January 29, 2012

        

It happened really fast, as it usually does. But this time we were swept off the ice in record time. We had prepared our usual dinner upon reaching Hercules Inlet. Nothing fancy, except for the extra butter. There were no parades, podium or cash prizes. No cheering crowds or laurel wreaths. But we had laid claim to three new polar records, and in the history of Antarctica firsts, this was reward enough. And it made up for one more meal of curried rice with dehydrated chicken bits. We had our limbs, our wits, and all of our toes (minus a few millimeters for some), and memories for a lifetime. We enjoyed our celebratory dinner, and indulged in the last of Eric’s chocolate powder which added the finishing touch to our champion’s dinner! Hercules Inlet is on the western coast, at the edge of the continent. It is hugged by the mammoth Ronne ice shelf, second in size only to the Ross ice shelf to the south. The Ronne ice shelf had lost a section as large as Rhode Island two years ago, due to warming trends around the peninsula. From where we stood, however, you would never know it. Ice shelves form around coastlines as an extension of ice sheets from glaciers pouring into the ocean; they form a floating barrier of ice that seamlessly extends from the land based ice. Consequently, there is no ocean to be seen anywhere near there.

I wrote my final expedition blog, still high from the rush of finishing, in spite of what was now a very long day. Amazingly, the update connector cable, as well as the update camera, chose to rest their souls on that final day, just as the sledge had! Hard though I tried, I simply could not transmit the message and share the news of our successful finish! I had set up a sked call with the base to coordinate pick up in the morning at 12:00 hours GST. It was now 04:00 hours; the sun was bright; the air was still; I finally collapsed on top of my sleeping bag. Life was good.

Powerful winds at Union Glacier delayed our pick up by a few hours the next day. That, seemed odd—and somewhat anti-climactic—since Union Glacier is barely twenty minutes away by plane, and Hercules was dead calm. Still, around 15:00 hours, the silence of our tent was broken by the faint and distant hum of a plane’s engine. We leaped outside, and sure enough, a dot appeared in the sky from behind a nunatak up the glacier, and descended towards us. In no time, the Twin Otter was pulling up next to the tent. We were breaking down camp, one last time. We loaded our sledges onto the plane. I looked around, taking in the peaceful stillness of the ice and the sloping hills in front of us; the engines started with a roar next to me, and the props kicked a powerful air flow that we could have used on our descent the day before! I stepped inside the cabin and closed the door. The plane started moving, quickly gaining speed and gracefully lifted off the shredded ice. Minutes later, we were high above the Ellesworth range, and I looked over in the distance to our left in the direction that we had traveled to reach the Inlet. On this clear day, I could see forty, maybe fifty kilometers to the south and visualized our final approach from yesterday. Life looked far different then. Eventually, the plane banked a right turn and begun its descent into ALE’s Union Glacier camp. Our reality was about to permanently shift. The trip had officially ended.

We were greeted warmly on the runway. Because UG is on UTC-3 time, we arrived for lunch. The whole camp was in the communal meal tent and gave us a round of applause; expeditions are followed closely with a large map, and ours figured as one of the very last ones off the ice, and the longest in distance and duration. The first meal is always an experience, and this one did not disappoint! Beet salad, stews, fresh vegetables, pudding. It was all there. A smorgasbord of flavors and colors, made all the more remarkable by the location: we are still very much in Antarctica, and the freshness and abundance of food served to well over fifty people stands as a testament to ALE’s logistical organization. What these guys pull off in this context is nothing less than epic. We were served champagne and offered a toast. The assault on the senses was made all the more palatable as I don’t really drink alcohol and what I really craved was a coca-cola! They had that too. I proceeded to stuff myself until my stomach hurt! I then made a visit to the medic’s tent. They had monitored the condition of my toes over the phone and were anxious to see for themselves. In all, they were impressed with how clean and infection-free I had managed. While my left toe is out of danger and I have a chance to keep my right, the jury is out on the procedure. Of utmost importance will be to keep the wounds clean. The left is well on the way to recover, especially now in the low elevations, where oxygen is plentiful, and blood is gorged with it and can proceed with its healing job. The other toe will require extra care to prevent infection and probably a skin graft; unless  bone is revealed when the eschar (the black bit) falls off, which could mean amputation…. We’re not there yet, but merely moments after finishing the expedition, they are now throbbing more than I had realized, and I find it hard to imagine how I could get them squeezed inside a ski boot everyday for weeks of pounding abuse from the sastrugi. Amazing how resilient we can get when necessary.

