DEPARTURE
24 Oct, 04 - 20:08    

"Why the South Pole?" Asks the young man opposite me on the train. "I mean it's really cool, but what inspired you to do it." I kid you not, I must have been asked this very question ten times a day for the last year, and ridiculously, I still don't have an answer that satisfies me. The plain truth is that I honestly can't remember why I ever decided that walking to the South Pole would be a good thing to do. I vaguely remember a conversation with my Bavarian friend Bernie out in the Libyan Desert a few days after a particularly horrifying ascent of the 2000m Jebel Uweinat. But I seem to recall that that conversation was simply a catalogue of crazy things to do rather than any statement of intent. Nevertheless I do suspect that the Libyan Desert is partially responsible, for the past four years I have been travelling there with my good friend Andras Zboray, assisting him with his search for undiscovered rock art sites. The Libyan desert is an uninhabited area the size of India and one of the phrases I have used to try and describe it to my naturally curious friends is, 'It's the second biggest wilderness on the planet." I guess there is only so many times you can say something like that before your mind starts lingering over the subject of the biggest wilderness on the planet, the Antarctic.

However the decision was reached, it all seems a very long time ago. It was two years ago that I am first aware of having definitely decided to do this crazy thing. I began by trawling the internet to discover how such a dream might become a reality. There was one company who were offering expeditions to the South Pole. Adventure Network International. ANI offered three options of getting to the South Pole. The first and simplest was to simply fly in for the day which wasn't the sort of thing I was looking for at all, the second was to 'Ski the Last Degree'. A trip of about 3 days covering the 70 miles or so between 89 degrees and the pole. I did ponder this option for a little while, but only a very little while. If you are going to go to the South Pole and you are physically able, you really have to go the whole hog. I wanted to walk there, every step of the way from the coast to the pole, claim it with my feet. I have walked a long way across deserts and have learnt that it is only on your feet that you truly learn the nature of a place. I want to know this piece of the world as I have known deserts, I want to feel the ice slipping under my skis and feel the heart of this old and barren land. So, that was me decided, I was going to ski the whole way.

I filled out my forms, took medicals, sent them off to ANI with my credit card details to take a deposit, and heard nothing. This was September 2003. A couple of emails went back and forth, me excitedly wanting more contact and ANI evasively saying they would be in touch in due course. Regardless of having no proper confirmation from them as to my place on the expedition, I assumed it was just an admin hold up and committed myself to beginning a training program in the New year.

In January I approached the Newbury branch of LA Fitness who kindly gave me a year's free membership in way of support for my trip. Knowing that I have the motivation of a slug when it comes to regular exercise I quickly committed myself to the idea of hiring a personal trainer. I knew that Karl Reid was the man for the job immediately after our first telephone conversation. Karl seemed even more excited about the challenge than me. From day one he was utterly committed to creating a tailor made program that would have me at the peak of my physical fitness by October. Every day we would meet and work on my strength in the gym, my endurance by running along the canal, and that unique and indispensable sledge hauling exercise, dragging tyres around the parks and footpaths of Newbury; needless to say collecting some very funny looks along the way. The most disruptive thing to the program was my erratic travelling habits. Having given up my full-time job in January and gone freelance, I was able to spend the year disappearing off to my heart's content. A week in Singapore, three weeks in Egypt with Andras, trips to Chicago and New York, a week sailing in Scotland, a month in Afghanistan. It all added up to some significant time away from the program. As it happens I am always pretty active when I'm away on such ventures, which is lucky as I found myself incapable of undertaking any kind of imposed exercise by myself. Despite my struggles with individual motivation, when working with Karl I was fine and put in a big effort.. Although naturally very strong I'm no natural athlete and it was exciting to see myself getting fitter. Unfortunately by May I still didn't have confirmation from ANI of my place on the trip and they were getting harder and harder to communicate with. By June I finally got the news that they had been bought out by another company Antarctic Logistics and that they didn't intend to honour my original booking, but that I could rebook through Antarctic Logistics. The flaw in this arrangement quickly became apparent. I had booked the trip the previous year at the price of 47,000$ I was now being asked to book at a price of 67,000$. Next I got wind of the fact that there were some other ex-ANI clients whose expedition was being honoured by Antarctic Logistics on account of the fact that their deposit payment had been taken. My own deposit, although proffered the previous September, had not gone through, no doubt due to the confusion of the take over. Starting to feel desperate I managed to get in contact with Mike Sharpe, one of the owners of Antarctic Logistics, and began to plead my case. At first Mike was adamant that he couldn't help me, but after a visit to his home in Sheffield he began to soften and a month later he took pity on me and said he would approach the existing expedition and see if they would mind me joining them.

A few days later I was contacted by our expedition leader, the delightful Denise Martin, introducing herself and the rest of the group via email. I was finally, really going to the South Pole. I can't begin to describe the relief I felt at suddenly being part of a team, and my new team mates were immediately welcoming and enthusiastic.

Craig Mathieson and Fiona Taylor, two friends from Scotland, have travelled extensively together and have experienced extreme cold conditions walking across Greenland earlier in the year. Craig in particular has been a wonderful source of reassurance to me, whenever I have showed any flicker of doubt or fear in our ongoing group email correspondence he has never failed to come straight back with a supportive, comforting word.

Owen Jones is an Englishman living with his family in Tokyo and has displayed a suitably zany sense of humour and a committed attention to detail.

Denise herself is a walking wealth of experience having been to the North Pole twice including leading an all female Arctic relay there. She seems to have a great sense of humour and I'm sure that whatever we face together, laughter is going to feature a lot.

By the beginning of September I hit a real wall of trouble with my training. It began with me falling and pulling a muscle in my back which lead to a month of pain whenever I exercised. I was also frustrated by the feeling that, although very strong, my stamina wasn't as far on as it should be. I was spending every weekend and spare minute on boats, having been offered a place for the Clipper Round The World Yacht Race next year and wanting to get my Part A training done before leaving for the Pole. But although good for strength this time was doing nothing for my endurance fitness. Then on an overnight sprint from Southampton to Plymouth on one of the Challenge 67 yachts, in severe force 9 gales, I fell on the foredeck during a sail change and badly hurt my ankle. The next day it was swollen and bruised and the day after that it would hardly take my weight. Just two weeks before my departure to Chile, for one horrible day, I really thought I had fractured my ankle. The next day I presented myself at casualty to have it x-rayed and, to my utter relief, was told that it was just badly bruised. Karl looked at it suspiciously later that day and cancelled all training for the rest of the week and told me to keep it iced, rested and elevated.

At least the week off gave me the opportunity to eat a lot. Word from the Polar explorers of the past is that we are each likely to lose in the region of three and a half stone on the 730 mile, 65 day walk and we have all been encouraged to try and gain weight in preparation. I set myself the target of trying to gain two stone by the start date, and although I'm nearly there it has taken all year to do it. In response to the rigorous exercise regime, my body has naturally wanted to lose weight, so I have been eating like a horse to encourage it in the opposite direction. It has amused my friends no end. I'm the only woman they have ever known who actively demands to know if they think she looks fat and is disappointed if they say no. "Does my bum look big in this?" I demand at every amusing opportunity. "Yes!!" Chorus my pals and I skip about proudly wiggling my power pack arse in delight to their peals of laughter.

At the end of July I discovered Contact 3. This outstanding package offered everything I could dream of in terms of remote satellite communication. The pioneers of Contact 3, ExplorersWeb, responded with great enthusiasm when I said I wanted the package and worked round the clock to get it all set up and out to me in time to trial in Afghanistan. After only a few days in the field it was clear to me that this system was going to change the way I travelled forever. I have always kept detailed journals of the expeditions I have joined and then typed them up to share with team mates on my return, but through the wonders of Contact 3 I could now upload my dispatches daily onto my own dedicated website. Not only was this great fun, but offered huge peace of mind to my family and friends who were all horrified at me being in Afghanistan at all.

It is lovely to be lying on my bed in the Hotel Condor de Plata in Punta Arenas writing my first dispatch for the Pole. It feels good to be writing, it is so much a part of my routine when I am away, I always really miss it when I get home.

I've had one heck of a journey to get here. I was working up until the last day before leaving, and at the same time frantically dashing round to say goodbye to all the people who insisted I couldn't go without seeing them. It's been really emotional, people are excited by what I'm doing but are also failing to hide their concern. As I heard again and again such phrases as 'Be careful.', 'Please come back to us.', 'You can be rescued if there's a problem can't you?' I could feel them starting to make me twitchy. I really needed to get started, all the anxious waiting to go was doing me no good at all. On my last evening I went for dinner with my dear friends Paul and Polly Kissaun and their lovely kids Nina and Louie had decorated the house with ballons and 'Bon Voyage' notices. It was just what I needed, we ate Chinese take away and drank wine and sat around singing while Kiss played the guitar, hardly a mention of the South Pole. The next day I packed all the piles I had been accumulating, miraculously everything went into two bags, and by late afternoon the Kissauns were delivering me to Heathrow with much excitement.

Punta Arenas is a very, very long way from London and I'm now very tired and more than a little stressed. I could be forgiven for being a little off form simply because of the fact that the 13 hour flight from Madrid to Santiago was spent next a small crying baby who had a lot more stamina than me. But no, this I could have taken in my stride, the thing that has caused me real concern is that when I arrived in Santiago, my luggage did not. My two bags and my skis did not make the flight transfer in Madrid and will, I was assured, be coming along after me tomorrow. There was nothing I could do, I simply had to trust what the airline staff were telling me. So I got my connection to Punta Arenas frighteningly empty handed. I just can't begin to face what I will have to do if the luggage doesn't turn up, without that clothing and equipment there is simply no question of going to Antarctica. Thank god I am here a week early, at the very worst I could still have time to fly up into North America and get replacement kit through my contacts there, oh my goodness, the very thought is making me tense.

The good news is that I am in Punta Arenas, in Patagonia, in South America! This is very exciting. In fact the bit of Patagonia I am in is very much like parts of Ireland. It's very green but a bit shabby and it is raining steadily in a way that suggests it has been going for months and will continue for months. The people are delightful and smile welcomingly at me, but I realise that I have completely neglected to learn any Spanish before departing. This is annoying as it would have been very easy to do, my singing teacher Xabi is Spanish and would have been delighted to oblige.

The town is built of low wooden houses that make me mindful of Alaska and some rural parts of North America, everything has an earthy, working feel. I leave my surviving hand baggage at the little, family run hotel, and head into town for a few essentials (toothbrush, new knickers, that sort of thing), and then sink thankfully into a deep, hot bath. I'm sure everything will be just fine tomorrow.

ILLNESS
25 Oct, 04 - 08:24    
Last night I wandered out into the damp, bleak town to find a drink and maybe some company, the empty streets had an air of curfew about them. I walked into a cheerful looking, but near empty café and the smiling landlady served me a beer. Near the bottom of the beer I was just deciding to head home when I was joined by four lads speaking English. They quickly introduced themselves as the crew of the Condor, an ice-class ship, employed in military charter jobs and currently in dry dock for maintenance. Paddy the Irishman, Mike and Mick the two Scots and the Croatian , known simply as 'the Croat' are exactly the sort of motley crew you would expect to meet in a bar at the bottom of the world. They welcome me warmly and treat me with the utter respect of perfect working gentlemen. There is something old-fashioned and quite charming about their sense of how to behave with me, and I appreciate it enormously. Nevertheless, by the end of the evening I have managed to lower the tone a little and we roar with laughter about, among other things, squeezing penguins to procure the quarter pint of oil we are assured they are good for. Reading this back I suspect maybe you had to be there.

Full of stories of the dangers of walking alone on the streets of Punta Arenas the boys delivered me back to my hotel in a taxi and I fell deeply asleep.

Sadly the sleep was very broken. At about two I woke up feeling violently ill, nausea and pains in my stomach. I thought it might be what I had drunk, but two beers and one whiskey is generally not even enough to give me a hangover, so it seemed odd. I'm afraid I have very little else to report about the next 24 hours. I stayed in my room afflicted with chronic diaorreagh (have no idea how to spell that and nor does my spell check!) and persistent vomiting.

I did manage to drag myself up to the airport at 3.30, and was delighted to find my luggage arriving on the flight from Santiago just as I had been told it would. This cheered me up enormously, as I had totally convinced myself that it would be lost forever.

Here ends today's dispatch. You really don't want to know the details of the rest of my bed confined day. Suffice to say, it's not nice.

DENISE
26 Oct, 04 - 08:24    
After another unpleasant sleepless night I was up early and in the bath trying to make myself feel more human. At 8am there was a knock at my door and I opened it to a small, bright-eyed lady with long dark hair. "Hi!" She said. "I’m Denise!" It was so lovely to finally meet our leader after many months of emailing. She explained to me where the Antarctic Logistics office was and we agreed to meet there at 10am.

It feels better to be out in the fresh air and I enjoy the walk up the hill to the office. From its street the view of the Magellan Straits is fantastic. I have been particularly pleased to see the Straits first hand since they captured my imagination in Joshua Slocum´s book Sailing Alone Around the World. Captain Slocum was the first person to sail alone around the world and had a particularly eventful time going through this area. Not only did he have to navigate the Eastern side of the straits after being driven back by a terrible hurricane, but the entire time he was here he was tormented by the native Indians. Luckily, just before he embarked on this stretch in his beloved sloop, The Spray, a friendly sea captain furnished him with a large jar of carpet tacks. Each evening before going to sleep he would sprinkle them liberally on the decks, and the periodic screams through the night proved their effectiveness against his barefoot, would-be assailants.

The ALE office gives every impression of being complete chaos, but as I stand quietly in the entrance hall I begin to see that there is efficiency and method in the madness. Denise appears and starts to introduce me to people as they dash past. There is Dr Martin the cheerful ALE medic, Mark the pleasant client liaison, Jaco the meteorologist, Fran who seems to be the all round office organiser, Ronnie the handsome, dishevelled looking chef, Di the blonde, blue-eyed Scot who will be helping run the Patriot Hills camp, Ramon who drives the van and seems to run about a thousand errands a day, and Aussie Peter, one of the managing directors. There are many others too, but I guess I will have to introduce them as there names and jobs sink into my head! What is immediately apparent is their passion for their work. They take the Antarctic very seriously, but obviously also love every minute of their association with it.

Denise and I head down to the supermarket to get the last food supplies we need for the expedition. We pile two shopping carts high with chocolate bars, salami, butter, Zuko fruit drink crystals, hot chocolate, and milk powder. The checkout girls and packing assistants are utterly bewildered. Next we head to a shop that sells bulk dried fruit and nuts and we stock up on many kilos of dried banana, apricot, mango and pear and cashews, almonds and mixed nuts.

The ubiquitous Ramon picks us up in the van and delivers us up to the parcella, a small warehouse containing all the ALE supplies and equipment. The rest of our food supplies are already here and Denise and I spend the rest of the afternoon, carefully dividing everything into two, half to begin with and half for the resupply, and then dividing each half into five piles to be shared among the five sledges. In addition each of the five piles is split between breakfast, lunch and supper.

During the course of packing the conversation turns to clothing and it suddenly becomes clear that I have made a terrible mistake with my outer layer. Instead of getting two piece windproof outer garments and a separate fleece jacket I have got an all in one down suit. Which Denise is quick to explain will be far too hot when skiing all day. We are both totally bemused as to where I got the idea that I needed such a thing. I am certain that it has been recommended to me somewhere along the line, otherwise, how would I even know such a thing existed, but at the same time Denise knows that she has certainly never endorsed such a thing. However it came about it is a serious problem that will need resolving.

Back at the office, which the more I see of it resembles more and more just a strange headquarters type house, I sit on a sofa upstairs enjoying the smell of Ronnie’s cooking, wishing I felt like I would ever be able to face food again, while Denise went off to investigate my clothing options. She returns to say that although ALE do have suitable clothing that they hire out some client they aren’t keen on doing so for a South Pole client who will be trashing it over the course of 60 days. They suggest we go into town and see what is available for me to buy. Just before we leave I go to seek Dr Martin’s advice for my ongoing diarreogh misery. I went to a chemist this morning to try and get some Imodium, the assistant spoke no English and I had to embark on some fairly tasteless miming before she seemed to understand my problem. The brown capsules (that look themselves like little poos) have had no effect so far and I present them to Martin in disgust. He examines the packet and begins to laugh helplessly, he leans against the counter and rocks back and forth with mirth. "These aren’t going to help you. They’re laxatives!" Luckily I too see the funny side and it is some minutes before we are able to continue the conversation sensibly. When we do he recommends that I do nothing for a few days but drink plenty of water and see how I get on and in gratitude I give him permission to tell my ridiculous story.

Down on the main shopping street Denise and I find a North Face shop which provides me with all the replacement clothing I need, which is a great weight off my mind and allows me to go home for a rest without fretting.

At 7.30 Denise comes and knocks on my door and we go over to Santini’s for supper with the rest of the Antarctic crew. We meet up with Matty McNair and her two children Eric and Sarah who along with another lovely couple Conrad and Hilary are going to walk to the South Pole unsupported and kite surf back, it sounds like a great adventure. Matty and her husband Paul Landry run another expedition company called Northwinds. Paul himself will be leading a group of guys into the pole along Scott’s route and will meet another branch of his expedition coming from the other direction in Landrovers, which I think will excite my friend Kit Constable Maxwell very much.

All the ALE staff gradually join us and the large assembled group is very pleasant company. It’s so nice to be with people who don’t need to ask all about the details of what I am doing, they know already. >I feel really relaxed for the first time in ages. I still can’t eat anything and I watch with resigned amusement as Dr Martin tells my laxative story at the other end of the table, well, at least I’m fitting in ok!

Gradually the group disperses until I’m left with Jaco the meteorologist and the doc. They are really good friends and I enjoy watching them tease each other. Jaco talks about his work and explains that it is almost impossible to forecast the weather in Antarctica, he can only try to say what is going to happen on the day. To listen to him and Martin talk about Patriot Hills makes me long to be there straight away. "It’s the most extraordinary place in the world," says Martin, "I want to be going there every year for the rest of my life."

MORE PACKING AND PREPARATIONS
27 Oct 04    
Still ill, very frustrating! But enough of that. Headed up to the office to meet Denise and head over to the parcella to continue packing our expedition food. The office was as quiet as I´ve ever seen it with all the staff in their morning meeting, and I was able to sit for a while on a wooden box by the door and let my eyes drift over the many polar pictures on the walls. Everywhere I look there are maps of the icy continent and photographs of happy expeditioners inscribed with messages of thanks to ANI and ALE.

People start to wander in and out and the next frantic day is on its way. Col the new Canadian carpenter who flew in yesterday is due to come up to the parcella today too to start work on rebuilding some of the big sledges, but we are all held up because Ramon and the van are nowhere to be found. Di and Col lean on the counter sketching and discussing the various jobs he has lined up, Denise wrestles with her receipts and expenses and I enjoy observing the comings and goings. Pamela, a lovely little Chilean lady who also works in the office, comes over to chat. There is a large cardboard box next to me and as she is talking she goes to sit down on it. One minute she’s there, the next she’s gone, the box swallows her in one swift gulp! All I’m left looking at is a small pair of feet wiggling frantically out the top of the box. Col and I leap over to try and rescue the firmly wedged and squeaking Pamela, but are laughing too much to get her out. Eventually we have to tip the box over and shake her out onto the floor.

After a couple of hours of waiting we change our plan and arrange to meet Ramon down at the Fitzroy, where Col and Denise are staying, and we go and grab some lunch in Lomits. Lomits is well know in Punta as a popular meeting place and eatery and as we watch our food being prepared on the hotplate in front of us, half the staff of ALE come in out of the rain for their lunch. This town is starting to feel familiar, a place where you meet friends on every street corner. I’m starting to feel at home here.

By the time we arrive at the parcella it’s 2pm and both Denise and I are feeling pretty tired for some reason. Denise has bought a lot of our main food supplies in bulk powder form and our job today is to split them into individual daily portions and pack them for the first stage and the resupply. We work pretty much in silence, focussed on filling the small plastic bags we pinched from the supermarket fruit section. Amazingly by 4pm everything is done and packed and we are feeling pretty pleased with ourselves. Ramon can’t pick us up so we walk up the muddy track to the gravel road and look for a lift in the grey drizzle. In this friendly town the first car we stick our thumb out to stops and takes us back into town, and we part company for a rest.

