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Dez 31
#33: The irony of extremes
Publiziert am 22:51
I type this on my iPhone with numb fingertips. Every 10th inhalation is a deep catch up breath. Stinging chilblains cover my fingers and my right eyelid is swollen from a relentless southeasterly wind that has one mission only - to penetrate. Today we rest as yesterday was too much for my otherwise robust lungs, the early signs of altitude sickness which afflicted me dangerously in 2013 on the other side of the Antarctic plateau. That time we had a doctor on standby who could treat me with oxygen and drugs to drain my perilously full lungs. After a call with the doc at Union Glacier this morning our decision to rest was sealed. This will also help Keith who has some snowblindness in his right eye, the result of dispensing with iced-up goggles. It will help us all.
Yesterday, as I heaved a sucking breath and the last joule of energy drained from my body, with still another 90 minutes to go before calling it quits for the day, another 22km behind us, I hated Antarctica. My sled felt like a cargo ship, my fingers screamed for blood, the dead flat surface felt like an alp, my head throbbed with a persistent ache, my back creaked in protest and all I could do to take the next step was think of my family. I wanted out of this forsaken place and pondered the thoughts of Henry Worsley who last year deteriorated in health, ultimately fatally, not far from here in his attempt to cross Antarctica solo. He too would have thought of little else but family. The Antarctic plateau cares not for your experience, it exists only to be what it is, an environmental extremophile. You choose to fit in and flourish or you fight and flounder.
Yet during a brief foray outside to collect food from my sled I saw starkly the irony of extremes and felt as though I'd been harsh to my dear old friend Antarctica. Despite 25 years of polar exploration I've been humbled once again by this magnificent place. Looking around I see nothing but snow plains and blue sky. But here, at just under 3000m elevation, it's snow and blue like no other. The sky is abuzz with sparkles of microscopic ice fragments, the air is brittle like space itself, the sun wheels equidistant above the horizon, the cold smacks at every gap in my armour and aside from my friends protected comfortably by two layers of tent fabric, not a spec of humanity exists. I can't hate this place. I just need to fit in again.
Happy Birthday Susy and Happy New Year to the world out there.
Eric
Pic of Frankie, my repaired sled and Keith's newly designed mask.
Yesterday, as I heaved a sucking breath and the last joule of energy drained from my body, with still another 90 minutes to go before calling it quits for the day, another 22km behind us, I hated Antarctica. My sled felt like a cargo ship, my fingers screamed for blood, the dead flat surface felt like an alp, my head throbbed with a persistent ache, my back creaked in protest and all I could do to take the next step was think of my family. I wanted out of this forsaken place and pondered the thoughts of Henry Worsley who last year deteriorated in health, ultimately fatally, not far from here in his attempt to cross Antarctica solo. He too would have thought of little else but family. The Antarctic plateau cares not for your experience, it exists only to be what it is, an environmental extremophile. You choose to fit in and flourish or you fight and flounder.
Yet during a brief foray outside to collect food from my sled I saw starkly the irony of extremes and felt as though I'd been harsh to my dear old friend Antarctica. Despite 25 years of polar exploration I've been humbled once again by this magnificent place. Looking around I see nothing but snow plains and blue sky. But here, at just under 3000m elevation, it's snow and blue like no other. The sky is abuzz with sparkles of microscopic ice fragments, the air is brittle like space itself, the sun wheels equidistant above the horizon, the cold smacks at every gap in my armour and aside from my friends protected comfortably by two layers of tent fabric, not a spec of humanity exists. I can't hate this place. I just need to fit in again.
Happy Birthday Susy and Happy New Year to the world out there.
Eric
Pic of Frankie, my repaired sled and Keith's newly designed mask.
Frankie, my repaired sled.
Keith's newly designed mask.
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