Given our early finish—two days sooner than expected—we are informed that an Ilujshin will be coming in at 22:30 that evening and that we’re on it. We’re coming off the ice! We have a few hours to organize and gather our stuff. My sledge packs a large amount of stowaway snow; I want to get that out before it melts into a soaked mess on the plane. Time seems to race by, which is a shame as the setting of the ALE camp could certainly warrant some walking around. It is visually nothing short of arresting. Surrounded by rising mountain peaks pushing from below the ice, the planes, tractors and other heavy machinery that pepper the camp showcase the incredible logistical exercise on display here. This is big stuff; in fact, it doesn’t get bigger than that. They should shoot a James Bond sequence down here! The production value is unreal.

Barely ten hours after getting picked up from Hercules Inlet, the powerful jet engines of the Ilujshin shoot us down the icy runway, and we take off above the mountains, direction Punta Arenas, Chile, thereby bookending a journey that started eighty three days ago. This plane follows the same Spartan aesthetics guidelines as the one we boarded in Cape Town: worn, discolored tape holding pipes and ducks together; exposed cables and wires; passenger seating and cargo within the same cabin space. With the exception that this one does not have a porta-potty strapped to the back! You’ll just have to hold it in for the duration of the five hour flight! I lean into my seat, put my head down. The questionable earplugs that were handed before takeoff fall out of my ears and, in spite of the high decibels from the engine inside the aircraft, I pass out into a deep slumber.

Upon stepping out of the airplane, the fist thing that strikes me, aside from the utter absence of snow or ice anywhere (it is summer down here) is the darkness of night. We have not seen nighttime for three months; consequently, time has had a different meaning. The darkness of the early morning re-connects us to our internal body clock. In rapid succession, all other senses are assaulted. There are shapes, colors, smells and sounds that feel both familiar and foreign at the same time. A bus shuttles all of us from the plane to the hotel. I am the first to check in. My blinders are on: I can only think of one thing—getting into the elevator; opening my bedroom door; running a hot water bath; removing my boots; peeling off all articles of clothing; and stepping into the warm, inviting, porcelain tub! Before that, however, I take a breath, turn to the mirror and for the first time in three months, take in the shape of my emaciated body. I have an enormous beard, and I would estimate my weight loss to be around thirty pounds! I look like a frail, old man. I remind myself that this shock I have experienced on every long trip. I will get over it. I will eat. I will train. And soon I will regain my health, and re-claim my youth. I sit back into the tub. I close my eyes. Slowly, I slide down into the warm water until my head is submerged. Holding my breath, I feel warmth all over my skin. I could stay under forever. The trip is done. The dream complete. The rest is easy. I just have to climb back up. But I think I will stay down here for a little while longer. It is quiet here, under the surface, and with eyes closed, I can see the vast expanse of ice stretching forever before me, beckoning me to remember.

I will not forget.

 

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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!

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January 22, 2012

S82°02.720 W079°57.185

Elevation 2763 feet

At the beginning of The Big Sleep, Raymond Chandler talks about “those crazy winds, that make normal people do crazy things.” In the book, he refers to the Santa Ana winds, the powerful desert winds that descend on southern California during the winter months and reap havoc with their powerful gusts. But Chandler could well have been describing the Katabatic winds in this area of Antarctica, as yesterday proved to be the toughest, most frustrating day of the entire trip. And the winds, at least in the second half of our long day, had a lot to do with it.

At this stage of the expedition, the challenge is acute; bodies are worn out; nerves are frayed; and the proximity of the finish line adds an elevated tension–it feels like we’re there, but anything could happen with conditions, equipment or injury to rob the laurels and compromise our closing. Getting out in the morning is more difficult by the day. Focus, in these last days, is critical.