At 8pm I wander over to Santini’s to join Denise, Fran and Di for supper, and gradually the other staff come in and join us. As I walk across the bar mid-evening I’m greeted by Mick, Mike, Mick and Paddy from the ice-breaker. "Where’ve you been they ask?" And I explain about the illness and diaorreagh. "Oh! Our whole crew has that, we’ve all been down with it!" They say knowingly. With horror my mind returns to the evening we spent together and the bowl of nuts we shared on the bar... OH YUK!!! I’ve caught ice-breaker lurgy off horrible boys who don’t wash their hands enough! Dr Martin and the ALE gang are delighted when I relate my discovery, and the moral of the tale is quickly summarised. ´Never touch boys nuts!´ (Jaco thinks this is a silly rule!)

For some bizarre reason I seem to be extremely popular with the men in Santini’s (personally I suspect it’s because my oh so unnaturally blonde hair is in pigtails today) but Jaco is extremely amused by the various winks and waves I seem to be getting from every corner of the bar (not from anyone remotely attractive I hasten to add, or even under 50!). Eventually I’m left with just Jaco and one of the Northwinds guides Devon and we are invited over to join a table of old Chilean men who look like they have stepped straight out of the godfather. "This is definitely going on your record young lady." Whispers Devon as I grin at our new Mafioso friends. They don’t really speak any English and we are a bit bemused by the whole affair. I think one of them runs the Penguin Sanctuary and another one seems to have taken a shine to Jaco and Devon, but apart from that I don’t have a clue what’s going on.

A DAY OFF
28 Oct 04    
Denise gave me the day off from helping today so I slept in and woke up feeling a little better. Late morning I wandered into town to get a few last minute supplies, spare pairs of over mittens and goggles, some handkerchiefs and some velcro. Denise has given me a wolverine fur ruff to attach round the edge of my hood and the velcro is for that. I guess it isn’t very politically correct having real fur, but it’s the warmest thing to have and for temperatures of -35 degrees I’m going to put aside my reservations.

Definitely feeling a little recovered I venture into Lomits and mange to eat half a sandwich, before my stomach says ´No more!´ It’s a relief to eat anything though. This is the time I should be stuffing in the calories and in fact I must have actually lost weight this week.

Back at the hotel I meet the newly arrived Ice Maidens. These three gutsy Australian ladies are going to attempt the first unsupported trip to the Pole by Australian women. They have attracted quite a bit of interest because rather than pulling pulks they are going to be pulling specially adapted kayaks of the sort recently used going to the North Pole. Michelle, Sandra and Noleen won’t mind me saying that they don’t look like your classic South Pole explorers, they are three ordinary housewives, all with husbands and kids rooting for them back home and they’ve done anything quite like this before. I really admire their guts.

I spend a couple of hours carefully attaching the ruff into my collar; I’m really not very good at sewing! Thankfully at 5.30 I’m disturbed by a journalist from the local newspaper who is the special Antarctic correspondent and is doing a feature on all the teams going down this year. I chat to him for half an hour about our group and his photographer takes my picture outside the hotel. I explain that the rest of the group is arriving tomorrow, so he should really come back then, and he says that he might.

I’m tired again,. I guess it’s because I’m not eating enough, and I go to bed for a couple of hours kip. By 8pm I feel fully refreshed and head over to Santini’s with the Ice Maidens to meet up with the rest of the Punta-Antarctic community. Slowly everyone drifts in until once again we have commandeered a long row of tables down the side of the bar. I’m feeling much better and actually eat some supper, albeit salad and cold meat, but still. It’s another lovely evening, everyone is such good company. I have a lovely talk with Matty MacNair’s daughter Sarah and one of the Mount Vincent guides Neil, and later move up the table for some of the usual banter with Jaco, Devon and Ronnie.

Mid evening the tall Australian guide Damian comes over with his friend Camillo. I have been having problems charging my equipment with my solar kit and Camillo has brought a multi-metre to test it for me. We nip back to the hotel and he goes through the kit. Everything seems to be reading correctly except for the battery which is really low. They suggest I plug it straight into the solar panel for a super charge tomorrow to see if it can be brought back to life.

Back in Santini’s I’m particularly pleased to meet South African Jason who is the main communications man at Patriot Hills. Jaco told me yesterday that Jason is sailing round the world next year and talking to him now it transpired that he is doing the same race as me, the Clipper. So far he is only signed up for the first leg but he is desperately hoping to do more. He is a lovely character and I am delighted to know that we will be seeing a lot more of each other over the next year, both in training and during the race. Once again it turns into another late night, but as I’m still not really drinking much, I’m not too worried

THE REST OF THE TEAM
29 Oct 04    
Denise has carefully checked through all my clothing and equipment and there are one or two things that need changing or adjusting, so I spend the morning in town, picking up the bits I need and working on getting everything just right back at the hotel. I’m excited today because this afternoon Craig, Owen and Fiona arrive and the hours just won’t go by fast enough. I have been waiting for six months to meet my three team mates in person. They have already become good friends via email, so it won’t be like meeting strangers at all.

I’m meeting Denise at the ALE office at 3pm, but in my eagerness I get there early and take myself off for a walk around the local streets of brightly-coloured, corrugated-roofed, little houses. It’s a really warm, sunny day and as I left the office Jason happened to mention how nice an ice-cream would be, so when I see a little corner shop, I buy a bag of ice-creams for him and anyone else in need of a Friday afternoon treat in the incredible hive of slickly-choreographed, pre-ice activity that is currently ALE.

At three I meet Denise, and Ramon drives us out to the airport where our three team mates are already collecting their luggage behind the glass barrier before us. In no time they are through and we are able to greet them warmly and bundle them into the minibus. The three of them look absolutely exhausted after their 32 hour journey and they certainly seem relieved to check into our hotel. I take my new friends down to the supermarket to pick up some essentials and see a little of the town and then give them a few hours peace to recover.

At 7pm Denise comes to meet us and takes us to a lovely little restaurant called La Luna for supper. It feels so good to be finally all together. I would love to chew the fat all evening, but Owen, Craig and Fiona are soon flagging and clearly in need of their beds. We walk back to the hotel and say goodnight. I ring home and write a dispatch, but finding myself still restless, stroll back to La Luna to take Jaco up on his earlier invitation for drink. Once again I’m greeted warmly by Punta´s transient Antarctic community and spend the rest of the evening laughing until my sides hurt. I do like this town; good humour, good company and a wonderful adventure on the horizon. What more could anyone ask for?

A MIXED DAY
30 Oct 04    
Denise comes over to meet us all after breakfast and we spend the morning having a huge briefing. It’s really good to be focussing on the trip, but I’m feeling in a sad frame of mind today. I find myself getting waves of anxiety about nothing in particular and a few odd things that have happened have put me really out of sorts. I know this low feeling is temporary and try to lift myself out of it, but it persists pig-headedly.

We grab a sandwich for lunch in Lomits and then squash into a taxi which takes us up to the parcella. We erect each of our tents and carefully check them over. We customise them a little by threading washing lines into their interiors and taping up the poles into longer sections so that they can be packed into long sausages with the poles still threaded into the tent, this will make their erection on the ice a lot easier. Denise takes the others through how we arranged and packed the food and we test the three stoves we will be carrying. It’s a good afternoon’s work. The nicest thing is to be doing things with Owen, Craig and Fiona at last and I’m reassured that we are all going to get on really well. Craig is wonderfully practical and patient and has a real air of calm about him. Fiona is a great mixture of being super organised and enthusiastically excited, like a little girl at Christmas; I just know she and I are going to giggle our heads off the whole way. Owen is probably the least experienced of us but he has put in so much training and effort and planning that he is completely ready to go. He and I share a similar wide-eyed wonder at what we are about to do.

I’m desperately trying to be my usual cheery self and make a good impression, but I can’t shake off my black cloud, today I just want to creep under the blankets and have a little cry. It is so rare for me to feel like this in any way that I don’t quite know what to do with myself. So when we get back to the hotel I have a hot bath and fall asleep for a couple of hours.

I wake up and feel a little better and join the others to sew felt face guards into the bottom of our goggles and screw our skins onto our skis. When we are done we walk over to Santini’s for supper and meet up with all the other expedition teams. I sit with Eric and Sarah and the two youngsters do a really good job at restoring my chirpiness. They are two of the nicest kids I have met in very long time and we laugh all through the meal. They think it is hilarious that all our bulk food stuff came from ´Mary Jane’s Organic Food´ and want to know if that means it’s laced with grass. This leads to great discussion about being the first stoned expedition to the pole; we probably wouldn’t get there but we’d have a reeeeally greeeat tiiiiime man!

I leave the group early and head back to the hotel to pack. A truck will come at some point tomorrow to pick up everything for the hold of the huge Allusion cargo plane and we have decided to be all packed and ready first thing. By midnight I’m done and I’m glad to get my head down, I’m sure my mood will be restored after a good night’s sleep.

READY TO GO
31 Oct, 04 - 22:14    
I wake up feeling totally recovered from my bad mood and it's like the weight of a thousand bricks being lifted off my chest. I knew it wouldn't last!

We meet at 9.30 and make our way over to a rather upmarket hotel across town and gather with all the other expeditions for the ALE client briefing. As we munch our way through tea and biscuits. Peter, Rachel and Mark run through the logistics of the next few days; the collection of our luggage for the hold; the decision making for when to fly and how we will be contacted with that information; how we will be collected; the flight; the camp set up at Patriot Hills; who is responsible for what and how our expeditions will be monitored and supported. It's very thorough and there is a wonderful buzz of anticipation from all the expeditions; it really feels like we are about to begin.

After the briefing we don't have to be anywhere until 2pm when our luggage will be collected, so I excuse myself to the others and walk down to the beach. The sea is something I long for when I'm not near it for any time and two months is going to seem an age without it. So I walk along the narrow strip of grubby sand and look at the calm water lapping at its edge. There is no one much about and I quietly collect some shells and skim some stones. It's very peaceful and a moment of collection that I really needed.

Back at the hotel I do my final packing and at 2 Doc Martin, Fran and Mark arrive with a big open truck and carefully weigh our luggage before throwing it up on the wagon. Everything must be precisely weighed and logged so the full cargo can be accurately calculated; it is a huge task.

When they are gone everything feels different. We can no longer check our gear and fiddle with it and fuss. It's gone, the next time we see it will be on the ice. Suddenly everything feels calm and expectant.

Both Craig and Fiona are complaining of back pain, so I spend an hour or so working on them. There was much excitement when I revealed that I am trained masseur, and I was pleased to find that I could help them both.

There is nothing to do and I have a long, last bath. Jaco said earlier that weather conditions are looking promising for the morning, so I take great pleasure in meticulously washing my hair and performing my ablutions. We gather once more for a picnic supper; today is election day so everywhere is closed. Voting in Chile is compulsory and they take the enforcing of it very seriously.

After supper I snuggle down and fall asleep in front of a film. Tomorrow, if the weather is kind, we will go to Antarctica.

PATRIOT HILLS
1 Nov, 04 - 21:26    

At 7am I get the call from Denise that the weather is looking good in Patriot Hills and the flight is looking good to go and we will be picked up in 45 minutes. I race down the corridor and bang on the other's doors to relate the good news. 45 minutes later the bus collects us and fills up gradually, one guest house at a time, with excited Antarctic hopefuls. We are faced with a bit of a wait at the airport as the half hour weather reports are relayed to us from Patriot. Mike Sharp, the camp manager on the ice, is reporting good conditions but with occasional changes in wind speed and direction.

Photo by Craig Mathieson

It's a close call whether we will go. Jaco explains how difficult the conditions at Patriot are to read, how they can change with startling swiftness. Outside the gigantic, Russian Allusion cargo plane, who's name is Valdivia Belle, crouches on the runway with the elegance of a bird poised for flight; something about the way the wings rise over the body of the aircraft is reminiscent of shoulders.

Luckily everything settles down at Patriot and we are given the go ahead. We walk up the vast ramp that opens up the back of the plane and into the body. The big hold is full of ALE's massive cargo of equipment and all our gear, everything is packed into a neat mountain down one side of the long space and we pick our way up the narrow gap remaining to sit on long bench seats. There is work happening on the runway here at Punta Arenas which means that the big plane can't take off with a full payload. To get around this we are going to take off half fuelled and land to refuel in the Argentinean town of Ushuaia, a hop of 45 minutes.

The noise of the engines is deafening, but thinking of everything ALE hand round a big bag of earplugs for our comfort. It is the most exciting flying experience of my life. There just isn't any other opportunity I would ever have to fly in such a plane and I grin with delight all day. After we have taken off for the second time a take a turn to visit the navigator and the cockpit. The cockpit is up a ladder and the three Russian crew are surrounded by banks and banks of metal switches and controls, I can't really see anything out of their windows. The navigator however has a quite different view. He works alone from a space below the cockpit and the floor and wall in front of his seat is all glass, it's spectacular. Everything about the plane is old and battered, but you can see it is cared for and totally functional; I'm completely in love.

At 6.30 we begin two large low circuits of Patriot Hills and out of the window I catch glimpses of the mountains. After the second sweep the talented crew bring their big bird in for a perfect landing. To their credit, it is the first time they have ever landed on ice.

The ramp drops open and the cold sweeps in up the plane, there is a buzz of anticipation. Walking out onto the ice for the first time is something I shall never forget, the whiteness, the temperature, the incredible opaque blue of the solid ice under my feet.

It's very cold and after only a few minutes of standing still I have to start swinging my arms to get the warmth into my hands. Camp is about a kilometre away and it isn't long before first Fiona and then I end up flat on our backs as we walk. This is a very slippery continent.

It's too cold to hang about enjoying the view so we crack on and put up our tents and orientate ourselves with our new set up. We settle down and cook our first rehydrated supper of spaghetti bolognaise and everything seems pretty together.

Matty, Eric, Sarah, Conrad and Hilary manage to get a flight out to Hercules Inlet immediately, and I go and hug them all warmly and wish them luck. They are skiing to the pole and kiting back and it's going to be no mean feat.

This camp is an extraordinary place. At the moment it is still embryonic, by the time we get back here from Hercules there will be a small village of tents. Already there are amazing loos (ig-loos!) made out of ice with canvas doors. I know you are all dying to know, so I shall tell you that there is a pee bucket and a poo box which is all very clean and inoffensive. ALE is extremely environment conscious and it is part of their policy to remove all rubbish and human waste from the ice at the end of each season; as a result, the place is pristine. Also already in place is the vital communications tent where Jason will be in constant contact with all the expeditions and the outside world. It's a fascinating place. Beneath a wooden trapdoor in the snow is a whole hangar that 8 years ago was actually on the surface. Inside is a small Cessna airplane and a store of spare expedition equipment.

By the time we are settled it is already late, so I climb into my sleeping bag, pull down my eye mask to shield against the sunlight and, deliciously cosy, fall fast asleep.

WAITING TO FLY
2 Nov, 04 - 20:54    

The night was a little cold, but not too bad and as I am packing my sleeping bag Denise gives a little hoot of laughter and point out that I hadn't blown up my Thermarest! Sure enough it's flat as a pancake and I'm relived I will be warmer tonight. The others tromp over to join us for breakfast and we discuss the day. We are scheduled to fly out to Hercules Inlet at midday, so we spend the morning digging pulks and harnesses out of the hangar and filling them with our initial gear for the first part of the trip. I have still never stood on skis at this point, so it seems like a good idea to give this skiing business a go.

Photo by Craig Mathieson

I clip them onto my feet and slide gingerly forwards, 10 seconds later I am flat on my back and floundering like an upended tortoise. I stand up, go another 10 feet and exactly the same thing happens again. Great! I'm going to fall to the South gradually I manage to move away from the tents and realise that the ground around them is incredibly icy and hence on. Still, after an hour, I am by no means confident about my ability to ski 730 miles later today. Back in the tent with the others I feel totally out of my depth and sit in the corner quietly, choking back the urge to cry. To be honest I feel a bit panicky.

As it happens the weather closes in and our flight is called off. We are on standby to go, but it doesn't look that good. Sitting about waiting does me no good whatsoever and I realise that I need to be occupied. All the ALE staff are working hard at putting up tents and it seems totally unnatural not to be mucking in anyway, so I wander over to see if I can help. Luckily I'm very tall and I'm able to get useful pulling awnings over the high, tunnel tent frames, and don't feel like I'm getting in the way. I throw myself into the work and immediately feel much, much better. When the first tent is up I help Fran and Ronnie set up the camp kitchen within it. The next job is to fetch tables and chairs for people to eat at, this involves going down into the storage ice cave. The ice cave is unbelievable, Fran leads me over to a wooden trapdoor that has been uncovered in the snow and beneath it is a long snowy staircase. The wood reinforced steps go about 50 feet down into the icy plain and at the bottom are three tunnels leading off into darkness. Fran explains that this is where they store camp food and spare furniture. The whole thing is a stunning feat of engineering and extremely impressive. When I've done all I can to help Fran I wander over to help with another tent and before I know it the afternoon has gone. It begins to snow a little and I'm not too disappointed when Denise calls me back to the tent for supper. It's been a great afternoon and a feel a million times better, I just needed to focus on something else for a while.

After supper we are finally completely called off for flying, so put up Craig and Fiona and Owen's tents (We'd taken them down leaving just ours in readiness to go). As soon as they are up it's really starting to get cold, so I nest down for the night and this time I blow up my thermarest!

HERCULES INLET
3 Nov, 04 - 12:05    GPS-pos: N79°55' | E080°04' | Alt: 160 M

In the early hours the temperature dropped and even in my super strength sleeping bag I felt it. By the time we get up at 7am the wind is whipping through camp, the Antarctic is making itself known. There isn't much to be done except hunker down and wait for it to calm down. Going out is a major dressing up job as the bitter wind requires all layers to be meticulously applied. If you are interested my full on dress consists of liner socks, vapour barrier socks and over socks inside woollen inners in my big Alfa boots (all this makes for toasty feet).

Then 2 layers of Marino wool, Icebreaker long-johns, a pair of Northface stretchy fleece long-johns and some Northface windproof trousers over the top, and gaiters over the tops of my boots. Then on top I have 2 layers of Icebreaker thermal tops, a Patagonia high-tech fleece and a fantastic Northface lined anorak with my wolverine ruff round the hood. On my head I have a polar buff (one of those great stretchy tubes you can wear as a hat or neck warmer), a fleece neck gaiter, a fleece wind-stopper hat and full ski goggles with the face protector sewn in the bottom. My hands do well, as long as I am active with a pair of Extremities liner gloves under over gloves.

At midday the wind suddenly stops, the air clears and we are given an hour's notice of flying. We quickly take down our tents and pack our pulks and wait to go. Devon is being flown out first with Linda and Stewart so we have a bit of wait. We huddle in the staff dining tent until we hear the drone of the twin otter returning and then we pile outside to leave. Suddenly everything is happening very quickly. After years of waiting and preparing we are finally going to begin for real. Damian, who has yet to get his flight out Mount Vincent, comes to see us off as does Doc Martin and Jason. Everyone has been wishing us well and hugging us over the last hour and it is great to feel so supported by the team here. Our pulks are loaded into the plane and we cram into the little fold down seats behind them and the plane taxis away from camp over the ice. The flight in the otter is the highlight of the trip so far for me. It speeds down its bumpy ice strip and takes to the air before banking steeply round in front of the mountains. The turbulence bounces us about quite vigorously which makes me grin from ear to ear and then we are away out over the empty ice towards the coast.

The flight to Hercules Inlet is only about 15 minutes and in no time the Otter is banking round to land. The crew land perfectly and explain that they are dropping us in the same place as all the other teams this year, just above the edge of the bay, as the condition of the ice further down isn't good enough to land on.

The plane taxis away from us and takes off, and the sound of it's engines fades as it disappears into the distance leaving us alone on the ice. The is nothing very distinguishing here to differentiate this piece of ice from any other, but we know from our GPS fix that we are at the edge of this great continent at 80 degrees.

It is a beautiful day now and we set off immediately back towards Patriot Hills. We are planning on taking about three days which should be quite manageable even though everyone says these first three days are the hardest of the whole trip. The reason is that it is quite a steep climb all the way from here back to camp, and the steepest part is right at the start. Our pulks are pretty light as we only have four days supplies in them and this is a blessing as we start slogging up the long slope. The ground is very rough with wind blown sastrugi, snow formations like choppy waves, and combined with the slope they force us to walk rather than ski.

