The storm has not relented, increasing in strength and intensity. The tent shook all night long like a ragdoll. Inside, trying to catch sleep can only be described as resting inside a roaring jet engine, so loud is the wind pounding outside at the flimsy nylon walls. Eric and I scream to each other in order to communicate, up until the point when we decide that such effort is not worth the price of admission, and fall back to our respective activities! The violence displayed here is some of the fiercest I have experienced. We estimate the gusts now to be reaching over 80 miles per hour–and hope that the tent will hold up! We joke about it, but have agreed on a plan, in the event of…
The spin drift is intense, finding its way through the slightest opening. Outside, drift banks are constantly building on the side walls and have to be monitored so as not to collapse the tent. Upon stepping out, the drifting snow immediately freezes on the outwear, and lashes the face as it races across the frozen ground. Reaching about two meters in height, this liquid smoke reduces the visibility down to twenty meters or so; but above, the sky is generally visible. Occasionally, the clouds part allowing the sun’s rays to shine through, which makes for an odd, apocalyptic juxtaposition. It is hard to imagine that three days ago we were in shorts and T-shirts, in melting snow, with no wind and clear blue skies!