December 14, 2011

S80°23.8123 E037°42.613

Elevation 11570 feet

Today is a big day in the history of polar exploration, of course, as on this day one hundred years ago, Roald Amundsen and his team were the first to reach the South Pole, on December 14, 1911. Amundsen had learned a lot about polar travel from the Inuit in the north. Much of that knowledge was applied to his historical achievement, especially his use of dogs and the clothing he chose. Amundsen, who was not an especially pleasant individual, did boast a very efficient strategy, on and off the ice: he sneaked below the radar in his bid to be the first, ahead of Robert Falcon Scott who had departed from England amidst great media expectations. Amundsen set sails for the Arctic, but once out to sea, to prevent any leaks, changed his bearing and set it to Antarctica and the Ross ice shell, where he wintered over, unbeknownst to Scott who did the same at a nearby location. Scott was younger, and less experienced but a charismatic and eager leader. When he set off on the ice for the Pole, he had no idea that he was engaged in one of the greatest races in history. Instead of planting the British flag upon reaching the South Pole on January 17, 1912, to his great chagrin, Scott found there the Norwegian flag, and a note left for him from Amundsen. Tragically, on his voyage back, Scott and his team perished from cold and starvation, a mere eleven miles from a cache of food they had left on their way in. Scott had made the strategic error of choosing ponies, as well as tractors, in his bid for the Pole. The Scandinavian ponies did not resist the harshness of the Antarctica conditions, and died early. The tractors turned out to be utterly useless in soft snow. The men were therefore forced to haul their food and survival equipment and, faced with vicious storms, did not survive the ordeal. In the expedition world, the rivalry between Norway and England set then, lives even to this day.

For Eric and I, the day was no less significant. The fact that we posted our second best distance today (106 kilometers) was made all the more sweet as a cloud may have lifted from potential aborting of the mission. Of the last two days spent in the tent, the second was a tense contemplation of whether the trip might require medivac on account of my toe: while I finally managed to pull the big toe nail that had been badly bruised from two weeks ago riding the sastrugi, the liquid it had been oozing had set off a cold injury from the cold boots. Cutting the dead skin off the crown of the toe revealed a frost bite significant enough that our prospects looked challenged. Some of the flesh had already turned black, and without a rest day, there was no telling whether and if it might spread. I let the wound air out in the tent all day to assess its condition. After speaking with a frostbite medic, I forwarded photos and got a temporary assessment. Needless to say, I would rather not lose a toe; and yet, with the POI within reach, to abort at this stage was equally unappealing.

I spent some tense hours contemplating options, and their consequences. I was torn. It is hard to explain the mental stakes that reap havoc to the mind: the effort; the planning; years of aspiration; not to mention that the worst of the expedition is behind us. Additionally, one has a different perspective from the ice; the history of polar exploration is riddled with stubby digits…! Luckily, in the morning, the extent of the dead skin cells appeared to be contained. After reconfiguring by boot gaiters, socks combination, and shortening our traveling section duration–from two hours to one, less if my toes felt cold–we decided to go for it. The morning was tense. For one, it is difficult to tell exactly what threshold of cold is or isn’t acceptable. My toes have temporarily lost sensitivity from the long days kiting, and cold feet more or less come with the job. However, after each one hour section, I took the time to walk around and restore circulation to toes and feet. After six and a half hours of kiting, we were both anxious to see whether any change had developed. I am happy to report that the bite is stable, and the actions we have taken seem to be working. We are now 349 kilometers from the POI, a distance that can hopefully be reached in less than a week. For now, the objectives remain the same, even if one at a time: POI, South Pole, and Hercules Inlet. Daily monitoring will diligently be in effect. Don’t worry people, I have no desired to be acquiring the ungainly moniker of Stubby Seb: the toe stays! I obviously have an angel sitting on my shoulder; please don’t fly away!

December 13, 2011

S79°39.887 E034°08.371

Elevation 11466 feet

No luck with the wind again today. A windless day, at 3500 meters on an expedition like this, doesn’t leave many option. The thinner air at this altitude shortens the breath, and hauling the sledges–particularly with this terrain–is simply not an option. Not yet, anyhow. We are slipping on our mileage, each static day tagging a few extra kilometers to our daily requirements, hiking it up to 44.3. But as usual: you can’t get mad at the weather…

The day is spent in the tent fixing, sowing, and refining gear. Luckily, the sun was baking the tent, so we kept toasty. There is always a lot of sowing going on: on mitts, gaiters, clothing. Eric spent some time consolidating the repair job on his binding, hoping that it will hold for the rest of the trip. I added a layer to my over boot gaiters, hoping to gain extra warmth. My toes have been numb from the cold and rough terrain. My big right toe has just lost its nail from being brutalized two weeks ago; it looks a mess. Eric’s cough won’t go away. But on the bright side, my ribs seem to be healing. The downwind tacks we have been kiting go a long way in reducing the squeeze from the harness. They mostly feel like a bad bruise–a sneeze are their worse enemy!–but I am hopeful that they could be healed by the end of the trip. We are almost halfway there. Still a lot of trail to cover. Hopefully some will be tomorrow.

December 12, 2011

S79°39.887 E034°08.371

Elevation 11466 feet

A no wind day is a forced day of rest. When you are constantly making miles versus days calculations in your head, that is mostly a day of frustration. Still, upon stepping out of the tent, it is hard not to be taken by the immense scale of this environment, its untamed and harsh beauty. Deserts are dichotomous by nature. They are sacred places where we go to to find answers about ourselves; and yet their void provides more questions than answers. They are often merciless, but we are drawn to them. We go to them to re-source in spite of their lack of resources. Their silence screams for us to listen, while their stillness subdues us into spiritual contemplation. Jesus sought wisdom in the desert, while men have died in unwise quests to cross them. More than anything, deserts are canvases on which the mind is free to paint over the errors of our past and sketch the map of a hopeful future. In spite of their harshness–and someimes because of it–desert will make us better people.

An ice desert requires the best from you. It demands authenticity, and won’t compromise. It is the ultimate humility enforcer. Antarctica’s very dry climate makes a sunny windless day pleasant for a stroll–given the right clothes and disposition. But wind will instantly change that. Ten knots will turn 35C below into 45C below. In these temperatures, steam from your breath will instantly freeze over hair, fur or fabric. Crystals form on ice itself, creating delicate shapes and fleeting diamonds. All things being relative, ice can have a fragile and feminine quality. But the chill on my nose and ears beckons me back to the warm tent. Thirty below isn’t, after all, someone you want to dance with forever.