Our plan is to march in one hour blocks, so each hour will consist of 50 minutes travelling and 10 minutes eating and drinking and resting. During our first march we come across one of the perils of travelling in this area, a crevasse field. The crevasses are completely snowed over but nevertheless easy to distinguish and avoid. Most of them are narrow enough for us to step over without and danger but some of the wider ones take more thought. Denise makes us go in single file and carefully picks her route by stabbing the snow with her poles before committing her weight to it. At one point as I'm stepping back onto firm ice my back foot breaks through into a dark hole below and I call back a warning to the others. It's an exciting hour, but I'm glad to report that at no time do I feel we are in any kind of danger; I have complete confidence in Denise. We are all feeling very positive and we complete four marches before we decide to make our first camp. We can see Devon and co several miles to our west, also camped.

We are quite tired after our afternoon of uphill hauling and it seems a bit daunting when we see that we have only come five nautical miles, but Denise cooks up a good first dried dinner and we all perk up.

FIRST DAY
3 Nov, 04    GPS-pos: N80°01' | E080°25' | Alt: 410 M

We woke up to strong winds whipping round the tent and decided to stay in bed and wait it out, flying out to Hercules Inlet seemed pretty unlikely. However, at midday suddenly the sky cleared and the wind dropped and we were given an hour's standby for leaving. We quickly dismantled the tents and packed the pulks and got ready to leave. Devon got the first flight out with Stewart and Hilary so we waited nervously in the staff dining tent for the Twin Otter to return. At 2pm our gear was loaded into the little plane and many of our dear ALE friends were gathered round to wish us well. Everything was suddenly happening very quickly.

The Otter flight was one of the absolute highlights of being down here so far. It took off down its bumpy ice strip then banked round in front of the mountains before heading out over the ice. As we climbed we experienced some terrific turbulence that buffeted us around like a kite and made me grin from ear to ear. The flight to Hercules was about 15 minutes and in no time we were landing on the rough, remote ice plain.

The Otter crew explained that they had dropped us just above the bay as the ice below is not good enough to land on. They quickly unloaded our gear and taxied away and in minutes they were nothing but a dot in the sky and we were alone on the ice.

Everyone we have spoken to says that the first three days are the hardest and the reason is that the route back to Patriot Hills is all up hill. We start off enthusiastically; we intend to marches of one hour; 50 minutes of walking the 10 minutes to eat, drink and rest.

Near the end of our first march we cross a crevasse field. The crevasses are all covered in snow but easy enough to distinguish and we pick our way through them fairly easily. Most of the cracks are narrow enough to step across, but the wider ones Denise leads us across in single file, stabbing the snow with her poles to test its strength. As I step off one onto the firm ice my back foot breaks through, and a dark hole peers up at us. It's an exciting hour, but at no point do I feel we are in any danger, I have complete faith in Denise.

We complete four marches before setting up camp and far away, miles away on the icy waste we can see the tiny dot of Devon's tent too. We had covered 5 nautical miles and felt a little daunted by our rate of progress, but after our first hot rehydrated supper we all felt a bit better and tucked ourselves up in our sleeping bags with our water bottles full of hot water for warmth.

SECOND DAY
4th November, 04    GPS-pos: N80°08' | E080°30' | Alt: 820 M

We woke to howling winds round the tent and plummeting temperatures. We measured -26 in the tent and -53 out in the wind chill. Denise decided we should stay in bed for a few hours to see if it would clear like yesterday. The unpleasant thing about being in a tent in these temperatures is that every bit of moisture freezes. Over night as you breath through the tiny gap in your sleeping bag the icy gathers on the outside of the bag and on everything above you, you wake up in a cave of ice crystals. To stop vital things like socks, gloves and boot liners from freezing you sleep with them in your sleeping bag with you.

Photo by Craig Mathieson

By lunchtime it was clear the weather wasn't going to clear and that we should make a move anyway. Once the decision to break camp was made, there could be no hesitation. Everything had to be done with speed and precision. The moment you stop for a moment you can feel the cold sucking the life out of you. To add to the difficulty every task has to be performed in full expedition clothing plus full mitts that make everything twice as hard and goggles that make seeing equally difficult. Once packed and clipped into our pulks we didn't pause for a minute but bent ourselves into the wind and snow. The conditions were ferocious; total white out, unable to make out the way ahead we stumbled up the endless slope over a sea of torturous sastrugi, windblown, snow corrugations like choppy waves. It was a horrendous day. As we walked the moisture in our breath caused our face masks to freeze into solid ice, but even this ice was protection from the cold wind beyond. We completed five marches before admitting defeat and battling to put up camp. Once inside the tent we got the stoves fired up and began an elaborate defrosting and drying process. Spirits were pretty low and Craig and Fiona stayed over in their tent, not wanting to face the storm again for a minute.

THIRD DAY
5th November, 04    

We woke to the same horrific conditions and got off to a bad start. Skiing had been impossible, but this morning we decided to give it a go. No sooner were we ready to start hauling then Owen lost a glove in the wind and I had to hurriedly unclip and give chase on my wobbly skis. No sooner was I back with the glove and clipped back in then my harness broke and needed to be rethreaded. With this 5 minute delay we were all far too cold, losing your core temperature in these conditions is bad, bad news. We abandoned the skis after a 10 minute futile attempt and got hauling for half an hour when Craig spotted that Fiona had lost a ski off her pulk.

Photo by Craig Mathieson

It was shaping up into one of those days. We unclipped our pulks, marked their position with the GPS and set off back for the ski, luckily finding it after a short distance.

The rest of the day was awful. The storm was merciless and we all got very cold. One of the biggest problems was our goggles icing up, rendering everyone nearly blind. Mine were doing better than most so I lead for most of the day, the others following along nose to pulk. My Clipper sailing friends will be pleased to know that my training was very useful. Unable to make out any features in the white out, we navigated the whole way back with the wind. The fur round my hood acted as telltales and I was able to set our course by putting us close hauled on a port tack!

By the time we had set up the night's camp and begun our mammoth drying routine it became clear that all was not well with Fiona. She was very cold and had white tips to both thumbs and a finger, frostnip, early stages of frostbite.

4TH DAY - BACK TO PATRIOT
6th November, 04    GPS-pos: S80°18' | W081°21' | Alt: 815 M

The storm was still going strong and we still had 8 nautical miles to go to camp. At our current rate we guessed it could take us eight marches, but we were all determined to get in. It was an extremely tough day. Denise and I lead while the others tucked in behind too exhausted to do anything else. After 4 hours we started to catch glimpses of the mountains through the snowy air and three hours later we were hauling ourselves into camp. We headed straight to the warm kitchen dining tent and only then did I realise quite how difficult things had been on the others. Fiona's fingers now have proper frostbite blisters and Doc Martin soon appeared and diagnosed her as very hypothermic too.

Photo by Craig Mathieson

All the staff here have reported that the last four days have been the coldest temperatures they have known at this time in the 15 years since the camp began.

Fiona is whisked off to the warm medical tent to be properly warmed up and have her fingers treated, while the rest of us put up camp and get the stoves going to dry out.

We eat with the staff tonight and Ronnie's superb cooking is just what the doctor ordered.

RESTDAY PATRIOT
Nov 7th, 04    GPS-pos: S80°19' | W081°05' | Alt: 985 M

We could have set off today, but we are all still lacking in a bit of confidence and are very reluctant to leave Fiona. She will fly out on the next Allusion flight, but although the weather is positively sunny here at Patriot Hills, the big plane is still being held in Punta; visibility is not good enough for it to fly. Doc Martin has bandaged up Fiona's thumbs and two fingers and she isn't allowed to get them remotely cold or use them. We have a very comic trip to the ig-loo where I help with zips and clips and then have to stand in the corner with my eyes closed singing loudly.

Mid morning Denise takes us out for a ski in the sunshine with our new skins, but heavier pulks. It is the boost we really needed. The skis are suddenly really grippy and the pulks follow along without any problems. We come back for lunch full of relief.

I spend a lovely leisurely afternoon catching up on dispatches. Jason has kindly charged up all our fading electronics in the high-tech and very cosy radio tent, where he and Jaco work. People wander in and out for hot drinks periodically, and everyone you speak to always has a good story to tell over their tea. I am sharing this camp with some of finest climbers and explorers in the world and it is absolutely fascinating.

At supper time, everyone comes in to eat. And we give Patriccio the night off from washing up, its a small thing to do in the face of the wonderful hospitality we have received. We are really going to miss this happy place when we set off in the morning.

ON OUR WAY
9 Nov, 04 - 21:30    GPS-POS: S80°25' | W081°05' | ALT: 985 M

Didn't sleep much. Was nervous and excited at the same time and bizarrely it was too warm with the sun on the tents all night. We woke at 7am and packed up our tents into our pulk and went for a last big breakfast courtesy of Ronnie. Then with nothing else to delay us we walked out to our pulks and clipped in. It was so lovely, the whole camp seemed to turn out to wave us off, and everyone hugged us and had kind encouraging words. I'm going to miss this lot over the next couple of months.

Setting off the fully laden pulks don't feel as heavy as I feared and the skiing seems fairly manageable. Well, at least, it's manageable in between when I’m falling over. I've fallen over about 20 times during the course of the day, and the first was about 100 yards from camp in front of everyone, which I'm sure gave them all a good laugh. Not quite the slick departure I might have hoped for!

We did seven marches around the end of the mountains, covering 6.9 nautical miles as the crow flies (a nautical mile is 1.2 statute miles by the way), but probably more like 10 over the ground. This is pretty impressive as we crossed a terrain of endless, ankle-breaking sastrugi, but thankfully the newly grippy skis got us through. Every 10 minutes or so our pulks get firmly wedged into the ruts in the snow, and it requires both strength and technique to get a good purchase with skis and haul the sleds up and over. I do well with just because of my size I think. I am able to throw myself forward into the harness and slog the pulk forwards with my body weight.

The boys have a bit of a tough day, Craig is having trouble with his goggles icing up still, and Owen is struggling with the sastrugi. I'm sure we will all get to grips with everything as time goes by.

Temperature management is one of the most vital and difficult things out here. When man-hauling you get very warm, but it is vital that you wear little enough to avoid sweating. If you sweat, it freezes and you become dangerously cold when you stop. It's overcast today, but there is no wind so it's fairly mild. I am skiing in my thermals and wind proof trousers, but no jacket. Whenever we stop I immediately put on my down jacket to keep in my core warmth and swap my gloves for the pair I always have warming down my trousers as I ski. All this has to be done really quickly to avoid the sudden cooling effect of stopping. We are constantly adjusting our layers through the day to avoid being hot, bananas isn't it! One of the best ways to cool down quickly is to remove a hat or neck layer as a huge amount of heat escapes through your head.

Anyway, we have stopped for the night on the far side of the hills, at the foot of a pass that will take us up onto the Polar plain tomorrow. The tent is very snug and I finally feel relaxed. We are all really missing Fiona and worrying about her being left back at camp, but it's really good to be on our way.

LOTS OF UPHILL!
10 Nov, 04 - 22:44    GPS-pos: S80°32' | W081°22' | Alt: 1111 M

Woke up in glorious sunshine and thankfully still no more wind. We packed up quickly and started heading for our pass through the hills. There is actually some contrast today and we can see the sastrugi, which is a blessed relief. The ones we crossed yesterday can now be seen to be huge! We pick our way through them this morning, but Owen is still struggling. After the first hour we realise that we are going to have to do something to help him and keep us all together. Denise very sensibly suggests reallocating some of the weight in his pulk. Craig takes a gallon of fuel and I take a heavy bag of food. This plan works well and keeps us much more together.

I think Owen feels a bit awkward about it, but as I tell him, it's not that we are stronger than him, it's just that he needs to get the hang of his pulling technique. "In a day or two," I tell him, "you'll be flying and no doubt helping us with something we are struggling with."

The pass up through the hills has no name that we know of and we have dubbed it the Foxy Pass in honour of Fiona. Fiona gave us all nicknames according to the fur on our hoods, Craig is Wolfman, Denise is Bear, Owen is Coyote, I'm Wolverine and Fiona herself was Foxy. The Foxy Pass isn't that steep, but it is very long and contains some patches of terrible sastrugi. They regularly stop us dead in our tracks as our pulks hit them, and all you can do is heave them slowly over.

The sunshine makes it possible to ski in our thermals only and it's a huge relief not to have the ice forming over your face in the same quantities. In a few hours we are at the top of the hill and start out onto a big snowy plain beyond. The terrain is still rough but a lot easier. During the afternoon we hear both the Twin Otter and later the big Allusion, I smile to myself thinking how pleased Jaco will be to have finally been able to give the go ahead to the flights. But the sound of the Allusion also means that Fiona will start her journey home today and that is very sad.

We do 8 marches today. We are covering about 1nm an hour over the rough and we just make our eight before making camp. We need to be covering 12nm a day very quickly, which seems a bit daunting, but should be achievable now we have put all the hills behind us. For now though, I am very tired with my heavy pulk on the last march and my feet are aching. I'm very happy to make camp and settle down for the evening.

Craig has been really struggling with his beard which keeps freezing onto his neck tube in a solid lump of ice, so tonight I carefully cut it all off for him with a pair of nail scissors. It takes quite a long time as we keep getting the giggles.

My big treat each evening is picking up emails and hearing from my friends, so thanks for that you all, keep 'em coming. Just remember not to send attachments.

Well, goodnight from the ice for today.

A FRUSTRATING DAY IN A TENT
11 Nov, 04 - 21:23    GPS-pos: S80°32' | W081°22' | Alt: 1111 M

It becomes a cold night and when we wake the sun has gone and a light wind has picked up out of the south. Looking outside it's snowing and is a total white out. The visibility is the worst I have yet seen, I can't even see the texture of the ground at my feet, let alone ahead of me. It's amazing how this change in weather sets my nerves on edge. I know we are going to face more bad conditions, but I was really hoping we would get a few days of full 12nm mileage under our belts before it closed in again. I really want Owen to get his confidence with the pulling and today isn't going to settle us at all.

The boys come over for breakfast feeling cold and we work hard to warm ourselves through.

We start packing up camp and I start to feel better about the day, we just have to take it one step at a time and we will get through fine. Denise and I get our tent down and our pulks packed pretty quickly and I am just filling my windproof trousers with spare gloves when I look up to see trouble striking. Craig is on his knees rolling up the fly sheet, I can't see Owen but, almost as if in slow motion, I watch as the body of their tent, still upright, gets caught by a strong wind gust and lifted right off its pegs. I cry out and lunge forwards, but too late, in another second the tent is rolling away from us. Everyone takes off like sprinters from starting blocks but every 50 feet or so one or other of us falls flat our faces over the invisible sastrugi only to have the chase taken up by someone behind. Like some mad, comedy, falling-over relay team we belt over the snow and for a few hundred yards it looks as though Craig will catch it, but the wind is toying with us and the tent speeds away into the white. When it has all but disappeared from view we stop and stare after it, panting and dismayed. Denise takes control and instructs to return to the pulks and get the remaining tent back up. We will not be going anywhere just now.

As soon as the remaining tent is back up we crawl miserably inside and light a stove. Denise is very calm and matter of fact and explains that we can't continue with just one tent, because if anything happened to it further out we would be in big trouble. Luckily we are only 15nm from Patriot Hills camp, so if there is a good place for this to have happened, then this is it. Denise calls up Jason at PH on the Iridium phone and explains the situation and asks if someone will be able to skidoo a replacement tent out to us. He goes through all the details of our situation and says he will pass on the details to the relevant camp staff to decide how to proceed. Unfortunately it sounds as though the weather at PH is even worse than here and he isn't sure anyone will be able to get out to us. He tells us to call for an update at 2.30pm.

Once the call is made there is nothing for us to do but sit and wait. We are all gutted by the turn of events and each take a little quiet time to absorb the situation. I plug in my Ipod and pull my hat down over my eyes to get away from it all for an hour.

The boys feel awful about the tent loss and we try to make them feel better. Denise makes some good hot soup for lunch then gives us a stern yet motivational talk about how we all have to pay attention to detail in this environment. We go over the morning's events to see what lessons can be learned and our smiles start to return. Outside the weather continues to be revolting and we all agree that one bright side to the horrid mess is that at least we aren't out dragging pulks in it!

At 2.30 Jason reports that it still isn't clear enough to get out to us and we should check in again at our usual sched call time of 7.45pm.

So, that's it, we're here for the day. The afternoon drifts by with us playing games, reading, writing and listening to music. The little stove burns to keep us warm and the wind whips the snow about us outside.

People have been asking me a few common questions on email. One is about if it gets dark at all here. The answer is no, not at all. The sun circles the sky endlessly, as we walk our shadows move round us like sundials and, when it's clear, all night long the sun shines brightly.

The other thing people ask is what I can see. Well, today, nothing much, but when it's clear, now we are moving away from the black Sentinel Hills at the end of the Independence Mountain Range, we are moving out onto a great flat expanse. The hills are behind us to the north, out to the northeast are three triangular black hills called Three Sails and far, far off to the southwest are the tiny dots of the next hills. Like in the desert, the horizon plays tricks with the eyes and the tiny, far off features seem to float low in the sky. The snow itself looks like stiffly whipped eggwhites or hard royal icing, roughly spread on a Christmas cake. The patterns in the sastrugi are chaotic and unpredictable.

At 7.45 there is still no positive news from camp and we are to call back at 9pm. It just goes to prove how localized the weather can be in this area, as where we are, just 15nm away, it is still fiercely wind but the sun has come out and the visibility is good. We are to call back at 9pm.

I have to take this opportunity to enlighten the world about the need for pee pots on Antarctic expeditions. In such vicious conditions it is simply not practical to get all dressed up and go outside. The solution is a pee pot. This necessity has become such an ordinary part of our lives in this extreme environment that it now seems perfectly normal, when someone says, "I need to pee", even all together as we are today, for us all to turn round or pull our hats down over our faces to give the required privacy.

At 9pm the cloud that has been over PH has come in over us too and we agree with Jason to call it a day and speak again in the morning. We line the tent with Thermarests and settle ourselves down for the night, head to toe like sardines.

ANOTHER DAY IN CONFINEMENT
12 Nov, 04 - 20:26    GPS-pos: S80°33' | W081°26' | Alt: 949 M

Well, this morning the weather is still bad and the first sched call to Jason at PH tells us we are going to be sitting tight a while longer. We are still packed into the tent in our down sleeping bags at this point, so rather than getting up and lighting a stove, we all just stay in bed. My desert friends will laugh when I say that we are truly 'hamstering'. In England we talk about being 'packed together like sardines', but once, when climbing Jebel Uweinat on the borders of Egypt, Libya and Sudan, my dear friends Bernie and Andy introduced me to the Bavarian term for the same thing, which translated is 'hamstering'. This has always delighted me and has been the source of much amusement for many years.

At about 11.30 we get up very carefully. The entire inside of the tent is encrusted with frost and any contact brings it raining down on us. Once we manage to stow our sleeping bags we spend half an our carefully wiping the walls and breaking up the ice and snow on the outside too. My friend Marie Harvey asked me today how big the tents are and whether we can stand up. The answer is no. The tents are ordinary 4 man dome tents that you would buy in any ordinary outdoors shop. 4 man is rather a grand claim, because no one in their right mind would go out on purpose with just one of these and 4 people, it is extremely cramped! The only adjustments to these tents are the extra big valances that have been sewn on to pile snow on, the washing lines inside and a little canvas chimney out of the cooking vestibule at the front. We have a big insulated mat that we add in as floor and at night we sleep on a foam mat and a Thermarest each. It's pretty warm, especially with four of us hamstering. When we get our replacement tent we will be back to two a tent, girls and boys, and the boys will just come over to eat.

Marie also asked if we have seen any wild life. The answer is also no. The seals and penguins are all nearer the sea. There is a slight chance we may see some birds I suppose, I understand that Petrels sometimes venture far inland, but nothing so far. Mind you, there could be an army of Emperor Penguins having a disco 50 feet away and we wouldn't see them in this white out! The white out is very much like being in the pitch dark, only it is pitch white. It's very strange, like being in some kind of celestial sensory depravation tank. If you walk a few metres away from camp and look back, it looks as though the tent and pulks are just floating in nothing, all very surreal.

We spend the day playing games. We play Too Personal where we can ask each other anything at all and either answer or say "Too personal!" This just demonstrated that in these totally bizarre circumstances there is now nothing we are too embarrassed to tell each other. The other game is called Two Truths And A Lie where you tell three stories and the others have to guess which is the lie. This just went to demonstrate that we have all done some pretty zany things. Some of true things included swimming with killer dolphins, peeing in a mine field and standing on two slippery logs to poo into a pit of maggots. I won't say which of us did those things!

By evening and after another sched call it's clear we are going to be here for another night, but we are all coping with the close confines remarkably well and Denise's cooking is marvellous!

