January 23, 2012

S79°58.370 W079°43.314

Elevation 712 feet

The day looked promising from the start. Yesterday’s up and down conditions were likely the head of a wind front. From the time we had set up camp, and all through the night, consistent winds had held strong. In the morning, they were still blowing snow on the side of the tent and setting up what looked to be a great travel day. With 230 kilometers left to our trip, those were just the kind of conditions we needed. We hoped to close the gap by end of day.
The thirteen meters were set out at 07:00 hours and immediately shot out of the gate. Our first hour section netted 43 kilometers. The winds grew from there and, for our last day, delivered epic conditions! We quickly switched down to the nine meter kites and stayed on them until the very end. On a broad reach and downwind tack, which has been our heading, kiting overpowered makes for fast, easy and adrenaline-fueled miles. The ice flies below the skis; the terrain races by; the pull on the lines and legs is very manageable. But whatever you do, just don’t crash! At those speeds, it would make for a hell of a yard sale! The scenery was commensurate with the conditions: blowing snow lent a chaotic and wild setting to the landscape. Backlit by the sun, the sastrugi ice was covered by a racing cloud of snow, undulating over the surface like a wave. On our breaks, that snow would hit us with gusts of over forty kilometers per hour; it was chilly and somewhat overwhelming. But once the kite shot up off the ground, generating speeds often exceeding that, the surrounding conditions suddenly felt tamer. We raced along side the blowing snow in what then felt like a graceful, orchestrated choreography. Our tack neutralized the wind, and the chill along with it.

About halfway into our day, we ran into two Australians, Cass and Jonesy, who are setting up to be the first team ever to complete a South Pole and back unsupported skiing trip from Hercules Inlet. We have been following each other’s progress on the ice, as you do with other ambitious expeditions. And again, without having met them previously, instantly felt a brotherhood kinship. We congratulated each other over our impending accomplishments. They asked me about my ribs; I asked Cass about his approaching wedding, especially seeing as I have one coming up myself! We both agreed that thinking about our weddings, and wives-to-be on the trail always brought strength, a smile and a warm feeling in the challenging times. Their progress has been remarkable–they should be three long days from the finish line. It seemed unfair to zip off in front of them, especially with the speeds we were traveling at. From their position, were were hoping to reach Hercules within five hours! In no time, the two black silhouettes that had been sticking out of the ice faded in the blowing snow. We were racing to our own finish line! They disappeared in the distance.

Two hours later, the Ellesworth mountain range appeared like a dot on the horizon, announcing the approaching coastline. We were fifty kilometers away.
The winds held for most of the day, right up to our approach of the Hercules Inlet area. Descending to the Ronne iceshelf amongst glazed ice patches, crevasses and hard, jagged sastrugi would have made strong winds a real nuisance, and a liability. As if on cue, they turned down, almost instantly, to a moderate twelve knots just to accommodate the last hour of our final approach! We could not have hoped for better. Slowly, we negotiated the treacherous terrain, quickly losing elevation: in less than thirty minutes we had dropped two thousand feet. The sun was out; the low altitude raised the temperature; we were baking! The approach route I was given by ALE was remarkably light on crevasses. I was marveling about that to myself when, all of a sudden, I was on top of a set of three small ones. The glazed ice , while moving downhill, made stopping impossible at that point. I chose what looked like a decent bridge, and sped across. One. Two. Three. No harm done! Eric was slightly behind, and looked for an open passage; unable to stop as well, he found another set of bridges and proceeded as I had! We were home free, on our way down the last slope, towards the iceshelf. But suddenly, as in a final wink, Eric’s and my kite simultaneously fell out of the sky, right next to each other. The winds had shut off completely. I looked at my GPS: we were 2.53 kilometers from our landing spot! In a final show of “who’s the boss”, Antarctica was playing its last joke on us. We sat on our sledges for a moment, hoping the winds would come back on. They did not. “I guess that means we’re walking”, I said. “Looks that way”, Eric shot back, in disbelief. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, we had started walking at the other end of the continent, and walking is how we would finish! We strapped our skis to the top of the sledges, hooked in our pulling traces, and begun our descent. No sooner had we started walking that a weak gust announced some wind… We quickly set up the thirteen’s and lifted them in the air! It was light, but enough to slide down. Some. Within two minutes, they, too, fell out of the sky! That was it. We had done one kilometer! With one and a half left to the trip, we folded the kites and wrapped the lines one last time, then resumed back to our downhill walk, and our conversation.

