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