A LIFT AND AN EVACUATION
13 Nov, 04 - 00:18    GPS-pos: S80°51' | W081°45' | Alt: 0 M

Yesterday morning we received news that Devon, 17nm ahead of us with Stewart and Linda, had cut his hand. The extent of the injury wasn't know but from what he said it didn't sound good and sounded as if he would have to be evacuated. There was much calling back and forth between Devon's group, Northwinds who's expedition he was leading, ALE and ourselves. It was agreed that if he had to pull out, his two clients, Stuart and Linda would join our group. This morning we got confirmation that this would be happening. Logistically, this meant that not only did Devon need to be got by ALE but also our two expeditions needed to be brought together.

Photo by Owen Jones

In the face of the medical emergency it was decided that a field team would be sent out from Patriot Hills in the Tucker Snow Cat, that they would pick us up at our position, take us on to Devon's team and evacuate Devon leaving Denise as guide for both groups. This was a real blow to us as it meant not skiing 17nms, but in the face of these unusual circumstances we had no choice. We all looked on the bright side and agreed it was a relief to be making up two of the three days we had lost by losing the tent.

At 5.30, in still complete white out conditions, the Tucker appeared out of the nothing, with Chris driving and Asti, the head guide, and Doc Martin. It was really great to see the three lads and we quickly loaded our pulks onto the big sledge behind the Tucker and clambered into the cab. Going was extremely slow as the visibility was really down to nothing and it took four hours to cover the 17nm to Devon's camp.

Once with Devon we set about erecting our tents while the doc had a good look at his injury. The verdict was that Devon had managed to miss the tendons but had cut a nerve and would definitely have to leave the expedition. This was very sad, especially for Stewart and Linda, who have of course bonded closely with their delightful and highly competent Canadian guide.

We are all determined to make them as welcome as possible within our own closely bonded unit, and I'm sure this will happen very quickly as Stewart and Linda are really great and friendly people.

So! It's been quite a day. We have decided that bad things come in threes and that we have had our batch now; first Fiona's frostbite, then losing the tent and now Devon's hand. So tomorrow things are going to look up and we are going to get on with skiing to the South Pole with our newly amalgamated team of six!

It was very strange watching the Tucker drive away into the whiteness, once again abandoning us to the isolation, but as I curl up in my sleeping bag with my hot water bottle, I'm feeling really positive about what is to come.

FIRST DAY WITH THE NEW TEAM
14 Nov, 04 - 21:28    GPS-pos: S80°58' | W081°43' | Alt: 930 M

The new living arrangement is three tents each with two people; Owen and Craig, Stewart and Linda, Denise and me. Cooking will happen in 2 tents and for breakfast and dinners Owen and Craig will split and come each to one of the other tents. This morning Craig comes over for breakfast. Eating our daily porridge is becoming my biggest torment of the day, my body wants to reject every mouthful, and it takes a huge effort of calm willpower to keep it down. Luckily each morning I also get to slice up our daily salami and I always eat a bit after the porridge to take away the taste. We each have a Ziploc plastic salami bag and we have a running book on who will lose it, Owen is the favourite.

Photo by Craig Mathieson

THE FIRST DEGREE
15 Nov, 04 - 07:30    GPS-pos: S81°08' | W081°44' | Alt: 930 M

After our first march we crossed the 81 degree line which was the cause of some cheering, but despite that today was the first day that I had a little cry. We went well for the first three marches, Linda led one, then Stewart then Denise. I was happily keeping pace as usual, daydreaming the morning away. It's weird the things your head does, tunes got stuck in there for the first march; Billy Connelly's 'If You Didner Have Your Wellies' and 'I Can See Clearly Now'. The second march I spent on my favourite street in New York, Thompson Street, wandering in and out of my favourite shops. The third march I spent with all my friends from Clipper, going through the drills for sail changes and reefing.

Photo by Owen Jones

THINGS LOOKING UP
16 Nov, 04 - 20:53    GPS-pos: S81°18' | W081°48' | Alt: 910 M

The weather is really starting to improve this morning, for which we have to thank Jaco, the Patriot Hills weatherman (obviously he makes all the weather down here). The sky is turning blue and the wind is starting to drop. I am full of positive thinking as we set off, thinking things can only be better than yesterday, but the first march plunges me straight into living hell. I am horrified, if I feel like this now, how on earth am I going to get through the rest of the day?

HOSTILE LAND
17 Nov, 04 - 07:09    GPS-POS: S81°29' | W081°51' | ALT: 940 M

Going to sleep is the nicest part of every day, but it is slightly tainted by the fact that it is always followed by waking up which is the worst part. Over breakfast Craig and I confess to each other just how hugely jittery we feel every morning before setting off. Nevertheless, this morning isn't too bad. I lead the first two marches, which is good except my navigation has gone a bit wonky today and I keep doing shallow zigzags which must infuriate everyone else. It's such a hard landscape to travel through, not just physically, but mentally.

Every march is about what trains of thought I can get onto, and if one doesn't catch me and carry me away, then the dark clouds come rolling in. When you travel in the deserts of Africa, there is always something to occupy your mind. Those deserts have endless stories to tell, you can't walk for five minutes without finding a fulcrite shaft or stone tool or a beautifully wind blown stone, but this white desert has no stories it wants to share as you pass through it. This desert doesn't even notice our passing, all sign of our journey is erased within minutes. The wind remakes the surface of this snowy waste every minute of every day.

I find that I look up at the vast expanse less and less as we move, it's too much for me to look at our path as well as walk it. Only in the evenings, before taking shelter in the tent, do I take a few minutes to forgive this lonely land it's harsh attitude to us and absorb the total splendour of one of the truly untouched places on earth.

Stewart leads a march, then Linda, then Denise and slowly the day passes. Stewart outstrips us all when he leads, and I am only just able to keep up with him by focusing on his penguin. Stewart has a small, soft toy, penguin called Opus tied to the back of his pulk and Opus and I have a deal. Opus gets rather snowy as he goes along, and when Stewart leads I have to stay close enough behind to regularly tap the snow off the little chap with my stick.

By the last march we come to a long hill, and though I have been going strong all day, it wipes me out. By the time we make camp I am totally spent, but pleased to hear we have made 10.7nm.

Each night we make a place out of a place which is no place at all. Only a few numbers on the GPS and our brief presence give any meaning to this point, tomorrow when we leave it will be reabsorbed into the white.

My chin seems no worse tonight. Stewart has some frostbite on his cheek and was given some special dressings by Doc Martin, and this morning he gave me one which seems to be doing a good job of protecting my own little blisters.

Well, off to sleep now on the side of the hill in howling winds, let's see what tomorrow brings.

A GOOD DAY
18 Nov, 04 - 21:48    GPS-pos: S81°38' | W082°07' | Alt: 0 M

On examination, the frostbite on my chin did get worse yesterday and is now blistered to the size of about an inch and a half across. Denise isn't happy about it and decides to put in a call to Doc Martin to check we are doing all the right things. I am suddenly terrified that he will say it needs to be seen or worse still that I might have to leave the trip. As she dials I gulp back fearful tears but he confirms that we are to keep it dressed and as warm and dry as possible and that it should be fine. I'm hugely relieved when she gets of the phone, but find myself unable to hold back the tears anyway and have a bit of a cry anyway.

Photo by Craig Mathieson

A new friend who is a climber down here said that lots of the books about doing South Pole trips leave out the embarrassing and stupid things and I promised him that I would try to be totally honest and put in all the ignoble details as well as everything else. So on the subject of my tears this morning, they were mostly about having a manky chin and wondering if maybe I’m going to get scarred by it, but I can't be 100% sure that some small part of my subconscious wasn't upset because the chin is not serious enough to get me rescued. So many of you have been kind enough to email us and tell us that we are brave and inspirational and it means the world to us all, but I have to admit that some mornings, like this morning, we don't feel very heroic, in fact this morning we laughed ourselves silly at how completely stupid we must be.

Nevertheless, despite my bad start, today turned into my best day yet. The strength just flowed into me and I didn't have a black patch all day. Even when I took on some extra weight in the afternoon my legs just rose to the occasion and kept on pushing. I changed my skiing technique a little today which I think really helped. I let my arms straighten a little so my sticks push out more behind me and that causes my shoulders and back to relax more.

I daydream about friends back home and some of my favourite doggy walks. I imagine I am in those woods and fields and all day I am quite content.

In the last marches I start talking to the Antarctic about the other deserts that I know. This is no doubt the madness setting in, but it's something to occupy my mind. I explain the differences and the similarities and explain how much I love deserts, and if it will just let me then I will love this one too. As I talk the wind drops and the sun shines down on us brightly; something becomes familiar and comforting in its light and our shadows on the snow. By the time we make camp, all is peace in this wildest of wild places and I feel like we have reached a temporary pact. We are all relieved at the improved conditions, not everyone has had as good a day as me. People are tired and cold and it's good to have a benevolent camp for the night. I even manage to potter about outside for a while and empty my pulk and sweep out the snow. As I look out to the distant Pirrit Hills, still the only feature in our world, I remember why I am here, for now, for tonight, the Antarctic has become the most beautiful place on earth and there is nowhere else I would rather be.

SLIP SLIDING ALONG
19 Nov, 04 - 07:01    GPS-pos: S81°50' | W082°19' | Alt: 0 M

There is of course no reason down here to assume that one good day will follow another, down here there are no such guarantees. However, on leaving the tent it would seem that my Antarctic pact is temporarily still intact and it is the most beautiful day. The snow has firmed up and flattened out to low sastrugi that are easily crossed on our skis, and as Craig says mid afternoon, travelling is almost enjoyable today. One wonderful thing today is that I have finally managed to get my Ipod semi-charged, and for two of the morning's marches I have music, it gives me a great lift.

Photo by Owen Jones

OUR 2ND DEGREE
20 Nov, 04 - 07:26    GPS-pos: S82°03' | W082°22' | Alt: 947 M

Some mornings it just seems hard to get going, this morning was one. I just faffed about ridiculously getting out of the tent, but luckily didn't hold up our departure. There is just so much to put on, all very carefully to avoid any windy gaps; and bits to pack and food to prepare. Once out of the tent though I am delighted to see that my weatherly ceasefire is still intact and all is peaceful in our big, empty world. After yesterday's journey I had excruciating knots of pain in my shoulders and back and they didn't go all evening. I feel ok first thing today, but I am terrified of getting them again as I pull. I know I have to improve my posture and pulling technique.

Photo by Craig Mathieson

I loosen and lower my harness to pull more from the hips, and spend each march focusing on the horizon ahead to keep my head up and my back straight. Antarctica is glorious today, I am starting to acclimatise. I am losing my intimidation of the task in hand and I am starting to relax into it. Of course the perfect, windless, sunny weather has everything to do with my mood and I am quite aware that that could change at any moment. The thing is, we have seen this place raging and we coped, although we had never yet known it be kind; next time it rages we will know that there is better to come, that this place can also be benevolent.

All day the snow is hard and icy and the pulks slide easily behind us. I know these dispatches should be all struggles and torments, but I’m sorry to relate I felt nothing but totally content today. I found that by listening to my music very quietly, I could still talk to people and the Ipod battery lasted through to half way through the last march. I love having it set on shuffle, randomly picking songs to play me from the 2000 in its memory, it's amazing how well its choices generally suit my mood.

At the beginning of the fifth march we hit a huge wave of snow, the hill's foot covered with the biggest sastrugi we have yet seen. We launched up the slope purposefully and clambered and hauled our way through the obstacle course. It was actually easier than some of the smaller sastrugi fields we have crossed in that the snow was so hard we could often skate over the ridges, bridging them with our skis.

The hill took a lot out of the group generally, but I began in such a good mood that I just heave-hoed up it feeling pretty chipper. I had a really nasty moment at the beginning of the last march when a sneaky sastrugi snuck up and caused me to have a really nasty ski-entangled fall. As I went down I heard a horrible cracking sound as pain seared through my right ankle and as I lay for what seemed an age in silent agony, I was convinced I had done something horrible. Everyone rushed over and Denise got my skis off, while I babbled instinctively that I was "Fine! Absolutely fine! Just give me a minute! It'll be fine!" The pain eased off and I gingerly got up and tested the foot. Basically, I have been extremely lucky, it hurt a lot for the next 20 minutes of skiing but then settled right down. And I can now say with confidence that I think it really is fine.

The last hour of skiing was absolutely glorious, we actually started to glide forwards a bit with each push. I am finally starting to get the whole skiing thing. It's such fun!

We made camp at 6.15 having finally reached our target of a 12nm day, and with relatively little effort. When I think how we tortured ourselves to complete just 6 or 7nms only a couple of weeks ago it seems like another world. I just hope and pray that the conditions hold.

This evening both the boys go to have supper with Stewart and Linda comes over to join us. Although we have spent over a week together we haven't actually had the chance to get to know our new companions very well yet, so this is a welcome opportunity. Linda is a wonderful Australian lady in her early 40s I suppose and has already impressed me with her great kindness and selflessness. I think I’m right in saying she will be the first Australian woman to the Pole when we get there, so that will be a great achievement for her. She brings a little tube of meat pate with her as a second degree treat and we have quite the feast for supper.

Well, it's 9.30, and time for bed, I can just sleep and sleep and sleep and sleep. Night y'all.

A WORLD UNDER ICE AND CLEVER DOGS
21 Nov, 04 - 07:46    GPS-pos: S82°14' | W082°25' | Alt: 0 M

Denise and I were talking tonight about whether a place like this, that has never had any indigenous people, has any kind of soul. We quickly agreed that the heart and soul of a place has little to do with its connections to mankind. But it got me thinking, you see there is a remote quality to this place that you might mistake for soullessness if you weren't passing through it so slowly. And there it is, of course we aren't passing through it, we are passing over it. This land is locked in ice, miles beneath our feet, encased forever in a tomb of ice. The hills and nanutaks that poke through so intermittently are only the tips of the highest mountains. Maybe that is why you have listen and feel so attentively to sense the character of that buried place below.

Photo by Craig Mathieson

ON AND ON...
22 Nov, 04 - 07:53    GPS-pos: S82°24' | W082°38' | Alt: 1196 M

The wind had picked up considerably when we left camp this morning, but I was still feeling positive, so braced myself. In fact I’m still on good form and the wind doesn't bother me, but once again it is a tough day for the team. We do two really strong marches first thing and make excellent progress, but then hit enormous sastrugi. The rest of the day is spent ploughing through mile upon mile of the most terrible terrain. One difficulty is that we all have different paces that we all naturally feel comfortable travelling at. In addition, there are various bodily troubles starting to inflict the group.

Photo by Craig Mathieson

Owen's skiing has really improved and his Achilles tendons are feeling a little better today, but still ache, and there are several sore blisters, all of which makes it a less than easy day. I really want everyone to be feeling fit and healthy, but in this unforgiving environment it is clear we are going to have to work for every step.

We are thankful to make evening camp and set about trying to fix ourselves up to make tomorrow nicer. The wind is really whistling round the tent as we prepare for bed and there are clouds appearing on the southeast horizon, I have a nasty feeling tomorrow is going to be far from nicer. Please be kind to us Antarctic...

ANTARCTIC WINE AND CHEESE EVENINGS
23 Nov, 04 - 22:44    GPS-pos: S82°24' | W082°38' | Alt: 0 M

As I sit in the tent this evening, sipping a mug of red wine, it occurs to me that S82 24 W082 36, Antarctica is probably just about the nicest, most beautiful place to be anywhere in the world right now, and that this has been the best day we have had in ages. It became clear to us yesterday in the course of some supplies checking that in all the rush of joining up with Stuart and Linda, we were a little light on food to have a good safety margin. We radioed this info into Patriot Hills last night and they said it wouldn't be a problem to do an air drop to us at some point when the otter went over to the cache at Thiel and that we should call back in the morning.

Photo by Craig Mathieson

This morning we woke up in full action mode and started packing up camp, braced for a cold and windy day of marching. However, when Denise made the call to Patriot Hills we were told that the drop might well happen today after lunch and that they could tell us for certain later. Denise with extreme good sense made the very sensible decision to sit tight for a few hours until we knew what was going to happen. The trouble is that once we pack up camp we are much harder to spot from the air and we might find ourselves pitching tents again after only a couple of hours marching.

Unable to waste fuel keeping warm we all returned to our cosy sleeping bags for blissful dozing. I can't begin to tell you how lovely it was to lie in the warm and listen to that cruel wind whipping at the tent.

Denise and I spent the morning chatting like two cocoons. We poured over the map and played with our course on the GPSs, then later started to get creative. I adapted some boot over-gaiters that Fiona gave me before she left, to fit onto my rather larger boots, while Denise made a squashy foam doughnut to go around the painful pressure point on her heel.

At some point, as the wind started to drop and the sun started to shine, we started to laugh and it feels like we have been laughing ourselves sideways all day. It began with the formal naming of our snow brush, Mr Somers, which is now clearly written on it in permanent marker, this is in homage to a person who takes snow brushes very seriously. Then we decided that probably what we needed was a bit of loving attention from our favourite Antarctic doctor, Doc Martin, so we sewed a pair of black rubber insoles to either side of my hat like elephant ears and sent him a picture via email to ask if he thought the blackness on my ears was caused by frostbite? At this point we laughed so long and so hard that tears flowed helplessly down our faces and our chests hurt. I guess we've just been out here in this tent a little too long now, I mean, even farts are funny for goodness sake!

We got the call that the plane would be here at 3.30 and would try to land, which we weren't sure about considering the big sastrugi, but were delighted they would try. We all clambered out of the tents and set to work making ourselves as visible as possible. We set all our skis in the snow round camp with stuff sacks tied to the tops as wind socks, and built big cairns of snow blocks to stand out against the sastrugi. It was becoming the most beautiful clear day.

At 3.30, we heard the sound of the Twin Otter and scrambled outside to see the wonderful red and white airplane making its first low sweep over us. It circled round and made another low pass before finally making its approach. We held our breath as it floated down over the rough surface, but like the true pro he is pilot Troy gently placed her onto the ground and, with little more than a few bumps and shudders, brought her smoothly to a stop right beside camp. It was a wonderful display of flying prowess.

The door of the plane opened as we moved forward and the best surprise of the day stepped out, Doc Martin himself, here to check us all out. We all exclaimed our delight and there was much happy hugging and greeting. While the others exchanged our garbage and surplus bits and pieces for the food delivery, Martin and I went into the plane for him to check out my chin. "You know I only let it get cold, because I wanted some special Dr Martin attention, don't you?" I tell him grinning. You will all be pleased to hear that Martin was delighted by how well the frostbite is doing and, replacing the dressing, told me to keep on keeping it warm and all should be well. So, no worries there.

It was so lovely to see Martin and Troy, Greg and Jason it felt like a big holiday celebration and I know we were all sad to watch them climb back into the Otter and wave goodbye out of the tiny windows as they taxied away. The Otter powered up and skied away with enormous pep over the snow, leaving the ground almost immediately it seemed. I am so in love with these terrific, gutsy little planes, the sound and sight of them keeps making me grin from ear to ear.

Sorting out the new food supplies we found a couple of surprise extras, some of Ronnie's wonderful home baked ginger cake and a carton of red wine. I have it on reliable authority that Fran and Devon had a hand in this and I just want to say, thank you so much, you are the most wonderful people in the world!

With the wind dropped to nothing and the sun bright and warm, everyone came over and snuggled into our tent for an early evening mug of wine and some cheese and crackers. Everything felt good and comfortable, we laughed and swapped stories, while Denise made water for us all and I sewed the boys a couple of my newly patented cat-style face masks.

Tonight, we felt really together and bonded and ready for anything the Antarctic is going to throw at us. Tomorrow I know we will wake refreshed and raring to go.

THE COLOUR BLUE
24 Nov, 04 - 07:36    GPS-pos: S82°37' | W082°49' | Alt: 1224 M

This place is just getting more and more beautiful by the day, but it is difficult for me to describe why, because nothing has particularly changed. Perhaps it is just because we are becoming more at ease with our surroundings. A week ago I couldn't look about me as we were travelling, now all I can do is gaze and gaze at the endless expanse. The sun is shining through the cloud onto the ice in silver strips, and sometimes we ski in the grey shadows, longing for the sunlight and then, sometimes, it comes and swallows us into it's warmth and we pull down our hoods and open our coats and the snow sparkles about us like a gift.