After yesterday’s long day, and given the weak morning conditions, we were slow out of the tent. We set off on what begun as a long shlog, moving downwind still, while the terrain proved soft and relatively friendly. As the day wore on, the wind picked up little by little, and our speed accelerated accordingly. The sun was in hiding for most of the morning, but a patch of blue on the horizon held promise for later in the day. In the distance, we could make out a grey shift in the lanscape that was so notable that it looked like the sea. Evidently, that was not it, but the distinction in shading had us wonder what this could be. By the time we reached it, the sun pierced through the clouds and exploded onto the ice. What it revealed was the most tightly woven sastrugi shredded area that we were about to enter. At the speed were now traveling, this meant another serious rodeo. The sastrugi was not high, save for some sporadic spots to be avoided at all cost, but there was literally no flat area to set a tent should we have chosen to do so. We still followed the “road”, but our straight downwind bearing made it challenge to stay on it at all times. In between, the accelerations over this terrain were intense. The shaking that goes on, both on the limbs and in the sledge, is hard to describe. Now that the sledge is half empty, things fly all over the place in there.

Early in the day, my water bottle, filled with what precious chocolate and protein mix I had left over, bursted in the sledge, soaking–then quickly freezing–all the nearby items. This is especially frustrating as that sweet chocolate solution has been a favored item of mine, especially since the petrol leak which contaminated my reserves, and forced me to ditch a couple of bags. I am now left with drinking warm water on the trail!

After flipping the sledge a couple of times–the reduced weight at this stage of the trip makes flips virtually impossible to prevent–I inspected the crack on the ski bed. In the last few days, given the harder ice we have been skiing over, the crack has been noticeably worsening. By now, it was beginning to shred, and the stoewaway snow inside was out of control. I have concerns over whether it will finish the trip. I have given the heavier items to Eric, to reduce the pounding, and starting today, I will actually pull the sledge backwards, which should reduce the impact on that front crack.

We had been making good distance, but eventually, the wind proved too strong for the big guns. This I realized when, after stopping to flip my sledge back, I could not prevent the kite, while resting on the ground, from pulling the sledge which made it virtually impossible to get my skis on! Blowing snow was now kicking hard; in a matter of minutes, conditions had gone from fifteen knots to twenty five. After wrestling with the kite to fold it, and coiling the long lines, I launched the nine meter Frenzy. It was perfect for the conditions. Except that five minutes into it, the blowing snow was gone, and the wind had dropped to under ten knots! We went back to the Yakuza’s, but twenty minutes in, after wrestling with what quickly became overpowered conditions, we were forced to put down again, and wrap the kite. We set up the nine’s once again, but by the time they were up and ready to go, the wind had dropped! We waited and decided for the thirteens. This begun a back and forth circus that lasted another three hours. We opted against rigging and re-rigging and simply sat on the sledges during the lulls which happened every few minutes. We had covered 122 kilometers in the first seven hours out on the trail; during the following three, we managed only 12 kilometers given the twitchy conditions. Our hopes to close another two hundred kilometer day were shattered; and mostly out of frustration, we chose to set up camp. Of course, the minute we were set up, the wind came back, and stayed until we fell asleep. I cursed more on that day alone than I have the entire trip!

Before shutting down, we heard the sound of an engine approaching the tent. It was the six wheel mega van from ALE’s South Pole base. The chaps driving it stopped by for a moment, and gave us a beer. Ooops! Does that actually make us re-supplied…! In the end we covered a total of 134 kilometers. We are 230 kilometers from Hercules Inlet, a distance we could cover in a day… if the winds would hold. This morning as I write this, they are kicking and blowind snow. It is promising. For the record, we have covered a total of 3622 kilometers so far. Adjusted miles are about 3900 kilometers given the many downwind tacks and the imposed detour approaching the South Pole and the Clean Air Sector. We are closing in. It may be a photo finish, but we’re going to do this!

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