November 6, 2011

S70°53.402 E011°32.633

Elevation 2568ft

The climb up the glacier is slow, exhausting and every bit as excruciating as predicted. The day started late given the iridium phone failure and the stellar rescue from Andrei and the folks at TAC. A big thank you there! To see two modified 4X4 pull up next to camp is a little like seeing the fourth wall drop to realize that you are living inside a movie set and reality, it turns out, is on the other side of one of those flats! It also saved us an hour skiing there and back. We’ve had difficulty uploading the blogs and lost another hour inside the tent.Other than that, sleeping was heavenly! The first hours were cold, but the sun rose around 2AM and began blasting the tent. By 6AM, it was cooking in there. We finally left around 1PM and the first part of the day was very warm–around 8C minus, with full sun and no wind. Out here, given the arduous nature of the effort, this is T-shirt weather. In fact, both Eric and I spent a couple of hours without shirts or gloves and I cursed not having shorts with me! Even then, sweat was dripping onto my glasses, and my hands were overheating. The grade started increasing, and the pull worsened accordingly. Each sastrugi depression was good for the sledge to jam to an abrupt stop. I have twio secondary smaller sleds in tow of the big one and often got the double jam! Later in the daay, I simply released the small ones and covered the distance twice. Finally, around five O’clock, Novo disappeared behind the crest of the long fought hill. Theree was something really bothersome about traveling for two days but never losing sight of the station! The wind picked up as the sun lowered its arc and with it the temps dropped to minus 15C.With 20 knots of wind, this ostensibly feels like 25C below. We pushed until 7PM, adding one more hour to yesterday’s time. Still, given the steep grade we are facing, we covered the same distance–about 5 kilometers. It is grueling! We have chosen a route that costs an extra two days of travel in order to mitigate the higher risk of crevasses. They’re around–but so far have been playing nice. Another ten days of this gring and we should start kiting…

November 6,2011

S70°51.333 E011°32.992

Elevation 2128 feet

The six hour night flight was little help in the way of sleep. Still, eager to get on with it, and invigorated by the fresh air, we made final adjustments to the sledges, strapped our skis on, and clipped into the harnesses, and bid farewell to our friends before taking off towards the glacier. Our cargo amounts to just about 400 pounds each on the nose. Over flat terrain, the pull is considerable. As the grade starts to rise, the weight becomes torturous. Add to this the very uneven nature of the ice defined by the wind features–called sastrugi–and before long, the sledges get stuck time and again, forcing a stop, backtrack to lift them by hand, and get moving again. The wind which started light has built to a steady twenty knots, and while the mean temps are still very manageable at 10 below, the wind chill is dropping them by another 15. Given the exhaustive effort required to pull this weight, the cold only sets in on the breaks, which we take every forty five minutes. Unfortunately, we will not kite right away as we need to clear the glacier’s crevasse fields. Time stretches to a stand still: five minutes feel like thirty, as we laboriously gain elevation, gluttons for punishment. The air is cold but very dry. Given the nature of our start, I have had too little to drink and my legs start to cramp up. The sun begins a fast descent below the horizon and after a little over five hours, we call it a day. Not a moment too soon! We have covered about five kilometers. We set up camp one in a hurry to heat up a hot drink. My legs are spent. First challenge, which could have crippling consequences: my iridium phone which worked at the station well enough to send the last dispatch, is now NG. Impossible to switch it on; different batteries, a recharge–nothing does it. With only one phone, the expedition is in serious jeopardy. Outside, the wind is howling. Without the sun, the temperature inside the tent is frigid. In the morning, I contact the base to see if they can spare an iridium or a PLB. Luck is on our side, with only five kilometers they drive one over. We are back on for another day of pain!

November 5, 2011

Novo station, Antarctica

S70°49.388 E11°38.646

After emotional goodbyes, Eric and I head for the airport for a 23:30 departure. We meet a motley crew of passengers sharing the ride to Novolazarevskaya station. Amongst them some familiar faces from the polar world; those you come to expect at one point or another in this type of setting, as well as support personnel and scientists. On the tarmac, we board the Russian Ilujshin 76 cargo plane. With only two single portholes and no sound insulation, this Russian legend is every bit as charismatic as its reputation holds! No premium seating on these flights. The ceiling is stripped exposing all the conduits, the luggage for about forty passengers, and the toilet is a porta-potty strapped at the back! The heavy plane takes off into the night sky for a six hour flight. We are handed ear plugs and I manage to steal a couple of hours of cramped sleep. Soon the southern sun beams through the porthole. We are told to change into our Antarctic outfits. Landing is imminent. Below, the fractured sea ice spells the coming reality of the next twelve weeks. We are about to step into the cold. The plane lands as gracefully as an ice runway will let it. The door opens; the blinding white light and cold air fills the cabin. Stepping off the ladder, my foot lands on the hard ice of Antarctica.

November 4, 2011

Cape Town

S33˚55” E018

We have received word of clearing storm at Novolazarevskaya station in Antarctica. This is green light—all systems go! The wait is over. Next update will be from the ice. We’re going in, folks. I am taking all your well wishes with us on this historical mission. This is it!

Cape Town

November 3, 2011

Los Angeles to Cape Town is a marathon. After 11 hours and a brief layover in Amsterdam where I meet Eric, another 12 hours gets us to the southernmost tip of Africa. My name is called over the loud speaker in the baggage collection area of Cape Town International airport, and soon find out that seven out of ten pieces have not made it on the plane from Amsterdam. “Tomorrow night, no problem!”, shoots the attendant to quell my concern.