Photo by Craig Mathieson

MY FAVOURITE THINGS
25 Nov, 04 - 07:28    GPS-pos: S82°50' | W083°01' | Alt: 1224 M

We have become total creatures of routine and habit, but the good thing about that is that there are always things to look forward to each day. My favourite things are. 1. Waking up in the early hours thinking it's time to get up and then checking my watch and realising I can go back to sleep. 2. Stepping out of the tent and seeing glorious Antarctica for the first time each morning. 3. The third stop of the day when I eat all my salami at once for lunch.

4. Denise's home made fudge, which I am only allowed to eat my daily ration of in the last break of the day.

5. Taking my boots off at the end of the day and all the frozen face gear, and lying back on my Thermarest for two minutes before doing anything else.

6. The half hour of complete silence that Denise and I always fall into when we first get into the tent and do all our chores.

7. The raucous laughter that invariably follows the silence.

8. The first hot mug of Zuko.

9. Checking for emails, and reading messages from friends.

10. Checking the GPS and marking our progress onto the map.

11. Listening to Denise making the 8.45 sched call to Jason, and sometimes hearing his tiny voice from the phone, and thinking about all our wonderful friends in PH who are working to look after us.

12. My hot water bottle in my sleeping bag, and the sound of the wind on the tent as I go to sleep.

We trucked on another 12.8nms today, tomorrow we will get our 3rd degree, all being well.

Short one tonight, cold fingers!

ACHING BEHIND
26 Nov, 04 - 07:29    GPS-pos: S83°02' | W083°08' | Alt: 1281 M

Today began with a snowball fight, which is never a bad thing. Stuart started throwing snowballs at Owen while we were waiting for him at the beginning of the first march, so we all started throwing snowballs at Stuart and there was five minutes of mayhem. I thought this bit of fun would set up the day for me, but oddly, for the first time in ages I feel right off form. My goggles keep freezing over, even though I’m not too hot, which is the usual cause, and I’m not sure what to do about it. There is nothing more distressing than skiing across this ground half blinded by ice, you are constantly misreading the surface or losing your footing and it quickly takes it out of you.

CLOUD ROAD
27 Nov, 04 - 07:32    GPS-pos: S83°16' | W083°27' | Alt: 0 M

Oh, beautiful, beautiful place. The terrain is the same day after day and it's hard to get any true perspective about the size of the place you are travelling through. But some days the sky explodes into life and leads your eyes away across the miles. Today a high thin layer of cotton wool cloud mottled the blue sky like the spotted belly of a fish. It stretched like a gigantic highway away over our heads, and all day beckoned us forward like a pilgrim's road. Everything in our days is about rhythm. From the moment we wake and begin our routine to move, we fall into it. The beating in our chests, the push, push of our skis hour after hour, the regularity of our breaks the regimentation of our actions.

And all of it is totally dictated by the rhythm of the place we are passing across, a great, subtle, but utterly steady and unmistakable Antarctic pulse. To whatever extent we are truly aware of it, our senses are full of nothing else. White in our vision, cold to touch, the wind in our ears and the taste and the smell as we move of water. This is the driest place on earth and yet each night, each morning, we make water of this world; we walk each day over water. wild animals would run here and there driven crazy with thirst by the smell of water.

It's a good day for me. The cloud road makes me happy and although my pulled muscle starts to ache at lunchtime I take some Nurofen and don't feel it again. We cruise along over the blessedly smooth surface and although we hold back a lot for our slowest team members we still manage to crack on 13.1nm.

The distance tells on us and Denise and I soon empty our tent after supper and wearily climb into our sleeping bags.

OWEN
28 Nov, 04 - 07:30    GPS-pos: S83°17' | W083°26' | Alt: 0 M

What an unsettling day we have had. We set off full of positive energy all ready to do some serious mileage. But half way through the first march it became clear that Owen was in trouble. From over a week now he has been suffering more and more with acute chronic pain in his Achilles tendons. We have been taking weight from his pulk to try and help him and he has been taking Nurofen and struggling on with admirable fortitude, but today he seemed much worse. For the last half hour of the march we clipped his pulk onto the back of mine and let him ski without any load to see if it would help, but in fact his ankles hurt just as much regardless.

GONDWANA
29 Nov, 04 - 07:38    GPS-pos: S83°31' | W083°24' | Alt: 0 M

The day started with a new addition to the team. A week or so ago, Linda asked us all to donate fabric to her, I gave a hanky, Denise the lining of a glove, some old socks went in, that sort of stuff. Her intention was to make a pulk mascot to ride with her like Opus. Well, this morning we were all introduced to Gondwana the Antarctica pulk creature and she is absolutely wonderful. Gondwana is the land that joins us all, as Linda puts it, the land that joined Australia to Antarctica to South America, and our Gondwana is the wisest looking little person you can possibly imagine and I am convinced that she is the bringer of good luck that we have been in need of. For the first time since we all joined forces, we pulled out of camp at 9am on the dot and Owen, with no weight in his pulk and drugged up to the eyeballs on painkillers cruised through the day with ease.

SUN DOGS
30 Nov, 04 - 20:06    GPS-pos: S83°44' | W083°43' | Alt: 0 M

We woke to an extraordinary spectacle, sun dogs. This phenomenon occurs when there is a lot of moisture in the air and it appears that there are multiple suns. This morning there we two bright ones on either side of the true sun and a vast white circle going out through them, 360 degrees round the sky; at every 90 degrees was another, paler sun dog and in the centre of the ring was a beautiful, crescent rainbow. It was a wonderful sight. Unfortunately these kind of displays are often a signal of bad weather on the way and by the time we had packed up camp thick low cloud had rolled in from the east and enveloped us in its dull, grey embrace.

The light went totally flat and all contrast disappeared and within 20 minutes we were plunged back into one of those terrible Antarctic white outs. The positive side was that there wasn't a breath of wind and it was quite warm skiing, but aside from that the day grew more unpleasant by the hour.

Even the smallest sastrugi are treacherous in these conditions, because you simply can't see them. Every few paces your ankle turns over in a rut or your foot slides away from you unexpectedly. You can't even see the really big sastrugi, you can ski straight into, or straight off obstacles several feet high and know nothing about it before impact. Worse still, you can't judge the line you are travelling for pulk suitability and time and time again our pulks would slide off sideways behind us into huge holes, sometimes flipping right over on their backs, leaving us tugging desperately on our traces and man-handling them through. It is the most exhausting way to travel both physically and emotionally.

"It's like being in a glass of milk." Says Denise during one of the breaks. She is standing out in front of us and looks for all the world as though she is floating in mid air, white, nothing. She is right, all your senses are attacked by the lack of anything to grasp. You have no idea of direction, gradient or distance and at times I even feel a spell of strange dizziness where I’m not even sure which way is up.

My tailbone and hips are horribly sore after yesterday's fall and within half an hour of stumbling progress I thoroughly re-pull the muscle in my backside. I take Nurofen and later some of Owen's supply of Codeine, but slowly, march by march my day deteriorates into a nightmare. With every bump my right foot founders and pain sears through my upper thigh into my buttock, and my coccyx and pelvis ache right through me as though into my stomach. At each stop I lie down on my pulk and focus on getting myself together for the next horrible march. By march four Stuart and Linda take some weight from my pulk and at the beginning of march six so does Owen, which is very sweet. I find it so difficult to give away weight. I think nothing of taking it from others, but to accept that sometimes I might be the one in need of help eats me alive. I guess that is the thing about working in a team that I will learn in this place; I can't always be invincible. At the last stop, for the third time on this brutal, beautiful continent, tears of pain and frustration roll silently down inside my goggles and freeze to my cheeks. It is a very difficult day.

We make camp and I draw huge, restorative comfort from the opportunity to stop and lie down on my thermarest in the tent with a hot mug of pineapple Zuko (the best flavour!). I rub on Arnica, eat a good supper and am now tucked up in my sleeping bag full of optimistic confidence that a good night's sleep will sort me out for tomorrow.

Tonight's universal question is... How come the socks I've been wearing for 26 days now don't smell?

Last night I took as much positive action as I could with regard to my injuries. I stretched my muscles thoroughly and massaged arnica into the painful areas (yes, my bum, ha ha) and went to sleep concentrating on the image of waking up feeling recovered. Miraculously this all had the desired effect and I woke up feeling vastly improved. I could still feel all the bruising but the pulled muscle was in temporary remission and I was moving without pain. I set about the day resolved to be ultra careful and not to do anything silly to aggravate anything. Denise and I have already decided that I should stop falling over now, however stylishly, so that's good. I was also resolved today to really contribute to the day's effort. I felt so useless yesterday hobbling along behind, it was the first day of the whole expedition where I hadn't helped with the leading and navigation and I felt terrible to see how tired Denise was after a day with only Craig helping her.

Photo by Owen Jones

Today was going to be different, I was going to be cheerful and helpful and nothing was going to hurt.

I am constantly amazed out here by the power of positive thought. Everything hangs totally on your state of mind. Owen is a great example, ever since his near departure a few days ago, his whole attitude has changed completely. He has become this unrecognisably driven and positive force and, although he was always charming and polite, he is now bending over backwards to help with all aspects of making the team work and every day he seems happier and more confident, which is just great.

In my own case today's positive thinking also brings me powering through. There is still no contrast and the treacherously uneven ground at our feet is still invisible, but as the morning goes on my confidence returns. I still hurt, but not anything like yesterday and most important of all I don't make anything worse.

It is only 15.3nm to 84 degrees today and we are all fiercely determined to put in whatever extra effort is required to get there. We really want to camp right on S84 W84 on the confluence of the 84 lines of latitude and longitude. For about half the day it looks as though we might make it. Despite the poor contrast we do actually have a horizon to look at, which is enormously helpful, and during my march 5 a black hill appears to the southwest of us, which is a terrific boost, but by the end of march 6 we are still 3nm from our goal and decide to make camp.

Now, before I go to sleep, a couple of things to clear up. It has been suggested by a few of you via email that perhaps Gondwana, our spirit of Antarctica, lucky pulk mascot, isn't as lucky as I made out, because the day she made her appearance was the day I took my nasty tumble. Well, I'm just not having it, I won't hear a word said against Gondwana. It was her first day on the job and she was learning the ropes, it's not her fault if I go throwing in a sneaky falling over episode while she's still trying to get her newly sewn head around all her new responsibilities. So, enough getting at the pulk person you lot, she's doing her best in very challenging circumstances.

The other thing is apparently I’ve barely mentioned Stuart, which is terrible because he makes me laugh every day, but is probably down to the fact that he hasn't dazzled me with a needlework project yet. Stuart is an absolute delight. I guess in his early 40s, he is a tall, lean Texan with the most wonderful southern drawl. He has the driest sense of humour of any American I have ever met and didn't vote for Bush, so he's immediately in my good books. He is strong and quiet and utterly unfazed by anything that comes at him. We wouldn't be without him and Opus on the team for anything in the world.

Tonight's cosmic question... Why are we getting brown faces when we are permanently encased in full face masks? So many unsolved mysteries!

Goodnight y'all!

CANVAS
2 Dec, 04 - 07:34    GPS-pos: S84°11' | W084°23' | Alt: 1455 M

We woke to the unmistakable light of sunshine on the tent, and looking out with relief we saw the contrast returned to our world. We were so excited to get out skiing in the vastly improved conditions that we were ready to go in record time. Towards the end of a rather long first march up a hill, Denise, bent over her GPS in concentration, lead us carefully to our specially selected break spot, the confluence of exactly 84 degrees latitude by 84 degrees longitude, and we sat in the sun, munching our chocolate, feeling rather pleased with ourselves.

Photo by Stuart Smith

SUN SHADOW
3 Dec, 04 - 06:58    GPS-pos: S84°25' | W084°46' | Alt: 0 M

Without particularly planning it we have fallen into a pattern of leading marches. My march is always number five, which I like because it is currently the penultimate march and after the next one we will be home. I nearly always begin at 3.20 and finish at 4.35, we are GMT -4, so as those of you in England are sitting down to your suppers at 7.20 each night, you can imagine me stepping out before my friends to pick my way through the next 2.5nms of sastrugi strewn snow. The nice thing about keeping the same march is that navigation is very easy.

When the sun is out we navigate with our shadow, my shadow is the 10.30 to 10ish shadow. The sun shadow moves round 15 degrees every hour, so it is easy to be accurate. As I start my march, if I can go fairly straight, as I step forward the shadow of my right ski pole always falls just in front of my left ski, then as the march continues I gradually let it slip back until it crosses the ski tip.

There is a comforting order in dividing the day between the team, by looking at the leader you always know where you are. The best march of all is Stuart's at the end of the day. At about 6.05pm, he begins to swing his head to and fro, and then veers off course one way or the other to bring us to rest at some flattish piece of ground. I love to see his head start to swing about like that.

It was fantastically windy and cold again today and tonight we are all very tired, but poring over the map there is a buzz about how close we are to Thiel. Four more days and we will be there.

We hope you are all impressed by the fantastically straight line we have made so far. Denise is very proud of it.

A FIRST GLIMPSE
4 Dec, 04 - 07:21    GPS-pos: S84°41' | W085°20' | Alt: 0 M

Today began with me discovering white stuff on my wind-pants that, strangely, wasn't snow. I had a vague idea that maybe it was spilled and dried sauce from last night's pasta supper and for some reason, in my sleepy early morning state, I licked it to find out.... anti-fungal foot powder! Seriously unpleasant, impossible to rid your mouth of and not at all as funny as Craig and Denise seemed to think! Despite the questionable start it turned into the most wonderful day. The wind dropped again and the sun came out and we found ourselves skiing along over small, crisp, hard sastrugi.

Photo by Owen Jones

Yesterday a hill appeared in the east, which was very exciting, but today during the fourth march as we gained the top of one of the many big undulations we cross each day, we caught our first glimpse of Thiel. It was wonderful. For the first time our journey took on some tangible, geographic meaning. We have been travelling across basically identical terrain for so long that any sense of place or movement had become almost irrelevant, we could have been on a treadmill. But now, all of a sudden, we can see our destination. We are going somewhere, and that somewhere is right over there to the southwest of us. The mountains, rising like film set cut outs on the flat horizon are still 40nms away, but it gives us such a boost and we set out towards them with vigour and purpose. It should take us another three days to get to the resupply cache, but in our enthusiasm we put on an extra turn of speed, add an extra march to the end of the day and cover a monster 17 nautical miles. As we settle into camp tonight we note that we are only 33nms away and if the weather holds we will make it in two days.

Tonight everyone is talking about food. Everyone seems plagued by insatiable hunger, everyone that is except me. I still seem to be coasting along nicely on my steadily depleting body reserves. My clothes are starting to hang off me, but I gained plenty of weight before coming down here and it seems to have paid off. Now we are so close to resupply, I sort out all the lunch food that I'm not going to manage to eat and I share it out amongst my ravenous companions, who are delighted. Hopefully my own hunger torment won't kick in before Thiel.

On a final, slightly smug note, I would just like to say that Denise, who has been skiing since she was five, has fallen over no less than three times in the last two days, and I (usually the queen of the Antarctic tumble), not once! Hope I haven't jinxed myself now by bragging!

TRUCKING
5 Dec, 04 - 07:25    GPS-pos: S84°58' | W086°22' | Alt: 0 M

And then some days, something happens, that makes you remember that you are in one of the most extraordinary and beautiful places on earth and that you are the luckiest person alive to be seeing it. We set off as usual this morning towards the tiny distant mountains, pleased to have them to navigate towards. The sky was still clear and, although pretty cold, travelling was fairly stress free. We found ourselves heading into vast, gentle undulations so the mountains rose and fell out of sight all day. But on my march five, after a particularly long and arduous climb, I led out over the crest of the hill and it was as though the Thiel Mountains had leapt towards us.

Photo by Craig Mathieson

As I skied forward onto the icy downhill slope the blue-black, snowy mountains leapt into relief before us and one great arm of their hills appeared stretching up beside us. Suddenly our world was full of feature and perspective and, after gasping and pausing with surprise and pleasure, I whooped with joy as I pushed off down the slope towards the exciting new world. In fact by the end of the day the Thiel are still 16nms and a day's travel away (another season mileage record set today with 17.3nms), but they seem so close now, that we are in almost celebratory spirits.

I was pleased with myself today also because I managed not to exhaust everyone on my march. Last night Denise gave me a bit of a ticking off.
"You just go too fast! You're going to burn us all out. What on earth gets into you? It's like you get lead joy and go galloping off." I immediately know why it is and feel a bit embarrassed, sheepishly I explain.
"Every march I lead I'm a sled dog. You said you love it when lead dogs see something on the horizon and fix on it and go for it, well it stuck in my head and when I lead I'm a sled dog." Denise looks at me with bemusement
"Oh good grief!" She says. "You can't be a sled dog any more, you're going to kill us."
"But what shall I be?" I wail.
"A truck!" She says triumphantly, "A big, 4-wheel drive truck. Slower, but unstoppable."
At the beginning of my march I set my jaw determinedly and announce to myself and the world at large, "I'm a truck!" And with a loud brrrum brrruming I steadily set off leaving Denise helpless with giggles and everyone else looking a bit confused. All through the march whenever I get a bit too quick I sternly remind myself "I'm a truck!" And at the next break, 75 minutes later, I happily inform Denise, "I'm a truck. Trucks think quite differently to sled dogs you know."
"Thank goodness for that!" She says with a relieved grin.

OWEN LEAVES
6 Dec, 04 - 07:22    GPS-pos: S85°12' | W087°53' | Alt: 1566 M

Last night Owen told us that he had decided to leave the expedition at Thiel. His ankles are still giving him trouble and although they are bearable when he takes painkillers he doesn't what to spend the next month dosed up to the eyeballs on Nurofen and codeine 10 hours a day and potentially do more lasting damage. We were very sad, but we know it is a decision he has come to carefully over a long period and we fully respect it. This just wasn't Owen's trip. Nevertheless, he has achieved an extraordinary thing simply by getting this far and we are all very proud of him. So this morning we set out towards the mountains, 16nms to our resupply, on what would be Owen's last day skiing. The wind was blowing hard from the south and we all bent ourselves into it with determination.

Photo by Craig Mathieson

I can't tell you if we were really going up hill all day, but boy it felt like you were. When they wind is hitting you so hard it's like adding 30lbs to your pulk and every step seems harder. The other strange thing about the wind is that it noisily seals you into your cocoon of face masks and neck tubes and hats and hoods so it's pretty much impossible to speak to anyone. All day I feel like I'm pushing myself forwards with my batteries close to flat. The mountains grow painfully slowly, but I find my mind unshakably stoical these days and I move on automatic pilot. Even coping with my weariness I still can't help but wonder at the beauty of the scene before us as we ski. The black scored mountains lifting out of the white, snow plain and the rich blue sky neatly combed with waves of cloud as fine as cotton fibre.

At the end of our 1st break Stuart suddenly asks, "Hey, how far are we from 85 degrees." We are so focussed on getting to Thiel today that we have completely forgotten our next degree. Denise checks and with exclamations of delight we realise that we have in fact been stopped on exactly 85. We allow ourselves a short moment of satisfaction, we are exactly halfway, as the crow flies we have travelled 300 nautical miles.

At our 4th break Denise calls into Patriot Hills to get news of flights coming into Thiel and we are amazed to be told that both Otters are currently at Thiel refuelling on their way to the Pole with clients. We are amazed that the planes have come in without us seeing them, the strip is only seven miles away and right in front of us. We estimate that we will be there by about 7pm and Jason tells us that one of the planes will collect Owen on its return some time after that.

As we enter the last march we are all keenly scouring the mountain edged plain for a first glimpse of the airstrip and resupply. Denise and I ski up front with our GPSs out, watching the numbers decrease as we approach the waypoint, but still unable to see anything. At a distance of less than half a mile we suddenly make out a cluster of small black dots and we pick up speed in excitement. Soon we can make out the fuel drums for the planes and our own plastic barrels of supplies marked with a flag. In the last few hundred metres the others come up beside us and we ski, six abreast into the cache and pull up with whoops of triumph. It is actually much more emotional and exciting than I had expected. We all hug each other, feeling quite overwhelmed. This point has seemed so far away and ridiculously unattainable for so long and now we are here. And now that we are here, the journey suddenly has some perspective, it hasn't been so bad. I've never yet really thought about the journey as a whole, the Pole itself was a pipe dream, but at the beginning even the task we faced getting to Thiel seemed a thing so huge that it was without boundaries in my mind. In getting here I feel like we've tamed the beast and the prospect of covering the same distance again to the Pole seems big but quite attainable.

