LOO-JW - Alone in Antarctica: The First Woman to Ski Solo Across the Southern Ice - page 63

visible. I had a spare handset but changing my primary number
would cause confusion that I would rather avoid, so I found
the strong white tape that I use to prevent blisters and wrapped
a length of it around the break. The aerial no longer retracted
into the handset but when I pushed the power button the unit
immediately leapt into life as normal. I felt relieved but also a
little sad. The handset was a brand-new model lent to me by
the manufacturers. It was so new that it wasn't even available
to the public and yet now, just days into my trip, this piece
of ultra-modern technology looked a little dejected, patched
together with humble sticky tape.
I used the phone to send a message to the expedition Twitter
account. This was a purely one-way form of communication,
like sending a text message from a mobile phone. I couldn't
receive any messages in reply or access the Internet; but
somehow sharing news of my predicament seemed to lessen
the oppressive awareness of being beyond ready help.
'Up every couple of hours to check on the tent,' I wrote.
'So not much sleep but proud of my little Hilleberg for
surviving well.'
It was a far cry from what I wanted to write. I was desperate
to share my worries but didn't want to descend into melodrama
or cause unnecessary panic at home. I was mindful that my
family were among those reading the messages. I sat with the
satellite phone in my lap as if it was a magical device that could
somehow create a more tangible link to my loved ones.
I remembered something my mother had first told me as
a child but which had stuck with me ever since. I had been
homesick on a school trip and she told me that if ever I felt
far from home I should look at the moon and the stars and
remember that she would be looking at the same moon, the