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…