Denise checks on the plane with PH and we are told that it will be here within the hour. We fling up our tents and rush to sort out all of Owen's gear. He generously offers us any of his equipment that we might need and I gratefully take his resupply vapour barrier socks. Mine disintegrated a few weeks ago and I have missed them desperately. There are 15 minutes of being ready and waiting and then we hear the unmistakable sound of the Twin coming in to land over the mountains. We are camped right next to the airstrip and the wonderful little plane puts down nimbly and taxis round to the fuel cache behind us. The plane is empty but for it's crew this one was dropping fuel at the Pole and also Ronnie with his client Sharifa who are kiting back to Patriot from the Pole. The crew fuel up the plane and we load all Owen's gear into the cabin and before we know it we are saying goodbye and watching Owen himself climb on board. We watch and wave as the plane taxis away, blasting the tents with the wind of its propellers, and quickly takes off and, just like that, Owen is gone.

We decide to sort out the resupply gear tomorrow and head into the warm tents to start making supper. We are just starting to settle down when we hear the sound of the second Twin coming in to land and refuel. We bundle out of the tents once more to welcome it, knowing that this plane has South Pole flight clients on board and will therefore also be carrying one or two of our friends from PH and I have a strong feeling about who it might be. As the door opens and people start to spill out, I see a familiar figure and launch myself towards it, delighted that my happy hunch was right, and am greeted by an big hug from our favourite doc, Martin. There is much amusement about how he has to stop visiting us like this. We are also delighted to see Asty, who is along as guide to the clients, and we hurriedly catch up on all their news as the plane is refuelled. The clients are all really friendly and pleased to meet us too, and grill us with questions about what it is like to out here travelling for so long. We feel a bit like celebrities, which is something mightily far removed from our usual state, and it's fun but rather odd to have everyone so fascinated by what we are doing. We have been so utterly focussed on simply getting on and surviving in this environment that we have lost sight of the bigger thing that we are trying to achieve. Being out here has simply become my way of life now, it takes these good people's interest and amazement to remind me how extreme it is. All too quickly, it's time for the Twin Otter and our lovely guests to be on their way. We sadly say our goodbyes, hugging Asty and the Doc. I'm fairly certain that this really is the last time we will be seeing Martin, as he is due to swap out with another doctor and head back to Christmas with his family in England fairly soon, but experience shows that with our Doc Martin (or Doctor Compeed as he is fondly known in our gang) you never do know when he might pop up.

As he gets on the plane Asty calls out that Denise and I really shouldn't worry about the being single thing, which makes us laugh our heads off. I completely forget that people actually read these dispatches. And as the plane takes off we both agree that we almost got our wish, two gorgeous men at least came to visit us at resupply, so that can't be bad!

A WONDERFUL DAY OFF
7 Dec, 04 - 07:41    GPS-pos: S85°12' | W087°53' | Alt: 1566 M

Woke up as usual at 6.45, and then had the wonderful satisfaction of rolling over and going back to sleep. No skiing today, today is all about rest and recuperation. At about 10 I wake up again as Denise makes herself a coffee and the good smell fills the tent. We prop ourselves up in our sleeping bags and spend a good hour just chewing over the fat. We do have stuff to do today but there is no great rush, we have plenty of time to relax and chill out too. I now have quite a collection of socks and other scraps which I have been saving to make silly puppets and this morning, still not out of my sleeping bag I dig them out to start work.

However, as the morning progresses the bits and pieces begin to turn not into puppets, but into yet another pulk creature. By lunchtime there is an unmistakable canine presence emerging and by early afternoon, Zuko the Pulk Pooch was complete.

A friend of Denise's does a eat range a dehydrated meals and Denise brought four along and put them in resupply. As a result last night we had the most amazing coconut milk and shrimp curry and today Stuart and Linda came over for a wonderful vegetable chilli couscous lunch. There is still a great looking lamb curry which I think we will save for Christmas.

After lunch we sorted out our resupply barrels. There is a mass of food because between us we have all the extra food for Fiona, Owen and Devon. We pack one whole barrel back up with food to go back to camp that we simply don't need now. There are lots of little treats and surprises that we tuck into as we work, like a bag of beef jerky and some fizzy chewy gums in Devon's stash, and a big bag of sugar coated almonds that we bought in Punta. Sorting out our lunch food is the funniest because, Craig, Denise and I just empty everything out into the tent and render ourselves all but helpless waist deep in chocolate bars. It's very funny.

We have been offered the opportunity of getting a second resupply down at 87 degrees, an opportunity we all happily jumped at, we are all committed to enjoying this journey as much as possible and don't feel at all precious about making our lives a bit easier if we get the chance. As a result we are going to be travelling fairly light for the run into the Pole and we are all really looking forward to it as a result.

By the time everything is done we are quite tired, but pleased with our efforts. And Denise and I reclaim our tent for the big treat of our day, a proper wash. We boil up some water and by pouring some into zip lock bag basins with our wash cloths we manage quite an effective job. It's curious looking at my body, which no longer looks like my own. My muscles are toned and hard, but my skin is rough and terribly dry. If I could have one unnecessary luxury today it would be a great big tub of cocoa butter!

After the bath we make another special supper, this time delicious vegetable and tomato polenta. Linda gives it a miss in favour of an early night, but Stuart and Craig come over and after the feast we lie in the tent like well fed seals, utterly content and rested and ready for action in the morning. Tomorrow we will set off for the South Pole.

LEAVING THIEL FOR THE POLE
8 Dec, 04 - 07:23    GPS-pos: S85°25' | W087°53' | Alt: 0 M

Denise has pointed out that I probably caused enormous offence back at PH with yesterday's dispatch, so I must start today's with an apology. We were of course visited by lots of gorgeous men the day before yesterday, not just the two. Gorgeous Otter crews! Gorgeous clients! Everyone gorgeous! However, Asty and Martin Compeed still outshine the rest because, I also forgot to mention that when we unpacked our resupply there was wonderful post from them. Asty - thanks for your comforting and encouraging words, Doc - Thanks for the pin-up boy, he goes up in the tent every night, we like our men stripy. So, now to begin today's dispatch proper. At 6.45 this morning the rest was over and it was back to business as usual. We packed up super fast and were pushing out over the ice, away from the cache and airstrip by 8.55am.

GOODBYE THIEL
9 Dec, 04 - 07:28    GPS-pos: S85°39' | W086°42' | Alt: 1580 M

We woke to another beautiful day and recommenced our battle through the big sastrugi out around the end of the mountains. It is spectacularly beautiful and I am really going to be sad to leave this black, rocky range behind us. By the end of the day we will be back on the white open plain with Thiel growing smaller behind us until they disappear and the next thing we see that will be anything after that will be the South Pole station on the horizon in about four weeks time. It takes four marches to be out of the mountain related undulations and onto the level, but by the time I lead off with my march we are speeding along over good ground. However, the pleasure is short lived. Steadily through my march low cloud rolls in from the north west, draining the day of light, and as smoothly as a dimmer switch being turned the contrast slowly disappears and delivers us straight back into our glass of milk. As I pull up at the last rest stop, the ground has become completely invisible, I turn to Stuart, beaming, "Over to you then love!" I say with delight. He grimaces in disgust. "Yeah, right, thanks!" he replies.

Thankfully we are out of the bad sastrugi now and the ground isn't too bad, but for the last march we stumble along nose to tail, cautiously feeling our way. As Stuart says, in these conditions the leader is just there to fall in the holes, so that everyone else can try to go round them. It really isn't much fun. Still we press on until we have made 15nms then call it a day.

Even making camp becomes hard in this flat light as you can't see where the level ground is to put the tent. We spend ages feeling about with our skis, then mark the spot with our poles so as not to lose it while we fetch the tent. Everything takes longer.

By the time we get in the tent I am really tired and more interested in sleep than in even the prospect of supper, so, my dear ones, it's a miracle I've written even this much... Night night x

THE SEWING KIT
10 Dec, 04 - 07:25    GPS-pos: S85°54' | W086°51' | Alt: 0 M

I'm sure at some point it used to feel like we had lots of time in the tent, but now it just flies by, and the time between waking up and setting off is efficient but packed. The most relaxing time is just now, when everyone leaves our tent and I can crawl into my sleeping bag and write for half an hour. This morning began with a huge bout of utterly disabling laughter that continued to flare up for the rest of the day. Denise and I both have little vertical zipped breast pockets on our middle clothing layers that are just perfectly handy for those small important items that you regularly need for those vital and sometimes unforeseen eventualities.

For example, this morning when we were discussing this very thing Denise demonstrated that it is where she keeps her knife and her lighter and I demonstrated that it is where I keep...... a small sewing kit! We almost split our sides thinking up emergency situations where I would come to the rescue with my sewing kit. Later I say to Stuart, "Hey, did you hear us laughing in the tent?" He looks at me quizzically for a moment "Every day." He says. Shaking his head like we are mad people. "Every day!"

We spent a long time last night poring over the map and looking at past expedition notes and we had a nasty feeling that we had skied right into a dodgy crevasse area. Sure enough this morning, with the milky fug thankfully lifted, we can see ice hills to our west and odd bumps and shadows all around us. We don't like the look of it at all and decide to proceed with utmost caution. Denise prepares to set off leading, as she always does first thing, and as she goes I call out cheerily, "Yep, you go first, we'll all be right here behind you!" She gives me a 'Gee, thanks!' kind of look, then pauses and says, "Ok then... Do have the sewing kit ready?" I nod. "Lets go then."

In fact we find a path straight through all the ominous looking ice without even deviating much from our southern course, but most of the first four marches lead us up and down a series of tiring hills over icy sastrugi.

Denise actually falls over twice today, next to my once, and the second time I call out with concern. “Should I get the sewing kit perhaps? Would that help?”

Despite the day's stitching related laughter levels, it doesn't keep me from re-pulling the muscle and having a difficult last two marches. It's getting to be really annoying, just when I think it's all ok, it starts to hurt again. By the end of my march five I am feeling pretty weary, but I have a wonderful treat about to cheer me up. It is my darling dad's birthday today, and all day I'd been keeping my phone battery warm in an inside pocket so that I could call him at this stop. It was absolutely wonderful to hear his voice and we were both very excited to be talking to each other like this. I also got to speak to my dog Gobo and reassure him that Zuko is not any kind of substitute. Apparently he just stared at the phone with a slightly confused look on his face.

Buoyed up by the lovely phone call the last march flew past and we pulled up 15.1nms on from last night.

At 7.30 I did an interview over the phone with a World Service program called The World, which was great fun. I think it is going to be aired next Tuesday 14th at 3pm Eastern US time, but I will let you know for sure when I have the details.

Well that's pretty much it from the big white for today, as my eyes grow heavy, the sun is shining brightly on the tent and the wind is playing only softly round us and, as I do every night, I make a polite request to the great Antarctic spirits that things should stay that way for tomorrow.

A HIGH PLACE
11 Dec, 04 - 07:31    GPS-pos: S86°10' | W086°57' | Alt: 0 M

To one extent or another we fill our days with sound, there is no silence for us on this journey. Even on days like today when the restless wind relaxes away to nothing and the sun beats down on us so we strip to our lightest layers to ski, even on these still days there is sound. Sometimes we impose it with intensity and purpose by blasting our private bubbles with music from our Ipods and mini discs, but even when you choose the quieter option of being alone with you whirling thoughts, there is still sound. All day we are accompanied by the rushing of our pulks sliding behind us, the bumps and thumps of them crossing the sastrugi, the soft scrunching of our skis biting into the ground at each step and the creaking of our pole points levering us through the snow.

But beyond this bubble of sound around us, beneath the mithering wind, there is a great and ancient silence. The silence of things undisturbed for billions of years, the silence of things frozen, the silence of a buried land. Our noise has no relevance to this old quiet, our passing has no impact on it, holds no meaning and I ask myself yet again the questions that have hounded me for over a year; been asked of me by everyone I know; the questions to which I have never yet had the right answer although I have worried at them these past 37 days. Why am I doing this? Why is it important? What is the purpose of this journey?

Today, for what seems the first time, we come up onto an open plain, free of undulations and nanutaks. The horizon bends around us with the curving earth, apparently as far away as it is possible to see, and the sky, blue and mottled with childlike waves of little cloud, seems unfathomably, unfeasibly vast. I feel both humbled and liberated by the sense of space, and although we are at the top of nothing, there is a sense of being in some high place; a feeling I have only had at the tops of mountains; the feeling that here is something sacred and that one should walk with reverence. And indeed, I look forward up the line at my friends bent into their harnesses, some tired, some in pain, and I think 'pilgrims', and in this high place the answer comes to my questions and as with all deep truths, it is so simple, so elegant, that I wonder that it took so long in coming.

I was too busy looking inside myself for the answer instead of looking out. I thought this journey was primarily about me, some inner need or disquiet driving me to this extreme, but it's not so. Of course there is an inner journey, a course of personal discovery, the extent of which I will probably only fully know when I return to the world outside, but the true motivation behind coming here or going anywhere that fights your presence, is to pay homage to that place itself. Only by climbing the mountains or stepping out across the deserts or setting our sails at the empty oceans can we allow the wild places meaning in our lives and acknowledge their existence in our world. They give perspective to our values and make us readdress our responsibilities both global and personal. As long as those few men and women who are able continue to seek out the wilderness and honour it with their pain and resilience and courage, and deliver their discoveries to the world with passion and respect and integrity, with wonder and reverence and joy, and if they speak well and people listen well then perhaps there is some hope, hope for this little blue world.

BLIND NAVIGATION
12 Dec, 04 - 07:15    GPS-pos: S86°25' | W086°53' | Alt: 0 M

We are being blessed with most amazing weather at the moment, I hate to disappoint all you thrill seekers hoping to read tales of freezing peril and frozen adventure, but it is almost too warm. The ambient temperature is about -16 but the sun is so strong that it soon has us stripping off as we start to ski. In addition to the glorious sunshine we had our second day of totally flat snow; no sastrugi for the first time I can remember. The snow isn't perfect, it's rather soft and deep and makes hauling the pulks really tiring, but it is so nice to be on the level that we just get on and pull. Just towards the end of Denise's march a big front of cloud rolls in from the east and throws us into a state of no contrast. The usual problem with this light state is falling over and into sastrugi, but today the snow is flat so that isn't an issue. The issue today is navigation. When there is no direct sun, you don't have a shadow, which is when the sastrugi do actually have a useful purpose, they tend to run in a constant direction. Even when there is bad light you can take your bearing from them and feel how you are crossing them.

In addition the wind is often a useful directional tool, you can feel where it hits your face, but today, suddenly we have nothing. When there is nothing to orientate yourself like this it is just about impossible to walk in a straight line; no matter how hard you try everyone will always swing off one way or the other. For example Denise always veers right and I always veer left and it can happen very, very quickly. All this meant that at the beginning of my march I had little option but to beat out our trail with some hard core compass work. I skied poling with just my left hand and holding the compass in my right, finding it necessary to check it every minute or so. The 75 minutes flew by, and by the end I was exhausted with concentrating, but pleased to have kept us pretty straight down the line of longitude we had started on. I certainly wouldn't want to navigate in this way indefinitely, your brain would fry. Stuart set off in a similar fashion and as his march progressed we could see with relief the blue sky coming on behind the thick belt of cloud. This particular weather system was not going to be bothering us for long.

By the time we set up camp the sun was beaming down at us once more, and all was right in our beautiful world.

TROUBLE
13 Dec, 04 - 08:20    GPS-pos: S86°35' | W086°45' | Alt: 1900 M

It is another spectacular morning and we are all ready to roll by 8.50. I've been feeling really fatigued for the last three days, but today I feel full of delight at being out in the sun on my skis and my energy levels seem to be right back up. We have a great first three marches with everyone on good form and easily achieving our best speeds of 2.4 - 2.5nmph. We are all very chirpy about this because it means we should easily do 16nms today which will take us up to our 400nm mark and mean we are two thirds of the way through our journey. We set off enthusiastically into our fourth march with Denise leading, then Linda, then Craig, then me and Stuart when trouble comes a calling.

One minute I'm swinging along happily, singing away to my Ipod and the next there is a strange popping feeling between my right hip and pelvic bone and the whole thing swiftly seizes up. As a starting point for assessment all pain out here is measured for us out of ten and over the next 15 minutes the pain during the back motion of my right leg on each push quickly grows to about an eight and I slow down fast. Soon Stuart and I are falling far behind the others and my mind is racing over what might have happened. It has that bubblish sensation that causes you to want to click a shoulder or wrist or finger, but I can't work out how to click a hip and on top of which it hurts so much.

After 20 minutes or so Stuart skis up beside my and grinning says, "It looks like it just turned into one of those calling on inner reserves sort of days." Which makes me laugh and I nod, "I've bloody hurt myself again!" I say trying to sound chipper.
"There's only 10 minutes left of the march," says Stuart, "I'm going to take your pulk." And after only a little protest I agree. Utterly magnificent, superhuman and totally heroic Stuart pulls my pulk clipped onto the back of his winning my eternal gratitude and admiration, while I hobble along pathetically beside him. Eventually, we catch up with the others at the next break and everyone is totally dismayed to see we were in trouble. Often Stuart or I will stop behind to take off a layer of clothes or program an Ipod and no one thinks much of it because we can ski fast enough to catch up, so it never occurred to the gang that there was a problem.

I'm slightly freaked inside by there being something wrong with me again, but I determine not to let it show. I carefully describe what I'm feeling and Craig says he is fairly certain it is something called the so-us muscle (that's what it sounded like, no idea how to spell it) that joins the hip to the pelvic bone, and that he had been shown a manoeuvre by a physio from one of his sponsors, Artesian Health, which might free it up. He explained that apparently this muscle suddenly seizes up sometimes when under stress. Everything he describes being taught seems to correspond with what I'm feeling so we decide to give it a go. I lie on my front on my pulk and push the most painful point while Craig slowly lifts my straight leg up. It's very painful and definitely targets the exact muscle that is in trouble, but alas doesn't seem to help. I pop down two codeine and two ibuprofen, my wonderful team mates take most of the weight from my pulk and I set off leading the next march, determined not to hold us up further. It would seem that the only thing more painful than my hip is the sight of me struggling pathetically for my friends. Within five minutes Denise skis up alongside and stops me. "We have to stop, you are just going to hurt yourself worse like this."

We put up camp and everyone is wonderful, but I feel just awful for stopping us, it seems unforgivable. I thank everyone and apologise profusely and set about trying to be practical by doing lots of stretches.

In fact it becomes a blissfully relaxing afternoon for everyone and everyone comes over to chill out in our tent. We read and write and snooze and have a big early supper. By the time Denise makes the sched call it still feels like something is very out of place in my hip but I don't have any pain, and although Denise reports in that I have an injury I decide not to worry about speaking to the doctor tonight (a new doctor, Dr John Apps, Martin has flown out to be home for Christmas) and see what a good night's sleep will do for the situation. I'm a great believer in the power of positive thinking and one thing is for sure, my leg would have to get gangrene and drop off to stop me this close to the Pole and that's final.

At least the day ends with what we are best at, a really good laugh. Just before bed, mid conversation and says "Is there something in your ear?" I reach up my hand, baffled by her odd question, but to my gut horror there is something in my ear. In instinctive panic I squeak and fling the terrifying thing across the tent (as it happens, at Denise) crying, rather too shrilly, "What is it?!" We look down at the small black object and it is one of the soft rubbery earpieces from my headphones, which Stuart must have been looking at in my ear for hours this afternoon without saying anything. Oh my goodness! We almost died laughing!

TELL-TAILS, APPS AND THE RUBY SLIPPERS

14 Dec, 04 - 07:54    GPS-pos: S86°50' | W086°47' | Alt: 0 M

Well, I did lots of stretching last night and this morning spoke to the lovely Heather who is a physiotherapist from Artesian Health and she gave me lots of good advice about my pulled psoas muscle (that's how you spell it!), which is basically your hip flexor. I took some Ibuprofen and codeine and prepared myself for the day. By the time I left the tent it was to find that my dear companions had emptied my pulk of anything remotely heavy and I have to say I felt a little overwhelmed by their selflessness and support. I am travelling with some of the best people in the world.

PULK GOBBLING SASTRUGI
15 Dec, 04 - 07:44    GPS-pos: S87°06' | W086°41' | Alt: 2210 M

Today was a special day for Stuart as it is the one year anniversary of him completing the Seven Summits here on Mount Vinson last season. For those of you who have no idea what that means, it means he has climbed the highest peak on each continent, which of course includes Everest. Having already been to the North Pole, getting to the South Pole in about 12 days time with us (Insh'alla!) will complete for him the ultimate Grand Slam of adventuring and we are all very proud to be with him. Linda, ever creative and highly gifted, rustled up a wonderful drawing of Stuart on his way to the Pole through a big round Seven Summits banner, and we all wrote congratulations messages on the back.

