Archive for the ‘Antarctica 2011 Legacy Crossing’ Category

November 25, 2011

S74°02.449 E012°05.765

Elevation 10969 feet

(Eric snacking on a break)

ALC is our expedition code name–acronym for Antarctica Legacy Crossing. Daily, at 21:00 GST, I put in a call to Andrei, the Russian search and rescue base manager to communicate our GPS position. If he doesn’t hear from us within 24 hours, he will initiate an S&R mission based on our last communicated position. When I mention on tonight’s sked call that we have traveled 75.3 km, he seems genuinely excited. It is so far our personal best, but pales in comparison to most days on Greenland. Antarctica has been very different so far. Apart from much colder temperatures for a similar seasonal time period, the combination of terrain and the cargo we are pulling for an unassisted 85 to 90 day mission puts a dent on racking up the mileage. The wind was pumping for most of the day, but we can’t seem to get past a 18 kilometers per hour top speed. The sastrugi has been virtually absent all day, which is a blessing. I am assuming that our altitude–we rose another 400 feet today, and are over 3600 meters–has a lot to do with it. It has been replaced by a combination of soft powder and patches of glazed ice. The powder slows the progress, while the ice offers moments of weightless glide. As the hours progress, I cannot stop making mileage versus days calculations, figuring the realistic daily average needed to reach our goal. The hours roll, one into the next, and depending on the wind gusts, and our speed of travel, I fluctuate between feeling like a truck driver putting on the miles, or a riders of the apocalypse, flying over a ocean frozen in time and space, headed on an abstract mission, nowhere in particular, in a world void of beings. Looking to my right, for most of the day, I see Eric, about 75 feet away, gliding over the ice, and I have to say, it looks pretty awesome. When the sun peaks out of the low clouds, I see my shadow on the ground, holding on to the kites bar and realize that I will be chasing it for another 60 days or so.

We are 1282 kilometers from our first destination: the Antarctica Pole of Inaccessibility…

November 24, 2011

S73°25.968 E011°02.761

Elevation 10562 feet

After last night’s rib incident, we were slow out of the tent, allowing the morning to psyche myself up. The sharp pain was a sobering reminder that this inconvenience will likely be with me at various stages for the remainder of the trip. We are about twenty five percent into it, so the next sixty days or so.

On a long trip such as this, one is constantly faced with doubts and the looming specter of failure–especially in the beginning. Each equipment failure, or physical ailment leaves room for questions as to the feasibility of the objective. The is a lot of fixing gear, and time versus distance evaluation. And twenty days in, these thoughts are at the forefront. Overall, while our distance has been hampered by weather and terrain, as well as the weight of the sledges which slows our speed, I remain optimistic about our chances.

Conditions were kinder to us today, as we still gained elevation and the demolition derby gave way to more of a rally analogy. The surface smoothened out, and navigation, while still requiring pointed attention, is much more relaxed than in days past. Additionally, we are encountering much softer snow, and large patches of powder. The wind was with us for most of the afternoon, until it shut down, unceremoniously at five thirty, thereby shortening our day by two needed hours. Still, the sun was out, which made for a pleasant day of travel, and as the ice glided below our skis, we push further into the heart of Antarctica. We covered 52.3 kilometers today, and rose 460 feet in elevation. We have traveled 305 kilometers since Novo. A long way to go…

It’s Thanksgiving today in the US. We had rice&beans! Happy turkey day, everybody!

November 23, 2011

S72°58.199 E010°47.191

Elevation 10104 ft

As if to bless our day, a white Tern, again, flew over us as we were about to set off. Conditions were mediocre with marginal visibility: white clouds and some fog white robbed all details from the ice. This, very quickly, proved to be critical as the surface turned into a mangled field of nasty sastrugi and a real rodeo. More like a demolition derby since major obstacles were mostly unseen but for when we collided or rode over them. It made for tense traveling conditions: every muscles i engaged, and eyes squinting through the goggles in a futile attempt to decipher the treacherous ground. The wind was there but we were forced to travel slow, laboriously advancing through the white sheet. Halfway through the day, the fog slowly lifted but still no love from the sun. This reduced somewhat the wild ride we were on, but only slightly. Occasionally, the terrain would smooth out for a section, easing up the tension. But randomly, the sastrugi would come back in force and we were back at it.

Late in the afternoon, upon looking back, three dots appeared about a mile behind us. Trucks! Andrei, from the base, had told me that a convoy was headed to the Pole, and given our position and wind tack, we would be on a similar bearing. Apparently they had picked on our tracks, carefully navigating through the wild terrain. They had our kites in sight for about an hour before they eventually caught up with us. There are the team setting up the Ultimate Race, a show for the BBC involving racing the last 800 kilometers to the Pole. Their modified six wheel drive Toyota pick ups are real monster trucks, jacked up on enormous tires, and customized for this environment. We spent thirty minutes hanging out. We gave them our two small sleds and garbage to bring to the pole where we can have them shipped to our end point. No ditching and polluting–that’s a relief.