In addition to winds that held in a remarkably, delivering the best kiting day–hands down–of the entire trip, another extraordinary thing happened today. I have mentioned that my sledge had developed a six inch crack two months ago. That crack remained stable for the following 3500 kilometers, and the worst I can say about it was the amount of stowaway snow it accumulated inside. Yesterday, the crack had started showing increased signs of weakening, and throughout today, the weakening increased to a widening fissure, while the runner under its right ski begun falling apart. I removed some of the contents, and gave them to Eric, to reduce compounded weight. I attempted briefly to strap the trace to the back of the sledge, and pull it backwards; but the unavoidable fishtailing generated while kiting, had disastrous consequences. The crack, now in the rear, was catching the ice while fishtailing and the sledge’s unraveling was precipitated; its right side was utterly falling apart. Eric followed me closely for the final four hours of traveling, so scared I was to lose items from the widening gap. It seemed utterly possible at this point that, with our speeds of travel, the sledge would simply split in half! Instead, it held, worsening incrementally, until our final landing spot. There, a massive crack along its side finally opened, which would have made further travel simply impossible. That sledge had held for the entire trip, just to die, on my lap, on the very last moment! Amazing. A little angel was evidently sitting on my shoulder…

We set down on our final campsite at 22:30 hours. We had been on the trail for close to sixteen hours. We had spent three months crossing the Antarctica continent, from East to West, coast to coast, through two of it poles, over four thousand kilometers and have been the first to do so in the long history of polar expeditions. Eric and I had succeeded in the third and final mandate of this mission. Exhausted, we hugged and laughed. I called ALE, our logistics support team, to report on our position, and was met with enthusiastic and congratulatory exclamations. We will be picked up tomorrow if conditions are favorable. Two days later, we will ship off to Punta Arenas, Chile. Our work here is done: mission accomplished! And now, I could really use a bath!

And now for the numbers:
We covered 231.5 kilometers today.
We left on November 4th, exactly 81 days ago; in that time we covered a total distance of 3854 kilometers (about 4100 adjusted kilometers, or 2500 miles) and arrived one day earlier than my scheduled assumption!
The 1120 kilometers from South Pole, we covered in 12 days for an average of 93.3 kilometers per day, which doubles our daily average for the entire trip–about 47.5 kilometers per day for 81 days.
Interestingly, it also took us 12 days to cover the 880 kilometers separating the POI from the South Pole, for an average there of 73.3 kilometers per day.
Our Novo-POI daily average was just about 34 kilometers per day!

