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Only two hours following our last dispatch, scribbled down on computers so
cold they steamed of our body heat, we got a tour of the SP station.
We landed at Patriot Hills greeted by the base camp staff, the ice equivalent
of
We checked in at the business class hotel in our two months old expedition wear, faces still taped. We called home, finding that the day we skied towards the pole, thinking we were all alone, we had almost a million hits on the site. We were astonished. We ate a buffet style dinner, we sat in the Jacuzzi all silent, we slept. Well, friends, it’s time for us to shut down the computers. But not for
long. For we pack already. We have 50 days to get back in shape, summon our
minds and They say our odds are very small. A first time Arctic expedition success ratio is only 40%, without re-supplies even less. Both poles have never been skied so close in time to each other before, no woman at all have yet managed the NP without drops. Antarctica was dubbed the "Hope" expedition. Arctic is the "no hope" expedition. But heck, who regrets losses, it’s the attempts that never happened that really bugs the mind. Success or not, it looks like we have another wild ride ahead. We’ll see you right here again in a few weeks, Let’s rest for a while now, and then get ready for the final part of this great adventure.
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We slept for twelve hours; our first full nights sleep in a week. We are so
skinny
that we’ll serve only as toothpicks to the Polar bears. Our bodies are so
adapted to a forward sliding motion that we fall over at any flight of steps.
Our fingertips are hyper sensitive; simple tasks like tying shoe laces hurts. We
have a stiff walk, muscles still sore and the look of the very ill in our faces.
In the last week at Antarctica, our rest pulse, normally in the fit 50s, ranged
between 80-95 even right before and after sleep. Our heart simply never stopped
pounding. We are very worn.
The
managers, Jerry who has been there forever and Kathy, who have wintered three
times, took us. A wide ice tunnel led into a mega ice cave. Underground ice
walks led us to the cafeteria, the library, the bar. The communications room was
a dark, hot grotto blipping with computers. There was the Dome, the quiet
section, the dark section, the sky lab. An Astronomer came skiing into the
tunnel. The projects bore names as Cara, Viper, Python, Amanda, Ice Cube. The
people, living on this edge of the world to explore the Universe, were
accomplished, gentle and bright. We mailed the envelopes to Mr. Lim; we washed
the Sept 11 flag and the stone with the heart in it at the pole marker. We had
arrived out of nowhere to this land of no man. What did we talk about?
Isolation, struggles, visions and space.
The Twin Otter was jam packed with empty fuel drums, our sleds on top. Once
airborne, we climbed over them to the warmth of the cockpit. We watched the
miles of ice that we had just traveled rush by. There were the Thiels Mountains
resting on mirrors of clear ice, there the huge crevasse fields separating lower
and greater Antarctica. Only now did we see clearly the giant cracks in the ice
arranged in perfect rows, gaping like open zippers into the underground.
M.A.S.H Tents were already down, the Iljusin due at 2 am. The sun circled
non-stop above, us going on the third day without sleep. Sergei, the Captain,
came on target and we took a final ride on snow scooters to the big bird. The
heavy plane left of with the typical roar of 
heavy speeding over ice. Sergei
made a sharp bank and a perfect low loop eight over camp. Everybody unstrapped
against orders and ran for the only two small oval windows. "Yeah!"
yelled Peter excited, "he’ll get the radiomast!" And suddenly we
left the ice. All finally crashed in, including the flight navigator. The plane
was silent, do-it-yourself flight sandwiches laid out in the front. Chunks of
bread and cheese, mayonnaise tubes chips, Sprite and Cokes in family size
bottles. Sleds, drums, rope and tents mixed with foul weather clothing and the
rugged interior of the Russian military plane.
We landed on a quiet spot of the military airport at 7am, in our first
sunrise of two months. The light was golden. As the exit door opened, we felt a
strong scent of perfume in the air. It was the scent of life. The trees
intensely green, the sea so alive, the flowers so vibrant. Couldn’t take our
eyes of it.
get organized for Antarctica’s counterpart; the rugged, black ice of
the Arctic. We’ll switch Penquins for Polar bears, silence for the violent
roar of Arctic as he every full moon breaks into pieces, calling perhaps his
princess Antarctica. If you come with us, you’ll know what we are talking
about.
first going to Iqualit for
10 days practice. And by the way, thanks for everything guys. We’ll answer all
mails and messages next. You have no idea what a strength and comfort you have
provided.