Photo by Craig Mathieson

We gave to Opus to deliver this morning, and Stuart was very surprised. We only knew because of some cunning emailing on the part of his wife!

The weather was still a milk out, but without a breath of wind and a clear line of sky lighting the far horizon with gold, the Antarctic seems like a beautiful and benevolent place today.

We set off skiing towards a big patch of blue sky in the South, eager to reach the warm sunlight hitting the snow below it. Just before the first break we skied into sunshine and sat in it for about 10 minutes before it miserably drifted off north, leaving us once more in total gloom.

The Pole itself is on a 10,000ft plateau and although we have risen up from sea level to almost 7,000ft the next few days hold a sharp climb up onto the plateau for us and today will most likely show us the first bit of real ascent. However, without being able to see about us it is hard to tell really, you just stare blankly into the blind white and push one ski in front of the other.

We begin the day on lovely flat snow, but it is the last of it. Mid morning the sastrugi start to grow again, and by Denise's march four they are getting huge. We descend an alarmingly steep slope and the whole thing starts to feel like an extraordinary obstacle course. We are momentarily cheered mid march as we cross 87 degrees, but after that it is back to the slog, and jolly hard work it is too.

By the time I take over leading there are man eating, pulk gobbling holes and sastrugi all around us and all virtually invisible. You just feel your way forward with your feet and hope for the best. The leader always gets the worst of it. While you ski innocently into the middle of a deep impenetrable sastrugi trap, everyone behind smiles smugly and feels for a smooth way round before pausing to watch with interest and amusement as you battle through. At one point Denise actually had to unclip and plunge in to help me lift and lug my trapped pulk through a patch of icy waves as high as my waist. It was more like a North Pole moment.

Nevertheless, it was all quite fun and up until the last march when the wind came up and it suddenly became bitterly cold. We were pleased to still manage our 15nm mileage after the arduous day, but, feeling utterly exhausted, were very happy to make camp and warm up. My feet were icy cold tonight for the first time on the whole expedition. I really hope we aren't in for some nasty weather, unfortunately as I lie writing, sleeping bag pulled right up over my head, the wind is howling over the tent like a wild thing. We shall see... We shall see.

VERY COLD
17 Dec, 04 - 07:32    GPS-pos: S87°18' | W086°09' | Alt: 0 M
Ok all you smart alec Wizard of Oz experts, we know that Dorothy doesn't know about the power of the ruby slippers when she first gets them and that Glenda tells her later, but Glenda is right there doing a big song and dance number with the Munchkins when she gets the shoes, so why doesn't Glenda tell her then and there eh? Maybe not such a good witch of the south after all. We reckon Glenda was just looking for an expendable stooge to do her dirty work with regard to the assassination of the wicked witch of the west, and poor old Dorothy fitted the bill. But many thanks for all your other completely ridiculous suggestions.

Anyway... Back to polar exploration, which is what you really came here to read about.

Both a good thing and a bad thing greeted us when we woke this morning. By looking up through the little chimney in our cooking vestibule we could see that the cloud had cleared and the bright blue sky was back with us, unfortunately, without even sticking our noses outside we can hear that there is a howling gale going on.

We brace ourselves and dress up in the usually layers we would need for a windy day before heading out. However, within 20 minutes it is clear to me that this is no ordinary windy day and i'm alarmed to feel that instead of my temperature rising with the exercise as usual, it is starting to plummet. By the first break my hands are freezing and I dig out a different glove and mitt arrangement. Regardless as we start the second march I am shaking with cold and decidedly grumpy both signs that could point to early hypothermia. I realise that it wasn't more gloves I needed but another layer on my body. It's just that I have never had to go up another layer before and I can't quite believe that it is this cold. We hit a hill and the extra energy required to get up it keeps me just warm enough to get to the next break, when I hurriedly pull on my fleece under my wind jacket. I have never skied in so much, but sure enough it does the trick and I don't even break a sweat, it must be ferociously cold. Everyone is fighting to keep warm and most important of all, totally covered, any bit of skin left exposed to this wind would nip then frostbite in no time at all. With the wind chill it is easily in the region of -35 degrees.

We struggle slowly through the day, all wishing we could just put up the tents and crawl into our sleeping bags. To add to our hardships we are now very much on our way up the Polar Plateau and we spend most of the day trudging upwards through a mess of awkward little sastrugi.

All in all it's safe to say that none of us had much fun today. Nevertheless, as always, we get through and our little tent tonight is an absolute haven.

CLIMBING
17 Dec, 04 - 07:25    GPS-pos: S87°34' | W086°07' | Alt: 2166 M

Every day I think of things that I want to put in the evening's dispatch and then when I come to write it I've forgotten them. For instance, I completely forgot to tell you that Craig lost one of his water bottles a few days ago at a break, and the only possible replacement he could come up with was his pee bottle! We did our best to sterilize it with boiling water and I'm sure it is fine, but every day it makes me chuckle to see him sat on the end of his pulk, gluging his Zuko out of a yellow bottle with PEE written on it in big letters! Today we woke up to the same ferocious cold wind, but knowing what we were in for somehow made it seem better. In fact, once we were under way, it turned out not to be quite as cold as yesterday, which was a huge relief. We are pretty tired and sporting various little bits of frost nip and wind burn and we could really do with a little Antarctic kindness.

ONTO THE PLATEAU
18 Dec, 04 - 07:32    GPS-pos: S87°49' | W086°17' | Alt: 2503 M

Thankfully when we wake the weather is still settled and we all set off in a tremendously good mood. Sometimes everything feels just right here and this morning as we head out into the gigantic sastrugi and have a terrific time skiing up and down through them, I can't imagine doing anything else. It is getting harder and harder to remember that there is anything else to life other than this journey, it is utterly all consuming. It is very strange to think that in a little less than a week we will stop and find there is no longer any South to head towards. What on earth shall this little fellowship do then? Since Owen left we have had a stray march 4 with no one to lead it.

Photo by Craig Mathieson

A VERY COLD RESUPLY
19 Dec, 04 - 07:50    GPS-pos: S87°59' | W086°01' | Alt: 0 M

In the night the temperature drops and the wind comes and this morning when we set off it is very cold. We are well adapted and the cold doesn't bring with it the chill of apprehension it once did. I dress in an extra layer, thinking to myself that it will be too much and I will have to take it off in half an hour, which is exactly what I do. A lot of this is going on at the moment. We are continually putting on or taking off coats and fleeces, hats and hoods, gloves and mitts in an attempt to find that perfect balance between the brutal cold of our environment and the body heat we generate through the continual exercise.

For example, you can lose 40 percent of your body heat through your head and neck, so often if your hands are getting cold the secret is to put up your hood or add a hat to preserve your core temperature better. Hands seem to be the best indicator of what is going on, but even after all this time it is still possible to misread things. At the beginning of each march your hands are always painfully cold, but I don't take any notice these days as within 10 minutes they are fine, you accept that to be comfortable for the most part you must begin cold. However, today I removed the fleece layer because it was what I expected to be right rather than because I was hot. The second march my hands took a good half hour to get warm, but I'm so used to ignoring their complaints that I didn't really take it in. As always, my core temperature dropped during the next rest break, but during the third march I didn't recover my warmth at all.

The third march brought us to our final resupply. It was like a miracle to be pulling over that endless whitescape and to suddenly see a black pile with a pole sticking out of it. As we got up to the little cache we crossed the tracks of the Twin Otter's skis and I felt cheered by the sign of the little plane's presence; the marks signalled the close proximity of a whole team of people close at hand, watching out for us day and night and able to come to our aid. The logistics of what ALE (Antarctic Logistics & Expeditions) do down here each season is incredible to me. Not only is there our own expedition, but other companies' expeditions who use ALE services; 200 climbers going up Vinson this year; skiers like ourselves being flown in to do last degree and last two degree trips; clients being flown all the way in to visit the South Pole and clients coming in to visit the camp at the nearby penguin rookery. All these people are transported to and from the continent on the big Russian Illysion-76, then transported about and resupplied and evacuated when necessary with the two Twin Otters. Flights, weather and communications with all the expeditions are monitored and maintained from the radio tent at Patriot Hills and all the clients, finding themselves staying there for any length of time, are fed and housed and looked after in the best possible way. It seems extraordinary that on 18th January the whole operation will be neatly packed and buried away under a winter of snow before being uncovered and fired up again next season.

Our own little resupply here at 88 degrees was neatly combined with the drop off of a team skiing the last two degrees, so we are able to accept the extra assistance without feeling that we have been any trouble. The team that were dropped here a few days ago is the well known Polish explorer Marek Kaminski who, as far as I know, is guiding two guys one of whom is missing an arm and a leg, which seems to me like the most ambitious and courageous expedition of the season. I have a really good friend who lost a leg a few years ago and I really hope he's reading this and finds this as inspiring as I do.

We pack our new provisions into our pulks as fast as possible and I pull on my extra layer again, realising by now that I am too cold. Unfortunately the break is inevitably rather longer than usual and we all get even colder. Linda leads off and for the entire march my hands and feet scream out in distress but I am already wearing everything I can travel in and I've eaten and drunk plenty. I feel caught out and disturbed by not quite knowing what to do to put things right. It's fascinating how your body's instincts are so totally wrong in this situation. All I want to do is stop and curl up into a little ball behind my pulk and not move, but my practical brain tells me that the only thing keeping me together is the warmth generated by movement and if anything I must work harder. It is all pretty unpleasant. At every stop we always put on our big down jackets to preserve our heat, but we don't travel in them because they would normally be far too hot and mustn't get damp with sweat. By the end of the next excruciating stop I decide that I'm keeping mine on and I borrow a huge pair of super mittens from Craig. It is my lead and I set off at a fair lick and half an hour later the warmth does start to slowly creep back in. It's almost as painful when your hands start to heat up again from such a freezing and I march along praying that I haven't nipped my fingers with the day's charade.

Our pulks suddenly seem enormously heavy and Denise decides to call it a day after my march which takes us just over 88 degrees. This was all we really wanted to achieve with the day anyway and we are all pleased to be stopping for an early rest. As we put up camp, everyone discusses the terrible cold and I realise that I haven't been alone in my discomfort.

We are soon settled in for the night and it becomes a very social evening. Craig and I go round to Stuart and Linda's for hot drinks while Denise has some relaxing time to herself and then we all return to our tent for a fantastic lamb curry, the last of the special dried meals prepared specially by Denise's friend.

I should also add that Denise has joined in the creative spirit of the trip tonight in great style. For some weeks now she has been saving empty Zuko packets and this evening she has stitched them all together like prayer flags and strung them across the tent. Tomorrow, she tells us, she intends to string them along her trace in a jolly decorative fashion. I suspect we are finally going slightly bonkers, probably a good thing we only have eight days left!

SASTRUGI AND SUN DOGS
20 Dec, 04 - 07:37    GPS-pos: S88°15' | W085°47' | Alt: 2661 M

The wind dropped and the sun shone this morning, but mile after mile of seriously awkward sastrugi hampered our progress. The sky was blue and clear, but kept us feeling a little anxious with belts of cloud appearing periodically in the South. If there is any substance to such things then they can quickly turn into a whole world of work for us. A bit a serious cloud cover would make the rough ground invisible and treacherous, but today the Antarctic is smiling on us and each belt passes over in wisps and the sun keeps shining through. True to form, you never know what to expect from one day to the next here, and after yesterday's ferocious cold, measured by Stuart as -22, today is mild and warm and soon has us stripping off and swapping hats and gloves on and off.

SLOGGING AWAY
21 Dec, 04 - 07:42    GPS-pos: S88°30' | W085°48' | Alt: 2704 M

I'm afraid my dispatch writing must be turning into a very mundane collection of weather, mileage and physical health reports these days, but that it what occupies our every waking moment. We lead very simple lives at the moment, follow very set routines. As the last of our energy burns away our individual focus becomes more and more preoccupied with just keeping together to the Pole. Nevertheless, we are continually finding small triumphs to revel over and celebrate. Today at the third break we realised that we had crossed beneath the hundred mile mark and for the first time in nearly 50 days the Pole is double figures away.

Photo by Owen Jones

SIGNS OF LIFE
22 Dec, 04 - 07:36    GPS-pos: S88°45' | W085°56' | Alt: 2665 M

The first march today felt like the hardest thing I have ever done. The thin air has us all feeling a little short of breath anyway, but I just couldn't seem to get my legs going. Nevertheless, as always you just get on with it and it turned out to be our fastest march of the day. It was still damp and overcast as the day began, but as we travelled a belt of brightness appeared in the northeast and quickly overtook us, bathing us in rich, warm sunlight. The sunshine lifted my spirits more than anything else and, as I always do when our fierce environment chooses to show us a little kindness, I whisper my thanks to whatever Antarctic soul that might be listening.

Denise and I have become particularly superstitious about not upsetting our world. We try to leave it as clean and unmarked by our passing as possible, and always speak nicely to it.

Speaking of marks, we came upon tracks today and a little further on an old campsite. It can only be Marek's group, a few days ahead of us, but we soon bear away from their direction. It is very strange to see signs of life out here and my brain can't quite process what it is looking at. I almost feel a pang of possessive jealously at the thought of someone else passing this way ahead of us. This fragile, fearsome, white world feels like home now, somewhere personal, I have traded a piece of myself to claim this right and I don't quite want to share it.

The day is full of outside excitement. As we are setting up camp Craig suddenly shouts out "Otter!" and points to the sky. Sure enough one of the dear little red and white planes is coming towards us from the south and we all stand and watch as it passes over to the east of us. We have no way of knowing if they have seen us but I wave warmly; alas, I am a person who waves at trains.

Stuart comes around visiting while Linda does an interview on the sat phone, she is starting to get lots of interest regarding being the first Australian woman to the Pole. Craig astounds us all by going off to his tent early explaining that he has a big job on tonight. He is going to remove his liner socks which he has had on since Thiel! Yuk!

It is the most beautiful night, the sun is beating down on us from the deep blue sky and the flat snow is glittering silver all around. We go to bed full of excitement for tomorrow, by this time tomorrow we will have crossed 89 degrees and the Pole will be so close it will be hard to stop and sleep again until we reach it.

89 DEGREES
23 Dec, 04 - 18:12    GPS-pos: S89°00' | W085°35' | Alt: 2830 M
Once again we are reminded that this place is indiscriminate in its relentless wear and none of us will be spared the trials of crossing it.

We set off in bright sunshine, stripped down to our base layers and full of excitement regards reaching 89 degrees by the end of the day.

I was much relieved to find a big hunk of my energy returned and spent much of the first march skiing along singing, probably very tunelessly. With about half an hour to go I stopped to take off my hat and noticed that Linda was quite a long way back. I waited for her to catch up and as she skied up next to me enquired if she was ok. "Just a bit tired!" She said, but there was a catch in her voice, and as I looked at her for a moment I realised that things really weren't good and that she was feeling quite emotional. I've been to this place a few times myself on this journey and really felt a wave of sympathy. "Right, I’m feeling great today, so why don't I take some weight from you, so you can enjoy the day a bit more?" I suggest. She can't answer, so I dive into her pulk and pull out the two biggest stuff sacks I can find. It is such a hard thing to give weight away, as I’ve described before, especially when you know how tired your companions already are, but that is the nature of true team work, you have to be able to support each other. In fact it is a pleasure to take some of Linda's load, on three occasions she has done the same for me and I am pleased to be able to return the favour, although I wish it wasn't necessary.

When we catch up to the others at the next stop, Linda explains that she is feeling really weak and light headed and congestion in her lungs is making her struggle to breath. After a little discussion she insists she wants to go on and, after dividing as much of her weight between us as possible, that is what we do.

We cruise along for most of the day without hitch and Linda improves a little. She is such a stalwart, ever strong for us all, even today when she is feeling bad, she never utters a word of complaint.

The sky has been breathtakingly beautiful all day with wisps of cloud like a mackerel’s rippled back crossing overhead. I sky you feel you could fall into. But just at the end of my march a thick belt of cover comes in and plunges us into white nothing. The ground is flat, which in one way is a blessing as there is nothing to fall over, but in another makes navigation much harder. With no shadows, no sastrugi and no wind, we once again find ourselves in the position of having to use only our compasses and GPSs. Stuart begins the march, but is tired and keeps veering left and after a while Denise takes over. Thankfully some small sastrugi appear and make the job a little easier, but we are all pleased that it is the end of the day. After six and a half marches we reach exactly 89 degrees and stop.

We are all really worried about Linda who is really exhausted and puffy round the eyes. We wonder if it is the altitude effecting her although, as Stuart points out, we have come up so slowly it seems unlikely that we wouldn't be completely acclimatised. After supper we decide that what is really needed is a rest day. We have been charging headlong towards the Pole since Thiel and it's silly really. We aren't in a race, we are well ahead of schedule and we should be enjoying our last days in this beautiful wilderness, not feeling exhausted and emotional. Linda and Denise chat to Doc Apps back at Patriot Hills and he agrees that the best possible thing is a rest day, so that's decided.

We then get really rather excited about the idea of not getting up and hauling in the morning and start making plans to build snowmen and make tent Christmas decorations. It is the first time we have a moment to pause and absorb the fact that tomorrow is Christmas Eve.

A LOVELY DAY OFF
24 Dec, 04 - 07:39    GPS-pos: S89°00' | W085°34' | Alt: 2596 M

We slept and slept and slept...... and slept. Was awoken by the sound of Denise stirring and making herself a coffee and me a Zuko. It was utter, utter heaven to just sit up in our sleeping bags, lean back on our kit bags and sip our hot drinks at leisure. Outside there wasn't a breath of wind and the sun beat down warmly on the tent. Everything was good and calm and utterly relaxed. The first thing I heard from either of the other tents was Linda laughing, which was a huge relief. Denise, who is just the best, most thoughtful and lovely guide ever (she keeps telling me to remind you all of this) actually took Craig a cup of tea in his tent this morning.

Well, it is Christmas after all and we reckon he's earned it, he's earned the nickname Snow Boy because he's always running about doing little jobs for us and most frequently cutting snow blocks for water.

Before long he appears in our tent for brunch and is amused at my adamance that I am not getting out of my sleeping bag all day.

As we will be on the move again tomorrow and working hard we have decided to have Christmas day today and to our delight Crag comes bearing gifts. He himself has carried us each a Cadbury's Mini Roll all the way from Hercules Inlet and Fiona left some neatly wrapped little silver parcels with him. In his was a little tartan Santa Claus, mine was a little book of Scottish sayings and Denise's was a book on haggis. Thanks Fiona, really great! Fiona also left us a Christmas cracker each which I have to confess we pulled at our celebratory meal at Thiel, but thanks for those too, you are a star.

After lunch we all settled down for another sleeeeeeep! Mmmmmm! And woke up in enormously good spirits. "Right," said Denise, "Let’s make a reindeer and photograph it pulling a pulk." And skipped out of the tent. We spent the next hour constructing what turned out to be more of a red nosed pony out of anything we could lay our hands on. Denise's fears, voiced a few days ago, about us maybe getting too serious on this trip are definitely no longer an issue. When it was ready we all climbed into the pulk for the photocall and there was much laughing at me running back and forth through the deep snow to hit the timer button on the camera.

This was the first time I saw Linda today and I was very pleased to see her looking a lot better.

After the photo-shoot, we headed back in for hot drinks and supper. I made a Christmas tree out of some of Fiona's silver wrapping paper and Denise strung Zuko packet prayer flags round the tent. After supper Stuart and Linda came over with a fruit cake and more gifts. Linda had mini boomerangs for Denise and Stuart and had made Craig a fantastic key-ring with The Miner on it and a little pickaxe (another nickname from him disappearing down sastrugi holes) and me a mini Union Jack as I am the only one without my country's flag with me. Stuart gave Linda his little lucky angel, and Craig a new pee bottle and Denise a basketball shirt (on account of all her other clothes being messed up) and me his real Tibetan prayer flags. Linda also had some little chocolate Father Christmases which we sprinkled round the tree and slowly ate through the lazy evening. It was one of the nicest Christmases I have ever had I think, certainly one I shall never ever forget.

Well, now it's 8.30 and I’m in bed again for some more of that magic zzzzzzzz. Linda is quite herself again and I feel confident that we are ready to rock and roll. Tomorrow we will leave this beautiful spot and start our final journey into the South Pole.

