LOO-JW - Alone in Antarctica: The First Woman to Ski Solo Across the Southern Ice - page 68

It was over.
I dropped to my knees and cried, releasing all the stress and
anxiety of the previous night. I ripped off my goggles and
face mask and, still crying, fished the GPS from my pocket.
I waited, snivelling, as the unit searched for satellites. Then
it told me that I had travelled just three nautical miles from
my last camp. I roared in frustration. If I had followed my
instinct and kept skiing the day before rather than camping
on the windiest stretch of the glacier I would have reached this
sheltered bowl and saved myself a whole evening of exhausting
heartache - not to mention the hours I had lost pitching and
striking my tent in such difficult conditions. I wanted to weep
at the waste of it all but right then I was too angry to cry.
I sat on my sledge and relaxed a little into the stillness. There
was a sense of physical relief as if stretching my legs after a
long-haul flight. I used the opportunity to go to the loo without
worrying about being blown over and to sort out my layers
of clothing that had been hastily thrown on in the eagerness
to strike camp that morning. Feeling a lot more comfortable
I put on my skis and set off across the bowl. I could see a
steep bank at the far end and sure enough, as I reached the
top I re-emerged into the path of the wind but it was nothing
like as strong as it had been before. It had lost its rage, like
an irascible old man who loses the thread of his argument.
Instead the ferocity transferred to the battle raging inside my
own head. On the one hand I was furious with myself for not
following my instinct and attempting to ski through the worst
of the winds but at the same time I found solace in the thought
that there was no way I could have known. Those I had spoken
to about the glacier hadn't mentioned the bowl at the top,
probably because it was so hard to detect from a vehicle, and