Cape Town is a stunning city. Its arresting topography and curvy shorelines make it an international stand out. The quality of life here can be exceptional. But the barb-wired homes and sprawling townships that line the highway out of the airport stand as a stark reminder of the economic disparity that defines South Africa.  It is difficult not to be affected by the juxtaposition of such utter poverty against a backdrop of luxurious oceanfront properties and predominantly white ownership. That said, today’s socio-cultural context has been vastly improved from its checkered past, and the racial co-habitation is mostly tension-free. The city holds a particular sentimental value to me as I was engaged here.

After a long and needed sleep, we meet Victor Serov of ALCI/TAC who coordinates logistics for us on the first leg of the trip, up to the South Pole.  There will only be one day to pack our sledges as the cargo will be loaded into the Ilyushin two days before departure. In the afternoon we drive to Camps Bay to lay out our kites, affix the new lines and test a custom tool that I designed for faster winding of our extended lines. Ozone, our kite sponsor, was gracious to make me seventy-five meter lines for the big Yakuza kites. But winding such length around the handles would take forever, as well as instigating more twisting of the line—which can lead to a knotted mess. Never pleasant to undo with mitts on in forty below! The airline calls that evening to inform that luggage has arrived and they will deliver in the morning. Good thing as time will be short to organize, customize and otherwise pack all the food and prepare the sledges.

In the morning, however, only one piece shows. It turns out, the six barrels with all the food, have once again not been loaded onto the airplane.

By the following evening,  KLM says that they still have not made it to Cape Town. I raise hell with the airline. Departure is in two days, and by now, all cargo should have been locked for loading onto the plane. But our Ilyushin plane is delayed by a day. This buys us time. In the morning, however, I find out that the barrels had, in fact, arrived! We rush to organize the sledges, customize last details and get our houses in order. By the end of the day, we are told that the weather in Antarctica will delay departure by twenty-four hours! Eric and I spend the morning shopping for last minute items and a full afternoon in the cargo warehouse, organizing ninety days’ worth of food. By the time we finish, I learned from Victor that we will be delayed another twenty four hours! Departure is now set for tomorrow night—Friday, November 4th. Two days lost.

I spent the last two days climbing the surrounding mountains of Cape Town: table mountain which is up for voting as one of the seven natural wonders of the world, and today, Lion’s Head, my favorite. The weather is warm and the visibility exceptional. The sun sets over Cape Town and this waiting period should soon come to a close.

Waiting wreaks havoc to the mind. The hands of the clock seem wantonly to spin in all directions, both speeding and stretching time. The adrenalin of the last days from LA dissipate, and the lull gives the mind too much room to think. Doubts creep in; longing; and anxiety. Nothing unusual about set backs when dealing with traveling in polar regions. Weather always delays. But the knot also always creeps in with nervous energy. It is time to get this party started. By tomorrow at this time, we will be up in the air, crossing the Antarctic convergence, and entering the polar world. Tic, toc, tic toc…

Los Angeles, CA.

The familiar glaze of panic washed once again over my face at 5AM this morning. I have been up all night finalizing the last packing details, when it struck me: impossible to locate the DC connector for solar charging of my camera batteries. At this stage, four hours from departure for the airport, the filming of this mission could be virtually obliterated. Sure, I could—maybe—find this item in Cape Town. But of the four days we will spend there (two of which on a weekend), most of it will be spent packing the sledges. Besides, this is not a common piece of gear so nothing could be less certain.

The panic always happens to me in the night hours before departure. Most of it is irrational since planning has taken months, and the exacting equipment list was painstakingly compiled over that time. In reality everything is there, somewhere. But the final stage of this exercise, which should be mindless since it is really by the numbers at this stage, is not impervious to the forgetfulness and distraction characteristic of fatigue, or stints of packing interrupted by the stream of visiting friends bidding their farewell before I go. In a mad, unsettling way, I guess, it is part of my method. But planning for a ninety day, unassisted expedition across the middle of Antarctica requires planning for everything from the obvious down to the minutia of clothes pins and extra small neoprene washers! Amundsen who reached the South Pole for the first time on December 14th 1911, said: “Victory awaits him who has everything in order—luck, people call it. Defeat is certain for him who has neglected to take the necessary precautions in time; this is called bad luck.” Scott, who attempted the Pole around the same time would reach it about one month later, but tragically perished with his team on their return journey. Bad luck, people called it…

No one “plans” to be unlucky, but at least 50% of an expedition is won to planning before ever setting a foot out of the plane.. By 9AM, with a handful of loyal friends, we are loading five hundred and ninety seven pounds worth of planning, which includes most of the breakfast, lunches and dinners, including snacks for ninety days of full autonomy, as well as much of the gear. Eric, whom I will meet in Amsterdam on our way down to Cape Town, will complement that with about another two hundred pounds. In all, we will be pulling around four hundred pounds each at the start of the mission! Moving up the glacier will be like pulling a house, and for the fist two weeks until we find appropriate wind line to beginning kiting, I don’t anticipate covering more than a couple of miles a day, in very cold temperatures. East Antarctica, in early November, is not known for its temperate weather.

But for now, the objective is to get all this cargo onto the plane, which officially starts the mission. Ten hours to Amsterdam with one hour of transit and another twelve hours to Cape Town feels in itself like an expedition. I leave my friends curbside at the airport and give my little dog a farewell hug; I won’t see her again for 109 days, if all pans well.

The people you leave behind are the more painful casualty in this type of mission, tearing at your heartstrings for what invariably feels like abandonment. This, of course, is especially the case when it comes to a partner. And ironically, their presence in your heart is often what gives more resolve to succeed. Perhaps in fact for the purpose they provide to come back to.

As I lean back in my seat, the engines roar, and the sprawling urban landscape for Los Angeles soon slowly fades under the wings of the 747, while the mid day sun bathes the surrounding desert on this its warm autumn rays. We are far from Antarctica, but as the jet gains in altitude, the second countdown has begun. D minus 5.

Here we go again–

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