped? I looked again at the post. At the top had
been carved the code SPT-11 in a bold rounded font. I couldn't
tell how deep the post had been struck into the ground but I
was pretty sure it was the most solid anchor I was likely to find
on the glacier. As another gust hit me so hard that I gripped
hold of the sledges beneath me for balance, I made a decision.
I was going to pitch camp where I stood and tie my tent to
the post.
I approached the task of pitching the Hilleberg like a general
at war. Anything left unsecured would be blown away by the
wind in an instant so I removed only one item from my sledge
at a time, carefully re-fastening the sledge bags to prevent them
being filled with drifting snow or anything being snatched by
the blizzard. I moved slowly, staggering in the stronger gusts,
firmly fixing the tent to the ground with my bodyweight as
I rolled it out section by section, pinning down the unruly
material with mounds of snow as I went.
Several times the wind caught the blade of my metal
snowshovel like a sail, propelling it unpredictably towards me
even though I clung on to its handle. In one gust it narrowly
missed my face. I found it awkward to hold a shovel in one
hand and control the tent with the other so I packed the shovel
away and used my hands in generous bear-sized mitts to scoop
up the snow around me. I had long, half-pipe snowpegs to
anchor the guy ropes but they were no match for the winds