January 8, 2012

S90°00.000

Elevation 9301 feet

First, they were the tracks. More of them. Beyond the rigid, five ski platform, the tracks of which we had crossed for the last forty eight hours, we then saw, faintly, mostly lost to the blowing snow, the remains of three skiers’ tracks. Then came vehicle tracks which left what amounts to a highway out here. If all roads lead to Rome, all tracks in Antarctica lead to the Pole; the inescapable iconic destination and sometimes pit stop of the white continent.
The conditions were gusty, and light when we decided to hit the trail, in spite of dying and very light wind predictions for the day. Still, we figured we’d chip away at it, as we had the previous two days. Eighty kilometers separated us from the Pole, thanks to the Clean Air Sector. Our approach angle, from the POI did not serve us well, tacking almost 150 additional kilometers onto our trip. Still, given the purity of the air in Antarctica, this large wedge, extending from the Pole, provides important research to scientists measuring ozone depletion, CO2 and methane content, as well as other greenhouse gases linked to the shift in global climate. In fact, the South Pole research station boasts the longest continuous record of gases in our atmosphere dating back to 1957.
Still, that wedge was a thorn for us, eating up precious time and what could be days in light winds. The tracks we found were somehow re-assuring: both a testament to our correct heading, as well as an indication of other human activity. After so many weeks of autonomy and isolation, it is easy to imagine roaming a post-apocalyptic planet, stripped of civilization, and shrouded in a thick cap of ice. Those tracks confirms that we are not living inside a Hollywood production!
The night had been cold again, due to cloud cover, and I slept cold; without a sleeping bag, I’ll admit that I may as well be out on the trail. The sun was in hiding all day, which made for chilled travel conditions. The gusts would propel us forward for a few minutes of fast travel, but the lulls counter punched with tediously slow speeds.
Nonetheless, we were making decent progress. Five hours into the day, clearing off the clouds in the horizon, appeared a faint gray shading. Something was breaking the singularity of the ice, and it had to be human made. We were thirty five kilometers from the Pole, so this could not possibly be the station quite yet. As we approached, we could now make up the tents that formed an encampment: fifteen or so tents, with a large center mess tent in the middle. We landed the kites, and poked around. The place was deserted, and no fresh tracks were to be found indicating any recent activity. It was eerie, like a ghost town. Inside the mess was a fully stocked kitchen, replete with gas stoves and food. It turned out to be the Russian outpost base for Novolazarevskaya, whose logistics team, TAC, has been monitoring our expedition since its start and providing search and rescue support; in that respect, we were home! I called them from there to report our position, and the two dessert packs that will be missing from their stock! We boiled water and heated the tent. I chose the cinnamon rice pudding; Eric the chocolate mousse (does this actually make us re-supplied…?). And soon, we were back out. A few miles later, the same type of encampment appeared in the distance. We repeated our visit, only to find the same deserted spaces. This time, it was the British Extreme Challenge camp, whose folks we had run into on the ice with their trucks six weeks back.
Not long after that, we were back out wrestling the very fluky winds. Now on an upwind tack, with eighty meters of line on the Yakuza’s, this was not fun. In the gusts, the pull on the lines forces serious strain on the legs; in the lulls, the bearing stalled the kite to a stand still.
But all of a sudden, clearing from the distance, looming on the horizon, was the outline of a much larger complex. I landed my kite to take in that first sighting. About ten kilometers in front of us stood the unmistakable outline of the Amundsen-Scott South Pole station, with its dome and futuristic looking research buildings, built on the very spot that has captured the imagination of all explorers and adventure seeker long before its discovery, one hundred years ago. I thought of Amundsen and Scott, and their successful reach, and with mixed emotion thought of all those who have, from one place or another, approached that point of the globe with the same knot in their stomach. And then I thought of us, here, today. And how, in the history of Antarctica exploration, the route we had covered from the POI to the South Pole was about to be open for the very first time. We were now staring at the success of that mission. A destination gives an expedition is sense of purpose; it is its DNA. And no destination holds more mystic than the Poles. For us, that purpose was about to be realized.
But the South Pole, on that day, would not give itself up that easily: the sharp upwind tack would see to that.
The South Pole Station is quite regulated; one thing that it regulates is where you can, and cannot go as you approach it. There are two flagged paths leading you in, and they are insistent that you follow them to avoid conflicting with their research fields, airports and other activities. Unfortunately for us, the path from our approach was a steep upwind tack that stole the glory out of our arrival. It forced us to pull tacks, and slowed our speed considerably. Besides, the fluky winds had me wonder if we would actually reach the station that evening, or be forced to walk to it, or worse, camp in plane sight of it!
But somehow, foot by foot, we gained ground. At 00:30 GST, after sixty five days of challenging travel across the heart of Antarctica, we set our kites down and unclipped our harnesses. The GPS read South 90°00.000: we had finally reached the iconic geographic South Pole!

December 27, 2011

S82°06.696 E055°01.951

Elevation 12220 feet

It took the time, but I am pleased to report that tonight, at 19:30 GST, Eric and I reached the Antarctica Pole of Inaccessibility! This marks a first in the history of polar exploration: until today, no team had succeeded in reaching the POI without assistance or motorized transportation. The farthest point from any coast, the POI is effectively the heart of Antarctica, and regarded as the most difficult spot to reach in complete autonomy. A bust of Lenin, and a communications tower is all that remains of the Soviet era base which has been buried by drifting snow since it was abandoned almost fifty years ago. And now our red tent brings life back to the ghostly set!

