Action shot of the screen of my big camera explains the quality of the transfer

N76°28.481 W52°50.579 Elevation 7395 Feet

We are steeped in powder. A fresh blanket of light, dry snow shrouds the ice, rounding up the sharp edges of the sastruga in one, even layer that stretches in all direction. And somehow, for no logical reason, everything feels quieter. Except, of course, when you attempt to walk through it without ski and sink to your knee with each step. The celestial silence is then invariably broken by the sharp sound of a curse, or a grunt!
And it gets into everything. It sticks to you, and wants to be your friend. It gets in the sledges; on the sledges; inside your bags; your gloves; your helmet… And when kiting, the sledges plow through it creating a spray in their wake that lands–where else–on top of them. After a one hour run, the stowaway snow on the sledges probably accounts for an extra five pounds of weight! Redistributing the loads inside the sledges to reduce the drag is futile and ineffective. You simply have to do with your pesky new friend…

Gloom as a grey winter

Waiting for our marching orders

N76°12.310 W51°02.415

“Flip me over, I’m done on this side!” was the first thought that went through my mind as I woke up in sweats this morning. The sun was beating on the tent, turning it into a baking oven. We opened the flaps, and dozed off again. In an odd, schizophrenic way, I sometimes wonder whether I am not getting more rest on this trip than I am at home! The sun was out in full glory for most of the morning which led us to believe that the bad weather system that has been with us for the last few days, and the light winds that came with it, might be behind us.

Updating blogs with the HP mini, the iPack and iridium technology

N76°12.310 W51°02415

The sun was at the losing end of a power struggle with high and low clouds all morning. By midday, after alternating light snow fall with bright piercing rays, the sun’s parched light bid its final adieu for the day. But not before running one last salutation across the frozen plain, playing catch up with itself, amidst the clouds’ broken shadows. To the casual observer, the ice may look monotonous; a tediously repetitive blanket of white that stretches agonizingly in all direction. In reality, this frozen land reveals itself it its multitude of subtle details, forever changing with the light, and the dynamics of the day, to those committing to travel its foreboding realm.