By the time we set off, the conditions had improved; visibility was good and the terrain significantly smoother. We saw the trucks speed up into the horizon on their 1200 kilometers journey. About an hour after setting off, however, and for no obvious reason, my rib clicked and the sharp pain I had not experienced for a week was back. It was tough to move and forced us to set up camp. This happened, unfortunately, six minutes before our end of day break… We are now well over three thousand meters and the air is definitely thinner–any effort leaves you short of breath. We covered 38.5 kilometers and 600 feet of rise.

November 22, 2011

S72°37.734 E010°37.636

Nasty, nasty, nasty. This morning held promise: while the wind still had muscle, the snow was no longer blowing off the ground, and visibility was good. The forecast called for another three days of this storm, but as always, optimism–delusion or desperation, whatever you want to call it–had us make our own judgment and pick the under dog. It felt like a sporty day, but manageable on smaller kites. By 2 PM we decided to go for it and get ready. We were pumped to put in some miles, and by the looks of it, we would also clock some good speed. I was already counting the milk money, and figured that even with a late start, we could rack forty, perhaps fifty miles for the day. By the time the tent was wrapped and the sleds packed, snow was blowing again, and visibility had dropped to a hundred feet. We deployed the nine meter kites, but immediately realized that the wind was building. By the time the six meters were out, we were back to an all out blizzard. Eric and I turned to each other; our face masks and goggles could hardly hide that beaten look. It was cold, nasty, and besides, the wind had shifted even further to the South, closing the angle we need to tack.

“Do we really want to do this?”, I asked. “Not really,” he replied. Moments later we were wrestling with the tent in the wind, rolling it out on a fresh piece of frozen ground. Our home, sweet home. We traveled a distance of exactly thirty one meters today! As always, one cannot get mad at the weather; but occasionally, just occasionally… you can at least pretend!

November 21, 2011

We are committed to the tent for the second consecutive day, as the storm rages on outside. This, of course, is reminiscent of Greenland when, after our first day of kiting–following a less tedious but still painful ascent of the glacier–we spent the following seven days pinned down by hurricane strength winds! From inside the relative comfort of our Hilleberg tent, things aren’t as dire. Antarctica’s dry air and the tent’s greenhouse effect bring the indoor temperature to a very moderate 10C degrees or so. This is a well appreciated contrast to the Arctic sea ice, where inside the tent is barely a few degrees warmer than the outside. Here, from 10 AM until about 4 PM, while the sun hovers around its local zenith, indoor life can be relatively civilized. We read, eat, and listen to podcasts or language lessons. The constant flapping of the tent becomes but an after thought, until an unusually strong gust makes enough of an impression for us to look up at each other and nod in appreciation.

Upon stepping outside, however, the fierce conditions are an instant reminder of the respect Antarctica commands. The spin drift flies up to four feet high, shielding the horizon in a blanket of white. In fact, details fade away as if in a fog, reducing visibility to about forty feet. The wind is strong and cold, and it is easy to imagine that frost would literally bite exposed skin in less than a minute. The sun is still visible amidst low clouds, and over head, the sky is partially blue. In the late afternoon, the frozen ground catches the sun’s rays and reflects them as if a mirror. Were it not for the wind-chill temperature plummeting around 60C below, one could easily spend hours watching the natural spectacle of the drift racing over the ice and blowing over the sastrugi, redefining its shapes, as it does endlessly. This is a highly dynamic world, forever mutating and reforming to the whim of its winds. In contrast to its harshness, this is also a timid environment, its beauty shielded by inaccessibility. Even while immersed in it, I can only spend a few minutes taking in the drama before retreating to the safety of our tent. Up here on the ice cap, Antarctica follows a rhythm where life does not figure. It is, quite literally, like entering another world.

By early evening, the sun is out and the winds appear to be pulling back some. The forecast calls for one more day of bad weather, but who knows, perhaps it will be kind to us. We still have a long way to go…