FRAGILE LAND
25 Dec, 04 - 07:32    GPS-pos: S89°16' | W085°36' | Alt: 2752 M

A little wind has developed when we wake but nothing too alarming. We stir ourselves and slip into our usual morning routine for a travel day and it is half an hour before I remember it is Christmas Day. I quickly ring my mum and dad over breakfast and feel a bit of a pang as I hear the sounds of a more normal Christmas morning coming out of the sat phone. But everyone is so proud and excited about where I am and what I am doing that I don't wish myself anywhere else. Kicking out from camp into the clear windy day, there couldn't be anywhere more natural to be; this is our world, this is what we do. At the first stop I say to Linda (who is looking and feeling much better) "It seems so normal to be here." And she nods in agreement. And yet there is something a bit Edward Lear about our efforts, something nonsensical about the military precision of our regime, the total physical effort we put into each day, all to move us from one place to another that is utterly identical to the last.

Our quest for the ever elusive Pole makes me think of The Hunting of the Snark or The Jumblies. It will be such a shock to actually arrive at the Pole Station, I can't quite imagine what we will make of it.

On this high plateau the Antarctic seems more beautiful than ever before, but I am distressed by the frequency with which we are starting to cross the tracks of those expeditions ahead of us. With our close proximity to the Pole we are finally being squashed together. Mid afternoon, during my lead, I even find myself following, for a short while, some very faint old tracks which must be from last year. Up here the snow has a harder crust and there is little spindrift so I guess the marks stay much longer. I am suddenly struck by vulnerability in this fierce land that until now has passed me by. I have been so concerned by the problems that this place causes for our fragile human forms that I hadn't fully considered the effect that even our gentle passing has on the place. It isn't so much our physical impact, though our tracks may score the ice for years, but more what we represent with our human presence. Once this place was impenetrable to us and many of those first men who tried paid with their lives. But now the ice has no defence against the advance of man, each year it is crossed with greater and greater ease, there is now a permanent base at the Pole itself and talk of an ice road being built across the continent. With the imminent expiry of the current Antarctic Treaty, it is possible that nothing is sacred, nothing is safe. Once again I feel the responsibility that comes with this journey, to somehow use the experience to contribute what I can to the protection of one of the most pristine wildernesses on earth. This icy waste isn't what threatens my survival here it's my daily conduct that dictates my ability to survive. If this cold continent has claimed brave lives, then it has taken them in innocence, more threatened by mankind at large than a threat to those few of us that walk here.

I don't feel as rested as I would hope after our lovely day off, but as a whole the benefits show and we move faster all day. By the end of play we have done 16.3nms, but are pleased to make camp as the wind starts to whip up sharply.

Tomorrow might be fun in that we may overtake Marek Kaminski's group and we may meet one or both of the kiting teams heading back from the Pole. Speaking of which, a big yay! from us to those two teams. Matty Mcnair, Conrad, Hilary and Matty's two kids Eric and Sarah who skied unsupported to the Pole from Hercules Inlet and are now kiting back; they are Kites On Ice. And the Invesco Perpetual Challenge boys (more fondly known as Expedition X) who followed Amundsun's route to the Pole up the Axel Heiberg Glacier and are now also kiting back to Hercules; they are Patrick Woodhead, Paul Landry, Alastair Vere Nicoll and, my particular favourite, David "They made me lick the Tucker!" de Rothschild.

A SOCIAL DAY
26 Dec, 04 - 07:41    GPS-pos: S89°32' | W085°57' | Alt: 0 M

Yesterday evening our friends with Kites on Ice and Invesco Perpetual Challenge passed us heading north and camped a few miles to the north west of us. This morning we could just make out there tiny tents and just as we were clipping into our own pulks we saw their kites go up, dancing about on the horizon like uncontainably happy birds. But our way lay South and, looking back 10 minutes into the first march, they were already out of sight. It was a nice day with a light wind and, although still weary, we seemed to all be going along quite happily. However, yesterday Craig began to have trouble with an old climbing injury to his ulial tibia band (Knee to you and me. And at the first stop, despite his having taken the strongest painkillers he has, he is clearly in terrible pain. By the second stop he is absolutely ashen faced and we are all really concerned, I don't think I've ever seen anyone in such pain. The painkillers he has taken are doing nothing, so we give him as much codeine as we can and empty his pulk.

THE LAST FULL DAY SKIING
27 Dec, 04 - 07:23    GPS-pos: S89°48' | W089°05' | Alt: 2728 M

We are all awake early and there is a buzz of excitement as we breakfast. Today will be our last full travel day and tomorrow we will reach the South Pole. There is also a slim chance that we might actually catch sight of the Pole station today so we all take bets on who will see it first and at what time (Denise at 5.43pm is my guess), we like to bet and guess on absolutely everything, it is one of the team's queer little endearing features. Mid breakfast we notice Marek, Jasiek and Wojtak skiing towards us and we pile out of the tents to greet them. They are skiing on Polish time, rather than Chilean like us, and so are 3 or 4 hours ahead of us.

Photo by Craig Mathieson

We pause together in the beautiful morning sunshine and chatter and take photos. They are very pleased we are there to snap them, because usually there are no pictures of all three of them. It's another lovely meeting and it's with great warmth that we wave them on their way, wishing them a great trip.

When we ourselves get underway we give the Poles some space and pass them towards the end of the first march a mile or so to the west. We don't want to disrupt their travel rhythm further by steaming past them.

It's the most beautiful morning and we swing along happily, taking leisurely rest breaks, chatting as we eat and drink. At the third break we discuss the idea of not stopping tonight and just cracking on for the Pole. It would mean doing five extra marches we reckon, and we all get really enthusiastic about it except for Linda who very sensibly thinks we have all lost our minds.

By my march five I am starting to feel really weary and the idea of not stopping seems less appealing. I could keep going, but it would be a real strain. By the end of Stuart's march six we are all of the same opinion, but decide to do one extra march so we can have a shorter day tomorrow. I switch on my music and go into plodding mode for the next hour, thinking of pretty much absolutely nothing. It amazes me how efficiently I can switch off and ski on automatic pilot like this when necessary.

We are stopped just short of the end of the march by the discovery of an old destroyed weather balloon, no doubt once released from the Pole and crashed here. Once we have stopped to pick it up and examine it, it seems pointless going on so we make camp.

There are only 11.5nms to go to the Pole and Craig in particular can hardly contain his excitement. His knee is in a really bad way, but my monster painkillers are keeping the pain bearable and nothing can dull his joy at being so close to his dream. Linda and Stuart come over and we all sit until late talking about the journey and marvelling over the fact that it will soon be over. It is going to be such a shock to break the routine that has become so completely our lives.

THE SOUTH POLE
28 Dec, 04 - 17:09    GPS-pos: S89°59' | E028°04' | Alt: 2812 M

We were up and out of camp by 8.35am. I found that I wasn't bubbling with excitement, if anything I was actively suppressing it, knowing that anticipation could make the day go really slowly. We had 11.5nms to cover, not including a fairly lengthy detour around an antenna wire that could do nasty things to us if we took the direct route under it. We began the day in beautiful sunshine and I was soon stripping down to my base layer. However, by the middle of the second march the cloud was rolling in and we were soon dressing up again. By march three we were plunged into a complete no contrast milk-out, rendering the modest but annoying sastrugi invisible. Navigation however was not a problem. At about 10.30 Craig cried out in excitement and pointed at the faint horizon, and sure enough, a tiny, faint slither of black had appeared where formally there was nothing but sky. For the rest of the day the Pole station grew very slowly larger.

DIGGING FOR TREASURE
29 Dec, 04 - 18:42    GPS-pos: S89°59' | E028°04' | Alt: 2812 M

We both woke up at 6am, momentarily ready for action, and then we look at each other and smiles creep over our faces and we snuggle back into our sleeping bags. The only unfortunate thing is that the weather looks pretty closed in and when Denise calls in to Patriot Hills at 9.15am they confirm that the Otter won't be able to get in to us just yet and that we should call back at 12.15. All morning I sit in my sleeping bag and we eat and drink and read and write. It is blissfully lazy and whenever the fancy takes me I can unzip the tent door and see the South Pole just about 70ft away! At 12.15 there is o better news.

The Otter has gone to Thiel in an attempt to get us but been turned back by the poor conditions. Everywhere looks bad and we are to call again at 3.15pm. Mike Sharp the camp manager and director of ALE asks if we would mind having a go at digging up the ALE food cache here at the Pole and sorting it out, a welcome diversion.

After some lunch Denise, Craig and myself ski the half mile or so to the cache site. There is a clam tent up here, all the barrels of aviation fuel for the Otters and a square of bamboo poles marking where the food supplies are buried.

Craig and Denise had already taken off the top 3ft of snow yesterday when getting us extra supplies, but now they stand down in the whole and fully uncover the first layer. For the next three hours they dig up boxes of food and white gas and throw them up onto the side of the hole for me to haul away to the tent and start sorting. The hole gets deeper and deeper as layer after layer is removed and we get more and more excited like maniacal treasure hunters. Every so often we will open a box to find it full of chocolate bars or some other delicacy and with hoots of delight tear off wrappers and scoff one down. By the time the hole is empty it is the best part of seven feet deep and I can't see Craig and Denise in it at all from the surface. There is much speculation as to whether I’m going to have to get out my pocket crevasse kit to rescue them.

Once the hole is empty and everything is in the tent, we empty out the boxes to see what's there. Looking at the 'best before' dates gives us a fairly clear idea that there is about 20 years worth of food here all miraculously preserved by the cold, dry conditions. We sort everything as best we can into a new cache to stay here and a pile to go back to Patriot Hills. It's great fun, there is everything here, soup, porridge, ready make meals, chocolate, cookies, cake, drinks powders, Pepperamis, pasta, sauce mixes, you name it. Denise and I even sample some 15 year old bubble gum which still blows bubbles! When everything is sorted out we take our own little selection of goodies back to the tent. The find of the day is the most incredible 12 year old fruit cake that was in fact once made in Texas and is as good now as it ever was. As we stuff thick slices into our mouths it goes a little way to consoling us when we here that PH are giving up on the bad weather for the day and we should call back in the morning. It's just the way things are out here, we have been living in this white world's temperamental weather systems for long enough now to know that patience is the only course.

We settle down all together for the evening after a delicious supper of 8 year old, dried mix paella, and it has to be said we are all pretty chipper and accepting of the situation. After all if you are going to be stranded somewhere, it may as well be the South Pole!

I'm not sure whether it's the lack of exercise, or just our body clocks being screwed by the Pole time zone (16 hours ahead of our Chilean one), but Denise and I find it impossible to sleep. At midnight Denise gets an attack of the munchies and declares that she simply must have the muselli that is outside in her pulk. Stepping out to get it in just a shirt and long johns she finds herself faced with a Pole worker photographing our tents. It turns out he comes from Saskatchewan, the very Canadian province where Denise herself grew up. It's a very odd place here.

At 2am we are visited by the two BAS (British Antarctic Survey) boys that we met yesterday, Anthony and Shane it turns out that Anthony is best friends with the guy that Denise was renting a room with all last year. Weirder and weirder. At about 2.30am the boys say goodbye and I finally start to feel sleepy. Denise says I was asleep within minutes.

ANOTHER ARRIVAL AT THE POLE
30 Dec 04 - 05:15    GPS-pos: S89°59' | E028°04' | Alt: 2812 M

The first sched call delivered the news that nothing had changed at Thiel and that we wouldn't be going anywhere for now. Thus began a day of tent dwelling stir craziness. We read the trashy novel we found in the cache, listened to music, slept, ate, I finished my current sewing project. The trouble is, we aren't allowed into the base and once you've made your daily visit to the South Pole and walked about until you are cold, there isn't that much to do here. Each sched call as it comes in delivers the same dismal message of bad weather at Thiel and it eventually becomes clear that there is little chance we will leave today. The only nice news is that Jasiek, Marek and Wojtek started their travelling only 5 miles out today and will arrive some time tonight.

We also know that it is Jasiek's 16th birthday today, so Linda makes him a beautiful card with the South Pole on it and we all write in it. I help Denise prepare a big pot of pasta and tomato sauce for them when they come in and we slice up the last of the magnificent ancient fruit cake in way of a pudding birthday cake.

We keep a look out for hours and eventually start to suspect that the three Poles must have stopped for the night, but, at nearly midnight, Denise gives a shout and we see their three orange figures hauling over the runway towards the Pole. Determined that their Pole moment should not be the anticlimax ours was we all fling on our skis and fly out to meet them, cheering and whooping them on over the last hundred metres. It's a really nice moment. Jasiek looks delighted and rightly so, he is an extraordinary young man and has achieved something so remarkable that it will inspire everyone who hears of it.

They have sponsor photos to take and tents to set up so we tell them to come over for supper when they are ready. Meanwhile, on Pole time, which is 4pm on the 31st, we hear that the Russian Assinov plane that was stranded here two years ago is about to be started up. A Russian crew has been out here for three days fitting a new engine and there is much excitement about it. We ski down the side of the station to find a big crowd around the beautiful old silver passenger biplane and just as we ski up the big single engine in it's nose fires into life to enormous celebration from the assembled spectators. It is clearly a very big deal and there are lots of formal photos taken around it with the Russian engineers and flight crew and the station senior staff. We turned up at just the right moment.

On the way back to our camp, a couple of the station workers stop us to chat. It would seem they are as curious about the expeditions that come in as we are about the base. They both tell us that there is a big New Year bash going on tonight in the gigantic garage hangar and say that we should definitely come along even though it isn't the station policy to invite us and it doesn't take much to persuade us.

Back at the tent we prepare our dinner party and soon all eight of us including the Poles squeeze into our tent for a late night supper. All our body clocks are completely up the swany by now, I really don't have the foggiest idea what time it is; 1am our time, 5am Polish time, 7pm South Pole time, it has all become pretty meaningless.

We have a lovely supper and give Jasiek his card and help them celebrate their achievement. At 2am (our time) we really are getting tired and everyone departs for bed, but we all set our watch alarms for 7.30am in readiness to gatecrash the South Pole New Year's Eve party.

TWO NEW YEARS
31 Dec, 04 - 17:50    

At 7.30 our alarms go off and we all sleepily pull on our boots and climb out of the tents, Craig almost doesn't get up but we threaten to drag him out by his ears and he groggily gets up. The only person we allow to stay in bed is Jasiek. We tromp across the base to the garages and soon hear the sounds of loud music emanating from one of the snowy tunnels into the hangar. The girl we met earlier appears by chance and welcomes us enthusiastically and points us to the way in. To get in we descend a snowy ramp into a dark tunnel and through a big freezer type door into the true darkness of the party space. Suddenly, regardless of what our confused bodies are telling us, we are plunged into 11.50pm New Year's Night heaving, drunken, celebration. The dark hangar is packed with happy revellers and has been decorated impressively for the occasion. At one end there is a stage with a live band hammering out well know rock favourites and up above one side of the dance floor is a big cage for dancing in!

PATRIOT HILLS
03 Jan, 05 - 00:02    

Well, I think yesterday was the first time I actually didn't write a dispatch. All day yesterday I was very much in recuperation mode. I got up very late after our double New Year day and spent most of the day talking to people in the big communal kitchen tent and drinking tea and eating the untold luxury of bread. Patriot Hills is bright but very blowy and it is lovely to be in the big warm tent and listening to the wind battering about outside. Thankfully the weather wasn't too bad not to fly and the Otters were dispatched both to Vinson to collect climbers and to the Pole to pick up Marek, Jasiek and Wojtek.

Photo by Owen Jones

The Pole flight goes late and isn't due back until 3am, but I really want to be up to welcome our Polish friends home to Patriot Hills, so I stay awake. Just before the little plane is due back I help Fran heat up some dinner for the crew and their passengers, before joining her on a skidoo out to the Otter stand. As we wait we watch with concern as a mountain of cloud starts to pour over the top of the hills, building bigger and bigger by the minute. At an alarming pace the sky all about us starts to close in until the only little patch of sky left is right overhead. We strain our eyes into the mounting gloom for our plane, willing them to appear and suddenly, out of the murk, they do. We breath a big sigh of relief and they touch down neatly into the last of the failing light.

It is wonderful to see Marek, Wojtek and Jasiek, his amazing dream achieved, step off the plane. They look tired but content, and I leave them tucking into a big dinner.

_________

Today I was again up late, but the Tucker working busily near my tent didn't allow me to lie long. After a good breakfast I found myself restless today and started hunting about for things to do. First Asty reminded me that our expedition tent had a tear in the fly sheet, so we went and dug it out of the hangar for me to mend. Whilst there he mentioned the need for a wall bracket type ski rack in there, if I happened to be feeling creative, and I agree to give it some thought.

After lunch I visited Chris, the chief mechanic, in his workshop tent for some tools and materials before stomping back out over the snow to the hangar. I spent all afternoon meticulously performing my first ever act of woodwork creation (essentially cutting 6 bits of wood to length and screwing them together!) and felt enormously pleased with myself.

It feels good to be here. The dining tent is always full of smiling faces and good conversation; there are always little jobs to be done if you want to be helpful and despite the hustle and bustle of the busy camp, there is a deep peace here which soaks into us from the old ice under our feet and makes everything right with the world. The thing I love most about the company here is that while there is enormous respect from everyone for what we have done, it isn't a huge big deal. We chew over details of the expedition in passing conversation at dinner, but everyone knows the score, there is no need to go into repeated lengthy explanations of how things were done and that is a great blessing to me at present. The time for answering questions and telling stories will come later, for now I can barely absorb what we have done in my own head, let alone share it with others; for now Patriot Hills is my sanctuary.

KEEPING BUSY ON THE ICE
04 Jan, 05 - 00:11    

I spend my days, somewhat restlessly, looking for ways to make myself useful around camp. It is hard to go from such a rigid regime of activity into an existence of no responsibility at all. Jobs are easy to find. Asty, the head field guide finds me bits to do checking equipment inventories; my pristine cheeks have impressed everyone in camp and I find myself steadily working through a queue of people keen to have one of my custom made Polar Cat face masks; the kitchen is always a source of activity, Gavin the fantastic new camp chef (as in the chef of the camp!) is always happy to set me cooking and I have learnt some great recipes.

The chocolate brownies and the white chocolate ice cream were particular triumphs! I feel at home here at Patriot Hills, like I belong on the ice and the idea of returning to Chile fills me with dread. We are due out on the 4th January Illyshin, but for a couple of days it seems as though I might be able to stay on until 9th or even later, but the complexity of the busy flight logistics down here disappointingly mean it won't be possible. I am very sad, but instead of getting down I work even harder to enjoy every minute of each day.

LEAVING THE ICE
05 Jan, 05 - 07:35    

Yesterday our Illyshin was due in, but the weather prevented it from making the long flight out to the ice. There is a camp full of people keenly waiting to get out and I think I am one of the only people at Patriot Hills who is happy about the delay. I feel really guilty about wishing it windy, for all my longing to stay here, it is nothing beside the longing of 50 or so other clients all desperate to get home to partners and spouses and families, not to mention the stress caused to my ALE friends by the disruption in the flight schedule, but nevertheless, all day yesterday I silently blessed the Antarctic and her winds and this morning when I woke to near silence my heart fell. The weather can change in a heartbeat out here, but something inside me just knew that today was to be my last day at Patriot Hills. It was the most beautiful day; crisp and clear; bright white and radiant blue. I helped Gavin with the day's meal preparations and baked chocolate shortbread and went for a long ski down the long flat Otter ski-way and into the low sastrugi beyond.

You should note with a little smile that I can't ski for toffee without my heavy pulk behind me, my centre of gravity is all different and I wobble about hopelessly. Jaco laughs at me mercilessly, "Did you really ski to the South Pole? How can that be?" And to be sure, it seems pretty amazing to me myself!

At the beginning of supper the confirmation announcement is made that the Illyshin has been called and is off the deck and will be here be about 11.30pm.

Sadly I pack up my things and label my bags ready for loading and ice my biscuits. At 11 I wander down to the hanger, half way between camp and the runway and clamber onto it's roof with a bunch of American Vinson climbers to watch the gigantic swoop-winged cargo plane come in to land on the blue ice runway. The unloading and loading of cargo takes a hour or so and with nothing else to do I take a last slow walk around the perimeter of the camp. I look out to the snowy black hills to the west and south; to the distinctive teeth of Three Sails away in the east and over the empty plains to the north, stretching away towards Hercules Inlet, rolling out to meet the sky. In the words of my dear friend Jason (The Voice of Antarctica), 'There is no saying goodbye, only a promise to return.'

© Hannah McKeand

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