The day started bleak. I woke Eric up at 5:30 as the wind had considerably dropped, but still held a punch. We were excited to finally get out of the tent and make some miles. If the wind held, we could close the 96 kilometers gap in four, maybe five hours. But during the short time it took to clear the tent of the considerable snow banks that had accumulated during the storm, the winds kept faltering–our hopes along with them. We set off with the fourteen meters Yakuza, but within the first hour, our speed was decreasing. It was disheartening, and set the tone for hard work. Given the pattern, the winds were sure to drop, and what then? Additionally, the temperatures remained cold at around 35C below without wind-chill. The storm had shredded the ice, and the sastrugi was vicious. My legs were burning; my toes chilled; the short night was getting to me; and the newly fixed binding kept coming undone; I was not having a good day. By 14:00 hour, I could no longer get the kite up in the air, so weak was the wind. Eric, assisted me, twice, by throwing it in the air, while I did my best to get the eighty meter lines up to find wind above. Our feeling was: whatever distance we don’t cover now, we’ll likely have to walk! That was motivation enough for Eric to run his own kite and get it in the air; how he managed, I’ll never know, but he is a light air specialist. Surprisingly, by 16:00 we were still going. Rather than shutting down, the wind actually built a little. By then, it might have turned to a cruel game: we were thirty three kilometers from the POI, and we could not get out of our head that we would get just within striking distance and the conditions to shut down! Not wanting to jinx it, I chose to blow through our scheduled break. This would be like the final approach on the mountain: you push until you get there.
By 18:30, we had been on the trail for ten hours–our longest stretch of the trip. Miles had been slow throughout the day, but now they were picking up! We had fifteen kilometers to close the gap–this was happening! As if to announce it, I skied over two hollows, experiencing the same sound wave blast from ten days ago. We raced over the ice, and I looked at the empty vastness ahead of me, scanning the horizon, expecting any moment to see appear a marker. With seven kilometers to go, we set down to check our bearing. Good thing as it was forty five degrees off: we almost overshot it! We lifted off one last time and rode practically next to each other, in formation. Within minutes, I raised a fist in the air and screamed, looking over at Eric who did the same! Ahead of us, sticking from the horizon were two markers; we sped toward them. The tall sastrugi we were now crossing at a ninety degree angle no longer mattered; the burn in my legs was forgotten; and the adrenaline actually warmed my toes! In no time, we were closing in. Each foot of ice separating us from what I had so long planned for was disappearing under my skis. We could now make out a thin, derelict communications tower, and the remains of a drilling platform. And of course, the famed bust of Lenin, sticking out of the ice, propped up on a wooden stand, at once stoic, incongruous and forlorn in this desolate space; like a Napoleon on a frozen Elba, in a timeless exile. The rest of the base was somewhere below our skis. We passed the tower, made a slow downwind turn, and simultaneously set down our kites.

Fifty three days, and we were there. Eleven hours on the trail, and 96 kilometers later, the Antarctica winds relented and honored our effort by letting us close the gap with our head high and a glory’s grace. We hugged and laughed. My lips were seized by the biting cold, but I mumbled something about accomplishment in life being so fleeting that it must be celebrated. We were giddy. I set up a tripod to freeze the moment in time. Because a photo, you see, is never fleeting.

On behalf of Sebastian, I would like to extend a very special thank you to the following supporters. It’s because of their generous pledges to our Kickstarter campaign we were able to not only meet our goal, but to exceed it by more than $1,500!!

TO:
Simone Walther
Isaiah Martin
Regan Mahoney
Paige Zangrillo
Cynthia Reed
Ana Hooker
Brian Culwell
Alex May
Amir Gheissari
Alexandra Shaw
Shawn Gold
Ariel Barkai
Lauren Burnhill
Kevin W. McNeely
Charlotte Paulson
Veronique Pittman
Katrin Hannan-Bobe
David Heisler
Julie Schaffner
Matt Petersen
Martino Scabbia Guerrini
Leila Amirsadeghi
Jeff Altman
Hugh Garry
Alice Ericsson
Cecile Bazelon

It’s tremendously inspiring to know that there are generous supporters interested in this epic, and historical expedition. Your pledges will be going directly to the costs associated with the filming aspect of the yet to be titled, Antarctica 2011/2012 Legacy Crossing film project. Thank you!

As Sebastian would say;
See ya on the other side!

Jessica Ceballos
(on behalf of Sebastian Copeland)

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–

ClimatePartner has just awarded us with a carbon offset certificate for the Greenland 2010 Legacy Crossing.  What this means is, whatever carbon was created by flights taken for this expedition, was neutralized by supporting a recognized and certified climate protection project. In this case, a the Rio Verde Chico project in Guatemala .  We’ll be doing the same for the Antarctica 2011-12 Legacy Crossing, where one tree will be planted for every kilometer traveled . You can click on the image for a closer look at the award.