November 20, 2011

The forecasted storm reached us after all. The strong wind that we caught yesterday was the head of it. We had optimistically hoped that the two hundred kilometers that now separate us from the coast might shield us, but it was not to be. By the middle of the night, the tent was shaking like a rag doll, violently displacing air inside, and it did not let up until mid morning. Around 1 PM, we started packing our things, but all matters of blowing snow and surging gusts had us reconsider; the storm is predicted to last until Tuesday, and erring on the side of caution we chose to avoid finding ourselves building camp in dire conditions. Good thing as we clocked the wind in the afternoon over 55 kilometers per hour, which isn’t so bad (we experienced over 100 km/h on Greenland, and for seven consecutive days!) but too much for a long kiting expedition. Confined to the tent, this turned out to be a rest day, even if loud and on the chilly side. Outside, the spin drift has already half-buried the sledges and is climbing the sides of the tent. The sky is overcast but again the sun puts out a fight to stay in the picture. By late afternoon, it hangs low on the horizon; at this latitude and for this time of year, it no longer sets. The snow drift racing over the sastrugi offers the usual spectacle, like a dance that never gets old. The winds here have been shaping the ice for millions of years and blowing snow has been running over it ever since. If it had a mind, it would no doubt wonder what two individuals are doing stationed in this frigid world. Not a place for a picnic. Hopefully tomorrow will let us move. We have traveled 214 kilometers since starting.

November 19, 2011

S72°37.719 E010°37.657

Elevation 9497 feet

I looked back, and that was it: they were gone. It happened progressively, as we gained elevation. The last of the peaks had been waging a losing battle against the massive ice cap. These earthy features of snow covered rocks, which had been with us since Novo, and had once stood valiantly in their vertical splendor, had noticeably shrunk as we advanced south. Soon, the last ones–timid hills by the end–were swallowed up without ceremony by the rising ice. Somewhere below our feet were hills and valleys; but they would not reappear for the next forty eight hundred kilometers, on the opposite coast, crushed by over ten thousand feet of frozen crystals. We have entered the pure world of ice.

Ahead, as if to salute our sojourn, three Arctic Terns, small white birds, flew playfully around my kite for a while, most likely curious about the large colorful bird doing figure eight’s in the sky. Eventually, they disappeared in the white sky, and we were alone.

Today felt like the first official day of the expedition. The wind was there from morning to night, temperamental at first, but strong enough to get us up on the plateau, where it grew to twenty five knots, and blowing snow. In the afternoon back light, I looked at Eric, a little downwind from me, and the ice looked like a sea of silver; alive, undulating. The ice is hard–the temps have dipped to 30C below without windchill–and some portions saw nasty sastrugi, and dips over a meter high. The sledges are bouncing and sliding all over the place. Our bearing is a little too much in the south on account of the wind direction, but we should make up for it higher on the plateau where the predominant wind will be from our back.

We covered 72 kilometers today and climbed a remarkable 2390 feet in rise!

November 18, 2011

S71°58.811 E011°04.241

Elevation 7111 feet

The morning saw us wake to the familiar white sky, and the sun at the losing end of an uneven struggle with low clouds and light falling snow crystals. Like yesterday, the wind was non existent, and the best bet for the day was to cope a good attitude and welcome the struggle. Within a few minutes of hearing the hissing of the sledges over the Styrofoam snow, this was replaced by some measure of cursing, and various stages of undress from the sweat inducing labor! Hard though I tried to populate my mind with positive thoughts, my brain got sucked in an accelerating blender where not one idea stuck, but rather, all bumped and collided with no rhyme or reason. After a futile attempt at convincing myself that I loved the effort, what came out of me was:”this sucks!”
“Yep,” was what I heard back from Eric!

We took turn taking the lead. Barely noticeable in the distance through the light fog, was what appears to be the last of the mountain range. For two days, I have thought that we would reach this landmark by the end of our day. But given our pace, this now certainly seemed unlikely. In the middle of our second section, I caught a chill; a light breeze developed from the west and instantly cooled me down. It was light, but worth a shot. We changed boots and got dressed. And after a few attempts managed to get the big guns in the air. The Ozone Yakuza’s are powerful handle kites designed for light air; and these 14’s delivered. The wind picked up for a little while and we were cruising. Then it died. Then, minutes later, switched to the opposite direction, out of the east. Then died. Then picked up again, and strengthened enough to generate blowing snow. Eric and I each have one of the small sledges in tow of the big ones, but at the sped we are now traveling, Eric’s is regularly flipping. The sledges are bouncing all over the ice. The wind seems to be increasing still and we choose to down size for safety reasons. By the time we have wrapped the 14’s and released the 13 meter Frenzy’s, the wind had shut off entirely! It was now seven PM and we had finally reached that rocky outcrop, and camped next to it. We had covered 18 km and rose about 610 feet in elevation.

