LOO-JW - Alone in Antarctica: The First Woman to Ski Solo Across the Southern Ice - page 66

As a fully grown woman I was still messing about in tents
but hunkered down on a windswept glacier, it didn't feel like fun
anymore. In between snatching fits of sleep and plunging outside
for bouts of vigorous digging I resolved my next move. It was
tempting just to sit tight in my tent and hope for the winds to
lessen but having watched the currents of snow swirling from
the crest of the glacier I was more convinced than ever that
these were katabatic winds that could be capable of keeping
up their terrifying intensity for days. My tent had withstood
the pounding so far but each time it was struck by another
fierce gust I winced in expectation of catastrophe. If anything,
the storm seemed to be gaining strength. I drank my breakfast
coffee slowly, watching wisps of steam from my mug deform
into jagged zigzags as the movement of the tent fabric in the
squalls pulled the pocket of air within from side to side. I could
feel the sluggish weariness of a disturbed night behind my eyes
but I wanted to be gone, I was desperate to escape this place.
Reversing my technique of the previous evening, I dismantled
my camp one arduous step at a time, taking care to keep the
flighty tent under tense control. It was almost three hours
before I finally straightened up over two securely packed
sledges, my tent firmly lashed to the top in a tight cigar-shaped
roll around the tent poles which were still in place within the
folds of material. Having dug my skis out of their temporary
graves I stowed them in my sledges, deciding to continue in my
boots with a ski pole in each hand. Before I set off I paused
to rest my fist on the thrumming wooden post as a gesture of
appreciation. SPT-11 had been my only glimmer of security
and I was grateful for its solid comfort.
The wind tore at my jacket as if invisible fingers were
plucking at me. I felt encircled by a rage I couldn't see. Even