In the evening, we spoke to our friends Dixie and Sam who were flown back to Novo after encountering one meter sastrugi’s and 70 kilometer winds. They were dropped off on the plateau, not close to where we are going, but of course this raises concerns. They are trying to figure what to do from here, and we wish them the best of luck in finding solutions. In parting, they warn us that a three day storm is headed our way…

November 17, 2011

S70°51.212 E010°59.213

Elevation 6580 ft

The sun was hiding behind a white blanket of cloud cover, and a very fine snow was drifting down when we woke. By the time we made it out of the tent, a light fog was obstructing the horizon, and the visibility was mediocre. However, a light breeze was coming from the East, perhaps enough to fly the big guns and point upwind. It was worth a shot, even if to switch boots and unwind the 75 meters of line can be a downer, when it proves futile. With the soft snow, the sledges brought extra drag, and while I managed to get the kite up, moving was laborious, especially upwind. The kite folded a few times before collapsing in a crumpled mess, requiring unclipping, walking the length of the lines, there and back to reset the wing, and giving it another try. Eric, a specialist of light winds was patient with me. This seemed pointless, but for the prospect of hauling instead. By luck, the wind manifested a little, and we were on our way. My ribs were in check with the customized leg straps and Ibuprofen 800’s–felt like a sore lateral muscle. Soon, the wind strengthen some and we were gaining ground. The pull upwind was considerable on the 14 meter Yakuza’s, and required hard and sustained edging with the skis. But the feeling you get from watching the ground fly below your feet after days of pulling is almost magical! Each foot a victory. It was not to last, however. We landed the kites for a short break after an hour, time enough for the wind to drop. The glacier we are presently ascending is squeezed between two mountain ranges, their height noticeably lower as we gain elevation, and the are bottlenecking where we are. This and the foggy weather makes it surprising that we even got some wind to begin with. After an hour of frustrated attempts and unfulfilled promises, we were back to winding the lines, puling the cross country skis and boots out, and switching harnesses… A very fine coating of dry snow would keep falling, while the sun attempted in vain to clear the low clouds. The fresh coating resulted in what we call “styrofoam snow”: the temperature is too low for the snow crystals to bond. The result is snow that sounds and feels like pulling over the plastic foam: it creates extra drag, hampering our progress and speed, not to mention our spirit. In 20C below, we are both in woolen tops, no jacket. The steam instantly turns to white crystals, frosting up the wet wool. The effort is relentless. Sucking on air, a ten foot section can deplete you like a hundred meter sprint. I looked up and saw a white bird–a Tern–barely visible against the white clouds, circling us a few times before disappearing in the white void. Probably an angel, coming down to check on us! After three hours of this, we pack it in. It is 6:30 PM–and tea time. We have managed 15.16 km and 460 feet of elevation. We have traveled almost 125 kilometers since we started, and are two thirds of the way up the glacier. This is painstaking.

November 16, 2011

S71°42.482′ E010°50.749′

Elevation 6183 ft

“This hill won’t climb itself!”, is what I kept repeating myself, time and again, each time I stopped to catch my breath, which happens more or less every couple of minutes. Today was another whopper. The day started with just enough wind to make us believe. So much so that we strapped our ski boots on out of the tent. We just needed to finish the last hundred meters from last night’s hill to see what laid ahead. No sooner had we reached the top, that we switched back to the cross country boots: in front of us sprawled a long valley riddled with crevasses. Seems the path we chose did not, in the end, spare us. We maneuvered carefully, and for a good hour tethered each other: theoretically, at least, if one of us fall through, the other can stop the fall. Or go in with him! In the end the bridges held, even if occasionally one of our poles would go right through and reveal the green void below. By the time we were done playing catch up with our emotions, we faced yet another hill. The air had gotten dead-still, which was unfortunate as the terrain was for once much friendlier to navigate, although as we were soon to find out, the snow at this altitude is getting much softer, and hauling the sledges through soft snow is like dragging them through syrup! No glide, and no breaks. We were moving very slow. But at least the sun was out, and the air still. With this type of effort, you sweat like a convict. And in spite of the minus 15C temperatures, I was topless but for my nylon fishnet top, which, while designed to prevent wet wool from sticking to the skin–giving it a chance to dry–also makes me look like a member of The Village People. Eric wore his pajamas. The views are still arresting as we are framed by two mountain ranges on either side of us. Certainly one of the most scenic landscapes anywhere: long expanse of rolling ice leading to the feet of precipitous peaks. That alone is worth the price of admission. The hills continue their sadistic head game: reaching the top simply means the reveal of the next one. The gods were kind to Sisyphus–they did not send him to Antarctica to haul a heavy sledge! We are halfway up the plateau, and traveled seven kilometers today for about two hundred feet of rise. During my daily sked call with Andrei tonight, we find out that one team–Dietmar and Guhnter–has thrown in the towel on their expedition and are back in Cape Town, while the other–our friends Dixie and Sam–have asked for a pick-up and relocation to another destination… “Don’t give up, Sebastian, you guys are the only expedition left on the ice from Novo!”, he tells me. No chance of that at this point; with or without broken ribs. This hill won’t climb itself! The march goes on.